Authors: Andrew Vachss
Tags: #Collections & Anthologies, #Mystery & Detective, #Fiction, #Suspense, #Thrillers, #General
LATINO AT PODIUM
(as if passing judgment)
Welcome, Solon and Sensa. Your wish to present as a unit will be honored.
He rather elaborately steps aside, making an ushering movement with his hands. A man and a woman take the podium. The man is short and slim; the female is both taller and heavier-built. The only physical characteristic they share is a blue lightning bolt branded into the right side of their faces
.
SENSA
(unaggressive but inexorable)
The Book of the Mission is the parent of all. We are here to do its work.
FADE OUT on her speaking
COME IN ON:
INT: Interrogation chamber
A hooded woman—THE QUESTIONER—waits serenely. A door opens and a Young Man is marched inside by two people wearing full-body coverings: impossible to determine their age, sex, or any other characteristic, except that they are both much larger than their charge. The Young Man has been branded:
BOOK BOY
has been laser-engraved across his forehead … in blue, as if to mock his life’s work
.
The Book Boy is pushed into a seat across from the Questioner
.
Utter silence
.
Time passes
.
The same two figures enter, and remove the Book Boy
.
The same scene is repeated several times, with one subtle difference: At first, we see the Book Boy inching closer and closer to the Questioner. But then he begins inching backward. Then forward once again. He displays no nervousness. It becomes clear that his pattern is to create no pattern. A Taoist would recognize this as “The Way of No Way.”
QUESTIONER
(harshly)
Patience is not one of your privileges here, Book Boy. You know where you are: if you will not talk to me, you will talk to others.
The Book Boy does not respond
.
FADE OUT
BACK TO SAME EXACT SCENE
QUESTIONER
(sweetly)
Won’t you at least tell me your name?
The Book Boy inches his chair closer to her
.
BOOK BOY
YT555-4JD303
QUESTIONER
(throaty, sexy … promising)
Not your ID, your
real
name. That way, we can talk … privately. My name is Syreen.
BOOK BOY
(inching closer)
I’m Tracer.
QUESTIONER
(arching her back)
See? Isn’t this nicer?
BOOK BOY
(as if soothed, but actually soothing Questioner)
It … feels better, anyway.
QUESTIONER
Is there anything we could do that would make things better for you here, Tracer? They
did
give you permission to write on the walls of your compartment, didn’t they? If they didn’t, I can fix that.
BOOK BOY
I can’t write if I don’t have paint.
QUESTIONER
Now that’s only fair. How about a trade? If you’ll tell me where I can find some of your paint, I’ll bring it to you.
BOOK BOY
I don’t know where the paint is.
QUESTIONER
But you … all of you, I mean … you must have paint to work, yes?
BOOK BOY
Yes. But they give us the paint each time we go out.
QUESTIONER
(leaning forward)
Who gives you the paint, Tracer?
BOOK BOY
(breathing shallowly through his nose)
(literally radiating calmness)
Our teachers.
QUESTIONER
Teachers? You mean, from your temple?
BOOK BOY
(moving slightly closer)
Yes.
QUESTIONER
(smiling at Tracer)
I
love
it when a man tells me the truth. It feels as if he’s … stroking me. We know about the Temple, Tracer. So I know you are being truthful with me. That gets me very excited, the truth. Can you tell me what they teach there?
BOOK BOY
(microscopically closer; lowering his voice slightly)
They teach us that truth is sacred. It was even a religion once, before the Terror. It was called “Journalism.”
QUESTIONER
(surprised)
They teach myths?
BOOK BOY
(shrugs)
If truth is a myth, what is a lie?
QUESTIONER
(switching gears)
All right, Tracer. Tell me the
truth
, then … does the Temple have a link to Outside?
BOOK BOY
You already know the answer.
QUESTIONER
How would we know such a thing?
BOOK BOY
Because the Rulers have always tried to match our blue paint. Then they could write what
they
want, and people would trust it. If it’s written in blue, it must be true … everyone knows that. But the Rulers can’t copy the paint, no matter what they do. They scrape it off the walls; they even confiscate our spray cans when one of us is captured. But they can’t copy our Blue. Every time they try, the same tag goes up:
CUT TO:
EXT: Wall
IF YOU CAN’T MAKE IT, MAKE IT UP
COME BACK ON:
BOOK BOY
That’s
how you know our Temple has a link to Outside. The Rulers own everything Underground, don’t they? So if they can’t make something here, it must come from Outside.
QUESTIONER
(licking her lips)
I love it when a man teaches me things. Maybe tomorrow, you’ll teach me something else, Tracer.
FADE OUT
FADE IN ON:
INT: Tracer’s “compartment.” Clearly a confinement area, but spacious and clean. Tracer is in a yoga position on the floor, breathing correctly, eyes closed
.
TRACER
(interior monologue, as if reciting a lesson he has learned)
When a Book Boy is captured, the wave becomes the way.
Radiate
. Flow your fear to the men; flow your gentleness to the women. This will make the men brave, and the women unafraid. They will become calm. Move through the calm. You must be close to finish your work.
Tracer rotates his neck. The crack of adhesions breaking is audible. He stands up, walks to his pallet, lies back, and closes his eyes
.
TRACER
(interior monologue)
The Questioner makes promises she can’t keep. The whisper-stream says the Rulers don’t have sex—they clone. But we don’t write that on the walls, because we never write rumors. Our way is our path. When truth turns to lies, everything dies.
FADE OUT
COME IN ON …
INT: Interrogation chamber
Tracer’s chair is closer to the Questioner than ever before
.
QUESTIONER
(almost purring)
Come on, Tracer. You promised.
(Said petulantly, with a pout. The Questioner has removed her hooded cape, revealing a truly beautiful, extravagantly endowed young woman with long red hair.)
TRACER
(almost as if mesmerized)
All Book Boys have the same handwriting. The exact same. The Rulers can’t tell which of us wrote any particular message.
QUESTIONER
(opening a snap to deepen the V of her top)
Oh, that’s
good
, Tracer.
Tracer leans forward, tentatively reaches out to touch her hair
.
QUESTIONER
(teasingly)
I thought you were a Book Boy, not a
bad
boy.
Tracer pulls back his hand, looks somewhat shamefaced
.
QUESTIONER
(taking his hand and putting it back where it was)
This isn’t the only Interrogation Room, you know. There’re lots of different kinds. One of them’s in the back. It’s dark in there. With a nice soft couch. But we’re only allowed to bring anyone
back there if we can be sure it would … help. Do you understand what I’m telling you, Tracer?
TRACER
(softly)
Sometimes it’s easier to talk after.…
QUESTIONER
(wicked smile)
You go back to your place and think about that, Tracer. Tomorrow, if you’re ready to
really
talk to me, maybe we can go to that other room.
FADE OUT
COME UP ON:
INT: Tracer’s “compartment.” He is flat on his back on the floor, feet and hands suspended in the air. His eyes are closed and his breathing is almost undetectable
.
TRACER
(interior monologue)
I send out gentle waves to her. In and out like the tide. Or sex. She thinks being inside her will weaken me, not knowing I am already there.
Send
the tide,
become
the tide.
Our tides have an undertow. What they pull beneath will never surface again.
Tracer visibly relaxes, breathing shallowly
.
TRACER
(interior monologue; thoughtful, not reciting doctrine)
The Rulers know the truth about some things. They know some of the Book Boys are girls. But in the whisper-stream, we will always be the Book Boys. That was one of the first lessons: whatever the name, the truth stays the same.
Like the Guardians. They don’t come from the Temple, but they protect us. They’re a war crew, mixed. All different skin/shades. We write their truth on the walls:
CUT TO IMAGE OF:
YOU CAN’T SEE US
SO YOU’LL NEVER SEE US COMING
BACK TO:
TRACER
(interior monologue)
Just
being
a Guardian is enough to get you sent Outside; same as being a Book Boy. We never meet; we never talk. But it is the same for us both: Once you truly learn a lesson, once it gets in deep enough, you
become
the lesson. The Rulers think all our work is writing on the walls. They think, if they capture one of us, that one’s work is done.
CUT TO:
Tracer, fleeing into a tunnel. He has a spray can in one hand, emptying it as he runs, a Police Squad on his heels. Most of the pursuers are
picked off by arrows, laser blasts, and throwing stars. But Tracer runs right into another Squad, coming from the opposite direction. One Police Squad member zaps him with a purple-tinged beam, and he drops, paralyzed
.
TRACER
(interior monologue)
It is time for my other work now. Focus! Even knowing how to convert the enemy’s strength into your own power, is not enough for this. It is all timing. Had I moved too quickly, the cello-curtain would have come down between us. Floor to ceiling, like the see-throughs they have in the Sex Tunnels.
The Rulers always ask different questions when they have one of us, but the only thing they really care about is finding our Temple.
They have serum. Electrodes. Girls who offer you sex. Or boys, if that’s what you want. Promises. Threats. None of that ever works … because it
can’t
. The Temple isn’t a place, it’s a truth. And all truth travels. Whenever one of us needs to return, we just step into the Uncharted Zone. Then we walk our path until the truth finds us. If we sense anyone following us, we just stop. If the Tracker stops, waiting for us to move, the truth will find him, too.
But when you tell the Rulers you don’t know where the Temple is, they’re sure you’re lying. As we have been taught: the best way to lie to the Rulers is to tell them the truth.
The Rulers have a lot of information, but no knowledge … and no way to get any. Even if they
could read our minds, the path to the Temple isn’t in there.
It’s in us.
Tracer flows into a sitting position, so fluidly it appears he transformed. He opens his eyes: they are dry ice. He closes them again, quickly
.
TRACER
(interior monologue)
Tomorrow might be the day. I’ll be close to the Questioner, with no curtain between us.
She says the truth makes her excited.
Image of the Book Boy and the Questioner on a large cushion. She is on her knees, facing away from him, in what is meant to seem like a submissive position, but she has her head turned sufficiently to keep whispering insistently. The Book Boy murmurs some sound as he slips one arm around her neck. One quick twist and the Questioner falls away, lifeless. Instantly, the door bursts open and a squad in full-body gear bursts in, long weapons at the ready, the tips crackling with electricity. The Book Boy is on his feet in a classic martial arts horse stance: one hand is fisted, the other ridged to chop
.
TRACER
I will be last the Book Boy she ever tells that lie to.
FADE TO BLUE
HUMMING NOISE FILLS THE VOID
OPEN ON INT: Gathering hall
SOLON
The Book of the Mission
is
our mission. And the Book of Obligations requires that we defend it.