Chapter 22

2072 A.D.

“How many we have coming in today, Jim?” Markus asked as he sipped at his coffee in office area.

“The schedule right now is for sixty-six. Can we handle it?” Jim responded after looking at the screen on his desk.

“Yeah, shouldn’t be a problem,” Markus shrugged. “At some point we will have to probably add a few people if we get over eighty, but so far, so good. Did the PMB say anything about the announcement from the national PCA office on the news boards about raising the percentage per year from one percent to one point two?”

“There was a statement about it on the secure portion of the PMB site. It said that the percentage of the eligible population being selected was going to be increased by about ten percent because the population numbers are projected to continue to rise, and they need to, in their words, keep a greater famine from taking hold. And they may raise it again in the future. We may be seeing a slow but steady increase over the coming years.”

“What does that mean in terms of women coming through the door? Should we expect a ten percent increase across the board? That would put us at a daily average in the low seventies somewhere.”

“Yeah, most likely. I mean, we might eventually break even if we get to those numbers. The government-backed loan we got to get this place open is going to be a pain to pay back. Someone in the Administration wasn’t paying attention when they put those together.” Jim shook his head.

“So, I’m going to need you to start looking into how we can be more efficient. We need to get the average time it takes to kill, gut, and process a woman down by twenty percent to be able to handle the new load. And, unfortunately, there won’t be any budget to add employees any time soon, even with the new load and the net revenues from it. We need to find a way to cut costs and adding head count is not cutting costs.”

“Sure, okay. I will start thinking about it today.”

“Can I ask you a question, Markus? You don’t have to answer.”

“You’re the boss, boss.” Markus smiled and took another sip.

“When you came here, you obviously knew how to properly and painlessly kill a woman, and how to butcher her after you do. Along with a recommendation from Marshal Anderson, that makes me think that you were the one in the Dark Times movie that termed Amanda Mickelson. Is that true?”

Markus paused and looked at the older man.

“You put me in a difficult situation, Mr. Gleason. If I say yes, I reveal a secret I would be sworn to protect, if I was the one who did that. If I say no, I run the risk of undermining my relationship with you if you don’t believe me, which is likely, since you’re asking the question to begin with means you at least suspect the answer to be yes. And if I refuse to answer, that leads you to believe I am the person you think I am. I think it would be better for our continued professional relationship if you withdrew the question, sir. Otherwise, there is no way out of the trap that question creates.”

James thought about it and nodded.

“You’re right. Forget I asked. That was definitely not one of my better ideas.”

Markus nodded. “Well, have to get to work, James. Catch you later.”

Markus turned and walked away from James, who was kicking himself. Markus was scarily smart, he realized. Much smarter than himself. James would never have been able to reason out the lack of any positive outcome from the question, no matter the answer.

It was just past lunch time that same day at Gleason Processing, and the first wave of the afternoon was just starting to come in the door. All in all, there were nearly twenty women in the lobby when the man in the mask and carrying the backpack forced his way in the front door, running towards the reception desk before anyone could stop him.

“Human slaughterhouses are murder! Human meat is murder and is wrong in God’s eyes! Read the Bible, you forever-damned demons! Death take you all back to hell!” He screamed before lifting his right hand and pushing a button on the end of a thin tube attached a wire that led to the backpack. Nothing happened at first, and he looked down at the switch before taking a deep breath and pushing the button more firmly a second time.

The security footage that was fed to a backup site in real time would later show that the explosion was centered in the backpack, and before the hardened security cams in the lobby were destroyed by the blast impact, the radical extremist bomber’s body was splattered across every person and surface in the front room of the building in the blink of an eye, before the high pressure wave reduced everyone and everything in the lobby of the building to rubble and particulate matter.