Slavhood: An Übernatorial Adventure

Steph has a run-in with the ultra powerful ubermensch, who don’t like being recorded in town.

Slavhood: An Übernatorial Adventure

Steph wasn’t paying attention. Like his coursework, the recording remained incomplete for hours. When he finally visualized what he wanted, it wasn’t through a massive effort of focus, or great inspiration. He just started. Six or eight houses full of people would watch him (Steph’s entire town), but everything else was against him in the first hours.

The music played too loud in his room, so he turned it down.

The windows blew wind through them, so he closed them.

Then he was hot.

Having taken a drink of water, misted himself, taken off his socks, loosened his watch, brushed his teeth, clipped his fingernails, readjusted the volume, and reopened the windows, he started.

The test was how well he worked under pressure. The first people started trickling in to view his house feed, and he thought it was like pissing in public.

He never pissed in public.

He needed to pace himself, so he went through his routine again, starting with the volume and ending with the windows.

The task was fruitless for a long time.

To make a recording required a level of responsibility above the average Slav, so Steph never gave away his constant capturing of audio and video in the house. The other Slavs were aware of the webcams and disguised microphones, but only knew they were for communication, and not an eternal logging of what they said and did. None of these devices ever left, but he placed other recording devices among the neighborhood houses like his friend Jordan’s (the Slav’s). The subversive phone calls were only part of their purpose.

Larger microphones in cell phone towers picked up everything else.

The cell phone tower between Steph and Elle was a futuristic bunker for giant men and not their miniature counterparts, or Steph, to access. Microphones, video capture devices, and data scrapers were all attached at their top like engineered lollipops, unrecognizable as essential nodes of a life under surveillance. Steph was really just fighting back.

He constantly bought new micro SD cards to store all the recorded files, filling a shoebox of neighborhood sounds and visitations with flash memory chips like confetti or buckshot. Taking one of those to the brain might be fatal to a regular woman, but the ubermensch in town was probably a compatible micro SD card reader. Under-the-hood cyborg parts were often based on consumer electronics, she said.

It was called representing the consumer in the ubermensch body (the very body which was 50% invisible, as it slipped into other dimensions).

She was hiding down the street.

“You are my clone, and beyond that nothing else should be thought of,” she said. “I married you because I created you. I love you, but you’re a clone above all.”

Steph believed her claim excluded itself, simply because it came from her. If she said he must be a clone (his friends, too) then it must not be true. This was like Jordan’s theory, that Elle created an opposite universe to the one she claimed to see into and she really came from hell.

“You’re coming to heaven with me,” she said. “But only if you admit you’re a Slav.”

Steph stepped away from the monitor where he viewed her, and touched the master volume down. He was still recording, but for moments like these he wanted to delay the feed, and process it in chunks. He would then send a video file in an email with his response. This was how he had control.

He turned off the lights, and unplugged the microphones, and sat on the floor between his kitchen and living room, and whispered to his smartphone:

“I’m a dirty Slav.”

She would say, “of course you are! You’re identical to your friends, but more so you’re identical to me, because your friend’s genome was copied from mine, and yours from mine, but not yours from theirs. And by the way, you’re infertile.”

He called it a prediction.

“I’m admitting I’m a Slav so I can go to heaven with my host, Elle. All of my friends and I are clones of her. We must do what she says, or we will be killed. This is Steph Argyle. My phone number is nine one eight five five five five five five four.”

She was going forward with a plan incredibly quick since her return to Ada, Oklahoma. The entire population had a history with Elle. Like a giant, she could control their realities into happy or sad lives. She could even do this remotely, from hiding, and she didn’t need tools to do it. With her mind, she could affect the behavior and thoughts of the locals. Steph ended this last time by recording everything.

Any kind of evidence she had powers was contraband. She left town a year ago when he tapped into the cell phone tower microphone and broadcasted it in a live feed on Google hangout. A grenade had gone off during the broadcast, and like shrapnel, she jetset out of town.

Now she owned the cell phone company.

He sent the recording to her encrypted email, and in moments the notification pushed through his entire house, lighting up each device. I got it! Thanks Steph. I really think this new identity is good for you.

Steph reactivated his communication line to Elle and his friends and took his medication right in front of them.

“You guys know I could die if I didn’t take this stuff, don’t you?” he said to the air in front of him, and lifted his head back and swallowed the pill.

Jordan welcomed him to Slav-hood by sending a copy of Wikipedia’s article on American surveillance. “In Croatia, we will have privacy.”

“You mean in heaven, we will have to keep secrets,” Steph said.

After his quip’s electronic conversion from his mouth, to the air in front of him, through the microphone, and out of her speakers, Elle took his electrical power out so the others would think she was punishing him. It was a kind of vacation for Steph, who waited patiently in the darkness.

Elle liked Steph personally, because he was an intelligent dopehead, unlike the others, and until then, he hadn’t been initiated into the Slavic mindset.

Her attention would mean he had to fight the American cops, and deal with whatever mind-warp she put the other Slavs through.

Power returned, and she was talking about him on the screens.

“...That kind of lip ever again. Hello, are you back Steph? I’m coming over and taking you on my motorcycle. Let’s say, I don’t have much time. But it doesn’t really matter, because I’ve already won. It’s been predicted. You’re the sacrifice. And you’re a Slav? Of course you are. You’re identical to your friends, but more so you’re identical to me, because your friend’s genome was copied from mine, and yours from mine, but not yours from theirs. And by the way, you’re infertile.”

The mind-warp had started.

“I knew you were going to say that,” Steph said.

“Curious. Maybe you’re more ubermensch than we all thought,” Elle said. “Do you often predict the future?”

“No.”

Here it comes.

“I guess you don’t have your own private universe, either. We ubermensch are superior to the Slav in every way. I have unlimited power. I’m also a creative genius.”

She was weak in her narcissism. There was no way to take advantage of it, however, without getting an earful of white supremacist diatribe. No weakness could be allowed to ruin her. As she said, she was too important in her own country.

Her job as invader was too important to show any kind of weakness.

“If you’re going to keep thinking about me, try to remember whatever is going through your head so I can ram it back down your brainstem at the end of your life,” she said.

“Darling. Darling,” Jordan quickly said during the video conference call. “Steph isn’t thinking about you at all. Isn’t that right, Steph?” His tone was like a desperate father, watching his kids being eaten.

“Yes, exactly.”

“Darling? That’s working for you, Jordan. Keep it up.” She rose from her bed and showed them her scaly body through the feed.

Steph had a few minutes before her abduction. He raised the sensitivity on the microphones, locked his door, and waited on the porch for her motorcycle.

“I thought you were hiding,” he said upon her arrival, squinting in the sun and noticing her completely altered physical appearance. She was a shapeshifter.

“I’m leaving, and you’re coming with me to the capitol.”

Last time, Jeremy had been chosen to picket at the state capitol. He stood on the steps of the domed building for six days to advocate for the Slavic pantheon: in particular, he asked for a statue of *Radegast* be constructed beside the American flag. He was told the Slavic god *Radegast* had nothing to do with state history. The officials were mistaken in their assumption *Radegast* was a Satanic demon, and Jeremy himself a Satanist.

For Steph, returning from such an adventure with Elle would mean the local Americans would hate him, just as they hated Jeremy for his picketing. Some would be frightened, and Steph would be another scapegoat--blamed for the invading Croatians.

He would be better off accepting the Croatian part of himself, and salving away his American identity. He could move to Croatia, where Elle was a charismatic, if anarchistic, leader. But the reality is that she would bring him to a town much like Ada, where he would live exactly as he did then.

The world was a homogenous globe, after all.

He boarded the rear passenger seat of the motorcycle, and she sped north, towards Oklahoma City.

* * *

Leaning out, beneath the blades, ubermensch Rog dropped the payload from the helicopter. A spotlight streamed downward, and illuminated a splash below. Then the payload sank, and the helicopter roved forward.

In the payload was a collection of recordings, stored on scores of micro SD cards, of a Slav and his friends. The evidence--destroyed evidence, thought Rog--of the ubermensch Elle and her abilities sank to the bottom of the lake, where they could be found again, in the case of total victory. For now, the contraband was irretrievable.

* * *

When they arrived, she had changed form again. She appeared brunette, short and thin, with terrible posture (possibly an effect caused by hiding most of her body inside her clothes). Her voice was like a crisp horn played by a master horn-player. Steph imagined her in bed, and a hot guilty feeling rushed over him.

She garaged the bike in one of the public parking areas owned by the Croatians, and she and Steph set foot through downtown Oklahoma City.

“The other ubermensch should be arriving any moment,” she said. “He’s a freaking hunk.”

Steph trailed behind her, trying not to step on any cracks in the pavement. A straight shot between huge office buildings led them to the capitol grounds. Why did they make this place so vulnerable?

Chopper, chopper, chopper, was heard above them. The sound of wind was growing louder. A flock of birds took off from the dome, and behind the birds a chopper appeared. It skirted the rows of manicured bushes and descended to the ground fifty feet at most from Steph and Elle. A titanic man exited the side of the craft, that rose back into the air as soon as he had both feet on the ground. He gave an okay signal to the pilot with thumb and index finger.

The two ubermensch welcomed each other gladly. A double thumbs up!

Steph smiled when he heard their Croatian words, and did nothing but stand on the grass.

“And my Slav here is going to do it for us,” she said, finishing in English. “His name is Steph.”

She imitated a baby face, puckering her lips.

“He won’t be a flirt, right?” Rog said.

“No, your excellence. I am straight,” Steph said.

Rog granted him a look of amusement. “That’s working for you.”

He was carrying a backpack, that he unzipped to show off his cameras, microphones, and data scrapers.

“If you get in trouble, just press this alarm button,” Rog said, placing a lapel pin on Steph’s collar.

If Steph pressed the button, he would probably die. Alarm was met with little tolerance, and the subsequent grenading if he reported a threat would most likely destroy an entire wing of the capitol building.

“I don’t plan to. I’m going to plant these devices in the building? Is there a tour? Do I have a particular target? And, I’ll need to know, do they suspect me for any reason?”

Rog buzzed his lips. “Yes to all those questions! Now get going, Slav.”

Elle greeted Rog again with raised arms and the two began speaking in Croatian.

The job might only take one day if Steph could find a morning tour. He spotted a schoolbus but ruled that out. His appearance was grungy, his hair was dirty, and he needed a bath, so he set back towards downtown, leaving the ubermensch (who were becoming more invisible) on the lawn.

Moments like these gave Steph a feeling of total slavery, watching the ones who hadn’t lost their freedoms yet live their daily lives. Seeing how any one of them could rescue him simply by allowing him a ride in his car out of the state brought a conflict to his brain: if he escaped, he would be on the run forever.

And after that, everyone who helped him would have to hide. Even the unsuspecting American whose car he jumped in (especially them) would be in danger. The mindset of the responsible Slav convert was that he must never escape, on account of collateral damage that would follow such a feat.

Elle called it jumping, claiming that was what they must do, in a stupid attempt at reverse psychology all his friends believed. Steph knew she was taunting them, daring her Slavs to mutiny, to kill their hope.

The car he saw had room for three passengers. He could lie in the backseat, and not be found for at least ten minutes. Then, presumably, a missile would come to disintegrate half the block.

He found a public bathroom in the lobby of a law building and cleaned up using soap. After a few latherings of his hair and face, he dried off and started at a fresh pace towards the capitol with Rog’s backpack.

A hand grabbed him, and pushed him to the ground. It appeared to the pedestrians as if he had tripped. The two ubermensch voices echoed in his mind, yelling in Croatian. No one else could hear their anger, their out-of-control screaming.

He was going to be a sacrifice, after all.

He picked himself up and returned to a brisk pace towards the capitol. In one-half mile, he would need to devise a plan to save his life.

The ubermensch regularly made public sacrifices. Converts or politicians, or even housewives, were abducted and tortured. The feed was sent to targeted governments, who could do basically nothing but attempt to bargain for a ransom. Always the victim disappeared on footage, presumably into another dimension from whence they never escaped.

This was the precursor to such an event, and Steph was the going to be the victim.

The voices started coming in English, of Elle and Rog:

“Voodoo! Voodoo!”

Then the masculine version: “Voodoo! Voodoo!”

“Try to get someone to help you in the capitol, Slav,” Elle’s ephemeral voice told him. Steph was walking so briskly that he tripped when the curb dropped. The ubermensch laughter came strong.

He righted himself and stepped across the lawn, feeling the ubermensch presence go away. The two would stay behind, not following him, cloaked, into the capitol. He jogged up the steps and through a double-door. The scene inside was decadent:

Overhead was a mezzanine of suited men, and above them the golden dome reflected sun to a golden atrium, also covered with suited men, striding among each other and speaking on cell phones, to deal with the business of governing Steph’s state.

In the center of the floor, a gaggle of more artistic-looking people (in slimmer suits, with more creative ties) congregated, presenting themselves to a crew with cameras labelled “News 9”. A red carpet ran from the center to a door at the edge of the inner dome, crowded by more traditional-looking men and women (a crowd of Americans).

The sound of the throng was lush and rich with conversations and laughs of happy people awaiting something grand.

Steph kept to the edge of the crowd, and walked around to the other side, in front of the news cameras. The men on the mezzanine were pointing at him, as if he stood out: he was younger, more guarded. One person smiled at him from above, and nodded warmly.

The artists announced the governor would be making an appearance, and on cue emerged James Ghount, governor of Oklahoma, from the doorway at the end of the red carpet. The crowd knocked at the ropes, and used their smartphones to capture the man’s familiar face. He was smiling and waving at them all.

Steph watched the entrance in suspicion. Elle could walk through the doors and drag him out of here to be tortured at any moment.

The governor checked his bowtie with one hand, then began his speech:

“Welcome to the capitol, everyone.” A group of young students had to be hushed in their excitement.

“And give thanks to the band, Remarkability, for hosting this special occasion. As you all know, the Croatians have begun a hostile takeover of Midwestern states, including Oklahoma.”

Booing came from all around.

“They’re invading us!” someone shouted.

Steph chuckled. If only they knew!

“Many of the elite spies attacking us have not been identified, and, lest I panic you, I will refrain from iterating our suspicions of what they are capable of doing to our government. For now, let us reflect on the value of our lives, and continued freedoms as Americans.” He paused and bowed his head for a moment.

“Thank you. Now let us begin with the announcement.

“We have discovered a ploy the Croatians use to work against us.”

Steph felt Elle’s presence. I hear everything, Slav, he heard in his mind.

“The spies are recruiting our good young adults into a secret military group, known as Slavs. Unfortunately, most of these youngsters are totally unable to fight back, and face death or extreme danger if they don’t comply. We became aware of this just hours ago.

“Now, if you thought we cared for young Oklahomans, you would suspect that we would be taking great measures to prevent any new recruits join the Croatian subterfuge group, and you’d be right. But, first, I’d like to explain just how horrible the situation really is.” He paused and took a breath, a moment to brace the crowd for the news.

“In this group, there is a Slav.”

The crowd, both on the floor and in the mezzanine, issued a collective gasp for air.

Steph was collecting himself after the governor’s statement when he noticed no one looking his way. No one suspected him at all--possibly not even the man who’d pointed to him, who was gone now.

“And as I have said, that person is in grave danger, and so I’d like for him to please step forward and allow us to give him some help. Are we all going to try our best to help him, as Oklahomans?”

The crowd half-cheered, still shocked.

There was no way Steph was going to tell them who he was, if the governor even meant him. Absolutely no way.

Do it, Elle whispered to his brain. The governor wants you to escape.

He heard Rog laughing with distinct terror.

“I’m sorry, has no one come forward yet?” the governor said. “Okay, we have a plan to give him some help, anyway. With the destruction of over half of all American satellites by the Croatians, it’s possible to make mistakes in these matters. Would the Remarkability band please begin the intermission? If the Slav is here, we’d like him to quietly approach one of the government workers, and we’ll let him know we’re here to help.”

One of the creative-looking men approached the microphone and said, “Sure thing, gov! Let’s show ‘em what we got, boys.”

The song was especially bright and beautiful to Steph, who wandered about the crowd with a zombie-like shuffle.

The sun reached the top of the dome when Steph heard the final note. Invigorated, he briefly considered giving Elle away. It wouldn’t work; he couldn’t escape in time.

The entire building could explode if that happened.

After the intermission, the singer told the group, smaller now, that the governor was going to speak.

“Thank you, Remarkability. Wasn’t that nice, ya’ll? Give them a hand. Alright, on to more pressing matters. Did we help anyone out yet? I’m getting the no signal from security. That won’t do.” The governor seemed to become more agitated, flapping his arms. “This won’t be a big matter, then. We may have been mistaken about the presence of one of the recruits here at the capitol.”

Steph ruled out speaking up and made a path away from the group to deliver his payload. If he could stick the microphones in the trashcans, and the cameras under tables, he would be done and able to ride with Elle back to Ada. Even better, he wanted to take the helicopter home.

“See, we think this recruit may have some kind of evidence that would help us, too. We want to help him most of all, but, if he doesn’t want to help himself, there isn’t much to say for it. However, we do need this evidence very much. It may help us survive this predicament we all find ourselves in.”

Steph, moseying around a corner, reached for his backpack. When he unzipped it, a handful of micro SD cards fell out.

You are not a clone.

He felt the confetti of micro SD cards. He looked at the details on one and saw it was from his house.

“...You are not alone, kid,” the governor said. “Please, if you’re here, I have a few urgent matters I must attend to and need you to come forward. Has anyone here been recruited by a Croatian spy?”

Steph needed to get out of sight before someone spotted him as a Slav. He dropped the media into his backpack and continued down the tapestried wall.

The chopper sound was faint but distinctly growing louder. He approached a window and saw it above the capitol, lowering itself. At the side was Rog, gripping a huge rifle. He raised the gun, and Steph dropped below the windowsill. Bam!

The window shattered into glass shards. Steph pressed the alarm on his collar.

Run down the hall as quickly as you can.

Elle’s voice led him safely back to the inner dome, where the governor was surrounded by security, and nearly being carried to the doorway at the end of the red carpet.

In moments of mass confusion and panic, Steph learned he was incredibly calm and able to solve problems. It could be the intensity of his experiences in Ada that hardened him, but then, he was fine.

“I’m the Slav!” he called to the security personnel.

An agent was directed over to Steph, and briefed him quickly. “We need to leave with the governor.”

An explosion shook dust from the highest part of the dome.

Steph followed the agent to the door that led to a safe room where he was allowed to stop running. The governor was on his smartphone, helping coordinate an evacuation of the capitol.

Elle’s voice came through pure and strong.

“I told you I loved you and I do. This is our goodbye. Don’t be afraid to show the government your files. I was impressed with the recordings, especially the ones you edited of me in the nude.

“I switched backpacks when you were knocked down. In fact, I’ve made copies of the files, and there is no security risk to Croatia. This has been a peace protest, ordained by the people of Croatia and America.

“And most of all, a tribute to my wonderful self.”

She had allowed him to escape out of her own narcissism. She wanted to force the government to process thousands of hours of recordings of her.

“Can you say, total victory?”

Steph had proved irresponsible in his recording of the world.

Jordan JonesCopyright 2014