Entropy

“Entropy”

Introduction

Black. That was the weight weighing on my soul. My heart felt like it was at the back of my throat. My limbs were numb of feeling. I stared through the ship’s window into a black space devoid of stars save one, a yellow sun with nine planets circling around it. Mankind’s home. All else had been destroyed in their hubris. Perhaps this one thing could be saved. If only Herzog were here...... he would know what to do. He could replace the stars. Perhaps Bryce had found him. The psygram anomaly couldn’t be just a glitch..... It had to be Herzog. I thought back to the circumstances that had brought me here. It all started a millennium ago.....

Dread filled my heart as my homeworld approached. As to what I would find there.... who could say?

* * *

Prologue

My name, at least as far as you are concerned, is James Harn. I was born in 2005, during the unfortunate mistake known as the Second “Dubya” Presidency. My childhood was a bit troubled, but I believe that that wasn’t the problem. The first five years of my life were heaven. Upper-middle-class parents, nice neighborhood. I learned to read simple books, like “bob” books, around three. My parents were so thrilled when I would read car signs from the back seat of the car. My first word was “stop.”

I was enrolled in a preschool for “intelligent children.” Due to my .... unique abilities, I have a near-perfect memory of childhood events from birth. Looking back, most of the kids weren’t “intelligent,” they merely had rich parents who could pay for the preschool. It quickly became apparent that I had a leg up on the other students, mastering multiplication by early kindergarten.

Then the first bit of misery entered into my life. My father was diagnosed with an incurable form of prostrate cancer. He died three months later. I remember standing next to my mother at the funeral.. During the service, a rainstorm had broken, and it was raining in sheets. Everything seemed to be in black-and white. I could barely make out the preacher’s shape in the rain, but I could catch his words perfectly.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust”

My mother cried loudly over the last rites. I remembered my father’s last words before his heart meter flatlined. The electrons in his brain must have been telling him we were in a movie. That’s what I thought, at least.

“Never give up, James. Just do what you think is right, and never stop.”

My mother lost it for a while. She quit her job at the bank, lived off of savings for a time. I would wake up at night to my mother pleading with God.

“Why? Why couldn’t you have left him alive? He had done nothing wrong.”

Eventually she snapped. It wasn’t like what you would think of a mental breakdown, but that’s what it was. She was never the same again.

She stopped living for enjoyment, I think. She got another job at the bank. She put next to all of our money into savings, bought a tiny apartment in a bad neighborhood.

The town of Kaleville was pretty similar to most of the inland towns in northern California. Well, It was really more like two towns, separated by the train tracks. I could completely relate to the whole “wrong side of the tracks” idea. There were only about twelve thousand people living there, most on the “bad side of town.” The Harn household sort of fit the bill-crazy mom, creepy, introverted kid.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. My elementary school years were of little consequence. I had a few friends, but I spent most of my time reading. I read countless books, mostly scientific. I enjoyed dinosaurs, and.... hell, I just liked animals. For Christmas one year, I got a home chemistry set from one of the more noble-minded of my mom’s constant string of boyfriends. She was looking for the perfect combination of intelligence, money, and looks. Well, she got a good two out of three, but that came much later.

Come Kaleville Junior High, most of my friends left for greener social pastures, socially speaking. A depression was settling over me, but I ignored it. I studied harder, as if driven. I studied genetics, performed simple DNA extractions. I was sure that there was something important hidden in genetics, something that only I could see. I began my Freshman year of High School.

This single-minded study was taking its toll. I was overweight, smelly from the time I spent away from the shower and in the basement. My grades slacked off to a 1.6.

A little history is in order here. After the botched U.S. invasion of Iraq, the United States was censured by the U.N. The country’s previous stranglehold on military, technological, and economic power was broken. Also about this time, the Plague first began to appear in the Gaza Strip. Little more than a bad strain of flu at the time, it still claimed hundreds of victims, outstripping the casualty rates of the violence that, still simmering, would soon be brought to boil.

On August 8, 2017, the first official diagnosis of the Gaza Plague was recorded. This new strain, mutated from the old, caused a horrific death, as chemical reactions in the body did not function, causing one to be poisoned by one’s own waste. It was an airborne vector, appearing in both the phlegm of the victim as well as skin that would flake off and be caught by the wind, to spread across the land. Modern medicine could not cope with such a disease. It displayed very minor symptoms for two weeks, during which the victim was still contagious, and then killed them within six hours. The death toll approached a million in one month. Most countries closed their borders. The world economy was paralyzed. Of course, it made it in the US anyway, probably blown on the wind from Africa.

Through all this, the American public remained unconcerned. Thus began my sophomore year of High School.

“Hey guys, it’s that fag James. Watch this.” This was Adam Reeve, football player (although not a good one), and a general asshole. Six feet tall, wavy blond hair, blue eyes. Was convinced he was the funniest guy in the world. As I walked past him, he punched me in the stomach. Hard. I bent over, groaning, as I staggered past, wishing I had the nerve or the strength to kick his ass.

I left the campus and headed home for the day. Walked past the movie theater, past the Longs, and I was home. But one thing shocked me. A dog, lying dead in front of the apartment building. Its hair had fallen out and its skin was flaking off. I could see bone in places. I prodded it with a finger; what I touched crumbled to dust. Then it all clicked. There was a guy on the internet I knew, lived in France, his dad had died the same way. The TV shows on the “Gaza Plague.” Fuck. I had touched it. I ran inside to wash my hands. I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, but I somehow knew that it wouldn’t help. I thought- how the fuck am I not going to infect my mom? And everyone else?

I ran to the basement of the apartment complex and locked the door behind me. I glanced over my chemistry equipment, checking to see if anyone had messed with the equipment. Good. No one came down here anyway.

I had broken into the Chemistry lab about eight months back; I had stolen a bunch of lab supplies. Beakers, flasks, bunsen burners, chemicals. Some stuff I had assembled from scratch, like an electronic balance, from plans on the internet. What I wanted now was the microscope, in the back. Scratch a few layers of skin off of my finger, place on cover slip. Observe.

As I observed the cells, I was at first hard pressed to find anything unusual. All bacteria and other objects were just what you expected on a piece of skin. I fired up the computer and logged onto a few science web sites, checking and rechecking what I found. When I returned the microscope I was beginning to think that maybe it wasn’t the plague after all. I was just paranoid. My vision blurred for a second. I looked at the clock 2:37. Had I really been down here that long? Whatever. I put the sheets on the cot I had down here. I slept like a log.

I awoke at 12:17 the next morning. Of course, I was away from the light of the sun, so “morning” was purely subjective. I looked at my finger. Was it just me or was there a slight discoloration around the scraped-away skin? I just assumed that it was from blood draining around the incision.

I went and checked the microscope. What I saw shocked me. Where before there had been nothing, now there was a largish bacteria. Everywhere. The skin cells were burnt-out husks now; their molecules being digested by the bacteria. Even now I could see the bacteria dividing. The reproductive rate was incredible. And they seemed to be reproducing at a faster and faster rate. Looking at it, they were reproducing way too fast. Even at the rate they were eating my cells, they should have been going much slower. At that moment a wave of nausea and dizziness passed over me. I felt cold, felt my strength slipping away. I passed out before I hit the floor. My last thought was “Wasn’t it two weeks before symptoms appeared?”

I awoke somewhere on a windswept plain. It was overcast, and the wind whistled across the land. I was sitting with my back against the lone tree in the rolling landscape of dull green grass. Sitting in front of me was... me. Looked exactly like me, down to the wild hair and zits. Except this other me seemed more haggard, the eyes bloodshot and shining with a manic gleam. The skin seemed stretched across his face in an eerie grin.

Questions poured out of me in a rush.

“Who are you? Where am I? What about the Plague?”

The other-me smiled.

“One question at a time, Harn. The first: I am part of you. The part that is logic. I am your instincts, that which is not distracted by trivialities. You, on the other hand, have not been looking at the big picture. Of course, you’re better off than some people, what with widespread religion and ignorance in the world today. But you still have much to learn. There’s not much time, so listen-

“So you’re a physical manifestation of my unconscious?” I played along, still unsure as to where I was and why I was talking to myself. Maybe hallucination brought on by the Plague?

The other me sighed.

“A manifestation, yes, but not the physical. This- this plain, the tree, it’s all in your head. And please be quiet. There isn’t much time. It may sound unreal, but the fate of the human race is at stake, and you are the only one who can help. This plague is a bacteria. Left unchecked, it WILL wipe out the human race. Unless you can find a cure. And I know the way. A mutation in an otherwise nondescript bacteria caused it to develop an as yet unseen chemical, very complex. It reacts to electric impulses, and acts as a sort of super energy carrier, able to even rearrange atomic nuclei. The implications of this used for the benefit of the human race are immense, but first we have to find a way to stop it. It will simply rearrange the atoms of any vaccine or serum so as to neutralize it. Therefore there is only one way: use the chemical yourself to pick apart the bacteria. Even now, I can feel them destroying our body!”

He paused for a minute, then looked at me with perhaps a bit of compassion.

“This will be unpleasant, but necessary. Prepare for reality once again.”

I awoke and stood up in the same instant. I felt adrenaline shooting through my veins, dulling the weakness of the Plague. I heard my voice in my head.

<Get the sample. Add digestive enzymes and spin it on the centrifuge. The chemical WILL separate out. after that, pour off the top until you have nothing left.

Not thinking, just doing, I did what he asked of me. I was left with a clear liquid.

<Get syringe. Inject into base of neck.>

<What?>

<Do it. We don’t have time for objections.>

I did as he said, gritting my teeth as the liquid drained into my spine. The pain was incredible, but the weakness brought on by the sickness made it seem far away. Again, I was on the plain.

“Here is the chemical.” Floating before my other-self was a chemical, amazingly complex. It seemed to stretch on forever. One could get lost within it; almost like a miniature world.

“This will be... unsettling.” I felt my mind touch his, then we were lost among the structure. It was all a blur of rearranging protons, molecules, bending the laws of physics as far as they would go.

“Phosphate and Oxygen to Fluorine... shorten carbon skeleton. Add silicon branch... add triple bonds for energy..”

And on it went. I came to.

<You are cured now. We’re still running on adrenaline, so call your government quick before we pass out.>

Still not fully understanding, I stumbled over to the computer. Still on. The news ticker on AIM flashed.

“Death toll at 100 million.....still no cure for Gaza Plague in sight... Government falling apart... anarchy in Los Angeles..”

<Hey! How long was I out for? What the fuck?>

His voice in my head was grim now.

<Two weeks. It took that long to synthesize enough cure. Now, the process should be going faster. It’s self-reacting. Still, more people died than I thought would.>

I made up an email to my congresswoman. Sent it out, told them where I was, that I had a cure. I slept on the cot, catching what rest I could. Within a half-hour I heard someone trying to break down the basement door. I quickly ran over to the door and unlatched it.

“Look, you could have knocke—”

Standing before me were what looked like real, honest-to-god government agents. They had the MIB thing going with the business suits and sunglasses, plus these sort of transparent space suits over their regular clothes. They carried what looked like cattle prods. I’m sure they had orders to take me with them if I resisted. The one on the right was taller, with jet black hair and a square jaw. He looked like he could tear a truck apart. I decided to call him #1. #2 was shorter, a bit shorter than my 5′8.” His hair was a dark brown, slicked back. He reminded me of a wet rat.

“Umm, let me go upstairs, get my mom—”

“No. You can call her on the way, kid. You better be for real. Otherwise it’s treason.” #1 drew his thumb across his neck and grinned a sickly grin, sort of manic. Instantly my mind went to work, analyzing his expression. He had been under a lot of stress lately and was mentally unstable. Very. Best not to push him or he might break.

I had never experienced this before. My mind seemed to give me a basic idea of what they were thinking of just from their expression. I mumbled an assent, grabbed the canister of serum, and got into the waiting car. Painted black with tinted windows. The crazy agent grabbed the vial from me. I decided not to make an issue of it. When I got into the back seat, there was a fiberglass shield between me and the two CIA, or FBI, or whatever they were. As we drove through my neighborhood, I noticed how there were no kids out playing, or even outside.

As I looked forward again, I again started analyzing their postures and facial expressions. The other guard was calmer, more depressed, but had also been trough a lot of stress lately. Then my mind went into figuring out the best way to attack them, how much damage my arm would take breaking a window, and other considerations. I could guess where that was coming from.

<Ummm... other-self? Are you there?>

<Right here, Harn.>

<Are you the one doing all the attack planning?>

<And personality analysis, yes.>

<Well, why? These guys are government agents. They’re just under a lot of stress. They don’t want to kill me.>

<Just being careful.>

<Alright. But how come I never experienced this before?>

<Really? You mean you’ll be a part of me?>

<Sure. But get some sleep now. Otherwise you’ll damage yourself.>

Sleep wasn’t like it used to be. Now it was like hitting a switch.

* * *

I woke up just as we were pulling into an airstrip. With a helipad. There was a single-rotor helicopter on the pad.

“Alright, kid, get out. No funny business. Or else.” Government crony #1(The manic one) held my arm as he escorted me to the helicopter. I took note of the pilot inside. Couldn’t make out his face, but by his bearing he seemed alert. Crony #2 walked behind us, gun pointed at my back.

I wondered why they wanted me, when they had the cure. With it they could synthesize all they wanted to....

I stepped into the helicopter. As it took off, the agents sat with their guns pointed at me. I focused my attention on the pilot, watching his movements and trying to figure out how to pilot this thing. We spent hours on the flight, the agents sleeping in shifts, all my eyes on the now-sleepy pilot. I think I understood how to fly it by the end of the flight.

We were flying somewhere over Nevada. I looked up at the sky, and felt myself pinpointing my relation to home through the locations of the stars flickering into view. Northern Nevada. After a while the pilot started making a few noises into his mike. He turned sharply to the left, and what had looked like the top of a plateau opened into a helipad. There were more guys in dark suits and transparent spacesuits running around inside. We set down with a gentle bump. I was shoved and hustled over to a medical station, poked and prodded, blood taken, analyzed, urine sample taken, and finally declared “clean.”

Next I was pushed to an elevator between the two guys who had picked me up at my apartment, sans the space suits.

“So guys, what is this place? Or is it classified?” My weak attempt at conversation drew only the focused glare of both my companions. I decided they weren’t up for social interaction. The elevator gave a soft “ding” as we arrived at apparently the only other floor it went to. The doors hissed open, revealing a vast room full of what looked like scientists, doctors, and assorted government agents working at a hug amount of lab stations. Probably finding the cure. That I had. I looked down at myself. Suddenly I realized how out of place I was. Khaki cargo pants and a simple black shirt, and I hadn’t taken a shower in over two weeks. Great.

A scandinavian-looking woman in her late twenties approached. I recognized her instantly: Olga Milovich, Nobel-prize winner for biology two years ago. She had been profiled in Scientific American a few times. Then she had been contracted for some U.S. government work and disappeared shortly after the Gaza plague first appeared. I supposed that this was where she was staying. Damn hot, though. At 5′11″ she stood a bit taller than me, she was fit, smart, and had a nice ass. Her tits were nice too: maybe a bit too small, but, hey, nobody’s perfect. I almost missed her speaking.

“I still don’t understand how one.. boy could have succeeded when hundreds of us, and practically every scientist on the planet, have been working on this for well over a year. Has it been tested yet?” She fired all this off in her rapid, heavily accented english.

“Well, Warren upstairs said, and I quote ‘He had the Plague at one time, but doesn’t now.’ Now, if you take that to the logical conclusion, realizing that the plague has a 100% fatality rate—” Crony #1 was interrupted by Olga.

“The kid bribed Warren? Look, Dunn, but—”

Normally, I would have sat there and watched people argue over me. I’d done it countless times. But I had been passed our for two weeks, and practically abducted out of my home, while this woman argued that I was a lying bastard, all the while people were dying out there in the world. And I needed a shower. Bad.

“Look, Milovich, just shut the fuck up and test the damn thing. Judging from the death toll, you haven’t done squat to cure this plague. And I have a cure, dammit. So just give me a rat with the plague, and give it some serum. It’ll clear up within an hour.”

I now had a name for crony #1. Dunn. Seemed to fit.

They all stood there staring at me. Dunn snickered.

“So he isn’t a complete pansy after all. Maybe he is telling the truth, whaddya think, Dow?”

Name for crony #2.

Dow just sort of gave an oily smile.

“Well?” I said “to use an old cliché, don’t just stand there, do something! I’ll need a rat, a mouse, anything with the plague and a metabolism. Who has my serum?”

“Some lab guy grabbed it. Talk to Olga. I sure hope it works. What was your name again?”

“James Harn. But call me J.”

So they suited me up in one of those clear space suits. Now I was watching a rat get injected with my serum via a video screen. One of the technicians (Richard Harrison, I had memorized the name and face and filed it away. My memory was improving, thoughts coming faster now, without effort.) called up a graph of the Gaza Plague levels in the rats blood. I saw the red line decline, slowly at first, but then faster, until it dropped swiftly to nothing. I broke out in a grin.

“My god, he’s done it! A cure!” That was Richard, in his trembly, neurotic voice. “Announce it on the comm! We can start curing people now! The man was beside himself with excitement.

“No. We must test. We don’t know if it’s safe yet.” Olga looked at me with a squint. “You don’t object to some testing, do you?”

“Of course not.” My brain worked frantically to determine if there was any possible way it could detriment humans. “It’s perfectly benign. Just test me for starters.”

After being poked and prodded, examined, observed, and thoroughly gone over, the cure was declared safe for the short-term. I was finally allowed to rest. I was assigned a small room with a hospital bed, small bathroom, and a television. I washed off two weeks’ worth of grime and filth, and found a few lab uniforms in the closet. One fit me pretty well. I looked down at my body, noticing the large belly and weak arms. I went into my head again.

<This has to change.>

<I know, James. Or should I call you J? Why did you tell Dunn to call you J?>

<I dunno. It just seemed that I shouldn’t have used my old name. I certainly won’t be the same person, now.>

<That’s the spirit, J. I could fix you up damn quick, but I,m sure they would notice. Plus it would give off a shitload of heat. I’ll run fat to growth and muscle conversion at an even 1 degree higher than normal body temperature. You’ll get used to it; you’ll look way better in a month.>

<Thanks.>

<Hey, don’t thank me. Remember, I’m you.>

ding

That was the door opening. The real world came rushing back.

“Who is it?”

“Dr. Milovich.”

“Come in.”

I turned around and faced the door. Olga walked in. She seemed tired. Exhausted. Depressed, even.

“All my life, I’ve been given all the opportunity so succeed. I was sent to private schools, tutored one-on-one by my father, prominent scientists, went to college and studied microbiology until I knew just about everything there is to know about it. I’ve worked in the field for four years. And then you come along, and ruin it.”

“What do you mean, ruin it? If it wasn’t for me, you’d all have died from the plague eventually. Don’t sweat the fact that you didn’t come up with the cure yourself. I just got lucky. And it’s not like I’m gonna be famous or anything.”

<Has she been drinking?>

<Yes, I’m picking up trace amounts of alcohol in her breath. She should pass out any minute.>

<Really?>

“Of course you’ll be famous. You just saved the world. hic You’re going to get congressional medals and sh-shit. And I’m gonna be seen as ineffective. I’m gonna be seen as the one who was shtupid and couldn’t think outshide de box. And you’re gon hic be thought of as the wonderkid. And I’m gonna...”

Duing this speech she had sat down on the bed. Now her eyes closed and she slumped over onto the bed, obviously unconscious.

<Dammit. I would suggest that you rape her, but that might attract too much attention at this point. Best go on the comm system and ask someone to come pick her up.>

<Rape her? Isn’t that a little, um, well, immoral?>

<Ah.>

I walked over to the comm, and hit the call button.

Enter four-digit security code the words sprang from the left side of the small LCD screen.

<Shit.>

<Hold on a second..> I felt my eyes focusing to an almost painful degree. I wished that I had brought my glasses from home. <All right, the combination should be a combination of 1, 2, 6, and 8. Try those; the buttons are worn slightly.>

<Sure.>

I fiddled around with the buttons until I heard the soft pop of the speaker engaging.

“Dormitory 3 control reporting. How may I help?”

“Yeah, um, it’s James Harn. Dr. Milovich came into my room to talk and fell asleep. Perhaps you’d like to move her? It is unlikely that she would wake..”

“Huh. I’m sending down someone to move her. She didn’t seem that tired.”

“Actually, she’s been drinking.”

“She must have drunk a tub of vodka for her to pass out. I’ve never seen anyone hold their liquor like Olga.”

“Whatever.”

<Heh. We don’t need to get drunk now if we don’t need to. I could break down alcohol faster than just about anything.>

I heard a knock on my door and a dude came in with a stretcher. We both picked Olga up and laid her out.

“Better get your sleep. At 1:00 tomorrow the President’s showing up.”

“What? Why?”

“To congratulate you on your cure. And inoculation; you forgot to tell us it works that way too.”

I never had really imagined that I would actually receive recognition for anything that I had done. The way I acquired the cure sort of seemed to be cheating for me, necessary but unwholesome. And President Daniel Hayes, perhaps the first truly good president in a while, congratulating me. He was a liberal Democrat, good foreign policy, working on eliminating the national debt and promoting a healthy world economy. He had successfully negotiated the Southeast Asian Conflict. (For the uninformed, it was an occupation of southern Thailand by Indonesia, followed by assistance to Thailand from United Korea. China was threatening to get involved and use military force to collectively bitch-slap the region if Hayes’ diplomacy failed. Good thing he completed it, too, before the plague bottled the U.S. up.) The youngest president ever, elected at an even 35 years of age.

The guy with the stretcher left with Olga, and I was left alone. I thought about the lives I had saved, and if I really deserved praise. What would people think back home? I thought about it as I slipped into bed...

...and found myself back on the plain.

“Greetings, James.”

“Yeah, hi. And what should I call you. I mean, calling you “subconscious” seems a little forced.”

“Call me Beast. I think that it’s fitting, don’t you think?

“Sure. So, why am I here? Any reason?”

“Well, I couldn’t help but see what a mental quandary you were in. My advice is, don’t let the fact that you developed a cure become public knowledge. Back home, it could attract the wrong kind of attention. I know that you want to be famous, need a social life far beyond what you already have. This isn’t the right way to do it. It may prove to be of assistance later, however. I’ve been examining this compound; the possibilities are limitless. Form is no longer a consideration; shapeshifting is now feasible, similar to what is seen in the movies.”

“So? What does that have to do with me telling everyone about my cure?”

“Well, I’ve studied the social mechanics of it, and what we want is for you to be both respected and near at hand, mentally. Finding the cure would place you on a level above them, to their perception.”

“Understood.”

I awoke as soon as my body was rested.

<Food is necessary.>

<Got it.>

I got dressed in a lab assistant’s outfit, as my clothes were dirty as hell from sleeping in them for two weeks. I felt noticeably thinner and slightly stronger. This was good, I thought. I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. It was empty and white, with white sliding doors spaced evenly on both sides.

<Hey, Beast, which way to the mess hall?>

I felt myself sniff the air.

<Left.>

So I turned left and went on down the hall. I was surprised at the size of this underground complex. It must span for miles; I couldn’t see the end of the corridor I was in. Eventually I came to a “T” junction.

<Turn left away from the main hallway.>

This one was slightly smaller but still had doors spaced evenly along the corridor. I stopped at another door, identical to all the rest. Even I could smell the food around here. I opened the door and was assaulted by a plethora of smells and sounds. Dishes clanking, people chewing, I’d never been this aware before. I seemed to absorb all the information at once, it was almost overwhelming.

<You’ll get used to it. Now stop standing around like an idiot and get us some food.>

I shook my head and walked over to the lunch line, grabbing a tray. The food was scrambled eggs, crappy sausage, and muffins, pretty standard cafeteria fare. I sat down at one of the few empty tables and began to eat.

Eventually a young researcher sidled up next to me.

“Hey, kid, is it true that you found a cure for the Plague that works? ‘Cuz that’s incredible if you did.” I turned to face him slowly, my expression blank.

“I’m not sure if the admins want to let that information out right now. I can, however, certify that I cured myself.”

The man’s eyes boggled.

“Really? That means we’ll be able to leave the installation sooner or later. I’m dying to get out into the world!”

I stayed nonresponsive. I found him annoying.

“Well, see you around, kid.”

About fifteen minutes later, as soon as I finished eating, a man wearing a military outfit (Corporal, by his uniform) approached me.

“Mr. Harn, I am to escort you to cencom. The president will arrive shortly to meet you.”

“Yes, sir.” That had come unbidden from my lips.

<Beast! Quit it!>

<These kinds of guys appreciate respect. No sweat.>

<Whatever. Next time tell me first.>

I followed the corporal through another interminable series of hallways, to a room where techs sat at computer screens, monitoring various aspects of the installation.

An older man with a series of medals on his chest and three stars on his collar approached me. His face seemed cheerful, but focused.

“Mr. Harn, I am thrilled at the news that you have discovered a viable cure for the plague. A bit of shame that our team could not have discovered it,” at this point his eyebrows raised up in apparent disappointment at the efforts of Olga and her crew,“but it is still a joyous occasion. I am looking forward to my duties being shifted from the military administration of this facility to the safe and effective dispersion of your cure.

I think that perhaps you should know a bit more about this installation. Are you familiar with the book by Michael Crichton (sp?) entitled The Andromeda Strain?”

“Yes, General....?”

“Foreman, General Thomas Foreman.”

“Thank you, General Foreman, and indeed, I have read that book.”

“Well, that pretty much sums up the purpose of this installation, but with a much larger staff, of course. It was brought into operation shortly after the plague was first discovered in Israel, with samples smuggled in in extreme secrecy. Roughly six months later, an Israeli militant, furious at President Hayes’ withdrawal of foreign aid from his country, released the first samples of the plague in D.C., claiming that we were forsaking his people because of the plague. Never mind that the purpose of the withdrawal of the foreign aid was to send a message to Israel to desist in its oppression of the Palestinians. Anyway, at this point we’re mobilizing the med teams to inoculate every American at risk. It’s a great thing you did, kid. You’ll be a national hero!”

“Excuse me, General Foreman, but I would prefer that I remain anonymous with regards to my work. I am really not very desirous of fame.”

“Oh, so he’s modest, is he?” The general and his aides chuckled. “Very well.”

“Thank you, General. But I would still like a reward.”

At this moment another official came into the room and saluted.

“Air Force One has arrived, Sir.”

“Thank you, major. Dismissed.”

General Foreman turned to me.

“Well, looks like Dan really did come here to congratulate you himself. This way.”

We walked to a conference room, where the president was conversing with the secretary of state and a few other cabinet members. One of the officers approached him and began to whisper into his ear. The president’s eyebrows raised up in surprise.

“So you’re the one who cured the plague. eh? I must congratulate you. You’ve saved countless lives, and to stretch a very small amount, perhaps the human race itself? On behalf of the people of this country, I give you my utmost thanks.” He looked me in the eye with a smile and shook my hand.

<Firm grip. Charismatic. What you say, Beast?>

<I concur.>

“It’s an honor, President Hayes. Although I must request that knowledge of the fact that I discovered the cure be kept confidential.”

“Certainly, if that is what you really want.” He looked at me incredulously.

“Although, I would appreciate a reward of some sort. Two things. First, ten million dollars in stocks of my choosing. When the U.S. economy leads the world to recovery, I want to be making money off of it. Second, immunity from prosecution or crimes up to murder.”

The president grinned.

“A genius and with common sense, too. Amazing.”

“Sir, maybe you shouldn’t grant him the immunity to criminal charges—”

“Nonsense, Ron. He’s a good kid, look at him. He saved the world, for god’s sake.”

And with that I left the room. Later I received a check for ten million and a notice informing me of my new immunity to criminal prosecution. I requested that I be brought home.

School resumed with a few tentative steps. It had been canceled after only a week of classes, so when it resumed Oct. 14, the athletics schedules were pushed back to compensate. I signed up for football. Beast assured me that I would do well. By this time my previous flabby frame had been replaced with muscles, and I had grown in height. I was 5′11 now and every inch the athlete. It felt so much better now to not be out of breath struggling up hills, or to be able to run and not tire. My mind worked better, too. I never forgot anything anymore. Schoolwork was simple, childlike in difficulty.

In football practice, I quickly established myself as a running back. My cardiovascular endurance and speed were phenomenal now, and I was by far the fastest guy on the team. My muscles had been made stronger, with a higher tensile strength. My bones had been laced with iron and other minerals for incredible strength. With my speed and power, I was nearly impossible to tackle, sometimes struggling through three or four guys without being taken down.

It was nice being socially accepted now, too. Adam Reeve, once one of my most prevalent tormenters, actually actively solicited my company. Life was kicking ass. Our first game was coming up. Just one thing was missing. Yeah, you guessed it. SEX!

I jacked off, of course, imagining various beauties at school. But I was fed up with that. Of course, I needed a little alteration first.

<Hey, Beast, could you, uh, make my dick bigger, I mean..>

<Sure thing, James. How long?>

<Uh... I dunno....> My dick was about six inches now. I wanted big. <Try thirteen.>

I felt the hormones kick in.

<How long will this take?>

<Three days, James. Enjoy!>

I pondered the significance that men place on penis size. I mean, it’s not like you can really change what you’ve got. Well, I could, but beyond that, what’s the big deal? It has absolutely no reflection on the character of the person. You can’t even work it out. I mean, if a guy could spend an hour at the gym working out his dick, then maybe a big one would be something to be proud of. But, really, what can you do? Ditto for girls and tits, but I appreciated a good body that was kept fit. Small tits can look nice on the right kind of girl. And sometimes tits can be too big. Really, you can’t change what your parents give you. I believe that there was a famous comedian who was popular about 20 years ago, around the turn of the millennium, named Adam Corrolla. Or something like that. I can’t spell Italian names and I’ve never seen it in print, so I don’t know for sure. Well, it goes a little something like this: A body (and mind, to a lesser extent) is like a car. You’ve got what you’ve got, and you’re not going to make your Geo look like a Lexus unless the viewer is drunk and a mile off. But you try to make your Geo the best Geo that you can. That pretty much sums up my opinion on physical and mental appeal. I think that our culture sees to many McClarens on TV to appreciate the worth of a well-maintained Honda.

So, my investments had payed off. By the end of the year I estimated that I would be worth 13 million. Not too bad for a 15-year old.

So I was chilling at Adam’s house after a scrimmage vs. some team from the Bay Area that had come all the way up to Kaleville to play us. The J.V. team kicked ass, thanks to my speed. Two touchdowns for me, thank you. We beat them 24-6. Varsity barely scraped by, with a 34-33 win from a field goal in the fourth quarter. I had somewhat revised my opinion of Adam. His mom was a complete bitch, self-centered to the extreme. She was always making Adam clean up shit that she left around, like beer and liquor bottles. A constant stream of boyfriends treated Adam like shit. Adam told me that his dad had been okay, had actually encouraged him to do well in school, before he lost his life to the plague early in the epidemic. But then he had been sent to live with his mom again, and he hated it. He actually cared about his 3-year old little brother. He said that he wished he didn’t have to grow up around an abusive mom. He was really under a lot of stress. So his mom was out wasting money on drugs and booze with some asshole at a club, and we were at his house watching his little brother and cooling down after the game.

“So, J, you really kicked ass at the game. I mean, that first touchdown you scored from the 30 yard line. Those guys couldn’t even hold you. You’ve been playing for like 4 weeks. And then the second time that guy hit you but you just sort of stayed up, like you were a rock, and then all those other guys tried to get you but you juked them.”

“Look, man, like I said, I’m just lucky. Well, strong and fast too, but mostly lucky. You, Adam, you could be pretty good, you just need to focus more.”

“Yeah, but I just don’t have the time. I have to work till 10:00 or 10:30 to make enough money to practically feed this little guy here.” he said, gesturing at Kyle. “But I have to buy the stuff myself, because if I give it to my mom she just buys some beer with it.” He looked at his watch and sighed. “If my mom doesn’t get home soon, I’m gonna have to stay home from work, ‘cause this guy can’t be left alone.”

“Yeah, hope she shows up. Anyway, you’re a pretty big guy. If you just put more time into it, you could be better than second-string JV quarterback. Who’s QB now? Greg? He’s alright, but you could be so much better. I’ve seen you throw passes, You could be damn good.”

“Look man, I wish that were true, but it just isn’t gonna happen.”

We sat around, watching Kyle watch some inane kid’s show. I thought about it. Adam and Kyle deserved better. 3:45 came around and still no Kathy. Adam was pissed.

“Fuck, why can’t that bitch just take some responsibility for her actions. I mean, what the hell is she thinking. She’s probably in a drug-induced stupor right now, catching some more STDs from that bastard Chad.”

I realized what dire straits Adam was in. What was a few hours of relaxation on my part compared to Kyle?

“Look, Adam, I’ll watch Kyle until your mom gets home.”

“Really? I mean, do you really want to?”

“Yeah, man, it’s no problem. Not like I’d be doing anything with the time.”

“Well, sure. Take care.” And with that he ran to get his apron from upstairs and went off to his job at the local supermarket.

So I sat around, reading some vapid magazines, while Kyle watched cartoons. Eventually it became clear that he was hungry. I looked in the cupboards for some grub, but they were empty of everything but Jack Daniels. I really was starting to get pissed off at Adam’s mom. So I put some shoes on the guy while he was asking my name.

“It’s J, Kyle. I’m on the football team with Adam.”

“Foot. Ball.”

So me and him walked down to the local McDonalds and I bought him a happy meal. The kid ate a lot, liked to run around. He was going to be an athlete, like Adam. So we walked back down to Adam’s house. Adam’s mom’s car was parked in the driveway at a crazy angle. I knocked on the door.

She opened it, smelling like marijuana and cigarettes.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing with my son? I was worried sick about him!”

<She probably didn’t even think about him before you showed up.>

<Right.>

“Adam had to go to work, and you weren’t back yet, so I was taking care of Kyle for him. And then he got hungry, so I took him down to McDonald’s.”

“How many times have I told that lazy bastard to take care of his little brother? It’s not like he had anything really important to do.”

“No, really, Ms. Reeve, it’s no problem.”

“Whatever. I still don’t like Adam leaving Kyle in the hands of a complete stranger.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call me a complete stranger. We’ve met before.”

She squinted at me like she was trying to remember, then shook her head.

“Well, I don’t remember. Get going."”

I headed to the bus stop.

Monday in P.E. I talked with Adam. He said his mom had been a total bitch the whole weekend, when she was sober enough to stay awake.

“Adam, just hire a babysitter. That would solve a whole lot of problems.”

“J, you think that I have enough money to pay a babysitter evey day of the week?”

“Look, I’ll pay for it.”

“How’d you get rich all of a sudden? I mean, you guys live in a crappy apartment, and your mom can’t make that much money at the bank.”

“I invest.”

“But the stock market’s worse off than it was during the Bush presidency. It’s getting better, but still pretty bad.”

“You just gotta do it right. Look, it’s no big deal. You find out who can do it, and I’ll pay.”

He couldn’t really have said no. He got some girl in his English class to do it.

Pain, really, didn’t matter much to me any more. Nothing I did in football practice could hurt me permanently anyway, so it was fun to have that kind of freedom. Our first game was on Friday, so coach was pushing us pretty hard.

Finally, a chance to really perform. I was so lost in thought on Wednesday morning in Spanish that I didn’t notice Claire Schaffer talking to me.

“Hey, James? James?”

I shook my head, clearing it of thoughts about the game.

“Yeah, Claire?”

“Anyway, my parents are out of town this weekend, and Zeke (Her older brother, varsity linebacker) is throwing a party, and some of my friends are coming, and I was wondering if you and Adam would want to come?”

“Sure, sure. Well, I want to go. I can’t speak for Adam, but I’m sure he’d want to go.”

“Great then. See you after the game!”

I turned back to my worksheet. Just as I was bout to get some more work done, the bell rang. I scrambled out of class with the rest of them. Claire was pretty hot. Midnight black hair, pale white skin, thin, but good sized tits, nice ass. She always seemed to be smiling.

Kick ass, I thought. Gonna have some fun, maybe get drunk.

<As if.>

<Shut up, Beast.>

<Ha!>

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

I heard Adam begin to say “Hike”. With my accelerated senses, it seemed like 30 seconds before the word was over.

Alright, go. Start the power metal soundtrack. Take the ball from Adam. And then I was off, running down the field. The grass was torn up behind me. I stiff-armed a guy fast enough to intercept me. I tore down the field, fast as I could, so far past the rest of the players it was as if they were standing still.

“Touchdown, Eagles!” came the announcer’s voice. booming out across the field.

I did a little dance, my muscles still a little shakey from all the energy they had exerted.

We all had to hang around to watch the varsity game. They won, as well. Afterwards, I went to Adam’s house to take a shower and clean up. Then we got a ride over to Claire’s from one of the varsity guys. Me and Adam set about the task of getting drunk immediately.

<Nice try, J, but I’m not about to let that happen.>

<Yeah, fuck you Beast.>

<I’m just converting it into C02. Don’t fret. Get into a drinking contest with someone.>

<Su->

My internal conversation was interrupted by Claire.

“So, guys, having fun yet?”

“Yeah, we just got here.”

Claire took a guzzle from her beer and grinned.

“Nice house, huh? We just bought it.”

I looked around at the excellent furnishings and the spacious rooms, filled with teenagers in various states of intoxication. During this time Adam struck it up with Janet, one of Claire’s friends.

“Yeah, it’s pretty nice.”

“Wait ‘till you see the upstairs.” She beckoned for me to follow. Beast gave me a sort of mental wink.

Turns out she was right. The upstairs was nicer. And less inhabited.

“So this is... your room?”

“Yes.” Claire turned around and looked at me. “If I were to say that you were pretty good-looking, what would you think?”

“I would probably feel complimented, obviously. I can’t really think of any other reaction.”

“Good. Because you are.” Claire stepped in close and planted a kiss on my lips, her tongue worming its way between the two.

<Let me take over, J. I know what to do.>

<Go.>

Claire didn’t know what had come over her. Sure, she thought about guys just like any straight girl would, and sex sounded like a good idea, eventually. She even thought that James was pretty hot, he had gone from quiet and introverted into a nice, talkative football star during the Plague. But this just didn’t seem like her. She had never felt this turned on in her life. James still seemed a little startled from her sudden come-on.

Then his whole attitude changed. James held her against him, kissing her with an equal passion. His hands moved over her body, grabbing the firm globes of her ass cheeks through her jeans. He seemed to touch something primal in her, and Claire felt a tingling in her pussy and her nipples tightened under her shirt. His strong arms easily picked her up and ground their hips together. She could feel him through his jeans; his prick was enormous! This only served to turn her on even more as she thought about what he could do to her with it....

Claire began moaning into his shoulder as their hips rubbed together. James had his leg stuck forward between hers, and she was rubbing up and down it, getting more turned on every second. He lowered her onto the bed, his lips never leaving hers. He pulled her black top off over her head, exposing he blue bra. James hungrily kissed down her neck as he unfastened it, throwing it across the room. Claire’s head was thrown back, her eyes closed. God! she thought. I never thought it would be this wonderful.. and he’s just kissing me!

James turned his attentions to her breasts, gently fondling her fleshy mounds, kissing her nipples and lightly licking in circles around them. Claire arched her back towards him, urging him to continue his ministrations. He slipped down her body, kissing and licking her taught belly, undoing her pants and pulling them down and off her legs. Her panties soon followed, revealing a sparsely haired pussy.

James sat back, throwing off his shirt, his muscles flexing as he reached down and undid his jeans, sliding off his boxers, his cock pointing up, huge. Claire didn’t think that they ever got that big. But he didn’t put it in. He bent down, running his tongue over her labia, causing Claire’s eyes to flutter in pleasure. He ran his tongue around her pussy, teasing her clit our of its hood. After a few more seconds of his teasing, Claire came, gasping. He was incredible! He had made her come in a few seconds! She stretched her hips toward him, wanting James in her, now. He was happy to oblige her, thrusting forward into her. Claire groaned as he stretched her wide, penetrating her hymen. The pain was not as bad as she had expected, and it faded with his next thrust to be replaced by pleasure.

Claire wrapped her legs around James’ hips, thrusting her hips at him even as he thrust into her. She felt his massive cock brush against her cervix. She mewed as waves of pleasure overtook her, her nipples hardening and her hands clawing the sheets as her body focused all of its attention on fucking. As the waves of pleasure overtook her, she felt herself building to a climax. after a minute or so, with a singular thrust, she came, gasping laudly, her chest heaving with emotion. But he did not stop. She was tired now, her thrusts slower, sometime missing a beat, her breathing heavier, but the pleasure was every bit as intense.

“Oh, fuck me James. Don’t stop!” Claire breathed heavily. She came again, harder this time, waves of pleasure radiating from her pussy. He kept going, still not coming. Claire just sat back, legs spread, too tired to continue. After a few more ecstatic thrusts, she came again. And he still kept going! Something was wrong. She looked down, her pussy stretched by his massive tool. She tried to push away.

“Stop! We’re done!”

“I’m not!” came the reply.

Claire tried to struggle, to get away, but another orgasm overcame her, and the strength left her arms and legs as she collapsed. She tried, weakly, to struggle, but yet another crescendo of pleasure overcame her and consciousness left her.

A few minutes later, I was crouched in the seat of a chair, looking at Claire lying there on the bed. I felt.. different.

<Is she dead? Harmed?>

<No. I was merely demonstrating what you now could do. The body sends signals to the brain, the brain sends signals to the body, input affects output, yada yada yada, it’s all really just a feedback loop. But I found a way to hijack the system. The metaphysical, J.>

I mentally ran over what my body and mind had been doing.

<Remote stimulation of a nervous system? How is that possible?>

<It’s not psychic or anything. When you were kissing her, I changed your saliva into a mutagen, enhanced her capacity for pleasure.>

<Ah. Why?>

<’Cuz I wanted to have a damn good time, that’s why! And you needed a good lay.>

<There’s no denying that.>

<Yes. From now own, there will be no seperation between us. Will and Instinct and Action shall all be the same.>

And so it was.

The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Entropy”

Introduction

Prologue