Market Theocracy

Eric Lancaster came up from unconsciousness in layers; gently managed stages designed to reduce shock and disorientation. Godiva, the familiar he had carefully designed and built since the age of six, was an old hand at this. She’d certainly gotten enough practice. A youth spent on the rougher streets of Houston and a long decade as a Charleston soldier for hire had given her the experience to manage something as simple as unconsciousness.

The final stage before full waking was a pleasantly dim space filled with soothing music and warm memories. He called it The Lobby.

Eric, love, I may as well be blunt. Godiva told him. You’re a prisoner.

“Shit.” he muttered.

Calm down. Deseret Union is well known for humane prisoner policies. They’re more interested in ransoms than honor killings. Godiva chuckled. Some claim that’s the main reason they bother with fighting. But I suspect that’s mainly anti-Mormon prejudice.

Eric smiled, but shook his head. “May not be a ransom this time.” he reminded her. “I’ve let my dues to MidAmerican slip in the past month. And Charleston hasn’t bothered insuring grunts since the fuckin’ union insisted on combat bonuses in lieu.”

I said calm down, laddie!

Eric sighed. He hadn’t programmed the stern motherly tone Godiva often adopted, but that was the price for high functioning individual cognitive software: random variations in the personality were a given. Things could be worse, he knew. He had a friend who’s familiar often went off into hour long rants about the Masons. And he knew a gal who’s proxy often did impressions in moments of stress. A little mothering, he figured, was a small price to pay.

I was allowed a half hour of full access, in order to make bond arrangements. she explained. I contacted Meline.

Eric groaned. “You mean you contacted Amelia.”

Godiva’s voice could barely conceal her smirk. Of course. Meline was sleeping. Amelia promised she’d arrange your release as soon as she got the go ahead from her girly.

“Are you two ever going to stop scheming to get us back together?” Eric asked her,knowing the answer.

Certainly not. Godiva said, rather insulted at the suggestion. Are you two ever going to admit that your familiars know what’s good for you and let what’s been obvious since you were both toddlers happen?

“I’m currently at the mercy of Mormons.” he reminded her, darkly. “Can we talk about this later?”

If you please. But her voice had that infuriating Mother-knows-best shading. You ready for reality?

He sighed. “As I’ll ever be. Am I alone?”

Godiva laughed. No. These are Mormons, baby. First they’ll try to convert you. Then they’ll simply make sure your ransom will be paid — all the while making sure you’re comfortable, cheerful and aware of how disgustingly nice they are.

“Better than hot rods and bamboo skewers I guess.”

Marginally. Here we go…

The Lobby faded. Light intensified. Ambient sound intruded. Around Eric Lancaster, the world came out of hiding.

Godiva wasn’t kidding. His warden’s smiling face was looming over him as soon as his vision focused.

“Well welcome to Deseret, Mr. Lancaster!” the voice was annoyingly chipper and scarily sincere. This guy was honestly welcoming a prisoner of war to his happy little community. “I’m Brother Thaddeus. I’ll be your host and liaison.”

Eric attempted an experimental move and discovered that he was completely paralyzed.

“My captor, you mean. Or do you paralyze every guest as a matter of course?”

Thaddeus chuckled, appreciating the joke. “A security precaution, I’m afraid. We’ve had more than a few guests come up from the bed swinging. As soon as you prove you’re civil and cooperative, the stasis will be released and you’ll have full run of the guest dorm.” Thaddeus beamed in such a way that suggested he could not imagine a more enjoyable thing to have full run of.

His captor glanced at a wristcom. Mormon doctrine proscribed implants and familiars. Wearable tech was as state-of-the-art as they got. “Your ransom has actually been paid, so you have little to worry about.” Another glance. “A Miss Meline Kennaly, I see. Girlfriend?” His eyebrow raised to suggest this was a just-us-guys thing.

He took Eric’s silence as a rebuke, actually blushing a little. “None of my business I suppose.”

Eric shrugged. It wasn’t that, really. It was that he himself wasn’t sure what his relationship to Meline Kennaly actually amounted to. Friends, most certainly — they’d practically been raised together in early childhood while Eric’s father served as head of James Kennaly’s security detail. When his father was killed in an attack on headquarters, Eric had run away rather than deal with his grief and confusion. He spent five years on the streets. In that time, the only person he made contact with was Meline, who could always be counted on to lend him cash or a sympathetic ear. After his last stint in City Jail, she’d even helped him get the soldiering job in Charleston.

And, he admitted, he loved the girl. A deep down love and affection he felt for no other living thing. And no non-living thing with the possible exception of Godiva. But girlfriend? Not exactly.

Sometime during this little brood the stasis was lifted. He sat up, joints a bit cramped and skin tingling.

“Care for a bite to eat?” Thaddeus asked. “The cook here does an excellent lunch.”

Eric realized suddenly that he was starving. He thanked his captor, who muttered into the wrist com to order. While they waited, Eric asked the only real question he dreaded.

“So. How did the battle turn out?”

Thaddeus sighed. “Inconclusive, the way these ridiculous border flare ups usually go.” He cocked his head at Eric and, smile drifting a little, asked a question of his own.

“Why on earth would Charleston side with thugs like United Secular Utah? Deseret has never had anything but amiable relations with Charleston or any of the Southern Citystates.”

Lunch arrived — fried chicken and ample sides — and Eric dug in. He shook his head at Thaddeus’ question.

“I’m a grunt, my friend. We don’t get the lowdown on why or what.” He paused to use a napkin. “If I had to guess, I’d say some convoluted treaty bullshit.”

Thaddeus opened his mouth to speak, when the alarm screamed from his wrist.

At the exact moment, Godiva screamed in his head: Incoming! Down Eric!

The world exploded. Eric grabbed Thaddeus and yanked him towards him, rolling off and under the bed, his half finished lunch disintegrating in the blast that took out the facing wall.

“What the hell?” shouted Eric.

Godiva was powering up combat system, enhancing senses and searching feeds desperately for answers.

Don’t know yet, but stay down!

Eric glanced at Thaddeus. He was unconscious and bleeding from a wound on the side of his head, but seemed in decent shape. His vitals were solid and regular.

He chanced a look at the destroyed wall. Smoke and flashes kept him from seeing anything. Vague raised voices, screams, and the sound of gunfire poured in from various directions.

Frying pans and fire, he thought. The life a soldier, eh?

While Godiva swam the infostreams, Eric prepared himself for a fight. He wondered if the guest house had a weapons cache anywhere.

He gently picked his captor up in settled him over his shoulder. For psychological reasons, he grabbed a large chunk of wood. Not much of a weapon, but swingable.

Once more into the breach, he thought. Holding his breath, and cranking his eye implants to max, he stepped through the shattered wall and into bedlam.