The REDACTED History of The Candelas was a treasure trove of potentially useful information. The chapter on our crumbling infrastructure provided a lot of insight into the motives behind the attack at Lyon Flats Hospital. This excerpt was particularly alarming:
Jefferson, who according to the book was the first of the Keyholders, once famously said that the tree of liberty must periodically be refreshed with the blood of patriots and tyrants. Interesting how he mentioned the two in the same breath. This was in a letter to one Mr. William Smith.
If we read his entire letter, Jefferson operates under the expectation of an ill-informed populace and says that the Revolution was born of ignorance, but immediately after calls for a rebellion every twenty years. And what have we seen?
The Candelas keep We the Ignorant perpetually fighting each other for scraps to distract us from the fact that they own everything – whether it’s Thomas Jefferson yesterday or Hyam Koros today.
The Redacted History of The Candelas – Chapter 2: Cracks in the Infrastructure (p. 34)
I then compared this to the actual letter. It is somewhat difficult to read, but Jefferson seems to be saying that, to the degree that a rebellion is borne of misinformation, it is the leadership’s responsibility to set the record straight – pretty much the opposite of the author’s interpretation.
Gateau goes on to claim that the Candelas’ mission is to prevent global warming by drastically reducing the human population. The alleged Keyholder is oil tycoon and political megadonor Hyam Koros, who gets politicians on both sides to feign support for Israel in order to instigate a war with its neighbors, eventually leading to an all-out nuclear war and subsequent global cooling. In the thirty years since the book was written, the gates of hell have yet to open, and Koros died two years ago at the age of 98.
The one thing that the author may be right about is the prevalence of ignorance. Just turn on the news and watch the discourse around the events at Lyon Flats General Hospital. A story about how a fire alarm technician outsmarting a mad doctor outsmarting a bad hospital was spun into a bitter healthcare debate. Firestone, the likely Candelas operative, had gotten exactly what he wanted.
Any of this ring a bell?
They worshiped me as a god, you know.
Not even a bit. Electricity was too busy lamenting his own downfall. The once mighty being, whose properties were attributed to deities like Thor and Zeus – the king of the Greek gods, mind you – had become a mere commodity whose greatness society no longer appreciates. A public utility!
Yep, it was already Saturday. Time flies when you’re sitting at home doing nothing. But now, every minute felt like an hour, so I decided to spend the rest of my time-distorted afternoon on the computer. I’d start by checking the Fire Alarm Bulletin for replies to stuff I posted these past few days about the Candelas and their spooky symbol.
The Fire Alarm Bulletin – General Discussion
Topic – Web of Enlightenment???
Hey, guys. Have you guys been noticing graffiti that looks like this in your town? It’s all over the place here.
inspectorsands – 2 days ago
Seen it a couple times in Boston. Damn candelas are everywhere lol
hydratronixtechnician – Today
Did some reading, and it’s listed as a hate symbol. Let’s stop it with all the memes, people.
EarlPonies – Today
Wow, the media must really not want us to have a good laugh. Who’s using it as a hate symbol?
inspectorsands – A few seconds ago
Inspectorsands, we’ve talked to you about getting political on here. This is a fire alarm website.
Topic locked due to irrelevance.
MainframeFireSystem – Just now
I was about to have a meltdown. Making one crack at the media was hardly political. And even if it was, the media gets dunked on all the time by both sides. There must be more to this.
Before I had the chance to type the rest into the address bar, the strobe in my room began to flash – but no horn. Yumi must need me for something, I thought.
Sparky?! Earth to Sparky! Your attention, please!
Don't you know it's rude to flash people? What do you want, Yumi?
What do you mean? I've been reading this whole time.
Sparky, I'm a simulacrum created by a male. My advice is no substitute for that of a real human female.
You sound even more like a woman right now than you think. Come on, Yumi. It'll be fun!
Oh, all right.
I sat down in front of her display at the kitchen counter, and grabbed a bowl of cherries – and another for the pits. (You’d think we’d have pitless cherries by now, but science says it’s impossible.)
One of the first things Yumi wanted to know was the location of the date, and was dismayed to hear that it was a nightclub. Being a life safety system, she made me promise not to drink too much – which was easy, since I don’t drink. And to hail a rideshare if I somehow got drunk, yada yada.
The next part of the lecture covered communication. According to Yumi, females liked definitive answers. The guy should have a place in mind instead of waiting for the woman to think of one. And have a set arrival time.
Now, I was worried. It was Svetlana who suggested the nightclub after shooting down my idea to go to the amusement park for opening day. She also hadn’t texted me back to agree on a time, something I had chalked up to being busy.
I changed out of my pajamas, and into a handsome, plaid button-down shirt which I tucked neatly into my ironed khakis. Then, I dusted off my dress shoes, and gave them a quick polish. Finally, I fixed up my hair real nice and looked in the mirror.
Ack!
I took Electricity’s advice, and decided to swap my current get-up for a blue sweater and some dark jeans. The transformation was shocking, and the man in the mirror was as smooth as filtered DC.
I'd date me.
I said goodbye to Yumi and hopped in the Sparkymobile, making sure everything was perfect before taking off. Fuel gauge was at half, headlights were on. Parking brake was disengaged, and the car was spotless as always.
But I’d spent so much time perfecting my appearance that it was already 10 minutes to 8 PM. And Yumi’s grim prognosis was giving me cold feet about the whole thing. Halfway down my own street, and I had gotten so jittery that I had to pull over.
What do you mean, take the wheel?!
A tingling sensation overcame my body, and my eyes began to glow in the rear-view mirror, changing from deep blue to an icy cyan. Imagine the feeling of being the driver of a car but a passenger in your own body.
We bolted through the intersection the moment the light turned green, scaring away the car that was about to make a right-on-red while I could do nothing but watch.
I usually drive slow and steady, but Electricity drove more like my father – with all the skill of a professional racer and a “cop radar” so sensitive it could spot a cruiser from a mile away. It was a harrowing experience, but it paid off in the end. I still had a few minutes to spare for my grand entrance.
Control returned to my body, and I exited the vehicle. The jitters were gone, replaced by a sense of chill confidence. I strutted in looking sharp as a tack, and performed a quick visual scan of the premises. No crazy Willie Wedge (thank goodness), and Svetlana was in her usual place at the reference desk. Here goes nothing…
Oh, hi Sparky. Can I help you with something?
My face was probably beet-red at that point. I couldn’t remember who was in control at this point, but the Synthex 4251-30 by the vestibule lost its glass, causing the frame to flop down as designed.
Thankfully, I regained control of myself before the lever went down. Still, fire alarm vandalism was a serious offense, and there was a good chance I’d get caught.
Trying to look as normal as possible for the outdoor cameras, I walked “calmly” to the car. We really had to get back home and wait for this thing to blow over. I was already on thin ice after missing so much work, and could easily get fired if Ashton found out what I just did.
Electricity was right. I deserved better. Svetlana may have seemed nice on the surface, but that was all an act. You know, customer service. Be polite. Smile and wave. Fake it till you make it. It was time to turn the car around, and my life with it.
Upon arriving, I was far from impressed. This girl talked about the Terminal like it was hot stuff, but the building’s exterior looked more like a burger joint than anything else. The inside wasn’t looking too hot, either. For initiating devices, I could see Funwell Zonal Innovations MS-2 pull stations. There were sprinklers, but no smoke detectors. The signals were Matchlock MT-24-LSM’s
In plain English, these are excellent products, but are often seen on haphazardly-maintained systems in old, dilapidated buildings. The one at the entrance to the discotheque was severely sun-bleached and nowhere near as pretty as the picture on the data sheet. There was also a small LED annunciator whose model I was unsure of, but it was in a “supervisory” condition (and was probably left that way for a while judging by the state the building was in).
I paid the small cover charge of $20 to the bouncer, and stepped into the somewhat dingy-looking dance hall. It was loud, dark, and crowded. There was a slight vomit odor to the place, and there were more than a few people having too good of a time. I looked around to see if I could pick off any scraps of class from this rotting carcass, while also trying to avoid slipping on all the peanut shells.
The woman he pointed out was definitely NOT my type. She was a bit older, and I’d look like a child if I were to stand next to her. I don’t think she could fit on a roller coaster, either.
There’s nothing wrong with having standards, even if you’re 25 and never dated. Being able to do activities together was important to me, as was personal health. Of course, Electricity ignored me and took over my body again. And now he was talking to her. Great…
The name’s Alec Tricity. That’s a shocker, isn’t it?
I'm Uma. Uma Delas. Nice to meet'cha. How about you buy me a drink, hey?
We walked over the bar together and sat next to each other. It was a tight squeeze with all the other people. Normally, I’d be uncomfortable in this position, but strangely I was beginning to enjoy the claustrophobia.
So much to unpack, but okay. A “glass of Madeira” turned out to be Portuguese wine. I hated it, but at the same time, I felt oddly at home – even though I wasn’t the least bit Portuguese.
What a horrid woman. But I was starting to feel the effects of the Madeira (which could mean “sewer water” for all I knew), and with “Alec” in control I found myself dancing with her anyway.
The band that was playing was called Blue Fish. Apparently, they were an up-and-coming phenomenon thanks to their chiptune-like music and slightly suggestive, nerd-themed lyrics. Svetlana probably agreed to the date for them, and not me. But that was old news.
♪ I mustered up some gumption and I drilled to the core Of this lovely mystery here on Jupiter Four Started probing through the seabed quite curiously When my ship got swallowed whole by a cavernous beast And now I'm trapped... ♪
The guy with the long, green hair was the lead singer, Gill Menhaden. Achilles Tang was the young, fiery-haired guitarist. The bald guy on the drums was known simply as “Eel”. He would periodically shout out lyrics as well. They were alright.
I took a big fat dump. *BUUURRRPPP!!!* Now who dis lil' nugget?! HUH?!!! Why you be talkin'a muh gurrrrl, BOIII?!!!
This reminds me of the time we had a fight and two false alarms on April Fool’s Day in high school. Except it was January, and I was the fool.
The beefy lad got close enough that I could smell the alcohol on his breath. He was clearly schwasted out of his skull and ready to throw some punches. His invasion of my personal space took the wind out of my sails, and I was back to dorky little manlet Sparky.
I had to leave this place before the situation escalated into a bar fight. If Uma Whatshername was taken, I could extrapolate that anybody even remotely worth talking to would already be taken as well.
Well, I didn’t want to leave my car here, that’s for sure. I guess I’ll pretend that nothing happened and listen to the concert. The songs were pretty catchy, with talk of space fleets, jelly creature warriors, and UFO’s.
The doubly-entendrous finale was paired with a dazzling fireworks display meant to symbolize you-know-what. The romantic themes were starting to grate on me, and the lingering flames were cause for concern. And they were really lingering. The band stopped playing, and people started panicking.
Leave a Reply