I am a child of atomic war.

You are the daughter of the overlord.

Let's get together on the killing floor.

Gimme more more more more more!

- Jefferson Starship, The Girl With the Hungry Eyes (1979)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Yes, how did you do that?" the big man asked rhetorically. "How do I know your name?" He breathed hard and leaned forward, holding out his huge right hand and reaching across both tables. "Hello. My name is Milton."

Hank stared at the hand until Milton took it back. The man answered a different question, one that was only on Hank's mind.

"It feels like we know each other. Yet you don't know how."

"I don't know you… Milton," Hank said, despite a creepy feeling that he did.

"Hmm. Maybe, but you should. Let's talk about Rio instead." Milton glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the hallway. "You'd like to know her!"

Hank pursed his lips. Milton continued.

"She's perfect. Even her voice is perfect. Don't you think?"

Hank's lips parted slightly. Milton had said the exact same words Hank had thought only a moment ago.

"She's said not one word to you, yet you think you should know her. And," Milton leaned back to laugh, "I mean as the best of friends! You're much too much of a gentleman to have unkind thoughts about a fine woman such as she!"

Milton was right. Hank's intentions towards women were rarely carnal in nature. Milton was also right about how Hank felt a connection with Rio, like they should be the best of friends.

"Sometimes a person feels that way about another, even though they just met."

Hank shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows in non-compliant agreement. Milton carried on.

"All your life you've felt different. Like you have a purpose. But you can't figure out what that purpose is."

"I had a PEP test today."

"It's natural to think you're special in this Age of Enlightenment. So you're a Genius now! Do you know what kind?"

Hank didn't reply.

"I can tell by your look that you don't like the results. The only thing you learned is that you're miserable." Milton again reached out his hand. "Can I please have my soda pop?"

Hank closed his mouth, as he found it hanging open. He put the Diet Poppsy in Milton's hand, who then unscrewed the cap and took a hearty slug.

He exhaled satisfactorily. "Ah, that's good. Now have a drink of yours, Hank, and say something to me."

Hank found himself responding without giving it much thought. He opened his bottle and drank. It seemed real enough, despite the circumstances.

"Ah, good. So, you were told after your second test that the first one was false positive."

Hank was relieved that Milton was finally wrong about something. "No," Hank said. "I walked out before the test was done."

Milton was going for another gulp of soda, but he stopped upon hearing Hank's words. "You ended the test by walking out?"

"Yeah."

Hank leaned back in his chair so he could look at his feet while shuffling them. He felt scruffy sitting next to this affluent man, as he was wearing his frayed work trousers and scuffed-up hiking boots. At least he had on his very best hoodie. He shook his head to keep a stray lock of hair from falling across his brow.

"You took the test, though, or rather, you started taking it. You have…" Milton waved his hand in front of his own face. "You have the marks."

"Yeah, I've got Dots," Hank agreed, using the more derogatory term.

"Yes, that's good. I see that."

Hank could not for the life of him figure out why anyone would think being a Dot was a good thing. He felt pretty sure it wasn't. Milton finished his interrupted drink, then placed the nearly empty bottle on the table. He adjusted his posture to make his chair creak, and to get Hank to look him in the eye.

"You're not false positive," Milton said. "Those PEP Dots prove you're a Genius. All Dots are Geniuses."

Hank interrupted. "At what?"

"Well see, that's the problem. Everything was fine until these darn PEP tests came along and started messing with the way things have always been."

Milton leaned towards Hank. In response to Milton's size, Hank leaned back a bit more.

"PEP tests crank out Geniuses by the hour, but some people are better off not knowing what they are. You've heard tales of lottery winners whose lives became unbearable after hitting the jackpot. They'd been happy the way things were, and the sudden wealth only serves to make them less happy. But what's a person to do? He has all these riches now, and he can't just wish for it to go away. He'll never be his plain old self again."

Milton got very serious. "You will never be your plain old self again. You're a Dot. You'll always know it."

Milton paused, but Hank just stared, so he carried on.

"Long before the PEP, some people knew they were Dots. Everybody's a Dot a little bit, just like everybody can draw or paint. But most people aren't real artsy, you know? Most people aren't good at being a Dot. Not like you."

Hank met another of Milton's pauses with silence, only this time he did so with a look of ease. It felt good to think that maybe he was special after all. Milton pushed on with his presentation, knowing Hank was receptive.

"And not like me. And definitely not like Rio. She's a Dot too, just like me, but neither of us needs to be PEPed to figure it out. We knew we were Dots long before there were tests." Milton laughed as he made a correction. "Well, at least me, anyway. Rio's actually quite young!"

Hank finally interjected. "Okay, I'll bite. How did you know you were a Dot without taking a test?"

"Because we make the world go round. We make things happen. And these newly PEPed Dots are screwing with the way things have always been. You may have noticed, even in this short amount of time, that people are treating you like you're some sort of freak, thanks to your new complexion. Even people you've known for a while, who were always nice, are now insulting you."

Hank long ago had come to terms with the fact that most people viewed him as being odd, but Milton was absolutely right. Ever since getting PEPed, the reactions people have had toward Hank had been unbearable. He thought, prior to taking the second test, perhaps if he saved up some money and bought himself new clothes, his lot in life would improve. He was getting a little too old for the slacker skater boy look he sported.

"There's nothing you can do to change what you are," Milton said, interrupting Hank's self analysis. "You're a Dot, you know you are, and so does everyone else. And the tiny Dot inside them all is what makes them not like you. It has nothing to do with your clothes."

Hank was certain now that Milton could tell what he was thinking. With piqued irritation, he tested his theory out.

Okay, Dude, Hank thought while crossing his arms. Tell me why the Dot in you is being nice to me.

"I'm different than other Dots, as is Rio too. We know we're Dots. We know what Dots can do. We're kingmakers, Hank. Dream crushers."

Milton leaned back and crossed his own arms. He then turned sideways a bit so he could cross his legs as well. His chair groaned its disapproval of these maneuvers.

"We are the angels of God," he said.

Another silent pause went by as Milton stared at the sinks.

"And Satan's demons from Hell."

Hank took a drink from his soda. Milton did so as well, finishing it before turning his head to stare at Hank.

That was weird, Hank thought. Let's try again. What does this have to do with me?

"You're a kingmaker, too. You crush dreams, bestow blessings, deliver sorrow. People don't like people like that. Do you know how some people say that an animal can smell fear? Well, people can smell a Dot."

"Like me?" Hank asked incredulously. "Okay, I'll buy that. It's a well-known fact that people hate Dots."

"It's not just people in general. It's Asian people especially." Milton smiled politely. "You work at an Asian grocery store."

Geez, does this guy know everything? "It's actually a deli," Hank corrected, though in fact, it was both. "Is that dog of yours a spy or something?"

"No, no," Milton answered with an even greater smile. "But no fact gets past Rio. She's really quite remarkable! Brilliant, like a diamond. I'm pretty sure she thinks you're a diamond, too, in the rough at least, or she wouldn't allow you to be alone with me. Bumbles thinks you're brilliant, though." He laughed. "That's for sure!"

Why? Hank thought reflexively.

"He brought you here," Milton said.

Hank began fighting off an old familiar feeling. When things got hard to deal with, he believed that walking away was the best solution. He sat up very straight.

"Your dog brought me here? No. I followed that thing of my own free will. And whatever it is, it's not a dog."

"Well, it's supposed to be a dog. And don't think for one moment that Rio won't be right back in here if you try something funny."

Hank stood up, insulted. "Try something funny? What's that supposed to mean? You and your buddies are the ones doing the funny stuff! Why am I here, if that dog brought me here?" Despite the overwhelming urge to walk away, he remained standing across two tables from the seated Milton. "I want you to tell me right now how that vending machine works."

"You made it work," Milton said, looking up to Hank. "You pressed a button and got what you wanted. You even got what I wanted. You did it."

Hank waved his arm in frustration. "Yeah, well, I know that. But tell me how."

Milton only turned his head and blinked at the sinks. He leaned back and tried to get another drink from his Diet Poppsy, but it was already gone. He then pointed a finger at Hank with the hand holding the bottle.

"Don't misunderstand me, my friend," he said.

I'm not your friend.

"We could be friends. We could work together."

How does this guy do that?

"We can change the world. We will change the world, one way or another, either together or apart. The world is changing rapidly. PEP tests spew out Geniuses by the hour, and Dots are tilting the playing field. They're the jackpot winners, whether they know it or not. Dots rule the world."

In contrast to Hank's aggressive stance, Milton remained relaxed, speaking as a man in command of facts.

"You're a Genius, Hank. You always have been. You always will be. You don't need a PEP test to be good at what you do, but you'll benefit from some guidance, and a little training. You're a Dot, as am I, and as Rio, too. But Rio is also Asian, and she would happily kill us both with but a whiff of her hand." Milton waved nonchalantly as he carried on. "She harbors ill will towards Dots. Now, again I say, and don't misunderstand me. Rio is Asian. She's pure Japanese. She's a Dot, and she does not like you."

"Yeah, I can tell she's Japanese," Hank chided, ignoring the possibility that Rio might want to kill him for some stupid reason. "I work at an Asian deli, remember? But you say she's a Dot? So, she hates herself?"

Milton broke his serious tone and let out a belly laugh. He was quite good at it. His belly was certainly big enough.

"It's a dilemma, isn't it? To embrace yourself, you must accept what you hate. You can relate to that, can't you? You sometimes find you don't like who you are. Why is that, hmm? Maybe another PEP test will bring you happiness."

Wow. I kinda want to punch this guy, Hank thought, against his benign nature. I guess it's time to go.

He barely got his first thought out, let alone the second, when Rio returned. She stood several yards away, just inside the room from the transverse hallway. With her clipboard at her side, she glared at Hank with shiny dark eyes, paralyzing him with beauty, and striking him with fear.

"Don't go," Milton said, guessing Hank's intent. "The best is yet to come. I promise."

"Okay, then. Let's have it," Hank said, staring back heroically at very scary Rio.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

She’s the eyes that lead you on and on, and then show you death.

She’s the creature you give everything for and never really get.

She’s the lure. She’s the bait. She’s the Girl with the Hungry Eyes.

Fritz Leiber published The Girl with the Hungry Eyes in 1949. By mixing gothic horror with fantasy and science fiction in a LitFic sort of way, Leiber won so many Hugos and Nebula Awards that I've lost count. But always, when I read him, I'm left saying one thing:

Gimme more more more more more! ❤

How about you? 🐱

The Book of LIBERALITY - Chapter FOUR

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