NOTE: If you haven’t been following this from the beginning, and if you want to know the full sequence of events, start with the introduction. Click on Archives on the right.
Rank Majors and Kemp, Rombout stand behind the old location of the Elegant Ostrich. Kemp with his AR 15 and Rank has an AK47 slung on his shoulder.The sun’s early warmth brought out cherry blossom spreading deep green shade on the grass and ivy around them.
“Spring started in early March this year.”
“Can’t come too early for me, Fred.”
“What happened to the CAP?
“What’s that, Fred?”
“The Cyber Anthropic Principle.”
“It served its purpose.”
“Which was?”
“It gave this store a name.”
“What about the art?”
“I don’t know much about it.”
“So, what is it now?”
“Mac is moving his local campaign office here.”
“You mean today?”
“Right.”
Kemp holds up his weapon.
“We are security, Fred, me and Rank.”
“I get it.”
“So, are you expecting trucks and stuff to pull up?”
Kemp consults his phone and reads a text.
They have been stuck on Rout One for the last half hour. Now they are ten minutes away.”
“Yeah, I heard a lot of sirens about an hour ago.”
“It’s all the illegals.”
“What is?”
“The crime wave.”
“There is no crime wave, as far as I know.”
Rank hands me his phone with an article posted on the screen.
Gordon Byron’s byline, “Crimewave crashes out of Mexico, splashing our country with criminals from all over the world.”
“That is news to me.”
“Sure, the whole thing is being suppressed by the deep state.”
“They have kept it all from me, that is for sure.”
Rank steps over to speak in a confidential tone.
“Don’t worry buddy. By next week, this whole storefront is going to be posting the real news, twenty-four-seven.”
“Like down at the Hadron Shopping Center.”
“Same technology but different newsfeed.”
“What will the difference be?”
“Our operation here will tune in to the Fauxmont Community.”
“There’s not many Macadamia supporters around here.”
“We are going to change that. Bring them a whole new reality!”
A white Isuzu NPR HD box truck pulls up by the door with three blasts of the horn. Kemp walks over to greet the driver. The driver and her help dismount.
Rank doesn’t move but looks up and down the alley between the back of the row of stores and the playing fields beyond the ivy and cherry trees.
“I want to be sure there’s no interference.”
“There isn’t much danger back here is there?”
“Fred, there’s homeless everywhere.”
“They are only looking for shelter and I have never seen a tent back here.”
“You never know who you are really up against, there’s gangsters, dopers, and thieves all mixed together.”
“Gangsters?”
“Sure, you ever heard of MS 13?”
“La Mara Salvatrucha”
“What does that mean?”
“Something to do with the FMLN. ‘La Mara’ is a street and when they disbanded some of them started up as a street gang for self-protection.”
“How do you know so much about it, Fred?”
“Probably read an article somewhere.”
“Like where?”
“Most likely the Post.”
“You mean the Washington Post? That’s all, fake news, Fred.”
“I think a good deal of it is for real.”
“For reality come to us! Our alternative facts are way better!”
“Well, anyway, I doubt if the gang will be here.”
“It pays to be ready, Fred.”
“Yes, but are you ready for the right thing?”
“We have pretty good data on Fauxmont residents.”
“Who is, ‘we’?”
“You know, our campaign.”
“I get it. So, what does it tell you?”
“It’s all worked up into algorithms so we can keep adding to the effectiveness of our messaging.”
“You think you will get through with all that hate speech in our community?”
“This will be different.”
Albrecht opens the gray double metal doors of the store, from inside. The driver lowers the lift in the back of the truck and wheels two office chairs, draped with plastic, into the building.
“Hey, Fred!”
“Albrecht! I hear you are moving in.”
“Yeah, you want to volunteer?”
“No thanks, I support the other side.”
“Come on Fred! Get with the winners. Join the Fauxmont Militia!”
“Not my thing Albrecht.”
He beckons and I walk over to the open doors, and he takes me up to the front. Two vans are parked outside, and technicians are mounting screens to fill the display windows.
“This is going to be a high-class operation!”
“Sounds good for the neighborhood.”
“We have Gordon Byron making an appearance here next Saturday.”
“Oh yes, after his speech at PU.”
“Yeah, I heard him speak last year.”
“Really, I have never been to one of his events.”
“He says it’s all about associations, Fred.”
“It is?”
“Yeah, and he is an expert at making convincing associations.”
“You mean your data tell you what kind of associations people in Fauxmont make?”
“Now you are getting it.”
“Perhaps so!”
“They have digital profiles on millions and millions of voters.”
“Sounds like the ‘Surveillance State’.”
“No, no, no, this isn’t the government, this a privately held company.”
“Corporate Surveillance then.”
“Hey, more data make for higher profits.”
“I still think there is something wrong with it.”
“Gordon says, ‘It’s all about power and belief’.”
“Sure, belief moves voters.”
“So, we cast doubt on the other side’s beliefs by promoting our alternatives.”
“Albrecht, hardly anyone in Fauxmont believes them.”
“That’s okay, it’s like our law suites. We keep losing but they keep us in the news every day.”
“So true!”
“Okay, Fred, If I say, ‘gender’, what comes to mind?”
“Pronouns.”
“There you are. What do you use, him or her, or them?”
“Well, other people know me as him.”
“So, do you think gender is fixed at birth or can be changed by grooming?”
“I agree with bel Vionnet, people should be whatever they feel themselves to be.”
“Okay, some people think it is fixed male or female. Gordon Byron has said, ‘Any change threatens the moral foundations of our identity’.”
“What do you think, Albrecht?”
”I think it’s a doozy of an issue for our campaign.”
“You keep quoting Byron, what about Grant Gazberg?”
“He died you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
“We need a live person, and that person is now Gordon!”
“Okay, so knowing what associations people make lets you know how to, ‘push their buttons’!”
“Right! Keep them focused and following our leader.”
“Sounds kind of mindless to me.”
“Not mindless, according to Byron it is emotional and intuitive.”
“What does Macadamia want to do with this power?”
“Well, Gordan says we must, ‘Avenge the humiliation suffered by so many Americans.”
“Vengeance huh?”
“We just want people feeling it!”
“Yeah, I get that.”
“Here’s another one. If I say, ‘taxes’ what comes to mind?”
“Mid-April.”
“Okay, some people think of the deep state, or government giveaways of their hard-earned money.”
“The IRS has plenty of enemies.”
“We are going to defund them out of existence!”
“And what will the government do for money?”
“Byron has said, “Smaller government doesn’t need much money and there are better ways of getting revenue than income taxes.”
We move back from the front as they are wheeling in workstation panels for assembly.
The door to the basement stairs is locked even though the interior is being rebuilt.
“I remember a lot of tech equipment down there for the CAP.”
“The what?”
“The Cyber Anthropic Principle that’s what Chuck Newsome was investing in.”
“That area is strictly off limits.”
“You mean the space or the idea?”
“I don’t know anything about the CAP, but the basement area is only accessible to those with a pass.”
“I see, can I get one?”
“Have you got computer science expertise?”
“I want to see if all that equipment for CAP is still there.”
“Yeah, but, like, do you have a degree in computer science?”
“No.”
“You also have to apply the Company annex at PU.”
“Not the campaign?
“No, the tech company has an annex on the PU campus.”
“What company?”
“Well, at PU, it’s called, The Middlesex Project.”
“Okay, aren’t they part of Fibonacci Corporation, where Rank Majors works?”
“You better ask Rank that one.”
We are back at the loading area. Kemp is chatting with the Isuzu driver and her assistant who has her high school hoodie on. A lock of red hair falls from the front of the hood as she works on her phone.
“You still don’t have an automatic, do you?”
“No, Rank, but I do have a couple of old revolvers.”
“Are you carrying?”
“No, they are in the linen closet, at home.”
“Your wife will find them!”
“She knows they are in there. Keeps them dry.”
“How much ammo do you have?”
“Not a round.”
“Buddy, you better get online and find some bullets for those old pistols.”
Albrecht steps forward onto the lift, raises it, and disappears into the truck. The driver walks over to the cab in pink SnazE ‘Sports Walkers’ with yellow laces and turns to get her clipboard. She has a holster against the small of her back on a black web belt . Her red hair is combed back and bunched. Held with a comb.
