Chapter Thirty-Four: Fear

From where you are sitting you can see things about Tedford and Krystal that only you can perceive. You have the entire backseat of the vehicle to yourself; and though you could certainly drive if you had wanted to--undoubtedly the skill is in your past, ready to be tapped if need required--you have elected not to. Driving involves concentration, and at this moment you need to focus your energies. You have given your instructions to drive--over the train tracks, towards the river, then west to Idlewild Park, "We need to wait for someone there"--and then you sat back for the relatively short journey.

Their nervousness envigorates you; the emotion of fear acts as a stimulant to you; it is citric, acidic, cold. If you only knew what your fear looked like, you want to tell them. Her fear is different than his: it is more electric, more volatile. She sits in the passenger's seat, gazing out of the window listlessly. She is nervously picking at whatever matter lies beneath her fingernails; perhaps there is nothing there; perhaps it is simply a nervous habit. She emanates rays of energy that feed you; it leaves behind a trace that you could follow if you needed to. You can see the trail of poison flowing through her, taking up position in the organs of her respiratory system, preparing to strike at the appointed time and shut everything down. It is not the toxin that generates this overpowering fear, it is the unknown, it is the impending pain that causes her to sweat and nervously tug at her fingernails.

His fear is much more tempered. It is coupled with rage, which adds an overtone of bitter to the acid of fear. You are enjoying the brief moments you get to study him--it is so unusual to find one like him; a Drone who successfully detatched and who for so long evaded the tracking powers of the Hive. It is as if you can see, well, severed limbs or lopped off branches radiating out from his body--what a firehose might look like at full blast but with no one to restrain it, or what a headless snake might look like, thrashing about spurting dark blood. When you look at Tedford with your Hive eyes you can see these truncated beams everywhere. What did you do to yourself? you want to ask him. How did you leave? In him you can also see the trails of poison circulating within; because of his greater mass you had to administer more than you had expected, and you barely had enough to drop into her drink to make these two your unwilling captives.

You did not know Tedford when he was a Drone; you don't really differentiate as a Drone. You are all one mass, an entity; your individuality is simply as a cell in a larger body. You have no name, you do not even have a designation. You do what you do because you know, because you are directed, because you have no choice, because you know no other reality. You have discretion, but you have no choice.

The park comes into view up ahead. Tedford finds a place to park, and you all step out into the bright sun. Tedford wants to know where now--you indicate a shaded area. There is a bench there. You take your time to walk, and you walk behind them. A breeze blows into your face and you can see the trails of fear skimming off Krystal's hair, skin, and clothes; Tedford's as well. They are united in a fear of a painful death, and they don't even yet know why. You can sense by the vibrations they send out unconsciously that they want to ask; they need confirmation. Tedford wants to know what you will do to him; he has also contemplated running. He could surely outrun you, and her, and he has on his person a large stash of money. He would probably even try to overpower you if he thought he could determine how to determine where the antitode was. But it is the fear that both nourishes you and keeps them in control, and you are not about to release either of them from it.

You watch as they take seats; there is only enough room for two. You do not protest; you elect to stand anyway. It is only a matter of time now before the others arrive. They will be drawn here--they won't know why, or they will formulate their own rationale, whatever it may be. They will come here; no choice. You are born into a world where the illusion of choice is such a powerful intoxicant--it is so useful at making things happen and allowing people to believe that they act under the power of their own volition. Nothing could be farther from the truth. It is not that things are predetermine; no, that's too simple. The fact is that human will is a commodity, an instrument that needs only the right player to take control and use. Just as Tedford and Krystal move according to your direction, so too do you move according to the dictates of the Hive.

He looks over to you, and you look back. You might have even smiled, although if you had it was far too brief for him to notice. His gaze drifts north over the river towards the city. He's thinking, you can tell, and wondering: Where is the antidote? He might try to tackle you after all; the park is sparsely crowded. The level of fear shifts and shimmers. It nourishes you more. You, on the other hand, do not fear--because you do not have the capacity to fear. And because you know that even should he tackle you he will never find what you are looking for.

Because there is no antidote.