Hystopia: A Novel by David Means Read Free Book Online Page A

But you should feel an obligation—no, scratch that. You’ve taken an oath to keep this case to yourself. Anything I say in here can be used against you, so to speak. It would’ve saved me a hell of a lot of time and pain if I’d been trained to see that we’re not a perfect organization. The vision we have as an organization, even our building might seem close to perfect, and certainly we’ve come a long way toward fulfilling our mission, but, again, truth to power, there are points at which the means of war, the problem itself, must be tapped to solve a difficult problem. A man like Rake escapes off into a fury of social nonstructure. He comes to us, his file sealed, as per regulations, and then when we try to enfold him, to give him the best treatment possible—although I’ll be the first to admit that he was one of the early test cases, and his reenactment was down in New Mexico—he doubles his trauma, and as I’m sure you know, from reading your manuals and your early training, a failed enfold simply takes the Causal Events Package and amplifies it. Tripizoid, in the case of a failed enfold, doesn’t allow for the proper state of redress. It’s just a drug, and like all drugs it’s still partly—no, scratch that—it’s still a mystery. You’d know about drugs, I assume. You could tell me plenty.”
    Singleton looked over Klein’s shoulder and out the window and thought about the agent Wendy, who was probably, right now, listening and nodding and making gestures to indicate she was listening. He thought of her up in Relations, hands in her lap, her eyes fixed on her boss. Meanwhile, the building gave off bad vibes that came of its having been endowed by Kennedy in his third term, when secured by his martyrdom (or whatever the fuck you wanted to call it), as part of his Great Hope initiative. Originally built to serve as a transfer point for veterans coming back into the Vetdock programs, the offices consisted of shoddy government-issue wallboard in preconstructed frames, with flickering fluorescent lights and broad windows facing the front of the building. A sense of mission gone haywire inherent in the walls.
    Klein’s bearing had changed little in the last few weeks. He leaned forward and seemed to aim his words at a target down-range. He spoke to his own sense of himself as it related to his own history. He spoke in broad strokes and then tightened—with a slight vibrato—to the details of the case.
    “We think Rake has a history of finding recently treated patients and kidnapping them. We’ve already covered that.” Klein reached out to align the pipes on his rack again, fingering the bowls. “She was released into the Grid with a tacking band and he somehow knew she was coming out of treatment, knew she’d be freshly enfolded, and he showed up there—most likely hiked his way in—around day two after her arrival. He must’ve found his way to a list. The lists are going on the black market, and you know, well, we’ve been through all of this but it won’t hurt to repeat it. You might hear something that triggers an idea, Singleton.” (Klein lifted a pipe from the rack—an absurdly long meerschaum, broken in, tobacco colored—and twiddled it between his fingers. His mouth puckered and he sucked the stem and then put it back and took another pipe, holding it up, explaining that it was a Dublin, beautiful bird’s-eye briar. Then he fixed it, packing, poking, lighting, puffing.) “Her record—I mean the enfolded material—is officially sealed to us, of course. But what we do know is that she was fixed and released with tag.”
    “Yes, sir, tagged.”
    “No, not tagged. With tag.”
    “Yes, sir. With tag.”
    Klein stood up again and moved to the window. Overhead, the building thrummed. Files were held somewhere off facility, locked away, bending against clips, rubber banded and color coded. His own was out there somewhere, Singleton thought, stored in some secure location, loaded