Humancorp Incorporated Page 14

  “What are you talking about?” Eats said. His round, obese face was suddenly filled with hope as well as fat. “Is there really a way to make me into a celebrity chef?”

  “Kinda,” said Noel. “Using the brain reprogrammer, I can change your personality.”

  “And you can make me into a good chef?” Eats repeated. Obviously, he was very eager on that particular point.

  “Er... well...”

  Sean nudged him.

  “I can’t make it give you the skills of a good chef,” Noel admitted. “But I can make it reprogram your brain so it gets rid of all your personality defects that make you a bad chef, like, I’m guessing, inattention to detail, laziness, and a complete indifference to the taste of the food that you yourself eat. More than that, I can set it to make you think you’re a celebrity chef. Then, because of brain resonance, everyone else will think you’re a celebrity chef too! And then-”

  “If everyone thinks I’m a celebrity chef, I really will be a celebrity chef!” exclaimed Eats.

  “Because that’s what being famous is,” agreed Noel. “If everyone thinks you’re famous, you’re famous. Yeah, this could work! And hey, if things don’t go as planned, I can always give you a suicide pill as a plan B!”

  “Suicide pills?” Eats said, slapping his forehead with a huge hand. “Of course! I should use those in my cooking!”

  “Or maybe don’t,” Sean suggested gently.

  “Forget the suicide pills for now,” Eats said with excitement. “Where is this brain reprogrammer?”

  “Get in our donkey cart outside, and we’ll show you,” said Noel. “Wow, this is amazing! We didn’t need the net at all!”

  “Net?” Eats said.

  “Never mind,” Noel said hastily. “Let’s just show you to our cart. It sounds like everything worked out for the best. Great job, Sean. This is our first successful mission.”

  “Hooray,” Sean said.

  Just then, Noel’s magic wand started to blink with a bright green light.

  “Uh-oh,” Noel said, picking up the wand.

  “What’s the matter?” said Sean.

  “Trouble,” replied Noel.

  He started to explain just what kind of trouble it might be, but he didn’t get very far. When he was about one sentence in, the wall exploded, and a file of heavily armed men stormed into the building.

  Chapter 15

  “This isn’t the defective person alarm,” Noel explained tersely. “It indicates approaching hostile forces who are known to Humancorp-”

  It was at this point the back wall exploded, somewhat cutting short Noel’s explanation. While Humancorp and their unmotivated chain-gangs of career employees, like Noel, like to do things in such agonizingly slow ways that it can take half the day just to tie up their shoelaces (and you should never try to tie a Humancorp shoelace, because Humancorp shoelaces can’t be untied thanks to Humancorp’s proprietary inconvenience-causing technology, designed to make you buy new shoelaces each time you wear your shoes), other organizations aren’t so lackadaisical. Some people like to move fast and hit hard, and obviously whoever had blasted through the wall wasn’t the type to sit around and wait for Noel to explain who he might be before making his dramatic entrance.

  The explosion showered everyone with drywall and chips of concrete, somewhat enhancing the flavor of Sean and Noel’s meals.

  “Who are these people?” Sean said, making out the forms of several heavily armed riflemen advancing through the smoke and flames.

  “The detector only beeps for groups who are known to Humancorp as enemies of the company,” Noel explained as he took cover under a table. “We’re too far outside Humancorp territory for it to be the Employee Liberation Army, so that leaves two possibilities. Of the two, it’s most likely operatives from General OmniAll. They’re a vicious competitor of ours who’s trying to discover the secret to our human manufacturing process, and capturing defective humans will give them clues about our design and production methodologies. They’re well equipped and totally merciless - I hear they slaughter anyone who refuses to buy their products and hunt down and kill anyone who leaves the company to prevent them from spreading trade secrets. It would be just like General OmniAll to blast through the wall. But I suppose there’s an outside chance it might be-”

  “We-” shouted the lead gunman, waving an automatic weapon in the air, “-are the Mandatory Organization of Anarchists!”

  “Oh, Lord,” Noel muttered.

  As the dust settled, it became clear that the gunman speaking was a very young man with slick, dark hair and dark eyes. He was swarthy and slightly handsome, and he was wearing a black-gray military-style dress uniform with lots of colorful patches and insignia on it. The rifle he carried, which was large and deadly, he held in one arm and swung around wildly.

  “Attention, occupants of this restaurant,” shouted the gunman. “My name is Tribune Alphonse Delroy, the head of the Mandatory Organization of Anarchists, and I am seizing control of this establishment in the name of anarchy!”

  He turned to the dozen or so heavily armed gunmen he had with him, who were all carrying rifles identical to his and wearing black-gray uniforms similar to his own, albeit with fewer blotches of color.

  “We’re gonna fight the power and bring down the system in this restaurant, isn’t that right, men?” Delroy shouted enthusiastically.

  “Yes, leader,” all the gunmen said in the same dull monotone.

  The waiter approached them with a bored look on his face and started handing them menus.

  “Hello, and welcome to the Café de Food,” he droned. “We have two items on the menu today, Food and Not Food. Not Food is about 30% cheaper, so I personally recommend it. I see that you’ve brought your guns. That’s good, because it will help you kill your food if it’s still moving when it arrives. How many in your party?”

  Delroy shoved him aside a little roughly.

  “The Café de Food is hereby liberated from the shackles of the corporate fascists,” he shouted.

  Sean was a little puzzled. He peaked out from behind the table, where he was hiding.

  “Excuse me,” he called, very unwisely. “Does this have anything to do with us?”

  “Yes, it does, corporate pig,” Delroy hollered loudly. “We in the Mandatory Organization of Anarchists are here to stop the evil agents of Humancorp Incorporated from abducting this innocent man, Will Eats, and to generally promote organized anarchy in this area.”

  “Uh, but we’re not abducting him,” Sean protested. “He wants to come with us.”

  “Also, you wouldn’t be calling him innocent if you’d eaten any of his cooking,” muttered Noel.

  “He doesn’t know what he wants,” said Delroy.

  “Yes, I do,” said Eats. “I want to be a famous celebrity chef. They said they’re going to make me a famous celebrity chef.”

  “Too bad!” Delroy shouted. “We’re going to tear down the elite celebrity chef establishment! Isn’t that right, boys?”

  “Yes, leader,” the anarchists all chanted in the same, dull monotone.

  “Er, does that mean you’re going to let us go?” asked Sean.

  “No,” said Delroy. “Obviously, you know nothing about Mandatory Anarchism! We anarchists pride ourselves on not obeying laws. In fact, we require our members to never obey any laws - state, county, municipal, federal, or biblical - whatsoever. It’s been eight years since I ever obeyed a law, and that was by mistake - I accidentally didn’t walk on the grass when there was a sign to that effect - but never again! We are Mandatory Anarchists, and disobeying the law is mandatory!”

  The Mandatory Organization of Anarchists does indeed require its members to never follow any laws at any time, regardless of how minor they might be. For example, if it’s illegal within a particular city to operate, say, a crane without a permit, all Mandatory Anarchists within that city’s limits must not just operate such a crane, but steal it, then use it to unlawfully cause a public nuisa
nce by creating an illegal swimming pool on someone else’s golf course during quiet hours on a holiday before committing adultery. Mandatory Anarchists therefore tend to end up living lives very much on edge, since when they commute to and from work, they must always drive above the speed limit the wrong way down a road without a license and with all equipment in their cars broken in violation of the motor vehicle code, then crash into every car in front of them, then get out and assault the driver of the other vehicles before stealing a new car, running all the red lights, and making all the turns where it is not legal to do so. And that’s just to get to work! Once they actually reach their fabled Secret Headquarters of the Mandatory Organization of Anarchists, they have to continue breaking all of society’s rules all day long, making illegal stock trades using insider information and arranging for the importation of exotic, ugly, and highly destructive foreign slugs in violation of wildlife importation statutes, then making prank calls to their Congressman and other public representatives, all in violation of the law. However, they do this happily because they know that laws are merely social conventions, and to really fight the power and bring down the system, they have to break all laws all the time, and doing so is mandatory. Thus, they spend their days starting fires and not vaccinating their children and building sheds on other people’s property. That’s what it means to be a member of the Mandatory Organization of Anarchists.

  “Not murdering you would be in conformance with laws against murder, so we can’t let you go,” Delroy concluded. “It would contradict the laws of anarchism! And not just the laws about not obeying the law! Other ones, too! Centurion, what is the 35th law of anarchism?”

  “Sir,” said one of the riflemen. “It’s to never let the corporate pigs turn anyone into a celebrity chef.”

  “Right,” said Delroy.

  All the anarchists cheered.

  “I don’t get it,” asked Sean. “Why would anarchists have rules?”

  “We can’t explain it to you,” Delroy roared back. “We don’t think like you do. We don’t believe in order, because we’re not part of the establishment’s system. We’re not like you, corporate wage slave!”

  “I’m not a wage slave because they actually don’t pay me,” Sean said.

  Delroy wasn’t listening.

  “Men, assume assault formation, just like we drilled,” said Delroy. “Prepare to kill those elitist pigs and tear down the system! Disobey all laws, and do this one by the book.”

  The anarchists spread out and started to fire at them.

  “Run,” recommended Noel.

  Sean didn’t need any further encouragement. He rose and ran out of the restaurant, clutching a bunch of rubble he’d stolen as he went. Noel and Eats, huffing and puffing, followed not far behind.

  “What, no tip?” the waiter shouted as they ran past him and exited through the front door.

  “Sorry,” Sean said as they passed him. “We don’t know how to tip, because, uh, we’re British.”

  They dashed onto the street, where the donkey cart and driver were waiting for them in the parking lot.

  “Quick, into the donkey cart,” said Noel as gunfire erupted from behind them.

  However, as they moved to clamber into the back of the cart, which was very troublesome and time-consuming for the fat Eats, a series of green-black armored troop carriers with turreted machine-guns careened around the corner and screeched to a halt in front of the Café de Food. Crisp lettering on the sides identified them as “General OmniAll 6th Customer Satisfaction Guards Infantry.”

  A few dozen troops in very dark green uniforms with face-masks and bandanas poured out of the armored carriers. A leader emerged to take charge of the OmniAll troops. Words on his mask suggested he was the “Head Customer Satisfaction Lieutenant.”

  “Get him!” shouted the leader, whose face mask was coated with some kind of white powder. He pointed at the cart with Sean, Noel, and Eats. “Dead or alive! Actually, dead only!”

  Just then, the anarchists burst out of the front of the Café de Food, toting their weapons.

  “More corporate fascists,” Delroy screamed, pointing at the OmniAll formation. “Kill them!”

  Suddenly, there was a lot of gunfire. Somewhere behind them, there was an explosion as the anarchists fired something like a bazooka at the OmniAll vehicles, causing the customer service infantry to scramble for cover.

  “Quick, get in the cart so we can escape,” Sean said to Eats, struggling to pull him into the cart.

  “Or we could take my Aston Martin,” Eats said, pointing to a beautiful, jet black, sporty car right next to them.

  “That’s crazy talk,” said Noel, and hauled Eats into the cart.

  Noel turned to the driver.

  “Get us out of here!”

  The driver shrugged and cracked the whip of the donkey cart. The donkey started to gallop at speed.

  Behind them, an OmniAll armored vehicle gave chase, spraying bullets towards them from a machine gun turret.

  “Faster! They’re gaining on us!” Sean urged.

  The driver whipped the donkey harder. Behind them, the armored vehicle’s powerful engine roared, and it closed the gap further. Sean could read the lettering on its turret. It said: M2 .50 Caliber Product Excellence Machine Gun.”

  Bullets clattered all around them.

  “I’m going to rev up the donkey’s time-space engine,” shouted Noel over the din of the bullets. “Five, four, three, two, one!”

  They disappeared in a flash of blue light, and a moment later were sitting inside the laboratory. The anarchists and the OmniAll gunners had all vanished.

  “Safe,” Noel said, and high-fived everyone.

  “I heard you talking in there,” said the cart driver. “You did well to find a way to bring back Eats without using force and improve his life. Good job, Sean.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Sean said.

  “Now let’s get him reprogrammed,” said Noel, helping Sean and Eats to their feet. “Put this on.”

  He handed Sean a tinfoil hat.

  “Why do I need this?” Sean asked.

  “Protects you from the brain resonance,” said Noel. “Why do you think crazy bums in the backalleys wear them? Stops the corporate brain rays from reprogramming their minds, just like they say.”

  “Oh, right,” said Sean.

  Noel punched buttons on the side of the brain reprogrammer, exposing a complicated-looking control panel, and sauntered over to the nearby computer terminal where he selected a menu option called “Brain Reprogramming - Preset #1.”

  And then they managed, with much difficulty, to shove Eats into the brain reprogrammer and start the process of turning him into a celebrity chef.

  Chapter 16

  A few minutes later, Noel and Sean were sitting in the managers’ cafeteria and eating. They’d managed to reprogram Eats without a hitch. When he’d come out of the green lightning apparatus, Eats had been absolutely convinced he was a celebrity chef. After the donkey cart driver agreed to take him back to his home, Noel and Sean went to the cafeteria for a real bite to eat, since they hadn’t eaten any actual food at the Café de Food.

  Sean had to admit, the volcanically hot poisonous slop in the Humancorp cafeteria looked a lot more appetizing, though he preferred the egg salad sandwiches.

  By coincidence, Sean and Noel had sat next to Lefty at an otherwise empty table.

  “I don’t know, Lefty,” Sean said as he munched on the egg salad sandwich. “I’m glad we got to help Eats achieve his dreams and all, but I’m starting to worry that working for a company that secretly controls the world and produces people as a permanent underclass while asking me to kidnap certain people and apply powerful electric shocks to their brains is unethical.”

  “It is,” Lefty said. “It’s really, really unethical, but it least it pays well, right?”

  “They’re actually not paying me yet...” Sean said.

  “Oh,” Lefty said. “Then why are you doing it?�
�

  “They said they would pay me a lot if I found all the defective people,” Sean said. “Plus, I don’t like being unemployed, and the company lets me use this great cafeteria.”

  “Yes, and how did you get in here, by the way?” Lefty asked. “This cafeteria is for managers only. People with your paygrade and stench are supposed to eat from the trash can outside.”

  “I stole this,” Sean said, showing him Mullins’ ID card.

  “I thought Mullins seemed a little less identifiable than usual today,” Lefty mused.

  While they talked, Noel had been rooting through his pockets for something.

  “Here. Take this with your food,” he said, and shoved a pill into Sean’s hands. The pill looked a little different from a suicide pill.

  “Is this a suicide pill?” Sean said suspiciously.

  “No, it isn’t,” said Noel.

  “Okay, then,” Sean said, and popped it in his mouth.

  “It’s a suicide placebo,” said Noel.

  Sean spat it out, spluttering wildly.

  “What are you trying to do, kill me?” he asked.

  “Yeah, but you’re not exactly making it easy,” Noel said unhappily. “You’d almost think you want to continue to live. Oh, that reminds me. Lefty, did you see the new packaging for the suicide pills?”

  He took a bottle of pills from out of his pocket and plopped it down onto the desk. The label read: “9 out of 10 physicians recommend Humancorp Brand suicide pills!”

  “That’ll show those cheap OmniAll suicide pill manufacturers who’s boss,” Lefty agreed. “Can you spare one of those, by the way? I might need it for later.”

  “Sure thing,” Noel said, and handed Lefty a pill.

  As Lefty pocketed the pill, the door to the cafeteria swung open and in walked Herman.

  Herman pointed at Sean very imperiously.

  “The supreme commandant summons you,” he told Sean. “Come!”

  Sean shrugged and rose from the table.

  “See you later,” Noel said. “I’ll track down the next defective person while you’re away.”