Chapter 29

Dark figures…












































…against the horizon…


















































…reaching out to threaten.


















































Click.


















































Witticker opened his eyes to the ceiling of Edward’s apartment. His back ached and his head rolled. He slowly rolled off the chair that he had slept on the night previously and rubbed at his back and still battle-weary shoulder. He glanced around the room only to find that the his vision still swam in a hazy swirl. He immediately retreated to the refuge of the floor which seemed to be his only source of solid comfort. So close to the ground, Witticker felt vibrations pounding through the floor; becoming progressively louder until, finally, their source appeared in the doorway in the form of Edward.
“Somebody fell into a bottle last night,” chuckled Edward as he wiped the sleep from his eyes.
Witticker blinked at him in rapid succession in an effort to communicate his vibrant earthly pain, but, without any response, pulled himself from the floor with an extended groan.
“Not so much fell as drowned,” grumbled Witticker.
Edward grabbed the remnants of the previous night’s libations and carried them out of the room.
“You ought to clean yourself up a bit before we leave,” yelled Edward from down the hallway. “There’s a cleanser down the hall to your left. Make sure to take off all your clothes though. It’s a bit old and tends to light fabric on fire.”
Witticker popped his head around the corner and noticed a metal door a short way down the hallway. As he walked closer to it he noticed a small plastic sign hanging on the handle of the door. It advertised the words “Check your Clothes at the Door” and featured a small figure of a man engulfed in flames. Witticker noticed a hook, presumably meant for his clothing, off to the side of the door. A small curtain hung on one side of the hallway and, upon further investigation, Witticker found that it extended the length of the hall. Having not bathed since the beginning of his trip he shed his resolve and, after removing his clothing, hopped into the metal container.
As the door clicked behind him a small light activated at the top of the closet-like room. He looked for the shower nozzle and hot and cold water toggles, but found only a small panel on the wall, falling at his midsection, that blinked whenever he moved. He bent over to look into the blinking panel, contorting himself awkwardly in the small closet. As he peered into the surface it lit up with three options, ‘moderate’, ‘deep cleanse’, and ‘manual’. Witticker knew better than to trust himself operating whatever might come out to clean him, thus ruling out any ‘manual’ option. Left with only two options Witticker conducted a brief self-examination and upon concluding that he was rather filthy resolved that a ‘deep cleanse’ was necessary. As he pressed the button the panel went dark and the room began to hum quietly. Witticker stood clenched in fear, frozen like a rabbit in an open field; being both safe and exposed at the same time.
Suddenly a sharp blast of pressure hit him from the left.
Then the right.
Then in every direction all at once.
The pressure was not so strong as to push him in any one direction, but instead gusted at him like a stationary fan. Witticker breathed a sigh of relief as the gusts of air gently pressed at his body. Suddenly there was a prolonged beep from the panel. Witticker turned leisurely to see it blinking red, highlighting the words ‘HOLD ON’.

*~~*

Edward stood in his kitchen running the glasses of the previous night under the faucet. Immediately visible outside the window, adjacent to the sink, was a large tub that collected rainwater. Edward stared at the surface of the water in the tub, sparkling and bubbling in the sun, when a prolonged scream came from the cleanser down the hall. He ran to the hall to see the cleanser door flung open and a naked Witticker hanging on the curtain, gasping for breath.
“Everything okay?” asked Edward.
Witticker glared at Edward.
“Hold on! It said ‘hold on’ and then shot me around that closet like a ragdoll.”
Edward’s eyes suddenly widened and he hopped over Witticker into the cleanser.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’d been meaning to get that fixed, but things have been a little busier than normal. There are usually two handles hanging from the ceiling, but I removed them for an experiment I had in…”
Edward stopped short realizing that Witticker was in no mood to hear about his project and had, in fact, stopped listening.
“What exactly is this cleanser? Where I come from we clean with water and soap. Did I miss a step somewhere?”
“Yes,” answered Edward matter-of-factly, “during the Great Decline there were several instances of water contamination and the use of large scale water reservoirs was abandoned. When the relief centers were established the government introduced sonic wave cleansing as a new means of mass hygiene. It provided the utility to clean large amounts of people quickly ensuring that disease wouldn’t break out and eliminate an entire center. Savvy manufacturers still able to produce any kind of hardware started to build the cleansers into shower stalls, but found that without a metal container the waves could burst into a person’s home and set any fabric on fire due to a reaction known as the Priley effect. Usually the waves aren’t that raucous, but you must have asked for a deep cleanse. Do you feel any better?”
Witticker rubbed at his arms and to his surprise they felt much softer than they had before; not only clean, but moisturized.
“Yeah, I guess I’m better,” said Witticker as he reached for his tattered blue shirt. Edward watched him pull the beaten cloth over his head.
“Do you have some connection with this clothing that I should know about?” queried Edward, “because these rags are going to attract a lot more attention than either of us need.”
“Well,” said Witticker blankly, “these are all I have. I hadn’t banked being on the run so…”
Edward nodded his head in understanding, clicked his fingers in the air, and turned to walk in the other direction.
“Come with me. It’s time to suit you up.”

*~~*

Five minutes later Witticker stood standing in a gray plastic-like jumpsuit in the middle of Edward’s living room.
“So you see,” said Edward as he lit a cigarette in the corner of the room, “the need for more than one set of clothing is no longer necessary. This material, flexomat, was developed to respond to the electromagnetic signals of a device known as a sur…”
“Surface pen,” said Witticker in a regretful monotone drawl, “I know about those. I have one in my briefcase.”
Witticker pointed to his open briefcase in the next room.
“Oh, good,” said Edward as he walked towards the container, “You usually have to key a surface pen to someone’s DNA, but it looks as if that’s one more thing your benefactor took care of for you.”
Edward clicked the end of the pen three times and the tiny gadget began to hum. He handed the pen to Witticker who took it hesitantly, holding it away from himself as if it were on fire.
“Now,” started Edward, “just imagine what you want the material to shift to and the pen will read the transmission from your head and transmit that idea, by touch, to the material. In other words, imagine what you want to wear and it the suit will shift to match.”
Witticker closed his eyes and imagined the outfit he wore when he left the farmhouse. Slowly, he brought the pen closer, lightly tapping it on his left shoulder. He opened his eyes and was amazed to see an exact reproduction of the outfit he had just left behind near the cleanser, devoid of the wear and tear it had previously suffered.
“Not bad,” said Edward skeptically, “but you might want to choose something a little more contemporary.”
Witticker shook his head at Edward communicating a lack of an appropriate model.
“Here,” said Edward as he reached into the bookshelf and brought out the white box, “like this.”
Edward moved his fingers quickly across the screen and a picture appeared of a man dressed in a black suit with a bright blue collared shirt underneath.
Witticker winced disapprovingly at Edward.
Edward moved his fingers again and pointed to another picture on the screen of a man with brown painter’s pants and a white button-front held together with a black belt.
Witticker, weary of his decision, closed his eyes and clicked the pen.
One.
Two.
Three.