Le Bien des autres
(Les Gestionnaires de l'Apocalypse -3)
(Les Gestionnaires de l'Apocalypse -3)
Jean-Jacques Pelletier
(Excerpt from the prologue, p. 3-7.)
The profound truth about economic liberalism is that it is a modern form of fascism,
efficient, respectful of the necessary harmony between the individual and the group...
A fascism unfettered by hare-brained ideas and the cult of authority figures that
encumbered its historical avatars. The time has come for a fascism resolutely harnessed
to the task of producing happiness for humanity. The market is fascism with a human face.
Joan Messenger, Fascism with a Human Face,
1- For a liberal fascism.
Montreal, 2:17 am
Brad Philpot lived out the last minutes of his life with a certain level of nervousness.
Walking briskly down Visitation Street, he turned onto Lalonde and passed in front of the Usine C theatre.
The job had taken longer than anticipated: at the last minute, he had been told to proceed to two installations. Fortunately, the cedar hedge had permitted him to work unobserved.
Philpot had followed the instructions scrupulously. Even if he didn't understand the reason for the second installation. One was quite sufficient.
When he reached the corner of Panet, he wiped his forehead, cursed the humid heat that had been smothering the city for two days and headed towards Ontario Street.Montreal, 2:18 am
Viktor Trappman had been waiting for more than an hour in the van parked on the north side of Ontario Street. Sitting on the edge of a bed in the back of the vehicle, he was watching a point of light moving on the screen of his portable computer.
The map of the city adjusted itself automatically to follow the movement of the point. When it reached the intersection of Panet and Ontario, it turned east.
The waiting was coming to an end.Montreal, 2:19 am
Brad Philpot was walking slowly and looking around him. His hand automatically went to the small cross hanging from the corner of his left eyebrow. It was supposed to make him more aware of the place his eyes were pointed.
He didn't really believe it, but, like all the instructions given by the Master, he followed them without discussion. The Church of Universal Reconciliation took care of him, saw to his needs and made sure he never had to be alone, except in rare moments, when he had to go through a new ordeal. Like tonight.
The Church had saved his life. It had given him at once a family, a task and a raison d'être. Thanks to it, he had been able to travel, see the world. After each test, he was sent to stay in a new monastery, most often in another country. He could meet new girls there.
The Master required very little in exchange for what he was offering.
Of course, all disciples were not entitled to the same advantages. Not all were "shadow carriers." But, as the Master frequently reminded him, each received according to the needs of their energy structure. And each contributed according to the capacities granted to them by that structure. From each according to their potential, to each according to their needs. Energy socialism, the Master had said. That is why he carefully determined which circle the disciple belonged in, which type of task was most appropriate for their complete fulfilment.
Without the Church of Universal Reconciliation, thought Brad Philpot, he would probably still be on the street. He recalled his punk friends... Three years already. And he hadn't touched drugs since "Wisdom is a drug more powerful than all the others," the Master had said, "with it comes true power. Including the power to resist other drugs..."
Philpot stopped in front of the window of the Lav-Express. After once again checking that the street was deserted, he took a cell phone out of his pocket.Montreal, 2:21 am
Trappman saw the point stop. He looked up from his computer and, shielded from view by the opaqued windows, glanced over to the other side of the street. The man was there, standing in front of the window, as specified in his instructions.
The more detailed and fastidious the instructions, the more the operators followed them meticulously. After all these years, Trappman still found it astonishing: the large numbers and arbitrariness of instructions seemed to give them a semblance of seriousness and credibility that precluded them from been questioned.Montreal, 2:22 am
Brad Philpot looked at his watch then, at the precise time that he had been given, he selected speed dial "4" on the telephone. Then he pushed the dial button.
After a few seconds, a ring was heard, followed by a recorded voice.
To speak English, press 1. If you need additional material, press 2. If you wish to delay the performance of your task, press 4. If your task has been completed, press 6. For any other communications, press 7.
"Shit!" Philpot could not help responding.
He pressed 7.
Your call is important to us. Do not hang up. As soon as one of our operators is free...
Still standing in front of the window, Philpot continued to wait. Rhythmically shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he performed a kind of restrained dance, betraying his impatience.
Your message will be dealt with shortly. Thank you for choosing...Montreal, 2:23 am
Trappman laughed.
"It was a joke," he said. "You have to develop a sense of humour. If you remain tense, your energy structure will be disrupted."
"I know," answered Brad Philpot's irritated voice. "Now what do I do?"
"First you relax."
"OK, OK, I'm relaxed."
"Good... Now you are going to tell me if you have correctly carried out your task."
"It's done."
"Exactly as specified in the instructions?
"Exactly."
"You carried out both parts?"
"Both parts."
Restrained impatience came through in Philpot's voice.
"Good," answered Trappman. "It seems therefore that you have successfully passed this new test."Montreal, 2:25 am
Brad Philpot continued watching the street, with quick glances to either side.
"What location do I go to next?" he asked.
"This time, it will be a longer journey than the previous ones."
"Are you going to send me to Australia?"
"Farther."
"Farther?"
Philpot did not think there was any place farther away than Australia."Listen carefully to the instructions I'm going to give you," continued the voice on the telephone.
Philpot knitted his eyebrows a bit, to concentrate better. He pressed the cell phone more tightly to his ear.
The explosion that followed shattered his head.
It also broke the window he was standing in front of and produced a noise level of eleven decibels.
An alarm bell continued the racket. It produced fewer decibels, but the sound was considerably more insistent.Montreal, 2:26 am
"Bad vibes," remarked Trappman.
He turned off his computer. His lips curled slightly in an ironic smile.
"We can go now," he added to the woman sitting behind the steering wheel.
In spite of the relative protection afforded him by the van, the noise of the alarm system was unpleasant. He was in a hurry to get away from it.Montreal, 2:31 am
The van headed slowly northward. At Sherbrooke, it turned left, then left again at Visitation.
When they crossed Ontario, the noise of the alarm reached them again briefly. Trappman made a bit of a face.
The van continued on its way, crossed Maisonneuve, then parked with surgical precision in a space on the right side of the street.
Trappman moved forward, examined the street through the driver's window and located the house he was interested in. He sat down again on the edge of the bed.
"Come and join me," he said to the driver. "I'm going to require your skills."
He still had several hours to kill...
© 2003 Éditions Alire & Jean-Jacques Pelletier
To find out what happens next...
