The Tinfoil Fortress (1) (949 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: Compound_Tales
Rating: 1.67 on 38 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Jack McCallum (View user info) at 2007-05-16 17:29:55 EDT
Note: This story is one of many I call the Compound Tales. The Compound is a covert government agency that specializes in cutting edge science; tracking and surveillance technology, weapons, bioengineering, etc. The agency has been around for a very long time, in different incarnations, has taken part in changing the course of American history more than once, and <whoremode> plays a key role in a novel I wrote a few years back.</whoremode> I'm not trying to sell the book here (thus no link, no title), but I am letting you know that there is a lot more to learn about the Compound... I've written a few short stories related to the Compound (if you are interested, see the links below), and many others that have tenuous or undisclosed links to the agency such as the Four Corners Hole series). I'm working (now and then) on something now that will tie a lot of it together. In the meantime, I play with short stories like this one just to step into that world every once in a while, creating characters and situations that add to the overall history of the Compound. I better stop now before this 'brief note' becomes longer than the fucking story, so... enjoy.
Promptitude http://www.ubersite.com/m/77500
Paper http://www.ubersite.com/m/92325
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The Tinfoil Fortress (Part 1)
A white Chevrolet van pulled over to the curb and stopped on a quiet street. The red and orange leaves of maple trees shifted in a cool breeze. Sunlight broken by the leaves shimmered on the street like gold coins, and fallen leaves skittered across the asphalt.
"What a shithole," Bill Dicks said, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel of the van and choking on the new car smell that seemed to make every other guy he'd ever know cream his jeans. He had the radio on while Lorber played with the toys in the back of the van. 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover was playing, and Dicks thought he might pick up the 8-track if he could find it.
Lorber called out from the back of the van, anger turning his German accent as hard as the skin on an overcooked bratwurst. "Turn zat fahking fah-got scheisse off, you ah-sole!"
Dicks clenched the wheel a moment, and then grabbed the radio dial, searching the AM band for something else. All he got was static and faint voices.
"This place has one goddamned radio station," Dicks said. "Christ almighty. But then, what can I expect in a place called Pucker City? "
Lorber was unzipping a body bag. He stopped and leaned close to Dicks.
"Pucker iss a good Deutsch name."
Dicks kept his mouth shut. This pain in the ass kraut was the worst partner Dicks had ever been teamed with in his fifteen years of service to the Compound, but Lang Lorber was one of the freako geniuses from the Applied Mechanics section and it was rumored that his father had been among the first batch of scientists smuggled out of Germany and away from the clutches of the Nazis back in the early thirties. If that was true, it meant Lorber was one step away from Compound legends like Stiebel and Gund, Eicher and Stern, and Pfaltzer and Schroedecker.
Working for the Compound was a good life. Dicks wanted to stay with them until he retired. He was already teaching his little boy how to shoot. Maybe some day Richard Dicks would be a file closer, just like his daddy.
Lorber went back to his body bags. There was one black rubberized bag on each of the two transport trays, long racks that looked like stacked bunks in a submarine.
Lorber shifted around in back and the van rocked a bit on its springs.
Dicks heard switches being thrown and a low hum came from the back of the van. Lorber was powering up the transmitter. Dicks hated that thing. It made his eyes water and made his teeth ache.
"North Dakota in October," Dicks muttered softly. "Freezing my balls off."
The transmitter hum intensified. Dicks wiped his eyes and ground his teeth and felt the beginnings of a headache. He wished it was twenty years in the future. He was willing to bet that by 1995 the transmitters for the MACs and MIAs would be little handheld things that someone like Lorber could stick in his pocket and take out of the van while someone like Dicks stayed inside waiting for something to go wrong so he could do his job. The only machine he needed to do his work was one of the simplest of all, a Smith & Wesson automatic.
Dicks stared out the window at a neighborhood right out of Leave it to Beaver. The man they were after lived in the yellow bungalow two houses down and across the street. According to the file, the man was considered an oddball recluse by the locals. According to the file...
"This guy's a weirdo," Dicks said.
"Ja," Lorber said. Now that he had cooled down his accent was almost gone. "But not for much longer."
The back doors of the van were opened for a moment, and then closed again.
Dicks heard Lorber settle down in back and begin tinkering with the transmitter. He watched a couple in outdated clothes step away from the van and walk toward the yellow bungalow. He thought that the guy's hair was too short and the skirt and jacket the girl was wearing was ten years out of date, but at least they looked a lot more respectable than the average bearded freako stoner fuck on the streets these days. And the girl had a really nice ass.
---
Edwin Gonus was in his basement workshop bent over a microscope and examining a sample of water from his toilet bowl for leaping anal probe tracking devices when there was a knock on the front door.
He had conceived of the LAPTDs the night before, lying in bed half asleep, and from now on he planned to check his water supply for probes at least twice a day. His logic was simple. If he could think of it, the Compound could think of it, and he used to work for the Compound. There were a lot of minds just like his still working for the covert government agency that specialized in science and technology ("Perversions of science!" Edwin sometimes shouted in his sleep) and he knew that sooner or later they would track him down, using exactly the kind of miniaturized robot probes he was looking for.
The term nanotechnology would not be used for at least another decade, but that was one of many areas of research being explored by the Compound.
No one ever resigned from the Compound. You could be demoted, or transferred, or incarcerated in their hidden penitentiary up in Alaska, but you could never simply quit and walk away. Others had tried, and sooner or later they disappeared or died 'under mysterious circumstances.'
Edwin had walked away from the vast underground facility outside Vienna, Virginia a year ago, and so far he had evaded the file closers looking for him. The fact that his father had died and left his only son a quarter of a million dollars just a few months before Edwin quit made hiding in plain sight easier.
The former Chief of Mobile Technology Research had done everything he could to avoid having his file closed by operatives who were little more than assassins on the Federal payroll.
Edwin was frugal. He prepared his own meals and spent most of his time in his workshop. He preferred to stay home and watch sports or the news to going out on the town and wasting money. His only luxuries were mail order items for his shop.
There was another knock on the door just seconds after the first.
Removing his magnifying headgear, Edwin turned to a bank of monitors showing black and white images of the exterior of his house from a dozen angles. He released an eye-watering yawn. He'd been up late the night before, watching Game 6 of the World Series. He could still hear the clang that was Carlton Fisk's game winning homer striking the foul pole and falling into fair territory.
It was a weekday. Parents were working and their kids were in school. Edwin assumed he would see the postman standing by the front door with a package under his arm. Edwin had electronic parts on order from distributors all over the country.
A man and a woman were standing before his front door. Edwin leaned close to the monitor, studying the grainy black and white image.
"Ken and Barbie," Edwin said. "MAC and MIA."
---
Dicks was looking at a screen as well, watching amber waves of data as he continued to access the Gonus file through his mobile information link with the Compound, a small box mounted under the dash. Lorber had said that the MIL they were using was now being fed to a legitimate information technology firm and that it wouldn't be long before the police had the same hardware.
"Get a load of this," Dicks said. "This Gonus character weighs one-twenty-six and wears glasses with Coke-bottle lenses. He's Mr. Peepers for fuck sake. Why don't we just wait for him to leave the house and take him then?"
"I worked with the man. He is watchful," Lorber said. "He may have taken precautions. And surveillance reports indicate he never leaves that house."
"Damn," Dicks said. "I hope your toys work out then, cause I hate busting in on people's homes. Grabbing someone on the street or in their workplace I can handle. But with homes... you never know what you are going to get."
All Dicks could see was Lorber's back. He heard the man grunt.
"I mean, you could walk into a shotgun blast or a pack of dogs or the smell of cat piss so strong it makes you blind. I remember once I kicked in a door one afternoon and the guy I was after was standing completely naked in front of his TV. There was an I Dream of Jeannie rerun on the tube and he had both hands wrapped around the longest hard-on I've ever seen. He was stabbing it at the screen. He looked like a Samurai."
"Please be quiet," Lorber said.
---
Gonus knew that if he answered the front door, he would be dead. He went to the door of his basement workshop. The door and frame were reinforced with steel bars. He looked up the staircase. There was another harder knock on the front door. He had left the TV on upstairs, and a newsreader was talking about the upcoming trial of Squeaky Fromme, the girl who had tried to assassinate President Ford.
"I'll take the Manson Family over the Compound any day," Gonus said. He closed and locked the basement door, sealing himself inside what he hoped was an impregnable fortress.
--
Dicks moved into the rear of the van and looked over Lorber's shoulder just as the German said, "Enough of this," and played with the twin sets of dials and buttons on the transmitter.
The view on the two screens built into the console showed the world through the eyes of MAC, a Mechanically Autonomous Cyborg, and MIA, a Mechanically Independent Android.
Both machines had virtually identical titanium infrastructures, overlaid with realistic skins of silicone. MAC had well-developed muscles and chest hair, a darkly handsome Italian face, and genitals which mimicked the real thing, although clinical testing had only gone so far, as the Compound operated under unwritten guidelines which included healthy doses of racism and homophobia which, of course, was seen as moral purity and strength. MIA had been tested further. In the early days of the MIA program even then President Kennedy had been given a full demonstration of pert, red-haired, green-eyed MIA's abilities.
"So are the stories true?" Dicks asked. "Did MIA really give JFK a suck-job back in sixty-three?"*
"Shut up," Lorber said. His mother had been a pianist, and he had inherited her slender, fleet fingers. He manipulated dials and worked joysticks, and transmitted new commends to the machines they had sent after Edwin Gonus.
--
Gonus slipped into his chair in front of his monitors just in time to see his front door ripped out of its frame. MAC and MIA stepped into the foyer, and set the door back in place. He didn't hear any footsteps overhead or any sounds on the stairs, since the room was built from the vast hollow of an unfinished Cold War bomb shelter. He did hear the thud of fists against the door. After a dozen hits the wooden veneer had cracked and fallen away from the door and Gonus could see dents in the steel. He could also see that the cement which held the door in place was fracturing.
"Someone has been working overtime on the skeletal pistons," Gonus muttered.
--
"So the plan is what," Dicks said, annoyed that he was kept in the dark about a lot of operational details as he was seen simply as backup muscle in case things went wrong. "They go in and shoot him? Strangle him?"
Lorber chuckled. "Please. He will be punished, and photographs of his remains will be shown to all Compound personnel as a reminder that as much as we reward hard work there is a price to pay for disloyalty. Edwin Gonus is going to be dismembered, torn limb from limb, ripped to pieces. Nothing can stop MAC or MIA."
"Holy shit," Dicks said.
[To be continued]
*For details of the JFK/MIA Fellatio Incident, see 'Made in the U.S.A.'
User Reviews
Submitted by kaos-king (user info) at 2007-06-26 12:07:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I know why you don't camwhore... it's beacuse of the horns.
YOU'RE TEH DEVIL, MCCALLUM!!!
Submitted by Susie_Derkins (user info) at 2007-06-26 11:44:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2007-06-25 20:48:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2007-06-25 20:39:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
We'll be in SF on Friday,Jack.
Shall I call you or should we just meet at the BV on Saturday night, July 7?
I'll be the guy buying tons of cocktails.
Submitted by St_Jimmy (user info) at 2007-06-25 20:12:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2007-05-17 18:27:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2007-05-17 16:55:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I am curious as to why you placed the setting in 1975 - I would think robotic technology would be ridiculously crude.
--
"The Compound is a covert government agency that specializes in cutting edge science; tracking and surveillance technology, weapons, bioengineering, etc. The agency has been around for a very long time..."
They mastered cryogenics in the 1930's and cloning in the 1960's. They've done a lot of shit that is kept secret. If they actually existed ETS would do a conspiracy post about them at least once a month.
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2007-05-17 16:55:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I am curious as to why you placed the setting in 1975 - I would think robotic technology would be ridiculously crude.
Submitted by consuelo212 (user info) at 2007-05-17 15:36:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by DirtyHarry (user info) at 2007-05-17 14:48:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I don't like robots, they scare me. A good read otherwise.
Submitted by Crystle (user info) at 2007-05-17 13:08:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2007-05-17 12:02:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by zwerg (user info) at 2007-05-17 09:16:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
His son's name is Dick Dicks? Oh that's cruel.
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Richard Dicks, actually. He has a pretty big role in Made in the USA, and he gets nicely fucked over.
Submitted by zwerg (user info) at 2007-05-17 09:16:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
His son's name is Dick Dicks? Oh that's cruel.
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2007-05-17 09:02:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2007-05-16 18:57:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by AshK (user info) at 2007-05-16 18:52:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Good read but for the love of <insert something lovable here> why so many leaves in the opening paragraph? Good grief.
--
Answer (1) Originally they were piglets, but the damned paragraph just sounded weird...
A white Chevrolet van pulled over to the curb and stopped on a quiet street. The red and orange piglets of swine trees shifted in a cool breeze. Sunlight broken by the piglets shimmered on the street like gold coins, and fallen piglets skittered across the asphalt.
Answer (2) This is what happens when I edit me.
================
Ahahahahahahaha. Piglets.
Nice story, Jack. I look forward to the future installments.
Submitted by czwij (user info) at 2007-05-17 07:36:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
neat-o, gee willikers
Submitted by c1ndy (user info) at 2007-05-17 05:25:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by lungfish (user info) at 2007-05-17 01:13:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
The mafia was blackmailing Hoover for photos they had of him sucking Tolsen's dick. For years, I thought it was Colson's dick.
rofl
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2007-05-16 22:47:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2007-05-16 22:42:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Bubba has made me re-think my rating.
THANKS, BUBBA. YOU'RE SWELL.
****
You swell, Shlong, a few months after you get ass-fucked, which happens daily.
I'm out for the night. Shlongy has been out for years.
Nite, Jeffy... :)
Submitted by beeltea (user info) at 2007-05-16 22:46:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
well i liked it.
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2007-05-16 22:42:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Bubba has made me re-think my rating.
THANKS, BUBBA. YOU'RE SWELL.
Submitted by Caulaincourt (user info) at 2007-05-16 22:32:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
X-CALIBER!
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2007-05-16 22:16:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by i_can_get_you_a_toe (user info) at 2007-05-16 18:08:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
shlongy and caul are in fine form.
***
Shlongy and Caul are assholes purely for the sake of being obnoxious assholes. Also,
they are idiots of the lowest caliber.
Good story, Jack, as always.
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2007-05-16 20:47:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by i_can_get_you_a_toe (user info) at 2007-05-16 18:08:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
shlongy and caul are in fine form.
THANKS FOR NOTICING.
Submitted by AshK (user info) at 2007-05-16 19:03:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I think there's a piglet tree in my son's bedroom.
Submitted by AshK (user info) at 2007-05-16 19:00:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Still a great read.
One of the things I've missed here.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2007-05-16 18:57:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by AshK (user info) at 2007-05-16 18:52:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Good read but for the love of <insert something lovable here> why so many leaves in the opening paragraph? Good grief.
--
Answer (1) Originally they were piglets, but the damned paragraph just sounded weird...
A white Chevrolet van pulled over to the curb and stopped on a quiet street. The red and orange piglets of swine trees shifted in a cool breeze. Sunlight broken by the piglets shimmered on the street like gold coins, and fallen piglets skittered across the asphalt.
Answer (2) This is what happens when I edit me.
Submitted by AshK (user info) at 2007-05-16 18:52:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Good read but for the love of <insert something lovable here> why so many leaves in the opening paragraph? Good grief.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2007-05-16 18:23:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2007-05-16 18:20:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Is this from your book, or is it new?
I'll read it tomorrow, I've got a meeting to go to now.
--
The book has a shit-ton of flashbacks, but this is new, just playing with that world, expanding it, fleshing out the history.
Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2007-05-16 18:20:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Is this from your book, or is it new?
I'll read it tomorrow, I've got a meeting to go to now.
Submitted by Lib (user info) at 2007-05-16 18:18:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Edwin Gonus was in his basement workshop bent over a microscope and examining a sample of water from his toilet bowl for leaping anal probe tracking devices when there was a knock on the front door.
Thank you
Submitted by i_can_get_you_a_toe (user info) at 2007-05-16 18:08:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
shlongy and caul are in fine form.
Submitted by Caulaincourt (user info) at 2007-05-16 18:02:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2007-05-16 17:35:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Don't care
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why respond?
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2007-05-16 17:57:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
glad you're posting stuff again
Submitted by TimetoDance (user info) at 2007-05-16 17:57:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Agreed.
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2007-05-16 17:51:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
We've needed more fiction like this lately
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2007-05-16 17:51:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
We've needed more fiction like this lately.
Submitted by TimetoDance (user info) at 2007-05-16 17:50:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2007-05-16 17:35:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Don't care
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v
v
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v
Submitted by Caulaincourt (user info) at 2007-05-16 17:32:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
didn't read it
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2007-05-16 17:30:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz