The Troll (5 page)

“
Did
I do something wrong?”

“
You’ll
have to talk to The Moderator.”

“
I’m
really talking to him?”

“
Of
course you are.”

“
Does
this have anything to do with Surfer and Wigeon?”

“
Why
would it?”

“
They
were caught,” Troll said with a smile. “Congratulations
by the way.”

He
sounded like he was sucking up, which was far below who he was, but
when he saw The Coach didn’t care for kudos, he shrank. He was
used to being in control of his world, picking at people until they
snapped, or blocked him, or tried and failed to rally against him.

“
I
take it you didn’t watch the trial,” Coach said.

“
No,
what happened?”

“
If
you watched it, you’d know why you’re coming to Chicago.
I half expected to have to chase you, but you don’t watch TV.”
The Coach laughed to himself. “You get ten minutes of
television a month if you’re lucky and you don’t watch
it.”

“
I
don’t need to. I’m perfectly happy without.”

“
You
congratulate us for catching Surfer and Wigeon, but you didn’t
watch the trial.”

Troll
froze in place momentarily, trying to detect just what he was being
accused of. “I assumed they would be guilty.”

“
They
are.”

Troll
faced forward, unable to carry the conversation further. They rode in
silence. The Coach was seemingly unaffected by the confrontation—as
if he knew something more—as if he knew The Troll’s days
were numbered and anything he had to say was irrelevant. The Troll
directed his attention into the cockpit at The Pilot—which was
also his name—who wore a white shirt and metal wings on his
pocket and stared forward through his sunglasses, focused only on
moving ahead. The Troll watched for a long time, waiting for The
Pilot to do something: Cough…scratch himself…even
glance in another direction. Instead, The Pilot held a focus The
Troll would have believed impossible. He only stared into the sky, as
if hypnotized by it.

When
the plane landed, The Troll was taken to a cab where only he and The
Pilot spent the ride in silence. The Troll wanted to ask him
questions, but The Pilot was clearly the silent type. He was in his
own head, and The Troll was afraid of what would happen if he tried
to interrupt The Pilot’s thoughts.

They
were taken to Circular Prime, and from ten blocks away, The Troll
watched in awe. Whatever the reason he was here, he was lucky enough
to see sights others had only heard of. The days of skyscrapers and
vehicles were long gone, but somehow The Troll had been significant
enough just to see what others eyes weren’t meant to see. It
thrilled him and frightened him at the same time. They drove into the
parking lot, which had no guard, no security, nothing…

The
few who ran the world were a small group and there was clearly trust.
The Troll supposed an outsider could be recruited to join them but it
would take a lot of patience and time to earn that trust. The way in
which The Moderator had taken over, while brutal, The Troll couldn’t
help but admire. Few people could do so much damage alone, and he
certainly understood the motives behind The Moderator’s
reasoning. Maybe by the time this meeting was over, he would be
recruited to live among them in Chicago. He’d have access to
electronics, information, technology, steak dinners…

He
held onto that hope as he was escorted into the building and to the
elevators, admiring every plant and piece of art along the way. The
elevator ride was a thrill, and so was exiting on the 35th floor,
knowing he was so much higher up than most of the world. The floors
were shiny and the walls looked like they had a fresh coat of paint.
He could smell it and it was fantastic. The feeling of superiority
filled him and he suddenly knew this was where he wanted to stay.

The
double doors opened and The Troll looked into a small meeting room.
Only two people sat inside and the sight was so surreal to The Troll,
that he stood motionless for forty seconds flat.

“
Come
on in,” The Moderator said with a smile and a motion of his
hand. Sitting opposite, The Surfer, who was
bound,
sized The Troll up, a hint of disappointment in his eyes at the look
of him. “Have a seat.”

The
Pilot walked another direction, leaving him in silence. When he was
gone, The Troll let go of a tension he hadn’t known he was
holding. The Pilot scared him—the silence and intimidation, the
way it seemed as if he was looking through The Troll…not AT
him.

“
So
you’re The Troll,” The Moderator said. He looked
pleased—almost on the verge of laughter.

“
I
go by that name.”

“
Why?”

“
It’s
a term people use on-line.”

“
I
know what it means. It carries a negative implication, does it not?”

“
I
believe that’s relative. It doesn’t bother me, so even
when people say it…” He trailed off. “It’s
like when people call people stubborn as if it’s bad, but
stubborn is actually quite good.”

“
I
agree completely,” The Moderator said. He was polite, though he
was so wide eyed and twitchy that The Troll wondered how much control
he really had over his countenance. “How was your flight?”

“
It
was fun.”

The
Troll caught The Moderator staring at his hands. He’d been
air-typing on the table as he spoke and The Moderator was seemingly
intrigued. He quickly hid his hands under the table.

“
Never
been on a plane?” The Moderator asked.

“
I’ve
never been on a moving vehicle of any kind.”

“
How
was your dinner?”

“
Didn’t
know food could taste so good.”

“
I’m
delighted to hear that,” The Moderator said. He seemed genuine,
but The Troll caught The Surfer’s eyes and
detected
his annoyance.

“
Let’s
not waste any time,” The Moderator said. “I hear you
didn’t tune into the broadcast.”

“
No
sir. I was busy.”

“
Trolling?”

“
Uh…”
The Troll laughed. He suspected The Moderator wouldn’t mind.
“Something like that.”

“
Have
you heard the name Iris?”

“
Uh…yeah.
User-name anyway.”

“
Who
is she?”

“
I’m
not sure. If memory serves me, she hangs out on a few boards. Animal
rights…National Parks…all that happy horseshit that
some people get all up in arms about.”

“
You
don’t?”

“
Not
really. I don’t have a strong position on those things.”

“
But
you interact on those boards?”

“
I
interact anywhere that people easily get pissed off.”

“
What
do you have a strong position about?”

“
Nothing.
I just take the opposing side of everything. I guess you could say I
strongly favor the underdog.”

“
Why?”

The
Troll thought. “I don’t know,” he said, meaning it.

“
Can
we get on with this?” The Surfer finally asked. It was the
first he spoke, and he sounded so disappointed that The Troll
immediately understood that their revolution—the image they
portrayed—it was all a farce. He was comfortable with The
Moderator, but The Surfer made him nervous. It confirmed what The
Moderator had said all along: It was people like The Surfer and
Wigeon who were the bad guys.

“
We’re
having a nice conversation,” The Moderator said, defensively
before turning back to The Troll. “Troll…
something
came up during the trial of Surfer. A user-name popped onto our
screen. ‘Iris’. No numbers or symbols. Just ‘Iris’.”

“
You
don’t know who she is?”

“
She
doesn’t seem to have Psi.”

“
Doesn’t
pretty much everyone?”

“
There
are few who don’t. It was a special moment for this Iris, but
in the grand scheme of things, pretty insignificant. She wanted to
set a game in motion. She believes that one person could put the
world back to the way it was before we changed the rules. Do you
believe that?”

The
Troll considered for a moment. “I don’t know why anyone
would want to, but maybe. I guess they would have to be without Psi,
but…no…not really. You guys run a pretty tight ship.”

“
It
can be done,” The Surfer said with a sigh. “You are going
to have to start believing that. Iris thinks you’re someone who
is worthy.”

A
feeling of dread overcame The Troll with that comment. Whatever he
was there for, it wasn’t to be on The Moderator’s side.
He was being forced to take the opposing position—a position he
was fond of in all other circumstances.

“
Why
would Iris believe you would be right for this?” The Moderator
asked.

“
I
don’t even know what this is.”

“
Have
you heard of this?” The Moderator asked, pulling a stick shift
from his inner pocket and setting it on the table between them. From
the side, The Surfer fixated his eyes on it. The Moderator watched,
satisfied in knowing that his foe was two feet away from the holy
grail he’d been after so long, and there was nothing he could
do about it.

“
Yeah,
it’s a memory stick.”

“
It’s
more than that. It’s called Rainbow.”

“
What’s
on it?”

“
The
password needed to terminate Psi. If Psi is destroyed, we no longer
control it. You’ve been challenged Troll. You’ve been
nominated by the user Iris to represent those who don’t believe
in Psi…that want the world to return to the chaos it once was.
I granted an opportunity for the opposition, and they were to choose
one person to represent them, and you were chosen.”

“
I
don’t know why. I don’t want the world to go back any
more than you do.”

The
Surfer closed his eyes with deep frustration.

“
We’ve
been sifting through your message board interactions, looking for a
sign that you are against us, searching for code or something that
says you’re not just antagonizing people, but it appears that
IS what you do. Your interactions with Iris have been scarce, but
they were heated—at least on her end. She felt passionately
about issues, and your messages were short…funny…to the
point…persuasive.”

“
Yeah,
that’s all I’m doing. I seriously have nothing against
you.”

“
I
believe that, but Iris seemed to think there was something more to
you. Or maybe she hates you so much that she wants to get you
killed.”

“
Wait…why
would I be killed?”

“
Because
she nominated you and I promised I would allow this game to happen.”

“
What’s
the game?”

“
The
Rainbow would need to be plugged into the mainframe, which is housed
in Las Vegas into a terminal in a room in what was once known as
Ceasers Palace. For this resistance to deactivate Psi and undo all
the progress we’ve
made,
all they would need to do is get Rainbow to that access point and
follow the prompts. It’s simple, except no one was ever able to
get their hands on Rainbow.”

“
I
don’t get it. So you’re giving this to me and I have to
take it to Vegas?”

“
Yes,
but here’s the catch…” Suddenly the Moderator’s
eyes grew dark and the friendliness was gone. “Ten of my best
will be hunting you.”

The
Troll felt faint. He thought about making a run for it, but stayed
planted to his seat. He wanted to protest, to beg and plead, to
reason, but The Moderator enjoyed this. He wanted it. It may not have
been his idea, but he loved every moment of it.

The
Moderator went on. “Here at Circular Prime, my friends and I
strive for perfection. We don’t watch television or play video
games or blow things up for amusement, but we do train to be
warriors. We’ve taken all the values that were once the best
values in the world, but in which very few men carried. Values like
intelligence, a strong physique, hard work, qualities that weren't
prominent in the old world. It was always about money and women and
booze and people just stopped caring about evolving. My friends and I
have the world wired to our liking and that is why we aren’t
afraid to rid it of such imperfect immoral people. We keep it in line
and give very few privileges. People learn not to always ask for more
and the idea of superiority is diminished.”