ODIN'S WAR
CHAPTER THREE

The Umms 

The dimly lit room obscured the bareness of its furnishings. The gas lamps which were placed on each of the four walls succeeded in illuminating the room evenly, except for directly in the middle, where a child of about five was playing with a black cat with white paws, and a band of white hairs that made it look as if it had a moustache.

“Careful,dear. You’ll hurt the kitty.” The mother of the family watched her son from a rocking chair near the charcoal fireplace. She was knitting. The child looked at his mother for a minute and continued “dancing with kitty”, standing the animal up on its back legs.

The cat, of course, was tolerating the indignity in typical feline fashion. Her ears were back, her head was turned to one side, and her tail was swishing back and forth.

In one corner of the room, an elderly man sat at a chair, carefully inspecting and cleaning an old Remington rifle, a relic from the last years of the 20th century. It was in good condition. A boy of about fifteen was watching intently, while a somewhat younger man sat at a small wooden table nearby, looking quite relaxed with his cup of coffee.

“You think it will work, Gran’pa?” asked the boy. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the (ꜰind)ɴʘvel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“You bet she will,” said the grandfather. “But it’s a dangerous thin’ to have, son,” he added a bit more quietly.

“And it’ll kill someone?” came a small voice. “It’ll kill just about anything,” said the father, taking a sip of coffee, “but that’s not what it’s for. It’s only to scare the thieves. Three families have been robbed and beaten only the last two weeks, and not very far from here.”

“But if they know we have a gun, we’ll be next,” said the mother. “They want to get them for themselves, and use ’em to threaten people, and steal from them.”

“They’ll pay for it if they try,” said the grandfather. Suddenly the cat hissed and bounded across the room with its tail up. The child sat with an amazed look though it didn’t cry.

“Really, Grandpa, you should give it up,” said the mother. “It’s against the religion now, anyway. You know you’ve always been a religious man.”

“The stun police don’t care about us,” retorted the old man indignantly, “Nor does Guy Hollow and the “Itch’.′ The ‘itch’ was a derogatory term for I.C.C.E., or the International Committee for Communal Efforts.

“They just want to keep the only things worth left havin’ in this world for themselves, so they play us all for a lot of fools.”

“The S.P’s will protect us,” said the mother. “They are very good with their stuns.”

“They didn’t protect the Adams’s, did they?” said the old man, “Or the Eliot’s? Or the Birkenmaiers? “They’re bloody useless.” “Anyway,” said the younger man, standing, up, “What you say we go to the Common for some beer, Grandpa. It’s no good sitting here fuming.”

“The Common! The Common? Yes, mom, please? Can we go?” The young boy on the floor jumped to his feet and ran to his mother’s knees. He loved to go to I.C.C.E.’s recreational center because there were pool tables, table tennis nets, and even a basketball court.

“Easy, now, Kevin, easy. We’ll go in a little while,” said the mother with a smile.

The six year old squealed with pleasure, while the older boy was already getting his table tennis paddle.

“Well, we’ll see,” said Grandpa, having a last look at his rifle. He moved as though he was being pushed into something, but the others knew he really enjoyed their visits to the Common. Some of his old friends were no doubt there, and he loved a chat with them, about the years before the War. It had been a week since they were last out, because the radiation elimination device was behaving erratically and because the gas had sprung a leak, as it often did. Since they weren’t fond of I.C.C.E, they didn’t enjoy the shows on the video screen, which were often moralistic and centered on the virtues of I.C.C.E.’s philosophies.

Nor did they dare leave their shabby dwelling unoccupied very often, since it may become a target for thieves and vandals, which roamed the survival community in small but resourceful bands. There was some way to go before the transformation of the survival community to become the “heavenly” place on earth that Minister Hollow had proclaimed, and it was painfully obvious to the citizens.

The Common was a large, well-built modern building, with a huge blue plastic center dome surrounded by smaller A-frame dwellings. The center dome was translucent, and stood over a large dance floor with exotic mosaic tile that changed colors with the slightest movement of the lights in the room. Beams of odd colored lights shone up from the floor and radiating particles floated up along the beam to the surface, where they spread out along the dome, glittering against the blue. Music was played from speakers placed around the dome.

Surrounding half the center floor were numerous tables, booths, and lounging areas where groups and families met to discuss their various interests. A lush green garden with numerous flowers was built just off the dance floor in the opposite half of the circle.

Small intercoms were set on tables located in the garden so that a waitress could be summoned. Young couples walked freely in the garden, or simply lounged under a tree. Each of the A-frame buildings contained supervised games for children, or more open games for the adults, and was connected by a network of short corridors.

Just off the back of the dome was a large flat roofed area with a well-kept grass field for various ball games.

Here rallies and religious activities were held, with the people seated on the grass in picnic fashion, while warm air circulated. The Williams family went to their favorite lounge bar in the dome. The two boys went to the games areas and the adults sat and sipped drinks.

“Do you see any of your friends, Grandpa?” said Joan, the wife. “I saw Jeremy back at the first bar. I think I’ll go talk to him in a bit.”

They sat for a while, and relaxed. Soon ‘Grandpa’ left to see Jeremy. Jeremy Jenkins was an old but vigorous man sitting with half a dozen younger men. They had a look of seriousness on their faces.

“Mind if I join in?” asked ‘Grandpa’ Williams. Jeremy looked up., “No, not at all, George, have a seat. ‘We’re just discussin’ a bit o’ business.”

“Is that right,” said George casually. “What kind of business?”

“The itch, “’Jeremy responded, shifting a large cigar to the other side of his mouth.

“Yeah? What about it?” George was by nature suspicious.

“We don’t like it,” said blond, bullish sort of man seated across the table. Jeremy introduced George to the rest of the group. One was a former sonic engineer, named Fredrikson, another a mechanic for life support systems, Willoughby, and a third was an administrative assistant for I.C.C.E., Jensen. The fourth, Gruncek, was a former lecturer in political science, a department which no longer existed. Jeremy himself had been a Captain in the United States army, before the War. They had all been living in Argentina at the time of the nuclear disaster.

“You see,” said the blond man, now identified as Fredrikson, “We know already that you don’t like I.C.C.E. either, and that you’re a specialist in reconstructing antique firearms.” George was startled by this. He pulled up a chair. “You don’t need me for something, do you?” he asked.

“Not necessarily, George,” said Jeremy, “it depends on how open you are to our ‘political’ ideas.”

“You know I think the Reverend Hollow is a damned fake,” George retorted.

“We think,” began the political scientist, “That the Minister Hollow is a charismatic pawn for the pleasure of I.C.C.E., who which is a society they completely control.”

“They’re exploiting us. No, much worse than that.

They are keeping us slaves in thought and body and spirit,” said Jensen, the office worker.

“Don’t you think they have done what was necessary after the War?” George was testing them.

“No, dammit, they haven’t!” stormed Jeremy. “There was plenty of technology and engineers to use it afterwards. Our friend here, Jensen, says he can prove that the top engineers, technicians, and computer systems people were seized by the two surviving networks and brainwashed with this ‘religion’. They were then induced to organize the Communications and Weapons systems which allowed I.C.C.E to gain control of all the major surviving cities in the world, or what was left of them.” “There was only two,” said George.

“Nonsense,” snorted Jeremy. “I.C.C.E. obliterated the remaining ones with bombs. There wasn’t much resistance left after the Blast. It was easy to destroy them.”

“They were prepared to accomplish all this before the War,” said Jensen, “They even trained their own technicians for the enterprise in advance. They may have conspired to bring on the War, making sure that it would be limited enough so that they alone would survive.”

“How do you know this?” asked George, who was shocked by the revelation of evil. “That’s to be kept secret,” said Jeremy, “For now, we should discuss your interest in joining us.”

“What would I be joining?” asked George.

“Men Untaught Stopping the ICCE Commune, or MUSIC if you will.”

“I see, “said George, “and how do you plan to be successful?” “Revolution,” said Willoughby, the life support systems engineer.

“Of course I’m with you,” said George matter of factly. “Good!” said Jeremy, shifting his cigar again.

We can use your help. We have a lot of work for you.” In the meantime, Mr. Williams and his wife were relaxing at the other lounge bar with their drinks. “I think you should watch over George,” said the middle aged but very attractive woman, “He’s liable to get himself into trouble.”

“No, I don’t think so. Dad has always been like that. He talks tough, but he’s really solid inside. He doesn’t do foolish things.”

“Let’s hope not. You know Blake thinks the world of him.”

“He’s not the only one,” the husband returned softly. They sat awhile, relaxing and watching the dance floor, which was filled with young couples, enjoying the exotic and intimate atmosphere of the Common, though to some, the official sanctioning of the area for ‘romance’, caused some rebellion, and occasional attempts to interfere with the social intercourse in the garden and on the dance floor. Romance itself was a neutral concept; it occurred between all sorts of biological types, and any discrimination against another type was forbidden. To say that you did not want to participate in the conversation was forbidden. All must be Taught, there can be no Untaught, and the best way to Teach was to teach the children in play that they are all happy with whatever anyone does. Convention in children was anathema; The Commune’s ways and the teaching of ICCE had moved on beyond those ways of Nature, since man now knew more than Nature and could change himself into whatever he wanted. At least, that was what the Taught people knew had to be so. The Untaught never accepted that Nature was an imaginary thing.

Blake, however, the eldest son of the Williams family, though already fifteen, much preferred the games of pool to the romantic socialization that was encouraged with prescribed drugs and teachings about the fluidity and diversity of their lives. His grandfather had a great influence on him, and was an idol in his eyes. Simple things were enough for him, there was comfort in just playing a game of pool or basketball. The old man had, as many of the older people, called the UMMS, completely rejected the “religion” of Hollow and the I.C.C.E. network. Blake did not take the prescribed medication to curb his natural ways, but the family did not reveal this to the ICCE handlers. It was against the law to refuse your medications and against the law to not participate in the fluidity exercises. Fluidity exercises required that each child spend a specified amount of time learning that there was no individual characteristic that separated you from others. There was no gender, age, or color. All are the same, and all must act the same. If you didn’t, you could be banished to your hut for whatever period of time the handlers decided and deprived of the facilities of the Common.

After a while, George returned. He was quiet, his jaw set in a determined clenched expression. Joan and her husband noticed the change. “Have you seen Blake?” she asked. George raised his eyebrows. “I’ll go find him.” The old man got up and went to look for his grandson. Blake was in the pool room with some other boys, and seemed to be having an argument. The game rooms supervisor had just come over to sort out the problem. She was a large woman with a white dress and two blue arm bands.

“OK, you two, it’s out, out, out! We’ll have no arguments here,” she bellowed in a throaty voice. Blake was still upset.

“He’s cheating” he shouted, pointing to the other boy at his pool table, “you can’t just throw us out! It’s not fair!”

“You will be punished, if you keep this up!” The woman took a hold of Blake’s arm and began to lead him out. “All are entitled, none shall be excluded from success! All are the same, all will be made the same! Umms are deplorable creatures, you must be taught or be extinct!”

“Stop!” said George. “Let him go! You have no right to treat my grandson like that. If this boy is cheating, he should be punished, or let him take his lumps for it.”

“You are talking of evil things,” said the woman, “It will not be tolerated either. You will both leave, or I will call security.”

“Come on, Blake. Let’s go.” George patted his grandson on the back. The two walked back to the lounge bar.” We’re ready to go,” said George, when they got back, resting his hand on the boy’s head.

“Good. We’ll pick up Kevin and be on our way.” said Joan. The family made their way back in the small, cramped sonic car. When they reached the house, the father and grandson worked diligently to get the support systems working, and Blake made his nightly check of the gas pipes, to see that there were no leaks, and finally they all took their beds in the loft above the only room of their house.

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