Disfigured

By Dwayne Bearup

This collection of short-stories features Cavanaugh's Cure - about a young man coming of age in a dystopian future - and Making Room - in which Allen Rose learns the danger of harboring two incompatible world-views. With twenty-one stories in all, (the longest being 16,395 words and the shortest 104, including the title) you're sure to find something to pass any amount of time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dwayne Bearup
• Release date: Mar 7, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465916549

Dwayne Bearup

If you love books, you should certainly check out my Goodreads page - the link is on this page. It's free, and you can post lists of all the different books you have read, including mine... {*~*}.

Book preview

Disfigured

Published by Dwayne Albert Bearup at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Dwayne Albert Bearup

SMASHWORDS EDITION LICENSE NOTES

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CAVANAUGH'S CURE

CRANK CALL

A TIME FOR ALL THINGS

FACTORY MAN

ON WINGS OF GARGOYLES

MARY HAD TOO MANY LIMBS

PENANCE

TRANSCRIPTION

LET E.T. RIDE

LEMONS

SIGNS

VENGEANCE REINCARNATE

LISTEN TO THE GLOW

MAKING ROOM

BELIEF

I AM GOD

EVOLUTION

I DON’T KNOW WHY

WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR

INCOMPATIBILITY

WHEN GOOD FORTUNES GO BAD

CAVANAUGH’S CURE

Fifth Day, Third Week, Tenth L.C., 531 P.A:

My nanites woke me at two a.m., their tiny bodies crowding the blood vessels in my eyelids and glowing until it was impossible to sleep. The glow was so bright that when I opened my eyes the ceiling was clearly visible above me, despite the night blindness induced by the nanites’ alarm. Into my wrist interface I keyed the question of why they had woken me so early, then closed my eyes to await their response.

The alarm glow had faded enough so that when their answer scrolled across my closed eyelids I had no trouble reading it: A troublesome increase in respiration and heart rate coupled with increased nocturnal muscular contractions and a distinct rise in core body temperature. Diagnosis: Dengue Fever. Remedy: medical isolation recommended pending formal medical examination by Doctor Turner. How do you feel, Mister Brock?

"Distinctly non-fevered, thank you. I refrained from cursing the nanites in my response. It never made me feel better, because it never offended them. You’re mistaken about my ailment. It was just a dream."

"Your temperature IS nearly back to normal, and you do seem lucid. However, as dreams are often a sign of unresolved issues, it may be best if Doctor Turner were informed anyway… in the best interest of The Collective."

"The Collective is in no danger. My unresolved issues concern my father and his betrayal of The Collective."

A long minute passed in which I could feel my temperature and respiration rising again, sure that this time the nanites would inform Turner of this new Aberrant in The Collective. In that minute, I looked to the coming Banishment as a long-sought relief. When instead they responded with agreement, I rolled over and stared at the wall until sleep reclaimed me.

Maybe there really is something wrong with me, Aberrant. Banishment to the surface means death, but I would prefer that to living in this cave for one more day, re-breathing the same air — re-eating the same food — and pretending to like it. I have no delusions of finding my father for a joyous reunion, unless I stumble over his bones while I gasp my last upon the toxic surface of our dead planet, but today I will follow in his footsteps. Agitating for a policy change in the morning, arrest in the afternoon, and death in the evening. Tidy, just as The Collective likes it.

I will leave this journal as an explanation to my mother… she deserves that much.

* * * *

Hey Daniel, wait!

I stopped outside the quarters I shared with my mother to let my friend Jeremy catch up. Despite my mood I had to laugh; watching his oft-repeated struggle up-stream against the steady flow of my neighbors heading off to work and school was one of the highlights of my day. The funniest part was the occasional polite complaint as his bare feet came down under some worker’s boots. When he arrived he grinned sheepishly and knelt to examine his toes before saying, Nothing broken.

Wasn’t that the same guy who stepped on you yesterday?

Probably.

As we continued together down the mural-lined concrete corridor Jeremy said, Have you heard? Someone wants a general meeting and vote this afternoon. Another Ab demanding topside explorations, I’ll bet.

With my exuberant mood spoiled all I could say was, Of course I’ve heard… I’m the Ab who called it.

You?

Like father like son, I replied, noticing only then that I was walking alone. When I turned, I was astonished to see Jeremy was conflicted about this news. I had thought he would abandon me immediately.

Why?

I shrugged. My father was right. We’ve been cooped up down here in this concrete box for five-hundred and thirty-one years, and have made no efforts to examine, let alone ameliorate, the damage on the surface. We can’t go on like this forever.

But… you can’t survive up there.

Thanks for the vote of confidence.

It’s not about confidence, Daniel. It’s about wisdom. The Collective is all that remains of the human race. The Council is not about to risk our species dying out on the off chance that the surface may be safe now. They’ll banish you, and anyone who stands with you, and you will all die.

We have only their word on that, that the surface is still toxic and radioactive half a millennia after the wars, or that the plague virus that triggered those wars is still present. For all they know, there could be a city over our heads, populated by those they’ve banished for speaking out against them.

And you intend to find out.

One way or another.

Even if it kills you?

Even if, I replied, putting a hand on his bare shoulder. But think about it, Jeremy. If enough of us stand up and demand a change in policy… well, they can’t banish everyone. And if you stand with me, the son of the Council president, we could sway enough of the population to force them to really look into the problem.

Looking into his eyes, I saw the ‘no’ surface there first and I squeezed his shoulder reassuringly before letting go. He stepped away, muttering a promise to think about my request during his morning classes. Of all the things I would lose today, this one friend was the only thing I would miss.

If I survived.

* * * *

Later, while waiting for my teacher to arrive and continue yesterday’s mind-numbing lecture on The Collective’s origins, I was struck by the notion that I had never seen a tree except in pictures. One wall of the classroom was devoted to a mural of a forest landscape as seen through a window. The artist had even painted in the dividers, making the room seem that much more like a prison cell. But the largest plants growing in this last bastion of humanity were the tomato vines on level 3.

My latest daydream of my first encounter with trees was interrupted by the teacher bounding through the door and trumpeting, Good morning, class.

Like good little lemmings, the other twenty students in the room sang back, Good morning Mister Sandoval.

He was a bearded, moon-faced man of healthy middle-age and as he stood behind his podium, leaning forward and resting his arms on it while he addressed the class, I realized I despised him. Like my fellow students, he was ignorant of everything the leaders of our little utopia wanted him to be ignorant of. Unlike those of my age group, he had spent decades willfully maintaining the status quo. Like a mole, he enjoyed living underground, and for a moment I saw him as a mole — chubby-cheeked and beady-eyed, slender hands and fingers gleefully scrabbling through the earth while chittering cheery exhortations to dig deeper.

Sandoval was calling my name. Sitting up and glancing around, I realized he’d had to call several times, and yesterday I would have been ashamed of that — or at least a little chagrined. Today I merely grunted, Hmm?

Can you answer my question?

No, I wasn’t listening.

As my classmates alternately tittered in amusement or gasped in alarm at my temerity, Sandoval waited for more —probably an apology, which anyone else in the class would already have offered. When none was forthcoming, he stammered, What… ahh, never mind. We were discussing the early days of The Collective and the rules set up to govern the refugees that had taken shelter in the original cavern system. Can you tell me why our founders require everyone to vote on issues such as, say, expanding the city?

The need to expand our warren is an issue that affects us all, so everyone who understands the issue has to vote on it. Just like the general meeting and vote that’s been called for this afternoon.

Spontaneous murmurings broke out all around the room at that, and Sandoval was quick to step in with, Okay, by show of hands, how many of you feel we should send people outside to sample the air, water, and soil?

I was the first to raise my hand, but over half my classmates joined me. Sandoval wasn’t the only one surprised by the outcome, but I hid it better.

Sally Schriver, sitting by the door, summed up the feeling of the majority. It’s been over five-hundred years. If the poisons that killed the Earth are still around, the water table should have brought them in here already. But nobody ever gets sick. The nanites will also protect us from any lingering contaminants on the surface.

Sandoval pointed behind me at Martin Lloyd. What do our lessons say on the subject?

The reason nobody ever gets sick is because when The Founders first developed nanites all the viruses in their bodies were destroyed. As for the water, it’s all purified before use and the Collective’s walls are lined with two feet of concrete so there’s no way any contaminated water can reach us.

Before Sandoval could change the subject I interjected, Even if the concrete lining the walls is perfect, it won’t last forever. Eventually, the water table surrounding us will begin to seep through. When it does, even if there are only a few new viruses in that water or a couple of new strains of bacteria, our nanites would be overwhelmed. That’s why we need to start checking things out on the surface now, while we still have time to do something about it. When an emergency strikes, it will be too late.

I think you underestimate the power of the nanites coursing through your blood, Mister Brock.

And I think you underestimate the power of history, Mister Sandoval. My father used to say those who failed to remember history were doomed to repeat it. Yet we never learn anything in this class about Pre-Collective history. Why is that?

Pre-Collective history is beyond the scope of this class, Mister Brock. It is also well outside the scope of information necessary for survival — both your own personal survival and that of our species as a whole. As for being doomed to repeat history, I hardly see how that could be possible given the state of equilibrium our society has finally managed to achieve.

Equilibrium? You can’t be serious… this is more like stagnation. From nearly seven billion, the human race has been reduced to just over a hundred-thousand individuals, living in an abandoned open-pit mine lined and covered with concrete. We can’t expand, we can’t grow, births in a given year are limited by the number of deaths the year before, and thanks to the nanites those numbers are exceedingly small…. The Pre-Collective Soviet Union imposed stagnation on its society too, and I’m sure most of the people in charge there also called it equilibrium. The fact is we’re not allowed to do anything that might threaten the powers that be. And that includes learning anything that might give us a reason.

Really, Mister Brock? If that were true, then you would have no access to the knowledge you want your classmates to believe is unavailable even as you recite it. The fact is, every moment of humanity’s recorded history is available for study in your leisure time. I have spent a fair amount of my leisure time studying history, and I think you are right about the Soviet Union, for whatever it’s worth to our current situation as a community. But you are way off base when you liken The Collective to a dictatorship.

To that, I had no response. It’s hard to argue with a man who agrees with you, even if only in part.

* * * *

I skipped my afternoon work shift, mostly because — as the one who called the council into session — I would be expected to present my reasons in person. But also because for the first time I could recall, school had given me a lot to think about.

My father once told me conscience was the sensation of cold air blowing through holes in the fabric of one’s morality, and that the holes are most often caused by lies. Not only lies