Frankenstein

asked.
    “Macbeth.”
    “I figured you’d know.”
    Perhaps because he was born from the dead, Deucalion lacked the daily need for sleep that was a trait of those born from the living. On the rare nights when he slept, he always dreamed.
    Brother Knuckles knew the truth of Deucalion: his origin in a laboratory, his animation by lightning, his early crimes, and his quest for redemption. The monk knew, as well, that during Deucalion’s sleepless nights, he usually occupied himself with books. In his two centuries, he had read and reread more volumes than were contained in all but the largest of the world’s libraries.
    “With me it ain’t Macbeth. It’s memory,” said the monk. “Memory is pure caffeine.”
    “You’ve received absolution for your past.”
    “That don’t mean the past didn’t happen.”
    “Memories aren’t rags that come clean with enough wringing.”
    “Guess I’ll spend the rest of my life wringing them anyway. What brings you here?”
    Raising one hand to trace the contours of the ruined half of his once handsome face, Deucalion murmured, “He is risen.”
    Looking at the crucifix, the monk said, “That ain’t exactly news, my friend.”
    “I refer to my maker, not yours.”
    “Victor Frankenstein?”
    That name seemed to echo across the vaulted ceiling as no other words had echoed.
    “Victor
Helios
, as he most recently called himself. I saw him die. But he lives again. Somehow … he lives.”
    “How do you know?”
    Deucalion said, “How do
you
know the most important thing you know?”
    Glancing again at the crucifix, the monk said, “By the light of revelation.”
    “There is no light in my revelation. It’s a dark tide in my blood—dark, cold, thick, and insistent, telling me
He’s alive.”

    
chapter
2

    Erskine Potter, the future mayor of Rainbow Falls, Montana, walked slowly around the dark kitchen, navigating by the green glow of the digital clocks in the two ovens.
    The clock in the upper oven read 2:14, and the clock in the lower oven displayed 2:11, as if time flowed more languidly nearer the floor than nearer the ceiling.
    Being a perfectionist, Potter wanted to reset both clocks to 2:16, which was the correct time. Time must be treated with respect. Time was the lubricant that allowed the mechanism of the universe to function smoothly.
    As soon as he finished his current task, he would synchronize every clock in the residence. He must ensure that the house remained in harmony with the universe.
    Henceforth, he would monitor the clocks twice daily to determine if they were losing time. If the problem wasn’t human error, Potter would disassemble the clocks and rebuild them.
    As he circled the kitchen, he slid his hand across the cool granitecountertops—and frowned when he encountered a scattering of crisp crumbs. They stuck to his palm.
    He brought his palm to his nose and smelled the crumbs. Wheat flour, soybean oil, palm oil, skim-milk cheese, salt, paprika, yeast, soy lecithin.
    When he licked the tasty debris from his palm, he confirmed his analysis: Cheez-It crumbs.
    He liked Cheez-Its. But he didn’t like crumbs being left on kitchen counters. This was unacceptable.
    At the gas cooktop, he lifted one of the burner grates, set it aside, hesitated, and wiped his fingertips over the stainless-steel drip pan. Grease.
    Erskine Potter believed in cleaning a cooktop after each use, not just once or twice a week. A tool or a machine, or a system, would function better and last longer if it was clean and properly maintained.
    In the sink, he found dishes waiting to be washed: plates, bowls, flatware standing in drinking glasses. At least everything seemed to have been rinsed.
    He hesitated to look in the refrigerator, concerned that what he found might make him angry. Anger would make him less focused and less efficient.
    Focus and efficiency were important principles. Few people in the world were focused and efficient. For the good of the planet, the unfocused and inefficient needed to be killed.
    As the mayor of Rainbow Falls, Montana, he would never be in a position of sufficient power to exterminate millions of people, but he would do his small part. Regardless of the scope of his authority and the size of his assignment, each member of the Community—with a capital C—was as valuable as any other.
    Absolute equality was an important principle.
    The embrace of cold reason and the rejection of sentimentality was another important