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The Third Bomb by Rudy Rucker Story Copyright (C) 2006, Rudy Rucker. Images Copyright (C) 2006, Rudy Rucker. 1,600 Words. I’m imprisoned on a jungle island. I think it’s in the Caribbean near South America. Can you hear me? I’m sending this out live on the Web by talking to myself under my breath so that it makes a slight hum or moan in my larynx. The sound resonates up my throat and into the SWN transmitter that Dr. Robards implanted it in my back tooth today. SWN means Saucer Wisdom Network. Dr. Robards is the prison dentist. I’ve been live on the Web ever since the anesthetic wore off. My molar had an abscessed cavity; the man put in a large plastic filling with, I firmly believe, a transmitter inside. What makes me so sure? When I was leaving the office, Dr. Robards looked at me and made the Saucer Wisdom gesture, cupping his hand down and moving it rapidly to one side. I saw this very clearly. But, yes, maybe prison life is getting to me. Maybe I’m going crazy, sitting in the corner of my cell crooning to myself and thinking I’m broadcasting. Radio Free Me. It’s very stressful here, that’s for sure. They pipe country music and political speeches into our cells, always with crackling static and unpredictable shifts of volume. It’s been weeks since I had a good night’s sleep. The ugly noise gets into my head, driving my thoughts. There’s a guy here from Quebec with a really strong voice. Jean-Claude. Sometimes he sings over the piped-in crud, bellowing “O Canada” or “La Marseillaise,” temporarily drowning out the horrible music: the grainy-voiced alkies, the caterwauling prowler-gals, the warbling yearners, their witless rhymes like hammer-blows. Right now, as I’m broadcasting this, it just so happens that we’re hearing the voice of our President. He sounds angry, like he always does. I wish I could blow off his head a second time. Not that it would matter any more than it did the first time I did it. Earth’s doomed to become an alien refueling station unless the people of the world rise up together. I’m calling for armed revolution. Moaning into my tooth. My jailers are fellow Americans. Some of them wear military uniforms with no identifying insignia, other dress in chinos and white shirts. Most of the other prisoners here are foreign. All of us are suspected terrorists, none of us is going to get any kind of normal judicial p
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