Gentle Reader: The first chapter of this book sucks. It’s intended to. Please read on.
1. Fleas naughty dog/There’s fleas on your dad
José Feliciano, Feliz Navidad
The wind, unsettled and quarrelsome among dusty Bethlehem streets, blows down broken cobblestones as two hooded figures make their way. As they hurry, the taller whispers urgently to the other, who carries a small bundle. They turn down an alley, avoiding steaming piles of dung, toward the stable hewn into the rock behind an inn.
The pair step into the stable and the taller removes a cylinder from its pocket. It bends over the small bundle and sprays something from the object. “There. Now he’s protected from the brain virus the Enforcers have infected this planet with. At least his intellect won’t be sapped, and he’ll have a better chance of surviving.”