Davis,Jerry - The Code of the Beast

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Code Of the Beast

1. ANARCHISTS

The phone had been ringing for quite a while.

Dodd noticed the ringing. Then he noticed it more. It was

like he was coming back from somewhere down a long hallway to find

a phone ringing at the very end. Then it took him a moment to

realize that he should answer it, being that --- after all --- it

was his phone.

He tore his eyes away from the large 3-D screen and looked

around his living room. His girlfriend was there along with some

other friends, all of them staring at the screen. The phone rang

on. No one was noticing but him.

I should answer it, he thought.

Dodd struggled to his feet and walked across the living room

to the adjacent kitchen. He groaned; the time display on the

telephone's screen read seven-past-midnight. What was he doing

still awake? It was a work night. This was probably Toby's wife

calling to get him to come home.

He picked up the handset and touched the button to accept

video. Instead of Toby's wife, a bearded face with unkempt hair

appeared. "Dodd!" the face said.

"Danny?" Dodd said back to it. He was alarmed --- like dark

clouds at sea, the appearance of Danny Marauder usually foretold

trouble.

"Sorry I woke you up. You know I wouldn't be bothering you if

it wasn't important."

"I . . . you didn't wake me."

"Me and a couple of friends are kinda caught out in the open,

if you know what I mean. We need a place to crash."

Dodd fidgeted. Anarchists in his apartment? If it were just

Marauder it would be okay --- but his friends? "Well, I . . . I

have company over here, Danny."

"We'll stay in your garage if you want us to, man. I mean, we

have to get under a roof. You understand?"

"You mean the . . ." Dodd cut himself off. He didn't want to

know.

"I really need this favor, Dodd," Danny told him. "If you do

this for me, we'll be all even. Hell --- I'll be owing you."

Dodd hesitated.

"Come on, man." Danny was pleading.

"You just want to stay in my garage?"

"That's all I'm asking."

"Okay. Okay, I can do that. But," he gave Danny a warning

look, "don't bring any . . . you know. Just don't." Dodd could

imagine a half-dozen anarchists getting drunk and shooting up his

garage with high-powered energy weapons. What a nightmare!

"I love you, man," Danny was saying. "We'll be around in a

little while, very quiet. No problems."

Dodd nodded, said goodbye and hung up. He immediately wanted

to call Danny back and cancel the whole thing, but of course he

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had no idea from where Danny had been calling.

The time display now read 12:10 AM. He had to get up for work

at 5:30 AM. I've got to get these people out of here, he thought,

and walked back into the living room. "Okay, it's time to call it

a night. It's way past my bed time."

No one looked away from the television. No one made a move.

His girlfriend Sheila was only a few feet away, and she hadn't

heard a word he'd said. She stared at the screen with glazed eyes,

breathing slowly through her slack mouth. Colors from the giant

screen reflected from her white face.

He reached over and shook her shoulder. "Are you asleep?" he

asked.

"Huh?" She blinked, then turned and looked at him. "What?"

"I said, are you asleep?"

"Oh." She held out her empty wineglass. "Can I have a

refill?"

"A refill?"

"Yes please."

"Sheila, I . . ."

She was smiling sweetly at him. "Please?" she said.

Dodd took the glass and headed back toward the kitchen. This

is getting out of hand, he thought. I'm just going to go to bed

with them here.

In the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and kneeled down,

holding Sheila's glass under the tiny silicon spigot. A pale red

liquid dribbled out, Vinny's Uncommon '41, "The best Texan wine

money can buy." Haunting, racing music drifted in from the

television --- the endless soundtrack of the Travels station. It

seemed to spin around him in the air, the holographic sound

bouncing through the kitchen. As he listened he forgot what he was

doing, his head beginning to sway back and forth to the gentle

rhythm. As he finished filling Sheila's glass he got another for

himself and began filling it as well. The Travels music was so

relaxing. He felt light. He took the two glasses of wine back into

the living room and eased himself down on the couch next to

Sheila.

"Here," he said.

Sheila took the glass wordlessly and ducked as he put his

free arm around her. Dodd sipped the wine, and the image of the

rolling ball on the screen pulled at his eyes like a magnet. For a

moment he resisted, looking over at his friend and co-worker Bob

Recent. He was cuddled with his wife Denise at the opposite end of

the couch. Both held empty wineglasses in their slack hands, and

Dodd felt guilty that he hadn't given them refills. His other

friend, Toby Whitehouse, was beside the Recents in an over-stuffed

chair. He, too, was holding an empty glass.

Didn't I have something to tell them? Dodd thought. He

couldn't remember. The screen reclaimed his attention.

The surreal, multi-colored sphere had made its way down to a

virgin beach; early-morning sunlight streamed through large,

mist-shrouded waves as they crashed ashore, and gulls whirled and

soared in the lazy glowing sky . . . the music surged and ebbed

with the scenery, never stopping and never repeating itself. Dodd

raised his wineglass to his mouth but nothing came out, it was

already gone. He let his hand drop, forgetting the glass, watching

as the sphere bounced higher up on the beach, rebounding off rocks

and driftwood, hitting patches of sand and sending up clouds of

slow-mo drifting particles.

Suddenly he couldn't see the screen. His eyes struggled to

focus on a dark silhouette inches from his face. "Hey," a voice

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said.

"Danny?"

"Yeah, you noticed. Been ringing for a while, man. Had to

finally let myself in."

Dodd glanced over at the time display. It was close to 2:00

AM. "Jesus!" he exclaimed.

"You're frying your brain watching that stuff."

Dodd nodded. This was true. He stood and turned around to say

something to Sheila, but she was still staring at the screen. Bob

and Denise were oblivious, and so was Toby. They just stared at

the screen. It seemed unreal.

"Hello," he said to his guests. "Hello?"

"Want me to get their attention?" Danny asked.

"No." God no! "Let's go out to the garage."

They went out the front door, then around to the side of the

small apartment complex. There was a row of garage doors with

brightly-lit numbers above them. Dodd led Danny over to one of

them and unlocked the door with his voice. It opened with an

electric whine, revealing an empty space with a few boxes in one

corner.

"No car?" Danny asked.

"Haven't had one for years."

"Damn. I was going to ask if I could barrow it."

Dodd laughed, short and sharp.

Two men and a woman Dodd had never met emerged from the

bushes and hurried into the garage. Danny Marauder gave Dodd a hug

and said, "Good night, and thank you." He followed his companions

in and closed the garage door from the inside button, leaving Dodd

alone outside. He looked up involuntarily and searched the sky for

police drones, but without a pair of spotters he would never be

able to see one --- at least not at night.

He reentered his apartment and stood looking at his friends.

For a moment he considered just going to bed and leaving them to

themselves, but then he thought that Bob and Toby had to work just

like he did. Maybe all he had to do is remind them of the fact.

Dodd leaned over his stack of video components and hit the main

power button. "Hey," he said in a loud voice, "it's after two in

the morning!"

His friend's expressions would have been funny had Dodd been

in a better mood. They looked like they were in shock. Sheila

looked angry.

"Come on guys," Dodd pleaded, "let's ambulate. The theatre's

closed."

"I didn't realize it was so late," Bob Recent said. He

yawned, and the yawn spread to his wife.

Toby was the first one to stand up. He looked sheepish. "I

had no intention of staying this late," he said. He was a

naturalized Jamaican-American from when his country had become an

American state, and his accent was still very prominent. "I am

going to catch hell from my wife."

Dodd shrugged. "I tried to get you guys outa here two hours

ago."

"You did?" Bob said.

"Yeah, you were all on another planet." Dodd looked over at

Sheila. She glared back at him. Uh-oh, he thought.

Toby, Bob and Denise said their good-byes and exited

gracefully, leaving Sheila behind in the apartment. As soon as the

door was shut she said, "Are you throwing me out, too?"

"You can stay if you want to go to sleep." Dodd pushed a

button on the computer panel beside the door, starting the routine

that would shut off the lights and silently take phone messages.

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There was a solid, loud clunk as the front door locked itself.

"I want to watch Travels a little longer," Sheila said.

"It's two in the morning."

Sheila's expression softened. Now she was pouting. "Can't I

watch it for just a little bit?"

"Sheila, look! Even if I go to sleep right now, I'll only get

three-and-a-half hours in before I have to get up and go to work!"

"Please?"

"I don't function well with only three-and-a-half hours

sleep! Can't you understand that?"

"Oh, come on --- please?" She made a big pout.

Dodd tromped angrily over to the video components and turned

them back on. He adjusted the volume and said, "Please don't turn

this up." He walked out of the room and down the hall to his

bedroom, closing the door behind him and falling into bed.

Within minutes she had turned the volume up.

Dodd was angry for a while, but then he relaxed as the music

worked on him. It was nice, really. It was also haunting, seeming

to spin through time from eternity, passing through him and on

. . . it was sparking, pure. It brought images to mind of the

rolling Travels sphere, flashing its colors as it bounced along a

virgin beach, bouncing on and on, never slowing, never stopping,

taking him into his dreams, becoming his dreams, displacing his

dreams.

2. MUTANT

The setting sun was fat, red --- a globe of hell descending

to the ocean.

And he was staring at it.

His eyes began to char and burn in his head.

Saul exhaled sharply and forced himself to look away. The

setting sun was real despite the effects of the drug. It was real

and he shouldn't be staring at it. He held his left hand against

his closed eyes and felt a distant sensation of pain. Colors swam

under his eyelids, brightly glowing shapes and patterns, shifting

and melting and forming new ones. His right hand held his drink;

he took a sip and then blindly sat it down where he could find it

again without having to open his eyes. Over the railing came the

distant booming hiss of ocean waves crashing ashore --- the sound

was altered by the Mataphin drug, giving him the distinct

impression of someone whispering to him through a cardboard tube.

Saul took several long, deep breaths, easing his muscles,

relaxing and clearing his mind. The patterns became less random,

the colors more subdued. In the center of his mind's eye he

imagined a sphere, the Travels sphere, imagined it rolling along.

As he relaxed the image solidified, became three-dimensional. He

was entering dream-state, but with the aid of the Mataphin drug he

was not losing consciousness.

I'm almost there, he thought.

Saul watched the ball rolling through iridescent red and

black landscapes; through oddly symmetrical forests where the

leaves shone like neon; through glassy, shimmering shores where

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all the rocks had perfectly flat tops where moisture collected in

tiny, glowing beads. Perfect images, flawless movements as

graceful as running water. I'm there, he thought. I'm there. He

moved his hand in slow motion toward the recorder in his pocket,

the input plugged right into the base of his skull. His finger

touched the record button.

There was a sudden scream, a sound as loud as an air-raid

siren. Saul's body jerked and his eyes opened wide. He felt as if

someone had hit him over the head with a chair. "Mirro!" he

yelled. "Mirrrrooo!" No one answered him, and the baby kept

crying.

Trying to ignore the shrieks, Saul took a few deep breaths

and closed his eyes, watching the visions. He tried to bring back

the clarity, the flow and balance, but every time the mournful

scream reached a crescendo his visions shattered like glass

plates. He was never going to get any work done with the baby

crying. Saul sat up, calling out his wife's name again. There was

still no answer, so he stood up and walked through the hanging

beads into the house, cringing at the shrieks, trying to keep his

balance under the effects of the drug.

"Oh, sweetheart," he muttered emptily. "Oh honey, what's

wrong?" He stroked his daughter's flaccid skin, trying to calm

her. She was 14 years old, weighted over 400 pounds and had the

brain the size of a small lizard. A product of her mother's

continued use of "Lottalove," the pheromone perfume she wore when

she and Saul were first married.

His daughter settled down and grinned at him, gurgling as he

gently stroked her stomach. Her enormous round face wrinkled

grotesquely with the grin, drool running down her cheek and

mingling with tears. Her eyes and mouth were tiny, her hair fine

and golden. Her arms and legs were very short. From the smell of

her, she needed her diaper changed.

"Oh god," Saul muttered, standing over her and trying to

prepare himself for the task. Changing the diaper of a 400-pound

perpetual baby was, for him, a half-hour job. As he was preparing

the bedside hoist he heard the front door open and, hoping it was

his wife, called out, "Is that you?"

"Silly question," her voice came back. "Anyone would answer

that 'yes.'"

Saul frowned. "The baby was crying. Where were you?"

"Seeing Vicky. Are you getting any work done?" She appeared

in the doorway of their daughter's room, scantly clad and looking

as if she'd been asleep. There was something different about her

this evening, it took Saul a few minutes to figure out what it

was. The tips of her golden hair had been dyed powder blue. "Oh,"

she said, sniffing the air, "time for a change-change."

"I was about to do it."

"Oh, it takes you forever. Go on, get back to work."

Saul turned and walked out of the room, brushing past her in

the doorway. "Could you stay and keep her quiet, please?" he said

as he walked down the hallway. "At least until I come down?"

"Sorry honey," she said.

"Yeah," he muttered, thinking: If you weren't so fucking

sorry maybe we could stick this freak child of yours into a Home.

Or better yet into one of those euthanasia centers. We could live

like royalty on the money we spend keeping that thing alive.

Saul stopped in mid-stride, standing in the long west-wing

hall, horrified at his own thoughts. Is that me? he wondered. Is

that really me? My god, it must be the drug. It must be. The

Mataphin amplifies . . . it must be amplifying my resentment. I

don't wish death for her, poor baby, it's not her fault she's like

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that.

Saul made his way back to the oceanfront porch, taking deep

breaths to clear his mind of the ugliness and depression. He

settled himself into the couch and sipped his drink, closing his

eyes, seeing the red of the sunset through his eyelids. It looked

like fire. Raging red fire, sprays of molten rock, and through it

rolled the sphere, the Travels sphere, and with it came relaxation

and peace. The fire faded, other images came to mind, beautiful

images luxurious and deep, the ball rolling and rebounding and

Saul followed along behind it, watching closely, controlling its

direction, forgetting about his mutant daughter and bisexual wife

and his lost chance to have a true family. The sphere led the way.

Soon he arrived to where he wanted to be, and he slid his hand up

to the small recorder in his pocket, and pushed record.

3. TESTICLES

Dodd was groggy and ill tempered when he left his apartment

for work the next morning. When the house computer woke him at

5:30 AM the television in the front room was still going, the

24-hour Travels channel continuing its coverage of the rolling

ball with no interruptions or commercial breaks. Sheila was asleep

so there was no argument from her when he turned the TV off, but

by the time he had showered, shaved, dressed and eaten breakfast

she was awake again and the Travels channel was back on the

screen.

The anarchists in his garage were already gone, but he found

a note of thanks spray-painted on one of the walls. "BEWARE THE

ANTICHRIST AI" it read, luminous red words outlined in black. They

had dug through his boxes of junk and taken a few cooking

utensils. This made Dodd mad, not because he had cherished the old

stained utensils --- far from it, they were junk --- but it was

the way they had just taken it, they hadn't even thought about

asking. And the spray paint! He was going to have to paint the

whole wall to cover it, and he'd have to do it soon, too --- the

apartment management was seldom understanding in this sort of

thing. Dodd was sure that somewhere in his lease agreement was the

clause "Letting anarchists sleep in your garage unit is terms for

expulsion."

Dodd joined the other pedestrians on the sidewalk, walking

the six blocks down the street toward the subway terminal. Beware

the antichrist AI. What in the hell was that supposed to mean?

Either Danny Marauder had finally gone over the edge, or it was

something the anarchists were into. There was no way of telling

--- the anarchists seemed to be into everything. Like Dodd, many

of them were veterans. That's where he met Danny --- they had

served together in the South American War. Carrying guns powerful

enough to blow up a jeep with a single round, never firing a shot,

wading through cities of dead people whom wouldn't decay. It was

graveyard duty. Dodd had been able to maintain his grasp on

reality; he returned home to lead a normal life. But the others,

the ones that ended up anarchists, they had lost their grip.

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His train hissed to a halt and Dodd boarded, packing himself

in with a hundred other bodies, standing because all the seats

were taken. The ride was uneventful, he endured it as usual by

escaping into a trance-like state until an amplified voice

announced his stop. "Cherokee. Cherokee Station." Dodd made his

way to the door and waited for the train to stop. Beyond the

yellowed windows of the subway car, the brick walls of the station

blurred past and slowed, graffiti everywhere, layer upon layer.

BEWARE THE ANTICHRIST AI!

The doors opened and Dodd stepped out, walking involuntarily

up to the painted letters, looking closely as if he would find

meaning in the texture of the painted brick. Danny must have been

here, he thought. Shaking his head, he turned and trudged up the

escalator. The main gate of Honda Aerospace was seven blocks away.

At Honda he presented his union card to a machine and was

cleared through by a smirking, smoking, gruff-looking old lady in

a guard's uniform. Beyond the gates, all across the sprawling

plant, people and machines rushed to-and-fro in the early

sunlight, impossibly busy. Dodd made his way to the forklift

station, checked in, bought a cup of freshly brewed coffee from

the garage's machine, and slowly, carefully climbed aboard his

semi-autonomic rig. The forklift came to life as he keyed in his

employee number; on a screen behind the controls his morning

assignment appeared. Dodd instructed the forklift to go --- it

knew the way --- and then settled back in the comfortable black

seat to enjoy his coffee and to try and wake up.

When Dodd saw Bob Recent, Bob was just getting through the

front gate; he was 35 minutes late for work. Dodd brought his rig

to a stop and waved, but either Bob didn't see or he was ignoring

Dodd; Bob walked right past without acknowledging. Is he mad at

me? Dodd thought. Why, because I kicked him out of my apartment at

two in the morning? No. He's probably mad because I didn't kick

him out sooner.

Dodd made his way over to the shipping warehouse and gently

dropped off his sixth load of inertia-null units. He watched for a

moment as two spidery robots began sorting them out, preparing

them for inventory. Dodd disliked these two little robots --- he'd

known the workers they replaced.

On his way back to production/inspection for another load he

saw Bob Recent again, this time standing with one of the big

bosses near the administration office. Dodd sipped the last of his

lukewarm coffee and watched them, wanting to see of Bob was being

chewed out for being late. It would be a first. Bob was habitually

late, but never seemed to get caught. It would serve him right if

they fired his ass, Dodd thought. But then again, he really didn't

want that to happen. A fully autonomic forklift, not a human

driver, would replace Bob. Dodd didn't need any more "smart"

forklifts running around reminding him that his job was more of a

union-management compromise than something vital and necessary to

the company.

It didn't look like Bob was being fired. He and the big boss

were shaking hands. They passed out of sight behind the edge of a

building, leaving Dodd wondering, giving him a wholly unpleasant

feeling in his bowels. Bob Recent? No. No way.

A few hours later Dodd saw a little white cart racing toward

him across the smooth concrete plain, the driver waving for him to

stop. Dodd felt a headache coming on. It was Bob Recent.

Dodd pulled to a stop as the cart came alongside him. Bob's

smile was large, his eyes glassy. There was the flush of blood in

his cheeks. "Hey, guess what happened."

"You're management now."

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"Right! I'm section foreman. I'm this section's foreman."

"You're my boss."

"Yeah! Isn't it great? Me, section foreman!" He laughed like

a kid.

"Well, I'm happy for you Bob," Dodd lied.

"Oh, boy, so am I! Wow. I can't wait to tell Denise about

this, she'll be thrilled!"

"I'm sure she will." Dodd felt obligated to hold out his

hand. "Congratulations."

Bob shook. "Thank you."

"How did you manage this, anyway?"

"Well, it's funny, it all started when I put in my

resignation----"

"Resignation?"

"Oh, yeah. Well," Bob fidgeted, becoming self-conscious.

"Well, you see, Denise quit her job----"

"Denise quit her job?"

"Yes."

"I thought she loved that job!"

"Well, she did, but it didn't leave her with a whole lot of

free time. Denise wanted to stay home and watch Travels during the

day."

"Travels?"

"Yeah, and well, I thought that, hell . . . if she did that,

I didn't see why I shouldn't. So I discussed it with her and we

decided that I should quit and go on compensation----"

"Compensation? Bob, what kind of compensation?"

"Progeny compensation," Bob said defensively.

"I was afraid of that. Bob, I thought you wanted kids. You

told me that's why you and Denise got married, why you stuck

around here doing a robot's job."

"Well----"

"You told me that. Those were your words."

"I know. My god, you make me feel like I'm a traitor or

something. I'm not, Dodd. I just . . . I just want . . ."

"What? You want them to cut off your balls?"

Bob winced. "That's not what they do."

"They might as well! They sterilize you, they edit your genes

from the human race --- your goddamn heritage, Bob. Wiped out. And

why? So you can sit around and watch television all day."

"There's more to life than children."

"Oh, yeah, well, it's a big part of life. Look, I just don't

want you to do something you'll regret. I mean, it used to mean

something to you, something to work for, a goal. How much progeny

tax do you have saved up, Bob? Since before you even met Denise!

Last time you talked about it, you had over five-hundred-thousand

dollars. You're almost there! You're going to throw that all away

on something else?"

"I'm not throwing it away on anything," Bob said, angry now.

"Sometimes people's priorities change, sometimes people acquire

new goals instead of hanging onto old, outdated ones. Denise has

decided she doesn't want a baby, Dodd. And that's her right ---

it's her body. So if she doesn't want a baby, what difference does

it make if I get a vasectomy? I can't start a family without my

wife, can I?"

"Oh, this was Denise's decision, then?"

"No, it was both of ours!"

"You can find another wife, Bob."

Bob seemed to be speechless for a moment. "I can find other

friends," he said, after finding his voice. "Dodd, I love my wife!

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She's more important to me than having a family. Like you said,

it's a goal to have kids. Well I have a different goal. My goal is

to be happy with my wife. That's my priority. Okay?"

"Okay. I think it's stupid, but hey, it's your life."

"That's right, goddamn you, it's my life."

"Right."

"And I don't care what you think."

"Okay. Sure."

"I mean it."

"Hey, you're right, it's none of my business."

They stared at each other angrily for a moment, then Bob

said, "Because we're friends I'm going to let this drop. It

doesn't matter why I was going to quit or what I was going to do,

because I didn't. What does matter is that I'm your new foreman,

and you'd better keep that in mind from now on."

"I will."

"Get back to work. Just because we're friends doesn't mean

I'm going to let you get away with goofing off."

Dodd stared at him in silent outrage. Bob, unable to look him

in the eyes, turned and climbed into his little white cart. It

lurched into motion, speeding off across the long, flat concrete,

leaving Dodd cursing under his breath.

4. COME KNOCKIN'

Toby Whitehouse lived in an old tan house that had somehow

evaded the great, sweeping renovations, which occurred to whole

neighborhoods after the South American War. The front yard was

kept neatly mowed and the old house always seemed to have a fresh

coat of paint, even the picket fence out front was painted white,

keeping it cheery. The wood of the picket fence was probably older

than Dodd; it sagged in places where rot had set in, but the five

dozen coatings of paint held it together. On either side of the

front door were gaudy stained glass windows that ran from ground

level to the top of the doorframe. Dodd rang the doorbell and

tried to peer through the glass, but he couldn't see a thing ---

nothing but a multi-colored blur. The glass itself depicted

gruesome pictures of Jesus Christ hanging from the cross, blood

gushing from His hands and feet.

The South American War had affected its veterans in different

ways. Some had turned to anarchy, some had turned to drugs. Toby

Whitehouse had turned to JTV, "Jesus Television." It was a mild

and somewhat positive preoccupation, and Dodd had no problem with

it. Whatever made Toby and his family happy was okay with him. He

rang the doorbell again and listened for footsteps.

There was the sound of wood sliding roughly against wood, and

Dodd looked up to see Savina, Toby's 17 year old daughter, poking

her head and shoulders through her bedroom window. "Dodd," she

said in a loud whisper. "I've got to talk to you."

Just then the front door opened and Toby was smiling and

greeting him. "Dodd! Dodd, come in." His accent was heavier than

usual today, which told Dodd he was excited about something. Dodd

smiled up at Savina before walking inside the house with her

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father.

"Today has been an incredible day," Dodd said.

Toby closed the door behind him. "That it has." He was

grinning. "Come on in. Sit down."

"Thank you." Dodd followed him into the den and leaned

against a wall, feeling too pent-up to sit down. "I'm troubled,

Toby."

Toby paused in front of him, looking at him as if he had no

right to be troubled. "And what is it that is bothering you on

this incredible day?"

"Did you know that Bob was going to quit his job?"

"No, that I didn't."

"He went in and gave them his resignation, and they talked

him out of it. They gave him a promotion --- now he's my boss."

"You don't seem very happy about it."

"I'm not. We got into a fight."

"Oh, that's bad. Especially now that he's your boss."

Dodd gave him a brief summery about the argument, to which

Toby made grave faces but little comment. Something else was on

his mind. Savina made an appearance downstairs and Dodd smiled at

her; she made mysterious hand signals behind her dad's back and

then put her finger to her lips, telling Dodd to be quiet about

something. He winked at her, ruffling her thin braids as she came

close. She laughed, dodging away.

"So," Toby said, "have you heard the big news?"

"What big news?"

"About the Savior! The Second Coming."

"No, I think I've missed this one."

Toby's eyes were gleaming like a used robotics salesman. "You

haven't heard, then?"

"What? No, I haven't."

"It's something fantastic," Toby said, exhilarated. "They

announced it today on JTV. The Pope of the United Church was given

a revelation. He's coming back!"

"Back where? To the Americas?"

"No, to Jerusalem!"

"The Pope's going to Jerusalem?" Dodd didn't get it. What was

the big deal?

"No, not the Pope. The Savior!"

"The savior?" Dodd still didn't get it. "Which savior?"

Toby looked very disappointed in him. "You know, the Savior.

The Son! Jesus Christ."

Dodd thought that he was still missing something. "Jesus

Christ?" he said, hoping for some vital clue.

"Yes. Jesus Christ. The Savior."

"Jesus Christ is going back to Jerusalem." The sentence was

meaningless to him. He waited for Toby to correct him.

"Yes. Is it not a spectacular revelation?"

"Jesus Christ is going back to Jerusalem."

"Yes!"

"Jesus Christ is going back to Jerusalem. This is what you're

trying to tell me?"

"Yes! That's it!"

Dodd ran the words through his head. As in an echo, the words

BEWARE THE ANTICHRIST AI came scrolling back. "I don't get it," he

told Toby, apologizing for his lack of understanding.

Toby took him by the shoulders and gently shook him back and

forth. "Are you in shock? I'm telling you in the simplest words I

know."

Dodd stared deep into his friend's eyes. In the background he

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Davis, Jerry - The Code of the Beast

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