Americhrist

I’m publishing the entire book on its own page, instead of a chapter a week — this way if anyone gets into the book they don’t have to wait and read it. Also because it is fiction, it will keep it separate from the issues on the front page. The book really is an extension of this blog, or I should say this blog is an extension of the book, it did come first after all! 

Please excuse any silly mistakes that would be found by a copy editor such as their instead of there, stuff like that. After you’ve written 100,000 novel it’s hard to see these things no matter how many times you read it. Also my editor friend complained about my punctuation which I tend to avoid because it gets in the way of my flow. I personally don’t find it distracting, but it you are like my friend try to forgive me as this, too, would be fixed when it is properly edited by someone other than me. 

So you will be seeing what editors and agents have seen. And hopefully it will be polished again and readable at some future point in book form. I hope you enjoy it. 

The book came from a vision I had of the future, one in which Armageddon didn’t happen, no big war or dramatic explosion, just us killing our world through global warming and all the bizarre side effects this phenomena will include. 

The book got its title from 2 themes in the book. You’re a smart audience and I’m sure you can figure out why and how it got its name once you read it. 

Hope you enjoy it!

Best wishes.

Americhrist                   

 A Novel By

 Denise Siegel

 

 

                 Chapter 1 – Digibio Technologies

               (2044, January through June)

 

 

     For three months I had worked at Digibio Technologies, but each day the security guard double checked my ID badge, ran a series of computer checks and called my supervisor Geraldine Shumaker. Today was no exception. A line of cars was forming behind me at the gate. It was embarrassing.

     I gave the guard my name, again, “Psyche Hershenbaum.”

     After a brief phone conversation with my supervisor the guard nodded and started, “You’ll be parking in…”

     “Space 1133,” I said. He glared with shock and awe, as if I were a Mambo Priestess. And I laughed at the thought of having any vexing paranormal power, as if there was anything more than routine going on. But in the past twenty years the world had changed from rational to reactionary to hysterically religious, and overrun with true believers who saw the hand of God in each and every mundane transaction. Some “pilgrims” had even trekked into the shattered ghost cities to see the Virgin Mary on the side of broken down buildings at the behest of the national church aka “The Wrath of God, inc.” run by Jessie and Sandy Applegate -despite contamination warnings issued from scientists. Later of course these “pilgrims” died of plague or UV exposure. There was nothing more “evil” than the Applegates fanatical right wing church prodding their terrified flock to the slaughterhouse in the name of salvation.

     Being a nubie at Digibio, it was a long walk to the elevators and even further through the bowels of the sub city where I worked in the chlorophyll research lab. There were thirty five cameras I had spotted so far. Who knew how many more were too hidden to see.

     The building itself wasn’t much to look at from inside or out. Cold industrial steel bones, concrete flesh and mirrored glass with eyes always watching from the side you couldn’t see.

     Through the labyrinth of hallways I contemplated the heavy security. Most of my research had been in and for universities. I hadn’t worked in the corporate sector much, but I had worked briefly for two other companies and their security was nothing like Digibio just a gate, a few security personal and a couple of cameras mounted in the parking structure. Digibio made no sense. No information was allowed to be shared between departments or scientists. This was the most peculiar facet of the work and the company itself. It went against all ordinary scientific protocol with the potential side effect of slowing down or squashing advancement. Why isolate each sector with different department heads and keep researchers on micro projects for years without any idea of why or what they were researching?     

     I was limited to the reproduction of chlorophyll in genetically altered plants. At first my suspicion was Digibio was trying to produce seeds and rhizomes strong enough to stay mutation free. In the Midwest after the great floods of 2020, farmers couldn’t produce edible corn or wheat because the loss of ozone resulted in high levels of radiation. A hearty, edible, plant could be extremely valuable as a staple food if it were UV resistant. And if Digibio had total control they would reap all the financial rewards. But this line of logic quickly broke down. The population was rapidly decreasing and it made no sense to be so clandestine and elaborate when there was little or no competition.

     I finally got to the bio-sector iris-scan and put my chin on the rest. The beam stung. I hated those things, there were fingerprints scans and so many other ways to do the same thing without causing pain. The iris-scans were even installed at the food court which was the only common area and was redundant after having been scanned everywhere else in the building. It bordered on sadistic.

     Ira had started calling me sleeping beauty because of my project ignorance. It was a clumsy metaphor. The sleeping part, maybe, but I had no illusions of being a beauty. I was made acutely aware of this as far back as I could remember. Some insults haunted me into adulthood such as hook nose, horsy face, sack of bones and of course the universal favorite, kike – with a name like Psyche Hershenbaum there was no hiding Jewish roots.

     I clocked in and Geraldine walked by and nodded at me. Eight in the morning and back to the grind, repeating the same experiment on the manufacturing of chlorophyll in Digibio’s patented rapid growth Planimal. A hybrid engineered by splicing cactus, cockroach and rat genes. It was vitally important that the cells stood up to intense ultraviolet rays and so far my research yielded mixed results. I suspected the ratio of genetic ingredients needed to be tweaked and had filed a report with Geraldine about this opinion, but there had been no acknowledgment of my findings thus far.

     But later that day just after getting back from lunch, Geraldine tapped my shoulder and said, “Follow me.”

     For such a tiny woman Geraldine’s clip was hard for to keep up with. When we reached the digi-block, Geraldine put a hand in front of the scanner, telling the computer, “Meeting with Paul Lamont, section 5-a, special privileges extended to Psyche Hershenbaum code number 771133.”

     “Iris scan indicated,” the computer responded and we put our faces to its lens.

     The tension in my neck squirmed into knots. We took the lift to corporate headquarters above ground in the main building. Few employees had ever seen the inside of the above ground building, only those with special clearance, heads of departments and corporate business types. Geraldine was fidgeting and didn’t say a word. It made me nervous.

     An armed guard met us outside the lift and took us to the boardroom. A plaque outside read: Trilateral Room. This was it. The it. The place where all company decisions were made. Where careers ended, lives were ruined or made. I took a deep breath.

     The guard keyed the wall. It opened.

     The head scientist, Paul Lamont, smiled and extended his hand. I let out a breath when my palm met his. And even though he said, “Good to meet you, Psyche. Geraldine has nothing, but praise for your work,” with a twinkle and charm that should have made me feel like I was at a dinner party, I felt very uneasy.

     Paul was uncannily handsome – a tall man with a full head of silver streaked hair, sharp wolf-like sky blue eyes and a disarmingly warm smile. As I studied his face my eyes wandered to a spot of dried blood on his chin where he’d cut himself shaving.      

“Nice to meet you too, Mr. Lamont,” I returned. He smiled again and turned to shake Geraldine’s hand. They exchanged small talk. Soon his smile evaporated and he led us to our seats at the boardroom table.   

     He punched some numbers into his wristcom and reading the screen, said to me, “Graduated in 2035 only six years into school with a doctorate. Something of a prodigy, aren’t you?”

     “No, not really, I just took an extra course load, worked hard and finished a few years early.”

     “Modest.” He winked. “We like that in our researchers. What where you twenty four?”

     “Yes, sir.”

     “So your thirty now?” I nodded.  He looked at his wristcom again. “My data shows you’re age among company scientists ranks in the fifteen percentile group and your company seniority, ha, is so low it hasn’t even been entered.”

     I smiled. “That explains why the gate guard never seems to know I’m an employee.”

     Paul lifted his wristcom and spoke into it, “Computer upload Psyche Hershenbaum’s system files into the main frame.” Paul turned back to me and said, “All taken care of.”

     The wall opened. Several men walked in tandem huddled closely around someone I couldn’t see until he sat down – I gasped. It was the President – the current reigning President of the United States of America, Reginald Strauch and on his right was his wife Camille Pamela.

     My heart raced and plummeted into my stomach. They had the queer magnetism of power – an air of entitlement only a child born into a political dynasty could possess and it was as physical and real as gravity. Reginald’s father, grandfather, paternal great grandfather and great-great grandfather had been Republican Presidents. Democrats (and a few radical Republicans) argued for reforms because the office had become nepotistic and dangerously bordered on a monarchy. People voted for names they had heard of and an ordinary candidate couldn’t compete with the money an ancient dynasty had or could raise. Some left of center Democrats had gone as far as accusing the presidency of cultivating a plutocratic oligarchy akin to the Caesars of ancient Rome. Some argued America resembled Feudal Europe, corporations playing the role of the church during the Dark Ages using their power to manipulate the president who was now nothing more than a pawn of industry. This, they said, was not the America our forefathers had envisioned and changes were needed to preserve the spirit of our democracy. The American ideal had blown away in a gust of corruption like a seed on the wind.

     By the turn of the century Americans were a dying peasant class drowning in debt. They had lost the plot and were mislead by advertising, double talk, and naiveté about the merger of corporate and political power that had overtaken the system. After the third Strauch was elected, there was talk of legislation to disqualify presidential candidates whose family history included political leaders but, of course, this was knocked down, not just because the Strauchs were again in power, but because most politicians had familial roots. And a far deadlier consequence of the shift in power was the inability to pass universal health care due to lobbying pressure. In large part the massive plagues that swept the nation owed a debt of gratitude to the broken health care system – with so many unable to afford health care people tried to cure themselves through herbal remedies and waiting out illnesses. The CDC could not effectively quarantine the infected. Plagues spread like wildfire mutating before health officials could gain control.  

     The faces around the board room table were a blur. All the lead scientists of various departments like Geraldine were present, but I didn’t know any of them. The only memorable people were the Strauchs and of course Paul Lamont.

     Lamont was the founder and CEO of Digibio. He lead the meeting. Publicly he was seen as an uncomfortable mix of scientist and businessman. He had first come to the media’s attention when I was a child for manufacturing organs for the wealthy in need of transplants. His face decorated every major magazine and the ethics of it sent a chill around the world. But despite an onslaught of criticism from nearly every religious leader in the world, his work continued funded by unspecified sources. In D.C. rumors of Strauch dynasty support abounded, but these rumors were largely dismissed due to the Strauch’s close connection and financial support of, “The Wrath of God, inc.”

     After Lamont made the introductions, President Strauch told the hovering swarm of secret service agents to, “Take a hike. Go guard the corridor.”

     Lamont called the meeting to order and said, “There have been significant findings in the development of ultra-violet resistance in the patented Planimal Cell. Miss Psyche Hershenbaum has found variable mutations, and according to her paper, she estimates stability at ten years unless there is ‘a significant restructuring of DNA.’ We’ve brought Psyche here to explain her findings and illuminate us with her proposed solution, which I might add, looks very promising. Psyche I turn the floor over to you.”

     “Thank you sir.” I wasn’t prepared for a presentation but my research had been hard wired into my brain through repetition. I tried to steady my voice. “What I’ve seen in the experiments are multiple results from exposure. In some instances the cells have shown little to no effect from increased ultra-violet light, in others they’ve completely mutated. The range of change is so varied from one cell to the next that I think there is a very minute code problem in the so called inactive genes which maybe causing the mutations. Further study is needed.”

     Paul interjected, “Please keep this simple Miss Hershenbaum, layman terms.”

     I nodded. “Right, basically, I took it upon myself to isolate those cells that performed best under ultra-violet conditions. I was given permission from Mrs. Shumaker to deep freeze the specimens for later study and if everything checks out. I believe we can clone those cells and fix the problem.”

 “Well, that’s a relief,” President Strauch said. He glared at Paul and with a wave of his hand said, “What are you waitin’ for? Get your people on this – right away.”

     Paul smiled. “Yes, sir.”

     “Okay, this meetin’ is over,” the President said getting up from the table with his wife Camille Pamela. “Well, boys I’ve got some big fish to fry. I’ll check in with you later.” In seconds he disappeared in a swarm of suited men down the hallway.

     The scientists were exiting when Paul pulled me aside. “Excellent job. Thank you.”

     I wondered why there had been no warning about the meeting, but all I said was, “You’re welcome, sir.”

     “Keep up the good work.” He clicked through his teeth, leaving me alone with Geraldine. 

     The guards escorted us to the lift. A sea of Strauch’s secret service men parted for Lamont and the two walked toward his office. And the lift doors shut.

     What the hell was going on?

     Why did the President of the United States care about my research or Digibio’s production of the Planimal? The lift felt uncomfortably silent, I broke the tension by saying to Geraldine, “That was a great honor… meeting President Strauch.”

     Geraldine’s eyes met mine with a queer look I couldn’t read. After a long uncomfortable walk back to the lab Geraldine said, “Very well done Psyche, go ahead and catalog the frozen samples then put them in the fridge for study tomorrow.”

     So that was it?

     The rest of my day was devoted to freezing planimal DNA strands. It had been a strange morning, everything had taken a 180. I had to reevaluate my research and reorganize how my project was going to be handled, from catalogue samples, to designing a new series of experiments.

     There was one advantage to the fresh set of problems, Geraldine let me go home early. When I arrived Ira was sitting on the couch in his boxer shorts and dress socks, watching the news with a bale of rice treats. It looked as if he’d been there all day. Chi, our cat (a Himalayan), was draped over his legs, asleep, turned belly up and fighting something in his dreams.

     “Shouldn’t you wake Chi? It looks like he’s having a nightmare,” I said.

     “No, he’s fine, it’ll just confuse him,” he said turning up the screen’s volume.

     I scooped Chi up and sat next to Ira to watch the news.    

     “New York City has been devastated by this unforeseen monster. Shouldn’t the NWFS have warned of this killer hurricane?” the anchorman and actor, Bill Surnow, queried. Shaky video footage from surveillance cameras around the city ran behind him. Buildings swayed from high winds and water suddenly crashed through the streets, the camera went blue. “More after we take a break,” a disembodied voice said.

     I grabbed the cordless phone and dialed my mother, simultaneously asking Ira, “What’s going on?”

     “Didn’t anyone tell you?”

     I shook my head. “There’s a busy signal.”

     “Yeah, I’ve been trying all day. They say the lines are down from North Carolina to Maine.”

     I dialed my mother’s cell and waited as it endlessly rang.

     Ira’s voice cracked. “I’ve already tried that number, too.”

     The heroic New York which had survived terrorist attacks, plagues and earthquakes was now being washed to sea. The images were gruesome and horrifying. I couldn’t stop thinking about my mother’s short white hair. Her hunched feeble body and the familiar smell of her sandalwood oil, drowning.

     The fear mom had to have experienced, seeing the ocean pitched like a tray of water. The sound of breaking bricks and mortar splintering and glass shattering and people screaming.

     Mom alone. Trapped in the brownstone.

Warren Street bursting with salt water, busting down the cobbled street, exploding two hundred year old row houses into broken brick walls with rocking chairs and baby’s cribs, sofas and teddy bears pouring out of holes – everything taken by the water — people struggling to grab anything floating by to keep themselves steady in the raging flood. The water infested with rats and trash, the tide crashing hard against each new building it seeked to destroy.

     My home. My mother. I was outside myself.

     It wasn’t like me to cry, even now the hot tightening in the deep of my throat was in a tunnel far away. I was frozen. Emotionally paralyzed. “I spoke to her yesterday. She’s alright. Right? She’s okay, isn’t she?”

     Ira moved gently across the sparse room and caught my hand in his. Its warmth momentarily penetrated my numbness.

     The commercial break ended. A grim Bill Surnow stood at the anchor desk to announce, “Early estimates for Hurricane Xavier are thought to include hundreds of thousands dead and many more missing. One source reported most of Brooklyn and Long Island shore entirely decimated. There is little hope the area will ever recover.”

     Bill Surnow cut to a local reporter who was standing in the middle of an ER in Queens. “The hospitals are inundated with the injured. In Manhattan F5 winds cracked and shattered windows, glass chards sharp as daggers hurtled in every direction. The scene more gruesome than words could describe.”

     I dialed my mother, Miriam’s home again. Again, no use. Mom’s cell phone. “All circuits are busy.” The University where she worked. “You’re call can not go through. Please hang up and dial again.” I went through lists of friends and relatives but to no avail.

I bottled up the urge to throw the phone across the room and instead demanded of Ira, “When?” 

     “Around noon the Weather Service started to see signs of a hurricane gathering…”

     “But how?” I asked him.

     “The conditions were just right off the coast of North Carolina…”

     “But why? Nothing…” I stopped myself because my voice was starting to quiver. It was as if my cranium had cracked like a polar ice cap and it was melting so fast the water was drowning me. I raised my voice at Ira, “It’s impossible. Nothing like this has ever happened in New York.”

     Ira, who had arrived at my side to give comfort, retreated. “Take it easy, Psyche everything is going to be all right.” He said this with all the skill and assurance of a man who had never had to utter such words.

     “Don’t tell me to take it easy. And it’s not going to be okay. My mother is missing. She’s probably dead and you have no answers. No one has answers.” I grabbed my coat and headed toward the front door. Ira followed after me.

     “Where are you going?”

     “I need to think.”

     “You can’t go out, it’s dark and late.”

     But I darted past him and left. The storm that had hit New York was coming into town and it was cool and misty out. Ira busted out the front door and ran after me. “It’s dangerous.”

     “I need to be by myself.” He tried to grab me but I shook him off. “Please. Just leave me alone.”

     “When will you be back?” He pleaded. He looked concerned and confounded. In eight years I had never raised my voice or shed the smallest tear in front of him.

     It was starting to drizzle and I wiped a gathered tear of rain from his cheek and said, “As soon as I can.” A moment later I broke into a run and headed into a dark alley.

     I felt a drop of water run down my face and I wasn’t sure if it was me or the rain. But it didn’t matter. I roamed the streets dotted with city lanterns and sickly trees. The cold moon followed as if mocking my pain with a twisted snarl on her face. The rain halos around the street lamps tainted with memories of Brooklyn — things I tried to hold back but couldn’t — waving good-bye to my mom from the car as she stood on the stoop, never thinking it would be the last time I saw her. This image I couldn’t shake no matter how long or far I walked.

     I hadn’t noticed time slipping by or the pound of my footsteps or the chill or the rain soaking through me until I hit the Potomac and I stared at the obstacle it posed on my quest to loose myself. I had walked at least five miles and I knew I had to get back before Ira started a vain attempt to find me. It felt like the edge of the earth and the edge of time, I was crashing and splintering like a fine piece of porcelain hitting concrete.

     And then I saw them. A woman about my age, in her early thirties, holding a small limp girl in her arms and struggling to walk the rain slicked stairs.

     Logic told me not to, they could have been afflicted with a plague or a crime may have been taking place, but I ran toward them. Something compelled me. And for the first time I can remember, I discarded logic and apathy.

     By the time I got to them the mother was struggling to put her dying child in the car. She was about to lay the girl on the sidewalk to open the door when I took her from the woman’s hands. She looked at me as if I had always been there like some sort of guardian angel. We said nothing. She opened the door and I slid the girl into the backseat. Seconds later the woman was backing out of the driveway, barely getting the driver’s side door fully closed as she sped down the street.

     On the way home I wondered about them, whether the mother had gotten the girl to a hospital in time, if the girl would survive. Helping them had for a moment made me feel a little less helpless. And I treasured that feeling through my personal darkness like an heirloom.

     Ira was fully dressed and ready to start his search when I let myself in. It looked like he had been crying. The flat screen was a cacophony of devastation behind him.

     “If I wasn’t so happy to see you I’d strangle you right now,” he said grabbing me.

     “I’m not a child.”

     “And what? You didn’t think I’d be worried? Why are you punishing me like this?”

     “This isn’t about you, Ira.”

     “Yes it is. It’s about you not letting me in. I want to help you, but you make it impossible.”

     I nodded. He put his arms around me and held me until I couldn’t be held any longer without breaking down again. “I’m sorry,” I said.

     There was a repeat of an earlier news broadcast. It was a press conference with none other then my boss Paul Lamont. I sat down to watch it.

     Lamont looked too put together, in a suit that would have cost an average person a year’s wages. He was unnaturally relaxed for the circumstances. “There has been a rush to judgment by the scientific community about the Atlantic’s rise in temperature and global warming. For years I’ve poured over countless studies, reviewed thousands of reports and culled through all the supposed proof. I’ve never found a correlation. The evidence is overwhelming for a natural shift in the Earth’s climate. This has occurred many times before human history. It’s unfortunate that we happen to be living during one of these intense global changes.”

     I yelled at the screen, “Fucking asshole! Those studies were done by oil companies, they have no credibility. They’ve been discredited by every independent survey done by the scientific community.”

     Paul then took a question from Bill Surnow. “What about the ozone hole?”

     Paul responded, “Another natural phenomena caused by radiation imitated during solar storms. We’ve seen evidence of holes before in layers of igneous rock. And it’s been repairing itself over the past forty years.”

     “Bullshit,” I said.

     Ira cautioned me, “Just hold on a minute,”

     Bill Surnow asked his follow up, “Are you suggesting all the horrible tragedies that have occurred over the past forty years, are simply a result of natural earth changes?”

     “Absolutely,” Lamont said. He waived away any further questions and left the podium.

     Ira sat down beside me. “I saw it this afternoon, but I don’t get why they’re still trying to cover up the global warming thing when it’s been proven countless times.”

     I hit the rewind button and replayed Lamont’s speech, freezing a medium shot of him and examining it carefully. “There’s something strange about this. I was taken in to see him this morning at work.”

     A curious Ira walked back in. He asked, “You were?”

     “Strauch was there, too.”

     “The President was at Digibio?”

     I continued to stare at the screen trying to determine what exactly was different about Paul Lamont. Was his hair a little longer? I went through the catalogue of images fresh in my mind from the boardroom meeting. Yes. But without a physical picture, I couldn’t be sure. His clothes were obviously different. The suit most patently not something he would wear to work. Of course he must have changed. Then I noted something that confirmed my suspicion.

     “This was prerecorded,” I said.

     “What makes you think that?”

     “When I saw him this morning he had a cut on chin.” I paused the image and zoomed closer, pointing to his chin. “There’s nothing there.”

     Ira squinted. “They knew this would happen.”

     “Yeah, and they didn’t give any warning.”

     “But why?” he asked.

     I shook my head. “I can’t think about it right now.”

 

 

               Chapter 2 – Sleepless Night

              (2044, January through June)

 

 

 

      Gale force winds and thunder, garbage cans crashing over, objects slamming into walls and fences, and Ira slept through all of it like a kitten cuddling at his mother’s breast. But not me. My mind and heart were on fire.

     Chi followed me, meowing for treats. It was cold downstairs. The angry wind forced its way between door and window cracks. I grabbed Ira’s ratty old sweater. The first present I had given him. It was the only thing left from that period of his life, perhaps a small reminder of how far he’d come since the penitentiary. I barely knew him then. We had dated about a year. He told me he worked for an internet research corporation, a consumer watch dog group that kept an eye on the defense department, it had some crazy name I forcibly forgot.

     There was never any question. I was instantly in love and hopelessly naive about human nature. Turned out he was part of a watch dog group of hackers who stole classified information and sold it to reporters for a premium. To him it was noble, the people had a right to know and he had a right to make a living. Really, it was closest to intellectual prostitution although he saw himself as a twenty first century Robyn Hood. He could have been building something great instead of hunting down and exploiting government weakness. But who was I to judge? I knew his heart was good and his intentions were pure. And I loved him. He loved me. So I waited.

     We avoided talking about it. And if we had to refer to that period there was a code, words that lessened the pain or importance for both of us. Anything to make it less real than it was. Usually if I referred to it, I said, “when you lived in the country.” He usually said, “during that time.”

     When I was hired at Digibio, they ran a background check. Nothing came up in the preliminary. A month later they revoked access to anything but the chlorophyll research lab and the cafeteria. But it didn’t really bother me. 

     The tea kettle was singing. Only one bag of Chamomile left, hopefully it would help put me in a coma. And I could wake tomorrow discovering it had all been just a horrible nightmare.

     The lights browned. The drawer had only three emergency candles left from the previous storm which ended two weeks prior. It had lasted thirty five days straight and the power had consistently gone out during peak hours. According to the weather man another hurricane was due to hit North Carolina. But other than historic value there was nothing there. Both Carolinas were dead, the states didn’t have money for scrims and except for folklore about people surviving off the land in the forest, there wasn’t a soul within a hundred miles of New York or D.C. And now all that was left was D.C. There were reports of a smattering of survivors in Seattle but the numbers were low.

     I walked to the sofa and stared out the window, drinking tea. Chi sat on my lap. The rain was fierce and reminded me of New York, in my mother’s old brownstone. There had been a very bad storm when I was ten. We had both woken for different reasons. The thunder and lightening had cast shadows of monsters  on the wall scaring me out of the room. While Mom contended with a real beast. She was setting out buckets all over the living room to catch the water oozing out of the fissures and cracks in the ceiling. Later I found out she had been afraid the whole damn roof was going to cave in on us, but at the time she pretended it was a game. A fun thing to do together. She had me searching for bowls, buckets, and hats until each little fissure was represented by its counterpart on the worn hardwood floor. And when a bucket would fill, she would grab one of the mongrel cups or bowls from my loot while pouring the buckets contents into the kitchen sink and then dutifully replacing them.

     But even though she presented a calm rational exterior I knew something was very wrong. And I remember admiring her. She was fearless, capable and godlike. Nothing could harm me with her protection. She was able to keep the world away with her brilliant mind and convert anyone in her circle of influence to her point of view.

But that night I saw panic when she didn’t know I was watching. It was complicated seeing it and not wanting to see it. So I chose to believe the buckets were a game, knowing it was a protective lie. A lie affirming her love for me.

     The street lights flickered in the rain. Some of the UV scrims down the block looked as though they had been sliced by a colossal box cutter. They flapped in the wind like serpent shaped kites.

     D.C. was tolerable. It was cleaner than New York and had a much more reliable and quick acting body pick up service unlike the Corner Hut Drop Off Centers of New York, which were always teeming with mutant flies and reeked of decaying flesh no matter how often the workers cleaned them out. It was an ineffectual system and a health hazard. But you hardly ever saw the dead on the streets like you did here in D.C., even if they didn’t stay long on the walk ways you were still confronted with them daily. Maybe it was a bit healthier but I preferred New York. It felt more like an old city, with people doing all different sorts of things besides just working for the government or on some government related project. More than anything it was my connection to a personal history I missed. Even if New York barely resembled the one of my youth. Even if it never snowed anymore and the winters felt like warm fall days from childhood. I knew it. Somewhere under its fading, wilting petals the stem was the same. 

     And despite the elaborate scrim maze providing the best UV protection in the world (or so we were told by our government) I had preferred shabby New York. If only I could have gotten my mother to move. But that was like asking lead to turn into gold. And even though it got tiresome always wearing a protection suit or carry a UV umbrella or coating my skin with titanium dioxide which made me and my mom break out like hormonal teenagers if we so much as looked at the stuff, she would hear nothing of the virtues of my new city. She desperately loved all that was left of New York.

     On the steps of the apartment building across the street a black shape moved. It was big enough to be a person but could have been a box or a piece of furniture left out for trash pick-up which had caught in the gale force wind, but most likely it was one of the infected. A crack of lightening lit the street clearly and I saw the woman. Skeleton Plague. Aptly named for the visual state it left its victims in – their skin and fat tissues were literally cannibalized by their bodies immune system and the results were a horrifying sight – skin turned paper white, taught and veiny, held up by the jagged tent poles of their bones. 

The government said Skeleton Plague was communicable, but it was an auto immune disease. The scientific community was still debating its genesis and treat-ability, but that was it. We knew something was turning white blood cells into cannibalistic machines, whether it was UV-B, UV-A rays or some other solar radiation mixed with pollution was the only question. There was always a new outbreak during solar flares and there had never been any evidence of it being contagious, but people were afraid and the CDC had decided early on it was best to treat it like all the other plagues that had come down the pike and keep its victims quarantined. Those that got it generally spent a lot of time outside and didn’t alter their behavior during solar flare warnings or relied only on the city scrims to protect them. The woman had probably escaped from quarantine in a vein attempt to see her family one last time, but they wouldn’t open the door for her.

In the next crack of lightening I saw her convulsing. She was in the last throws of life. I called the health department and a few minutes later I saw a hazmat team take her body away. No fanfare, no ceremony. Life reduced to inconvenient garbage. It hadn’t always been like that. I could almost remember a different time. Mom told me crazy stories about her childhood and what seemed like an Edenic period at the turn of the century. I never really believed her until I was in college and studied history.

     When I first started dating Ira I brought him to Columbia to meet my mom for lunch. We decided to stay afterward to see a documentary she was showing for her sociology class. Ira and I both burst into laughter after just a few minutes of the film. It looked so ridiculously naive, there biggest worry was crime. What was it? A thousand people dying a year from gun violence? Something remarkable like that. I couldn’t believe it was real and mom nearly kicked us out because some of the supposedly “shocking” statistics being thrown out about the death rate and natural disaster escalation seemed like a statistic seen on one good day in 2040. A year? It was so shocking I was surprised the rest of the class wasn’t rolling on the floor in stitches. But mom didn’t agree and it took a while for Ira to live down the incident and make up for his “insensitive behavior.” I had been the one making all the noise but, being her daughter, it was OK for me.

     His saving grave was his Jewishness. No way mother would have forgiven him if he were a gentile. Not that she was religious. Try the exact opposite. She passionately hated any and all organized religions and poo-pooed all forms of spirituality. So the emphasis on being Jewish always struck me as bizarre. She explained her obsession as a desire to keep the genetic lineage alive. Why that was important in my case was silly since I couldn’t bare children, nor could more than half of all New Yorkers due to our parents and our own, radiation or UV exposure, but she kept her hopes up.

     When I was a teenager my rebellious phase included going to temple with my orthodox friend Rachael. You’d think I was found plotting to kill the Pope. Even then she probably wouldn’t have been so angry because she hated the Pope as much as all religious leaders, to her they were devils poisoning minds and using fear to enslave the masses. I got a six hour lecture on the first day about the evils of organized religion and a history lesson about the estimated quarter of the women’s population of Europe who were brutally murdered by the Catholic church during the Dark Ages. The next day was a four-hour lecture on the raping, killing and pillaging of the matriarchal temples of the original Jewish people (the temples were dedicated to Astarte and later, in an obvious political move, she was turned into the demon Astoreth in the bible) by the followers of Jehovah who later became modern Jews. Then came the lecture about the slaughter of Christians and Jews by Muslims and the rise of terrorism in the Middle East at the turn of the century where tens of thousands were murdered in God’s name. She was sure to point out the irony that they were all fighting over the same God, Jehovah simply called a different name by each of the three major western religions. 

     The next week was devoted to, the Hindus and other “Pagan” religions who didn’t fight over the politics or names of Gods because to them, “all Gods are one,” so she told me if I was going to study any religion the only kind in her opinion worth its salt were the shamanistic traditions of either old Europe or the Americas. But as far as she knew all those teachings had been wiped out by genocide and political warfare. So being a shaman was a dangerous business and she didn’t condone that either. Best to stay with science, the functional universe and the now. Religion was too messy, spirituality too dodgy and philosophy too abstract to be useful. These feelings Miriam claimed came from studying sociology. But I don’t think the cause of religion was helped when her father the Rabbi walked out on her orthodox mother who later denounced Jehovah as a God who only cared for selfish men.

     So in my family God was a dirty word used to divide families and punish mothers. I couldn’t help picking up a distaste for Him after watching my favorite biology professor’s research project shut down by the university because of pressure from Jessie and Sandy Applegates, Wrath of God, inc. Biological waste was used in some of the experiments and this meant there was some fetal tissue. Hordes of Fundamentalist Christian zealots picketed and screamed for months on Campus. The University had been pretty good about ignoring them until one of them strapped a bomb to his back and blew up the lab.

       The Wrath of God, inc. denounced the suicide bomber once the University slapped a lawsuit on them and of course they weaseled out of it because they practically owned the U.S. They were the biggest religion in the world, what was left of it anyway. My mother called them, “a twisted Hip-Hop carnival of Christ.” They made me sick and if mom wasn’t enough to turn me against religion, their very existence, shut, locked and buried any religious curiosity in me.

 

                   Chapter 3 – Black Op

                (2044, January through June)

 

 

     The next morning Ira cooked grits for breakfast. I didn’t particularly like them, but had gotten used to them during the last food shortage. I asked, “Why do you think President Strauch was at the board meeting?”

     Ira shook his head. “Don’t know, but I could ask around.”

     “Who would you ask? One of the guys you lived in the country with?”

     Ira pushed a strand of his shoulder length hair away and nodded. “And?”

     “And you know what I think about that.”

     He poured his gruesome concoction into two bowls and threw spoons into the corn swamps. “My friends are just a sorry bunch of geeky hackers who got caught being hackers. I don’t see why you freak out every time I…”

     “Forget it.”

     “Psyche, we need to know. This is big. I can feel it.”  He handed me breakfast and walked past with his, through the living room and toward the basement.

     “Where are you going?”

     “To get to the bottom of it.”

     “No.” I chased him down the stairs. “Stop!”

     He ignored me and went straight to his terminal and linked up. “Don’t worry. Malone showed me where I went wrong.”

     “Really? When did he instruct you before or after he disappeared?”

     He strapped on the goggles. “Bite me.”

     “I won’t be able to if you’re one of the hundreds of hackers who evaporate into thin air every year.”

     “He’s not dead.” He waited for this to sink in. “Trust me.” And then put his nose plugs in and glared at me. “If either one of us are going to continue living, we have to know how to play this.”

     I frowned. He was right. There was every indication Digibio was connected to a black operation or it was a cover for one. Certainly the company was taking every precaution against leaks even with their own scientists. Now, the importance of my research put me on their radar and leaving the company was dangerous. I grimaced and went back upstairs to track down information about my mother.

     In the living room I clicked on the screen. The hurricane had settled into a tropical thunderstorm. Several hundred people were stuck on top of a high rise in downtown Manhattan. The waters rising around them. A rescue helicopter was pulling a woman and her baby up when the winds changed and the basket cracked against a satellite dish, twisting around the base. The helicopter spluttered and whined, crashing into the water. A crack of lighting singed the sky and the picture blew into digital noise.

     My hands went numb. I was in the throws of an anxiety attack. Breathe. Just breathe. Chi sharked my leg and followed me to the sofa where I sat for a moment trying to shake it off. He jumped on me as if he knew I needed him. “Thank you,” I whispered.

     On the wireless I dialed my mother. An error message from a computer generator voice said, “All systems down.”

     A number flashed on the bottom of the telecast. It had been set up by the Red Cross for relatives of the missing, the injured and dead. After a few tries I got through to a computer and punched in my mother’s name. The recorded voice said, “Miriam Johanna Hershenbaum is reported injured and being treated at St. Mary’s Hospital. The number there is 3-569-987-4500.”

     After dozens of attempts to get through to the hospital, I finally tracked down my mother’s ward. The nurse asked, “Are you family?”

     “Her daughter,” I said.

     “Hold a moment, I’ll look up her chart.” Bad Electronica, wallpaper posturing itself as music, rubbed my nerves raw for fifteen agonizing minutes that felt more like fifteen days. The nurse came back on. “I’m sorry but she passed away this morning – the cause was internal hemorrhaging.”

     “But the com…”

     The nurse interrupted, “I’ll forward your call to the morgue.”

     My feet and hands turned to ice and snow clouded my vision like an old broken TV. The last time I talked to mom she was more animated than she had been in years. Her last paper, had been nominated for a prize.

     The man at the morgue was gruff, hostile really. He answered with a curt, “Yeah?” In the background I heard voices and metallic screeches, things bumping and thudding.

     I sputtered out, “My, my, mother her…”

     “Name?” he said.

     “Her name i…”

     “Yeah, her name. I’m busy here.”

     “Have some compassion.”

     “No time for that – can’t tag bodies fast enough.”

     “I’m sorry.”

     “Whatever.” The phone muffled while he screamed orders. When he came back I managed mom’s name. “You got an out of town funeral home set up?”

     “Excuse me?” I said.

     He sighed. “A place to ship her.”

     “I’ll have to arrange that.”

     “God damn it. The nurse just put you through then, huh?”

     “Yes.”

     “You’ll have to call back.” A click then silence.

     Life and death had become an inconvenience. A mark on a piece of paper. A check on a form. A wooden box stuffed with the anonymous shipped to the anonymous. No time to look back or energy to acknowledge our common humanity. People were as sick as the planet. Both cause and effect of the cancer created by technology. And this made me grieve for more than just my mom. I grieved for all the now mythical creatures who once roamed the earth, for a time when people could bask in the sun without being burned alive by it.

     For the first time, I felt the pain of the Earth itself, and the tears of all who had loved this planet like their own mother. I wept for all we had lost. Maybe it was easier to weep for the world because mom was all I ever had and I couldn’t let myself face being orphaned in this hostile world, made even more hostile and violent, evil and sick by my latest discovery. We hadn’t been unwilling victims. We created this. Our government hadn’t just ignored the ecological disaster to come out of greed, they had vigorously participated in the murder of all life and the planet herself.

     So this was humanities legacy? Whatever future alien intelligence discovering this barren planet would know only the worst parts of us, the crazy, out of control monkeys whose brains were eminently clever and whose hearts were shriveled from lack of wisdom and maturity.

     The Born Again Christians had been right this had been “the end of days,” but they had brought the rapture and no second coming, no Christ, no Jesus had ever appeared. Perhaps he had thought better of wasting the Kingdom of Heaven by crowding it with His sick followers, perhaps He was as disgusted as I was and He decided to let them rot in the cesspool they had created.     

     Perhaps if there were Gods this was Heaven’s insurrection and the bible had not just been used on earth for political gain to subjugate humanity, but it served the same purpose in the Heavens by a trickster God. Maybe Jehovah had better access to us because of our small monkey minds which could only comprehend viciousness, not the true Creator’s unconditional love.

     All these years I had looked through microscopes and marveled at the beautiful complexity starting with cells, then atoms and electrons and quarks. My heart would sing with praise for the intelligence behind it all. A peek at the night sky between the scrims was enough to confirm there was so much more to the universe than I could ever pretend to understand. I was less than a spec in the vastness of all that was, with its tapestry of layers in every direction from the smallest to the largest, with its simultaneity of time to the unquantifiable infinity of dimensions, there was no way any religion on earth interpreted through our smallness could grasp even a wisp of the truth. This was the one thing I was ever sure of. Atheism had been the bone my mother chewed on but this was mine.

     Anyone who claimed to have the answers was either a liar or completely deluded. We could only hope to find a tiny key for personal development. All great spiritual leaders had focused on things we could control like our emotions, our minds. The lessons of holy men like Jesus, Buddha, Mohammed and countless others were forgiveness, love, respect, kindness, compassion. And their teachings were always misused, misrepresented and misunderstood by those who sought power in the selling of redemption.

     The Applegates were such people. The type to pervert the message of a spiritual genius into a set of proscribed rules, laws and doctrines that had nothing to do with the true meaning of the message but rather was a way to control others through fear and intimidation while pretending to offer salvation. The Applegates hadn’t been the first to do this just the last and most extreme. They miniaturized all others with a bloated circus of uneducated, infantile, literalism and corporate greed crushing all other major religions through sheer aggressive proselytizing, arrogance and war.

     Maybe Jehovah had appeared to the terror stricken Jews wandering the ancient desert and demanded absolute and total loyalty to Him before the true God had a chance to sweep down and emancipate our sad little monkey brains from our shame and humanness. Maybe Jehovah was a trickster God who really meant to plant the seeds of destruction and had been working the whole time for it so we might be forever enslaved to Him. In the short period of time he showed up the world had quickly gone to shit. And of all the historical forms of God he was the only one who claimed singularity and obedience. It was He who inspired people to kill over His name alone. It was He who ruled with the iron fist of fear.

     Perhaps the garden of Eden symbolized the Edenic period before He showed up when the world had been matriarchal and the people had worshiped all of creation both feminine and masculine. Perhaps He was the collective gestalt of the wandering men kicked out of their tribe for crimes against humanity, made real by their worship and forced on their people through rape, destruction and pillaging of the ancient temples and their women. Perhaps he was more akin to an angry God of warring gangster men hell bent on taking over the turf of the Middle East and not the true God after all.          

Maybe the true God was far too complex to reveal Itself to us in It’s truth. The Cabbala which predated Jehovah and was one of the oldest theological systems of mankind had two pillars on its tree of life, one feminine and one masculine and beyond the highest point of our understanding was Kether, beyond an unfathomable gulf where the true majesty of the Creator lived. The gulf represented our inability to understand the Creator, too powerful for our minds and perhaps not even advisable to access with our limited capacities, like plugging a computer into the sun all our circuits would have fried. This is why I gave up trying to understand these things so long ago, not just for my mother’s sake but because I knew I wasn’t capable. I could only look into a microscope and use what powers of mind and concentration I had try to help humanity take one more baby step in its data base of knowledge.

     But now I had to do something not just curl into a little ball as I had so many times before.

     Ira came leaping upstairs, panting and carrying a stack of papers. His dark eyes looked like smoldering charcoals. “Check it out,” he said throwing the papers on the coffee table.

     There was a strange stillness inside and a chill as I read the first line: Classified — Black Midnight — Operation Environ — Top Secret. I scowled at him. “If they find out…”

     “I didn’t leave a crumb behind.”

     A thud in the kitchen startled me. “What was that?”

     Ira poked his head around the corner. “Nothing. Just the cat.” He sat beside me and grabbed my hand. “You’re really scared, huh?”

     I nodded.

     “I know what I’m doing,” he whispered. “I would never do anything to put you in jeopardy.”

     “I’m worried about you, not me,” I said. “You’re involvement with me already makes you a target and now this. They still need me, but they could use you.”

     Ira rubbed the tense muscles at the back of my neck. I tried to allow myself to relax, but it wasn’t working and he gave up. “Malone is the one who modified the old firewall system for the Defense Department and set up their encryption codes. It’s the paradigm for all private sector and government computer systems.”

     I pulled away and stared hard at him. “And how do you know that?”

     “You don’t want that answer.” He picked up the first sheet, the one I had abandoned and said, “Just read it.”  

      There were a bunch of codes, scrambled numbers and then the text unfolded before my eyes: Global warming refuge — Planimal structure, self-sustaining, nano technology, computer system merged in cellular structure — read: self repairing structure, internal and external monitoring systems, controlled sustained climate, feeding — chlorophyll based, capable of conversion — omnivorous. Unsolved reaction to excessive ultra-violet – update — securing usable specimens.

     I gasped. “Oh, my God. They’re using my research to perfect an escape hatch.”

     “When did you start believing in God?” Ira quipped.

     I pointed to a line. “What’s this?” It read:

Geneco – transported — 300 strong. 

     Ira shook his head. “Some kind of company code. I haven’t had a chance to decipher all of it.”

     I continued to read: Mars — unattainable, colonization costs prohibitive, risk factors too high, conversion of climate unalterable. CODE 5 ALERT — 2050 factor — life unsustainable. CDC reports Malaria outbreak is uncontainable on East Coast — vaccination prohibitive — estimation 5 million deaths by 2045. 2044 — Department of Agriculture — crop mutation, pestilence and flooding of Project Northern Planes — estimation 10-15 million deaths due to lack of resources. 2044 — NWS predicts: volatile hurricane conditions off the Eastern Seaboard. Ninety eight percent probability of total or near total devastation to NYC by 2045. Escalation of F5 tornadoes across the middle wasteland expected to wipe out remaining pockets of life.

     I couldn’t believe what I was reading. The horror blazed through me. “Extinction.”

     He frowned. “There are entries that date back to 2001 just after the election coup of 2000.”

     “Impossible. You must have read the stats wrong,” I said.

     “No. If you finish reading you’ll find references to the inception of the Final Plan, as it’s referred to in the documents, going back to the spring of 2002 just six months after 9/11. The Final Plan entries became very active in 2006 just before the Third World War.” Ira searched through the documents. “This was dated November 17, 2006. It reads: Project Pipeline — security threatened. Deposing King I. going ahead without little brother roundtable. Or slick economy is belly up.”

     “Read it again,” I said.

     He passed me the paper. “It’s a lot to absorb.”

     “Is this old Pentagon?” I asked.

     “No. I pulled this from the Strauch Dynasty’s hard drive. It was in an encrypted reference log which I traced through their web host.”

     “So this is private information?” I asked. He nodded. “Did you check files at the CDC or the NWS? Or any government sites?”

     “Yeah, there’s a suspicious lack of information on any of them,” Ira said.

     “Fuck. They’re lunatics.”

     Ira stopped for a moment to smile at my feisty new attitude and then continued, “I found references to Lamont dating back twenty years or more. And some turn of the century data has reference to The Mole Man. I think it’s code for the guy who was Vice President during Strauch 2’s reign. He was integral to The Final Plan’s development and instituted the ground work from what I could tell.”

     “So you’re implying that this group of rich, powerful, Plutocrats formed a cabal to protect their own personal wealth. And they consciously knew their plan would destroy life on earth?”

     “I’m not implying it. I’m stating a fact. It cost too much to reverse the trend so why not squeeze every last remaining bit of gold out and live like kings until the end?” he said.

     “What about their kids? Their grandkids?”

     “That’s what Digibio is for. I don’t know exactly how the Environ functions, but I do know it’s a self-sustaining biosphere. And it’s their way out. The fox hole or bomb shelter so to speak for the ecological disaster they knew they were creating. They kept it away from government agencies for obvious reasons – a military coup or a citizen uprising if it ever went public. I also found a partial encoded list of those they deigned worthy enough to live,” he said.

     I covered my face and rubbed my temples. “How big is it?”

     “Don’t know.”

     “Where is it? How many people are going inside?” I asked.

     Ira shook his head. “I couldn’t find those details. Digibio isn’t connected to a net.”

     “But we have an internet research room.”

     “Tried it. Those are separate search vehicles only. Not hooked up to the mainframe,” he said.

     Ira walked into the kitchen and poured himself a cold cup of coffee. “From as early as the 1980s there were rumors about the Buildaburgers and a secret project known as MJ12. I don’t know much about it, the information was always sketchy and contradicted itself, but one thread ran through it.” He walked back into the living room with his mug. “There was a group of powerful Plutocrats, extremely wealthy people who secretly controlled the world governments. Historically the theory was always blown off as a…”

     “Conspiracy theory, I know.” I stopped to push at the crook of my jaw to work out a knot steadily growing there. “The Environ, The Final Plane, none of it makes sense. Why would a group of people who thrive on having power over others, knowingly destroy their kingdom, so to speak.”

     Ira chortled from behind me. “You really don’t get it?”

     I shifted positions to make sure he got a good look at the indignation on my face. “No, I don’t. How could I? It’s not logical.”

     “Psyche, it’s perfectly logical. Those kind of guys only care about money and power, right here and now. None of them gave a shit about some far distant future because they weren’t going to be personally living in it. It was an abstract problem for someone else to solve.” I arched my eyebrow and stared critically at him, letting him know, I still couldn’t believe him or it. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said.

     “Like what?”

     “That’s the problem Psyche, you think everyone is like you. You’ve lived in a safe world of ideas where empirical data and logical conclusions have been elevated to the status of demigods.“

     “It’s not that I don’t believe you or the facts because they’re sitting right here in front of me. It’s just that I can’t believe anyone would do something so stupid.”

     “Yeah, well people do stupid things all the time. Especially politicians,” he replied. “Denial has definitely worked to their advantage.”

     “No. It goes way beyond that. A person in their right mind could never conceive of this. Greed so perversely blind that it’s mutated into ecological disaster and genocide. The scale of this atrocity is mind boggling.”

     I paged through more of Ira’s research. There was another reference to the Environ, one said they expected to secure a solution to their problem and would soon inhabit. “How long, do you think, the Environ could sustain life?”

     “Who knows, they’re probably hoping it’s just long enough for the problem to go away and then…”

     I cut him off. “Then what? They’ll have everything which will be nothing, all to themselves?” I was furious. I just wanted to stand on the stairs of the capital and scream. I imagined the joy and relief of pummeling Strauch’s face with a baseball bat until his features were a bloody pulp and his skull blasted open like a squashed pomegranate. And then I felt a sickening nausea and intense guilt.

     “Don’t look at me,” I yelled at Ira as if he could see the shame of violence playing out inside me. “You’re making me sick.”

     “Just take it easy Psyche. Relax.” He sounded frightened.

     “Fuck you. Don’t tell me what to do. Don’t tell me to take it easy. The whole fucking world is being lit on fire like a sack of garbage and the fuckers who did it have a fireproof vault to crawl into.”

     Ira went pale and sweaty and sat down on the sofa. For a moment I worried he was having a heart attack. “Are you okay?”

     He nodded.

     “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. It’s not you…”

     He held up a hand to stop me as he interrupted, “I know. She was all you had.”

     I went limp. He knew me so well and loved me anyway. I was horrible. I had been so cruel and yet he saw through it and diffused it in one swift poke. “I’m so sorry,” I said.

     I wished I was one of those women who could just cry and get it all out and let people see who I was and what I was really feeling. But I couldn’t. I had never been like that. I was a mystery even to myself. I never really knew why or how I was feeling or what triggered my emotions. Sometimes I didn’t even realize I was feeling at all until I was in the middle of a sentence and it was coming back at me as if someone else was speaking. It was miraculous Ira could read me. In the eight years we had been together I had learned more about myself from his interpretations than in the twenty two years before him. And slowly with his help I had started unraveling myself. It was always easier to be objective about other people, Ira would say that, whenever I marveled at his uncanny ability. 

But I wasn’t a good people reader. I had no talent for it. My mom had said I had been diagnosed borderline autistic which was rare in girls. She didn’t believe it and warned me never to put faith in any label and told me that it meant nothing. I read up about it in college and some of it fit then again so did a lot of things. But Ira taught me how to be better and through him my empathy for all beings deepened. 

     Ira shrugged. “What are we going to do about it?”

     “I don’t know yet. I still have to figure out what to do with the remains of my mother. This is too much for me to handle right now.” I stopped dead and felt myself go blank. I rolled my head and my neck cracked. “I can’t remember what she told me about her wishes. I guess I didn’t want to hear it.”

     “Cremation, she wanted her ashes scattered from the Brooklyn Bridge,” he said.

 

 

               Chapter 4 – Devising The Plan    

                (July through August, 2044)

 

 

 

     Weeks after I had requested my mother’s ashes, they arrived. There was no Brooklyn Bridge to herald her departure beyond the veil of death, so instead me and Ira put on our UV suits and went to Memorial bridge over the Potomac river, were Miriam’s ashes drifted peacefully in the wind, scattering like a gray mist over the water.

     There was no prayer, only silent grieving. The way Miriam would have wanted it. I leaned over the railing with the support of Ira and watched the river’s current gobble up the last of my mother’s dust.  

     As we walked back to Lincoln Memorial I wondered how mom had stayed an Atheist after all the places she had been and all the people she had seen and studied. In my scant years of researching nature the conclusion I’d come to was there was a greater logic to the universe and everything in it. My mother’s voice argued inside me, “religion devours logic and excretes dogma.” But there had to be something true at least in the desire for a greater being. The yearning for a transcendental experience of the divine. This was inherent in all people. And I felt so hungry for belief, but in memoriam to mom, I swiftly hunted the clawing beast inside and killed it.

     Other kids had celebrated the passing seasons with Christmas and Easter or Passover and Hanukah. Being an only child lent itself to comparisons with my friends’ lifestyles. Embarrassing as it was to admit even now, the presents and attention other kids received during holidays had made me jealous. But mom never acquiesced. She never pandered to me or social pressure. This may have made childhood lonelier, but it also made me stronger.

     The parking lot was empty, just one car in a vast geometric pattern of white lines and meters. The sun crested the Washington skyline, above it cloudless blue like polished turquoise. It was a rare, tranquil afternoon and I wanted to hold it forever. 

     There was a long silence in the car before I broke in with, “When you were growing up, your parents celebrated the holidays, held Seders, that sort of thing. Didn’t they?”

     “Sure.” 

     “Did you like it?” I asked, watching the White House fence pass by. 

     “I don’t know. I didn’t think about it, just something we did.”

     “But you sat shiva for your mom when I first met you.”

     Ira nodded. “And my father before that. Last I heard Charles still practiced.”

     I nodded. I wondered if it was because Charles was the youngest or maybe because he had children and wanted to pass on the tradition. I didn’t know him very well, Ira wasn’t close to him. Last we heard he was in upstate New York and that was just before Ira’s trial. Once I had left a message for him when Ira was still in prison but he never called back.

     “Do you ever wonder what happened to him?”

     “I think about him and the kids all the time, but there’s nothing I can do. He hates me.”

     “He doesn’t hate you.”

     Ira took his eyes off the road momentarily to berate me with his bleak, give me a break expression. “He disowned me, moved, went unlisted and warned me never to contact him again or he’d press harassment charges.”

     I knew they had had problems, but this was the first I’d heard of threats. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

     “I don’t know. It was early in our relationship and you were already freaked out. Guess I thought it would scare you. Was I wrong?”

     I shook my head. “I don’t know, it might have.”

     “I’m glad I trusted my intuition.”

     Ira pulled the car into the garage. I stayed inside for a moment and watched. He was a good man, a decent man who had a pathological dislike of authority not because he didn’t believe in rules. He did. He just didn’t believe in the government.

     Ira walked over to my side of the car and opened the door. “Are you okay?” he asked in a gentle voice.

     I nodded. “Just thinking.” 

     He held a hand out to me. I took it.

     Inside I collapsed on the sofa. Chi seized the opportunity to nest on my stomach while Ira made super. I was perpetually exhausted these past few weeks since mom had died. Work had been hard to concentrate on and my signature fastidiousness had temporarily gone lax. Since discovering the secret Environ a keen resentment was building in me toward Digibio. Fantasies of sabotaging my chlorophyll research haunted me while I peered under microscopes and set up slides. Today at the end of my shift I had to talk myself out of dumping a canister, holding the last two months of research, into a vat of sulfuric acid in lieu of putting it back in the freezer.

     It was only a matter of time before I had to quit — find something better to devote myself to. The world was dying, I had undeniable proof, no more lying to myself. If I could get hard evidence the Strauch dynasty was in cahoots with Digibio technologies and their plan was to abandon ship, only giving life rafts to the richest and most powerful, than I’d have something to go to the scientific community with. Finding more information about the Environ project was key.

     I went into the kitchen to watch Ira cook but from the looks of it he was finished. I sat down at the table and waited. “Has Malone ever done iris modulators for scans?” I asked.

     Ira put his famous noodle-koogle casserole down and started cutting. “Doesn’t do optics, but he’s got a dealer.” He handed me a piece and then poured himself a glass of fermented grape juice which he liked to refer to as wine. When he started to pour mine I motioned for him to stop.

     “I’m not interested in drinking the science project that went awry.”

     “It’ll still get you drunk,” he said. I hesitated. “Just a little. It will relax you.”

     I waited for him to fill half the glass then said, “Great, that’s enough.” It was hot and bitter. There was an acrid metallic aftertaste which made me gag. I made a sour face.

     “It’s not that bad,” he said.         

     “Could Malone get a contact lens of Lamont’s iris made?”

     Ira stared hard at me. “It’s too dangerous. I don’t want you doing it.”

     “It’s the only way were going to be able to break into the system at Digibio,” I said.

     There was silence as he weighed my words. I knew it wasn’t just the danger of getting caught that scared him, I had changed. This was not something I would have entertained a month ago. There had been numerous arguments over the years between us about his disrespect for rules. Now he had won the debate. I was in effect admitting and sanctioning his past actions. He knew something had shifted inside me. My personal paradigm had twisting back onto itself. In the long silence, we both knew we were about to step off a cliff together and there was nothing left to lose. It was as sad and daunting as it was exciting. For the first time, I felt really alive.  

     Ira let out sigh and finally said, “I should be the one to do it.”

     “Impossible,” I said. “And you know it.”

     He hesitated. I knew he was really worried and was searching to find some way out for me. But there wasn’t one. He studied me for a while. I had never felt such resolve. I stared at him with keen stubbornness of purpose. There was nothing he could do except go along. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

     It took nearly a month to get a copy of Lamont’s iris made and Ira had to drive to a remote part of Virginia where he parked near an abandoned farm by the side of the road. He waited nearly two hours for one of Malone’s men to do the exchange. The price was steep, wiping out most of our savings but it was our only hope.

     He got home late that evening expecting me to be asleep, but I had waited up and was sitting on the sofa rereading the documents he had taken off the Strauch website.

     “I was getting worried,” I said.

     “Here,” he said, handing me the brown paper sac.

     Inside was a jewelry box. I opened it. A gold ring with a large amber jewel stared back at me.

     He took the ring and popped the stone off the setting. Inside the gold mount was a secret compartment where the contact lens was stored.

     I scooped it out. “Ingenious.”

     There was a mirror set up on the coffee table and I went to try the lens on when Ira pulled out a small bottle of solution and said, “You’ll need to clean it off first.”

     He sprayed the lens and I popped it in. It stung and my eyes watered so much it kept popping out, but diligence paid off. In order to trick the scanner, it had to be an exact duplicate of Lamont’s open iris and required opacity. In effect it left me blind in that eye. 

     I stumbled around trying to get used to it and ended up stubbing my toe on the sofa. The pain brought tears and I scratched my eyes, making it worse. I limped into the bathroom and popped the lens out into my hand. Ira followed me.

     “You’ll have to practice for a while,” he said. “Give your eye a break for a few days.”

     “I’ll be fine,” I snapped.

     “This is serious shit Psyche. You can’t draw any attention to yourself,” Ira said.

     I raised a brow. “I’m very aware of that.”

     “I don’t know…”

     “We need evidence.”

     “What are we going to do? We haven’t come up with a plan yet.”

     “I have,” I said. I took him downstairs to my work station and pulled a list of names out of my desk drawer. Next to each was a line or two about their area of specialty and a number.

     He studied it for a moment but couldn’t make out my reasoning. “What is this?”

     “I’m going to contact these scientists and start a collective. With all our combined efforts I believe we can come up with an alternative strategy of survival. The goal being to save and preserve as much life on this planet as possible and ultimately find a way to reverse the damage.”

     He smiled. “Genius. But what if some of these people are screwed up or are in cahoots with Digibio…”

     “That’s what the numbers next to their names are for. It’s a grading system. Some of them I’ve found enough information on the internet to know they are not just great scientists but ethical people. But of course, we’ll also have to conduct extensive interviews,” I said.

     He looked over the list one more time. Less than a third of them had numbers. “There’s no way.”

     I took the paper from him and scanned the list. “See here?” He nodded. “I’ve already talked to LaDonna Washington.”

     He was horrified. “But…”

     “I didn’t tell her anything yet, just that I was looking for a good shrink. I wanted to get a handle on her personality. She seemed perfect for this, very fiery, but fair. I liked her. I’m going to approach her first. With her background she’ll be instrumental in helping us weed through our prospects.”

     “This is a monumental task,” Ira said.

     “There’s no other way.”

 

     A week later I decided to try out the iris scan. It was rare for a new researcher to be left alone in the lab but my chlorophyll experiments were the pinnacle obstacle for Digibio and time was of the essence. When I purposely lost the key sample cell for a few hours, my time was bought. I had taken it to lunch that afternoon and left it in my paper sac until enough time elapsed for Geraldine to be sufficiently worried. Then during a break I arranged for it to look like it had fallen out of its category in the bio-fridge. A fellow researcher found it an hour later on top of a vat of cockroaches, and by then the chain of events was so convoluted it didn’t arise any suspicion.

     Geraldine’s office was a glass cube near the entrance of the lab. At five o’clock I went in to see her. “After that mix up today I’d like to stay and get back on top of my research,” I said.

     Geraldine grimaced. “Yes, that was very unfortunate. With the long weekend coming up it would be advantageous to get the bulk of work done.” She paused to mull it over. “Very well I can authorize you for another, say three hours?”

     I nodded. “I’d really like to get this finished before next week. I’m close but…”

     “How about four then?” Geraldine looked me up and down for a moment. “I was sorry to hear about your mother. Are you going to be okay to do this?”

     I straightened up and nodded.

     “Work can sometimes take your mind off things like that,” Geraldine added when she saw my resolve.

     “It’s the only thing I can do,” I said.

     “I’ll let the guard at the front gate know. But don’t stay any later than nine.” Geraldine turned to leaf through some paperwork on her file cabinet.

     I worked diligently to finish my research. I had plenty of time because I had held back results for weeks in preparation for this day. Herb was the last one to say good-bye and he asked if I needed any help, more out of politeness than anything. 

     “No, you have a family to go home to. Don’t worry I’ll be fine,” I said.

     “Right then, good luck,” he said turning off the overhead switch near the door, leaving only my sector bathed in light. Everyone was gone. I finished writing my observations down and grabbed the specimen and went to the storeroom. I slipped the specimens into the bio-fridge and opened the ring. The light was dim but I managed to pop it in. I went back through the lab and flipped off my section lights and waved a hand over the heat sensor.

     The hallway lighting was at ten percent capacity. It was dark and my peripheral vision was severely impaired. It took a while to feel my way to the break room where I tested the iris lens first. If the lens was defective it wouldn’t set off the alarm because authorized visitors were allowed. But the scan would be stored in a digital database if the computer didn’t register Paul Lamont’s name. This would make getting into the secure sector a bust and within a few days I ran a serious risk of being caught by security when the visitor scan logs were checked against sign in sheets and the iris database but it would buy Ira and I enough time to try and disappear.

     I took a deep breath. Please let this work. I stepped up to the camera’s eye and put my chin on the rest. The shutter clicked and my heart skipped. The flashing red letters moved in slow motion: READING… HELLO PAUL, WELCOME TO THE BIO LAB COMMISSARY. The wall opened and I walked through, took a deep breath and walked out again into the corridor.

     Through the twisting concrete I headed toward the main-frame. An echo of my clicking shoes trailing like a ghost chasing after me. At every intersection of hallways I listened for unfamiliar footsteps. Noises traveled like whispers through pipes in the sub-city and half a mile later, just blocks away from the mainframe I heard movement around a corner. But there was nowhere to hide. My heart leapt sideways and a whoosh of blood screamed in my ears. Maybe it was a night watchman? Or another scientist working late? Whoever it was, I waited until their clip grew faint before moving.

      There was no sign heralding the mainframe room, just a galvanized metal door and an iris scanner. An antique plaque, unchallenged since the inception of the company, hung next to the chin rest. It warned: Maximum security area. Criminal prosecution to all unauthorized personnel.

     If ever there was a time to believe in God now was it. To anyone up there who might be listening, I’ll believe in you if this works.

     This iris scanner was a little different and when I put my chin on the rest a clamp came down holding my cranium in place. Is it measuring my head? And the purple laser light was intense enough for me to see a fog of it behind the opaque contact lens. It moved slowly from one side to the next catching every detail and analyzing it. After it made its first pass the clamp didn’t release, instead the laser passed from left to right again. I knew I was caught and started squirming as another pass of the laser measured the fake iris up and down. 

     An alarm sounded, and a bolt of terror paralyzed me. The clamp released. The digital readout welcomed Paul Lamont and I nearly missed the opportunity to enter because my heart was pounding so hard I saw stars.

     The only light inside was cast by a wall of digital screens and illuminated buttons. I caught my breath and took inventory before settling at the main terminal’s board.

     Ira had compiled a list of codes. Some were guesses, others traced from the Strauch website and some suggested by Malone. I had weeded through the best of them at home. Malone had warned Ira, too many tries triggered the security system. Two wrong codes in a row got the computer to record any input. Next a silent alarm sounded. This could happen as early as the third or fourth try in.

     Now that I was staring at the keyboard all the data looked like shrapnel. I went over each possibility and weighed it again. The crunch of time was on. More than an hour had passed since leaving the lab.

     I decided on Mildred, Lamont’s mother’s middle name. It looked promising with a statistical probability of ninety percent according to Ira’s calculations. My hands quivered on the keys. A sharp buzz came from the speaker and red letters popped across the top of the screen: NOT IN USE. That had been my best bet, perspiration rained from my hairline and I wiped it away from my eyes.

     Most likely Lamont changed codes daily, meaning he’d have a hint page. There was no way of remembering hundreds of different codes without one. I scrolled through a directory and found it hidden in the maintained file. The question read: Your favorite P. system?

     Did the P. stand for personal? Practical? I racked my brain and browsed through my purse for my e-notebook. I scanned through pages of codes… permanent system? No that didn’t make sense. Political system? I found one reference that wasn’t part of the code list. It was a note to myself, a word, Plutocracy floating in the margins. Another try might not set off the silent alarm but it would trigger the system’s default and if anyone looked over the records they would question Lamont and figure out someone had broken in. The room was cooled to sixty degrees but felt like ninety.

     I looked at my watch. It was almost seven. Only two hours left to download, get to my car and say goodnight to the gate guard. The more I stared at the question on screen the more sure I was that the word fit. Of course a Plutocracy would be Lamont’s favorite political system. It was the one he had spent his life building.

     I held my breath and keyed in, P then L then O. Each letter more confident then the next, until the file opened like a blooming lotus and page after page of text came up.

     I connected my wristcom with a wireless low grade digital receiver that was not traceable and downloaded all pertinent biological specs on the Environ and its history. Next I had to locate the digi side, but since I was hacking through the bio’s mainframe there would be top loaded files which would have to be waded through.

     It was a tangle of information and every time I thought I was close to finding the digi files I’d open something useless, maintenance schedules or security reports. After meandering for more than half an hour I started to worry my only recourse was to physically try to get to the other side of the sub-city where the digi mainframe was. But I didn’t know my way around that area and finding it would probably take longer than I had.

Just when I was losing faith, I happened upon a small file folder of corporate officers. I didn’t think it would lead anywhere but opened it anyway. It demanded another code. I was onto something. I tried Mildred again. It worked. All corporate offices were listed with the Environ’s funding and shareholders. I copied the files and searched further. My wristcom was running out of memory. There was too much information to store. I had the bulk of what I needed. I didn’t have the digital structural underpinnings of the Environ’s makeup, but I read enough to get the general gist and made some notes on a piece of paper. It would have to do. I glanced at the time, it was twenty to nine and if I didn’t hustle the guard would report me.

     I backed out of the system hit the restore, gathered my belongings and got up, making sure to leave everything as I had found it. I quickened to the doorway and triggered the sensor. The wall opened.

     I bolted down the long twisting corridors until I got to the lift. It was five till and an eternity passed waiting for the elevator to clink down into the shaft. I punched the button and the doors closed. I leaned against the cool metal, out of breath and thankful to be on my way home.

     Inside the car I popped out the lens and hid it in the ring. I revved the engine and speed down the ramp. At the final twist right before the guard gate, I slowed and eyeballed myself in the rearview mirror. Perspiration had gathered at the base of my hairline. I wiped it away.

     The guard gave a suspicious nod. “Working late?” he asked.

     “Yeah.”

     “Name,” he said.

     “Psyche Hershenbaum. Geraldine Shumaker approved my overtime.”

     He scanned the put out orders on his computer screen. A few minutes later he came out with a receipt and said, “You’ll want to keep this in case they forget to pay you.”

     I smiled. “Thanks.”

     The gate arm lifted on the other side was relief. I zoomed down the street and onto the expressway. Near my exit it became a parking lot. The Friday before fourth of July, D.C. was gearing up for its celebration on Monday. The timing was perfectly ironic for contacting my list of scientists with hard evidence Democracy had been poisoned and in its weakened state subverted. Our government had had a long-suffering, quiet, unnoticed revolution. Here was proof America the beautiful had been drugged, raped and broken by oligarchs and push-molded into a corporate Plutocracy.

     Throughout downtown people were camped along the streets to watch tomorrow’s “National Pride Parade,” as if there still was a nation to be proud of. The people were ravaged, emaciated and dispirited, but still choose to believe in the mythical America. A country where a single voice was heard through a vote and the average person was represented on the hill.

A few days earlier I had found a copy of a history journal my mother had sent. I had stashed it away to read at a convenient time. Its theme had been the turn of the century. I read it voraciously as if it were a letter from beyond and it made me wonder if she had always known about humanities demise, but like the rest of us, had to deny it.

According to one article the seeds of our destruction were sown at the turn of the century when corporations had a stranglehold on Washington and a quiet gentleman’s coup had taken place via the judicial branch subverting the will of the people and their right to representation through the ballet box. People who questioned the coup were marginalized and shut down with patriotism.

There always seemed to be people screaming along the sidelines of history about the breaking of America but like the Trojan Cassandra their predictions were ignored. Perhaps it was the only way to live through the overwhelming unraveling of the world, to face the end without facing it.

     The Second amendment, the right to bare arms, a provision against potential political corruption bestowing the people with the ultimate right to revolt against a broken system or an autocrat, theocrat, oligarch, king, anything that took away their God given right to freedom and Democracy. The self destruct button was built in by the forefathers because they knew from experience that power corrupts and given enough time and conniving, another revolution would be inevitable, but of course they didn’t foresee nuclear weapons or the military industrial complex.

     America was a singular superpower bending in on itself. My mother had told me a story about a native American shaman who had written a book of prophecies back in the early 1980’s when the seedling of the Strauch dynasty was forming. The shaman had had a dream: a hideous dog walked a city street walled with stalled traffic. Out of the dog’s anus were two sticks used as stilts. The lower half of the body was missing and it was eating it’s own intestines. The shaman wrote the dog was a symbol of America and its people. The traffic infested city, a metaphor for the world and its reliance on fossil fuels. The missing half of the body a symbol of the disintegration of the ideals and the constitution. The sphincter controlling its ability to walk on stilts was a crude metaphor for the precarious road America was headed down, where money (excrement was synonymous with money in dream language) controlled America’s movement. And eating itself, clearly a way of saying that it was cannibalizing its own people, resources and life, eventually destroying itself in its shortsightedness.

     My mother had often recounted this story which she had found as fascinating as Native American culture itself, but I hadn’t understood it until now as I drove through D.C. passing monuments that seemed as pertinent as the bittersweet relics of the Roman Empire. There was no here, here. Democracy was a phantom stalking shadows in an abandoned house of memory. All that we had pledged allegiance to was as gone as the ozone layer, as dead as the billions eaten away by plague, as real as the morals of the oligarchs, as concrete as the second coming that never came, as strong as the desire for the rich to protect the poor, as fair as the lies we wanted to believe. The lies that were sure to kill us all.

 

          Chapter 5 – Setting Up The New World

 (2044-July)

 

 

 

     “What took so long?” he asked. “I was getting ready to hack into Digibio’s system to see if you were spotted, but I stopped myself.”

     “I left a little after nine as planned but… traffic,” I said.

     He shook his head. “I forgot.”

     I smiled, took his hand and led him upstairs to the living room. “I got most of the Bio side, but couldn’t fit all the Digi stuff on the e-notebook. I read through what I could and wrote some key points down.”

     Ira sat down. “That’s not important. We just need evidence.”

     I sat beside him and hooked up my wristcom to his e-notebook. Then combed through my purse and found my tablet and handed it to him. “We’re going to need supplies and money to start this thing.”

     He nodded. “I’ve got some of that figured.”

     I stopped fiddling with the e-notebook. “How?” I asked.

     “The rest of the funding for the Amazon project was confirmed. The team of techs I’ve assembled will relocate to the temperate rain forest in northern Oregon. They’ll build shelters and set up camp. We have the ultra-violet scrims arriving in a few weeks.”

     “But if they find out…”

     “I’ve enlisted the help of a few friends at Williamson pharmaceuticals, we’re working on changing the scope of the drug. I’m going to write up a new finding calling for cultivation in the Northwest. The project will be less expensive to fund and with some documentation I can make the case,” he said.

     “Do you really think they’ll go for it?”

     “There are a few scientists working for Williamson who would make great candidates for the Collective. Once we get the information translated, distilled and make a presentation to them, it shouldn’t be a problem,” he replied.

     “Who?” I asked.

     “Xin-Yi Chan and Zoe Campbell. Zoe comes from an anthropology background. I’ve used her in unfamiliar cultures. She’s very thorough and helpful and has unshakable ethics, besides being a tree hugger. Xin-Yi is relatively new, but extremely intelligent, hard working and known for her philanthropic work,” he said.

     “What about Aine Flanagan? Didn’t she work at Williamson?” Psyche asked. “She was a big environmentalist. Did she move back to Dublin?”

     “No she’s working in California, trying to build a dam to stop the flooding of Joshua Tree and Palm Springs. I could track her down.”

     I nodded. In front of me was enough information to fill a thousand bibles. “We still have to talk to LaDonna and go through all those names.”

     “Feeling overwhelmed?” Ira asked.

     “Yeah,” I said. ”I can’t stay at Digibio much longer.”

     “When are you going to resign?”

     “After I turn in my findings. I hope you have leads other than the Amazon project. If they don’t buy it, we’ll be screwed.”

     A crooked grin eclipsed Ira’s face. He nodded. “You know if there’s money to be found, I’ve got my fingers on it.”

 

 

              Chapter 6 – The Selection

(2044-July)

 

 

     LaDonna’s office was in one of the worn out parts of Georgetown with only patchy inhabitance. Whole blocks were abandoned and scorching in the sun. Holes in the scrims had gotten too large and expensive to fix. I was taken back by the damage. Full city blocks looked like they had been put in an oven and left to bake for decades – bricks and cement were charred, tar had melted and bubbled up like overcooked stew, running like slow molten lava into antique gutters. Apartment buildings crumbled from exposure like decrepit gingerbread houses. Broken shells of grocery stores and banks were blown apart by the elements, their ancient signs and lettering a jumble of unintelligible letters. Nature had waged her war to survive us.

     The satellite map hadn’t been updated in years and didn’t take into account streets which were now too decayed to drive down. I resorted to an online atlas to find alternative routes. And we got lost for a while taking one street which led to another impasse. I was nervous we wouldn’t make it in time. After a bunch of missteps and bad information which turned into bad directions, Ira decided to quit listening to me.

     “That atlas is worthless,” he said.

     I had argued vehemently for its use, but by now Ira had proven his point. It was supposed to be updated every month and logically it should have panned out, but any disaster could have visited the Webmaster or the pages sponsors in a month.

     Ira’s driving scared me. He took random turns and sped through yellow lights and changed his mind at the last second. I tried to zone out and focus on the scenery outside. We had tried things my way. And now we were stuck feeling our way with only half an hour left.

     “Are you sure this is a good idea, Ira?”

     “Shh, I’m trying to tune in,” he said. Anxiety, which felt like a coiled dragon nesting in the pit of my stomach, lashed up. I quickly suppressed it before saying something I’d regret. My jaw clenched tight and the vinyl arm rest submerged my finger nails. Relax, I told myself but even I couldn’t listen to me. I never trusted intuition, no matter whose it was.

     Seven minutes later we were looking for the closest parking place and I had to ask myself if perhaps Ira had something that was beyond my understanding. But those musings disappeared when I went over what I would say to LaDonna on our walk to what looked like an abandoned medical building.

     There was a running elevator but it squeaked as it descended and made a loud thunk when it reached the lobby. When the doors opened only half way I suggested, “It’s only three flights.”

     Ira nodded. “I need the exercise.”

     There was a buzzer outside her office door. Ira hit it. A few seconds later we heard, “Yes?” from the intercom. 

     “It’s Ira and Psyche,” he replied into the box.

     LaDonna opened the door and I was taken back. She was as beautiful as she was physically imposing, with dark chocolate skin and eyes. She wore a colorful African pattern scarf and dress. She shook our hands. “Nice to meet you,” she said, in a husky, beguiling voice.

     Ira opened his e-notebook and I took a stack of paperwork from my briefcase, before handing them to LaDonna, I said, “This is strictly confidential material I need your word that you won’t discuss this with anyone until the appointed time.”

     LaDonna nodded. “You have it.” She looked over the paperwork. Almost instantly she appeared shocked as she read and the longer she read the more shocked she seemed. Periodically she shook her head with disgust and/or disbelief.

     “As you can see the lists of suitable candidates for admission into the Environ are based on economic investment or contracts with workers assigned to keep the Environ running,” Ira said watching her.

     She held up a paper with only graphs and numbers on it and asked, “What’s this in reference to?”

     “Those are statistics showing the rate of decline for habitability on earth,” I replied.

     “Doesn’t look good, does it?” she said studying it more carefully. “They don’t expect anyone to survive except possibly very small pockets?”

     I nodded. “We’re talking about an extinction level event happening here. Now,” I said.

     LaDonna stared at the paperwork, reading the information over and over trying to absorb it. “Are you sure these calculations are accurate?” she asked. I nodded again. She looked at me in disbelief and horror and said, “Global warming did this?”

     “Yes,” I said. “But steps can be taken to reverse the trend. I’m not going to lie, we may not see it turn around in our lifetime, but we can at least try to save our planet so eventually life will be sustainable again.”

     “Even if we get a group of scientists together to form a community in the Northwest, what are the chances we could survive there?” LaDonna asked.

     Ira stood up and turned his e-notebook around for LaDonna to see the screen. On it was a detailed map of the coastal rain forest stretching from Northern California into Canada. He pointed to a section near the center of Oregon. “We’ve selected this area as a starting place, but this whole region has excellent possibilities. The rain forest although it’s changing and becoming more tropical still has an abundance of thriving plants due to a canopy of ancient dead pine trees and vines which help provide a natural filter, cutting down the UV exposure. There’s also a concentration of oxygen rich air and a regular rain cycle which provides drinking water and helps regulates the climate so it remains relatively temperate.”

     “We have plans for shelters and want to put into action a breeding program to sustain and encourage animal diversity. This is very doable, we just need the right people,” I said.

     LaDonna reached for a glass container filled with mints. She offered them to me and Ira. I shook my head but Ira paused to inspect them. “Go ahead,” she said and smiled. “You want to build an arc.”

     Ira grabbed a candy and said, “I suppose if you want to be biblical about it.”

     I continued, “My main concern is not just the ability of candidates to perform their functions within the Collective but how those individuals will interact with one another. This is the most important aspect to setting up the project. We’re all going to have to live together, get along. We can’t have people that…”

     “Turn out to have psychological or social problems,” LaDonna said.

     “Right,” Ira replied. “We want you to be in charge of interviewing.”

     LaDonna nodded. “It’s a lot to process right now. I’m finding it difficult to wrap my head around it. My whole life has been here in Washington and it’s not an easy thing, you two popping in here and telling me we’re in an ecological Armageddon. I have a family and uprooting them…”

     “It’s far worse to let them die. There’s only one choice if you want your kids to have a chance to have children, and someday when the earth regains her strength, it will be your great-great grandchildren inheriting a livable earth. I know how you feel. I didn’t want to see this either. But something has to be done not just to save ourselves, but for the good of life on this planet, for the survival of our world,” I said.

     “Bottom line is your family won’t make it unless you join us,” Ira said. “Unless of course you’re secretly a trillionaire and gave billions to the Shrub dynasty that we don’t know about.”

     The room went silent. LaDonna sat down in her chair and stared hard out the window for a long while as if she were taking in the tattered scrims and broken pavement, abandoned buildings and unrelenting Washington sky for the last time. She knew we were right. But I felt for her, we were asking her to take her head out of the sand and not just see the obvious but throw herself into an unknown world with strangers and come to terms with her and her families mortality all at once.

     There is nothing more devastating then the true, honest revelation that the one thing which has always supported you, been there before you were a twinkle in your great-great-great-great grandmother’s eye, is as vulnerable and delicate as you are. There’s an unexpressed feeling we all share – counting on the permanence of our mother earth and all that we’ve built upon her. Our skyscrapers, houses, roads and bridges promote the lie of mastery over her. But we are not separate from her suffering.

Science has told us the sun will burn out eventually and all its children will become frozen rocks without its heat, but we don’t really believe this. How could we? It goes against everything our biology and life experience tells us. This reality is as invisible to the naked eye as a quark, as much a belief system as a religion. Faced with this illusion, it feels like losing a psychic compass we never knew we had. It is mind shattering.

     As scientists we are asked to hold the abstract idea of the death of earth in our minds and this is possible, but what is impossible is – feeling it. And so, like a child, we refuse. We’re incapable of perceiving her mortality just as a gadfly is ignorant of the horse it feeds from. We desperately need to believe the earth was here before us and it will be here after us, as if it is immortal.

We were asking LaDonna to clear all old models, dreams, and her way of life and embrace a dark horrifying abstraction. No matter, how clear the signs and signals or the physical evidence, we had all learned to shut down and function in denial generations ago. We lived in a culture of easy dismissals and mandatory detachment, a code we all followed as much my method or Ira’s as LaDonna’s or the billions who died by the shadow hand of corporate greed’s spoils. We were asking what should never be asked of a person, to face the mortality of everything at once. And the pain and fear were chiseled in the lines of her face.     

     “I was trained to see my contribution to the survival of mankind in a personal way, having a family, children, grandchildren – providing for them, giving them a good life. I’ve done all that. Now you’re telling me it isn’t enough? That my kids won’t be able to survive on this planet fifty years from now if something isn’t done?”

     The tension in my neck was giving me a headache. “I’m afraid it’s worse than that,” I said.

     She gave me a confused look. “It’s more immediate,” Ira said.

     “I need some time to absorb all of this,” LaDonna said. “Think about it.”

     “We understand,” Ira said.

     LaDonna replied, “It’s all just very hard to accept.”

     I nodded. “I know.”

     “Let me talk to my husband. I’m going to need to convince him as much as myself. Can I make copies of the statistics?” LaDonna asked.

     Ira turned to me and although I was worried we both knew we had to trust her. I nodded and Ira added, “Just don’t show them to anyone else.”

     “Okay,” she replied. We started for the door. “There’s just one more thing before you go.”

     We turned around and waited. “Yes,” Ira finally said.

     “If I do say yes, I’d want to bring on a woman named Tuwa Redhawk. I trust her instincts more than my own.”

     “Who is she?” I asked.

     “She’s a brilliant psychologist, more specifically a Mapper.”

     “A Mapper?” I asked.

     “It’s a newer science pioneered by an anthropologist who had gone to live with the last remaining Hopi Indians and Aborigines of Australia about thirty years ago,” she said.

     “They’re closer to Shamans then they are psychologists, aren’t they?” Ira asked.

     “Well, they’re both. Once you meet her you’ll understand,” LaDonna said.

     “She’s trustworthy?” I asked.

     “Beyond trustworthy, she’s a holy woman,” LaDonna said.

     Ira and I looked at each other for a moment. “Whatever you need,” I said.

 

                Chapter 7 – The Answer

  (2044-July)

 

 

     On the drive back from the meeting with LaDonna, I said “We’re going to need a plan B.”

     “I don’t think so. She’ll do it,” he replied turning into an alley to avoid the parade.

     “But if she doesn’t…”

     Ira reached over and patted my knee. “She will. She’s a smart woman, she cares.”

     I stared out the window. Another one of his hunches. I loathed the arrogance accompanying his hunches. But I didn’t say anything. At this point there was no way to win him over with logic. In a few days an answer would come and in the meantime I needed to proceed with organizing supplies and researching potential Collective members.

     When we reached home I was exhausted. I still had to write a resignation letter but my mind was caught up in future plans. If only there was a time machine. But even if I could go back, to where? An assassination of the first in the long line of the Strauch dynasty, near the turn of the last century? No. The problem was there long before Gerald Strauch had cemented humanities suicidal fate. It dated back a hundred years earlier, during the birth of the industrial revolution. But there was no simple answer, no easy solution –  only a fantasy of closure which I desperately longed for.

     As I lay on the couch with Chi purring on my stomach, Ira called to me from the basement, “Psyche take a look at this.”

     I hosted myself up, carrying Chi over my shoulder and down the stairs to Ira’s work station. From behind him I read the screen: Psyche Hershenbaum Code 3. I felt my mouth fall open. “What does that mean?”

     “You’ve been officially designated a suspicious employee,” Ira replied.

     “And?” I retorted.

     “Digibio suspects you of company espionage. It seems they think you’ve been hiding your UV resistant plant cell research,” he said.

     “Shit, I must have let too much out at one time. I just didn’t think I would make such quick advances.” 

     “Be careful how you word the resignation letter, don’t tip your hand. If they find out about the Collective they’ll know we broke into their system and…”

     “I know,” I said cutting him off, not wanting to think about how much danger we were in.

     He tried to hide his anger but I could see it. I was absent minded. Early in our relationship he thought it was cute – the adorable genius who can’t dress herself, but in this context it was a fatal flaw. Going to the market with two different shoes on is one thing, but blowing our cover because I was distracted by putting together the Collective were two entirely different end results of the same flaw.

     He stared hard at me and annunciated with the deliberation one would speak to a child with, “We have to be careful.”

     As if I didn’t understand the gravity of the situation. “I’m not an idiot,” I retorted.

     “No one can know about this project until after the interview and selection process.”

     “Well, you didn’t seem to have a problem trusting LaDonna, so don’t lecture me.”

     I was in a determined mood. There was no changing my mind and he knew it. Besides I could argue circles around him. He turned back to the computer and started working.

     There was a thick streak of white growing out of the crown of Ira’s head. I fingered it realizing it hadn’t been there a month ago. Suddenly I felt a stab of guilt. I had done it to him, all the sneaking around, the weight of building a new world and a new society in the shadowed milieu of conspiracy. The stress of my mom and the world dying around us. There was no use making life any worse. I kissed the top of his head wondering how we would survive such a formidable undertaking, putting together, populating and sustaining the Collective. I had been lucky so far by deciding to think it out one tiny step at a time, keeping it small enough to digest, but Ira’s personality didn’t afford him that luxury.

     I went to my computer station to search databases and biographies of some of the candidates. It was rare for both of us to be working downstairs at the same time. He was usually relaxing on the sofa in front of the flat screen when I got home and I would sneak downstairs to finish a paper or do some extra research. I couldn’t stand sitting around, and added to my already workaholic personality was Ira’s obsession with flipping through stations. In his contorted estrogen deprived mind he believed he could sum up the entirety of plot, substance and importance in milliseconds even during commercial breaks. And he was always filled with awe when I found something interesting. Yet he never learned the secret of my keen ability, it was as simple as reading the description at the bottom of the screen and watching for a few minutes to see if the program lived up to its hype. But despite this unbelievably annoying habit, I loved him more than I had ever loved another human being except for my mother, which of course, was an entirely different thing all together.

     Now as I stared at all the biographical information about different scientists and their families, I wished we had gotten married while my mother had still been alive. It had always felt like a bureaucratic institution. But my mom despite her left wing anti-religious rhetoric had a soft spot for it and she never quite understood my stance, no matter how I explained it. The funny thing was now I couldn’t remember what the argument against marriage had been.

     In retrospect it seemed more like a rebellion against convention that turned into a point of pride. Ira was the best friend I ever had. We were true equals and partners in every way. Maybe it was the idea of making a public spectacle of ourselves which threatened our hermetic way of life. But it would have made mom so happy to see us settled with the silly piece of paper, I had so admonished and it may have helped me feel that way, too. I remember an old college friend telling me, “Your husband is the only family you get to pick.” She was right, but I was too young to understand it then. And now the time had passed, the subject long since put to rest.

     I signed off the internet and stared at a blank screen. A resignation letter was in order and I tried to think of an explanation that wouldn’t raise a red flag, but my mind did flips. Images of the past bleed through and I saw the familiar line of brownstones on our Brooklyn street and the slate steps to my childhood home and my mother reading a bedtime story shortly after father had left us. She had struggled for years without him, working two or three jobs until she got her degree. It seemed there was never enough time for the two of us.

     If only I had gotten mom out before the hurricane. If only I had focused my training on stopping global warming, maybe this future could have been the one un-chosen. The data was there but I hadn’t looked at it. The truth was bitter – I had allowed myself to be blinded by personal ambition and denial. But I hadn’t been the only one.

     Ira snuck up behind me and rubbed my shoulders. “How’s it going?”

     “Not very well. I haven’t written anything, but Dear Ms. Geraldine Shumaker.” I shrugged. “I can’t think straight.”

     He pulled at my chair and offered, “Let me start it for you. Go upstairs and take a nice warm bath. You need to relax.”

     I pecked his cheek. “You’re too good to me.”

     “I know,” he said.

     I smiled at him, collected Chi who was sitting on my desk and went upstairs.

 

     After I put in my resignation, every work day was formidable. There was a constant nagging fear of being found out. An excruciating week went by before word came from LaDonna. During which time tension built between me and Ira over finding a psychiatrist who would be an appropriate replacement. I was anxious to start and I made a list of names, confronting him with it at dinner every night. But he deflected with my own weapon of reason. There was no one better for the job, and my impatience didn’t serve the bigger picture. I really couldn’t argue with him.

     It was a Saturday afternoon, me and Ira had just had a blow out. I had gotten Ira to admit his intuition may have been off when it came to LaDonna and he agreed to give my list a real look.

      The phone rang. I answered abruptly, “Hello?”

     “Psyche?” LaDonna said.

     “Yes.” I waved Ira over, mouthing to him, “It’s her.”

     Ira nodded and picked up the wireless extension. “Hey, have you made a decision?” he asked.

     “Yes. I’m glad both of you are on phone.”

     I braced myself for the bad news. “Well?” I asked.

     “I’m in.” LaDonna’s voice was deep and sensual. It massaged the ear with a reedy resonance. “I’ve gone over it a million times in my head, as much as I’d like to bury my head in the sand… I can’t.”

     Ira cheered so loudly into the phone the sound waves stabbed my brain. But I was so happy I almost didn’t care. “That’s great news,” I said.

     “You can e-mail the list and I’ll look it over. How does this Monday at five sound for another meeting?” LaDonna asked.

     “Perfect,” Ira responded.

     “See you then,” I said hanging up the phone. There was a strange sensation flowing through me, a mix of excitement as if I had just graduated from college and an arresting shot of fear. I wasn’t sure if I should pop open a bottle of champagne or curl into a ball and cry myself to sleep. So I did what I always did, froze my feelings, stuffed them into a jar inside myself and proceeded with my business. There was too much left to be done.

 

                   Chapter 8 – The White House

                      (2044—August)

 

 

 

     In the oval office Paul Lamont sat opposite Reginald Strauch, waiting for the President to finish his phone call. The American flag hung just over Strauch’s shoulder. It seemed like an ironic twist to Paul. He was well aware of the implications of the Environ even at its inception. Although he was not a man of ideals he felt uncomfortable every time he set foot in the White House for all it represented to the dying hordes of Americans naive enough to buy the plutocrats’ cover stories.

     Paul tried to ease his conscious with a strict dose of reality. On his wristcom he dialed up Psyche Hershenbaum’s data.

     “Good to see ya Paul,” Strauch said smiling. “What can I do you for?”

     “We had a bit of a security problem at Digibio it seems the young scientist Psyche Hershenbaum…”

     “Who now?” Strauch asked.

     “The scientist who did the breakthrough research on the planimal’s chlorophyll…“

“Right, right,” Strauch said nodding. “The Jew. What about her?”

     “She broke into the database about six weeks ago, since then she’s resigned,” Paul said.

     Strauch leaned back in his chair. “That doesn’t sound good.”

     “No, sir, it isn’t.”

     “Well, is she the talkative type? The kind who might be a problem?” Strauch asked. “She seemed kind of mousy to me. But why take chances? I’ll put my boys on her.”

     “We’ve been tracking her. It seems she’s been collecting scientists. But those who we’ve contacted don’t know much about the project except it requires a stint in Oregon.”

     “Well, at least she’s not talkin’ yet,” Strauch said scooting forward.

     “If you’re willing, I think in this case it might be best to wait before taking action. We’ll keep a watch on her, but as far as I can tell, she’s smart enough not to expose the Environ project. And we’re close to operation date.”

     Strauch shook his head and put a thick stubby finger to his chin. “We don’t want panic. And we don’t want every slimebag low-life taxpayer thinkin’ it’s their Goddamned right into the watcha-ma-call-it. We don’t have room for every stinkin’ moron left in the U.S.”

     “Granted,” Paul said taking a deep breath. “But I have a suspicion her project has to do with saving the temperate rain forest and since the Environ bio-sphere is going to be 300 miles southeast of that forest, it might not be such a bad idea to let her preserve it in case it’s needed as a resource later.”

     “What are you talkin’ about?” Strauch said.

     How many times had he tried to explain the planimal structure to Strauch? The man was bordering on mentally challenged, but Paul smiled coolly at Strauch and dug in again. “The Environ is a planimal, comprised of plant and animal genetic information. As you know it is a living creature. That means it eats, moves, albeit slowly, and breaths by converting sunlight into chlorophyll…”

     “Stop with all the science horse shit, just get down to why we need to let the Kyke live,” Strauch said fidgeting.

     “In about a hundred years the Environ will eat its way through Northern California’s gold country up to the boarder of Oregon and…”

     “A hundred years? That’s a long fuckin’ time. What do I care what happens in a hundred years?” Strauch said getting up from his desk to walk over to a mirror. He stood facing himself, combing his hand through his dark hair.

     “Most likely you’re son will still be alive,” Paul said.

     “Well now you’re talkin’. I can understand that,” he said fixing his tie. “Fine, do what you think is right.” He turned briefly to face Paul. “But if one word about the Environ comes out I’ll hold you accountable.”

     Paul nodded. “I’ll see it doesn’t.”

     “Good boy, I have a press conference startin’ in about ten minutes, so if you’ll excuse me,” Strauch said grimacing at himself in the mirror.

 

                       Chapter 9 – The List

                   (2044 – Late August—October)

 

 

     We were drinking coffee and had our lists spread across the kitchen table when LaDonna arrived that morning. She seemed more unsure of herself than she had in her office and a little nervous, even a bit morose. Ira took her coat and showed her in.

     “Is everything okay?” he asked.

     LaDonna nodded, but clearly everything was not all right.

     “You sure?” I said.

     She nodded again. “This is just really depressing.”

     There was a palpable and instant congeniality among us. We were three of the only people on earth who knew the truth and were trying to stop it. “You have to keep your mind trained toward the future and the changes we can effect for the better,” I said. “That’s the only thing keeping me going.”

     LaDonna nodded. Ira pulled out a chair for her and she sat beside me looking over the long list of names. “Remember I told you about Tuwa Redhawk?”

     “Yes,” I said.

     “I asked her to join us today,” LaDonna said. Ira and I glanced at each other unsure what to do or say. “That was the condition of my joining.”

     “You really trust this woman?” Ira asked.

     LaDonna nodded. “She’ll be here in about half an hour.”

     “You certainly mean what you say,” I said.

     She chuckled and then screeched, “You know it.”

     “We’ve already decided on some of the scientists unless you see some problem with them.” Ira handed LaDonna a file. “This is all the data we’ve collected on Aine Flanagan, Hyunae Gaffney and Zoe Campbell. Psyche and I know Hyunae. She’s a good friend. Aine and Zoe I know through Williamson pharmaceuticals. They were both instrumental in getting the funding shifted to the Northwest.”

     LaDonna put on her reading glasses and leafed through the paper work. “They look fine but the only way I’ll know for sure is if I interview them. Statistics, health records and career accomplishments don’t really tell me much about how they relate or if there are any personality disorders.”

     Ira nodded. “We’ll arrange that.”

     The doorbell rang. I answered it.

     Tuwa had strong, bold features and piercing eyes. I felt like she was staring through me and I momentarily forgot where I was. There was definitely something uncanny about her, as if lit from inside. She shined.

     “Tuwa,” she said shaking my hand. “You’re Psyche.”

     “Yes. Follow me,” I said motioning her into the other room.

     Ira didn’t look up from the paperwork. “Scott Baxter is out. LaDonna thinks it’s between John Samuelson and Naomi Goldberg. What do you think?” he said finally acknowledging us. “I’m sorry. Tuwa, right?” He stood up and shook her hand. She nodded.

     “I thought Samuelson had worked for Weber oil,” I said.

     “Ten years ago,” LaDonna said. “Other than that he has an impeccable reputation.”

     “I don’t know. Naomi doesn’t have one blot on her record. She’s perfect,” I said.

     “But we haven’t met her yet,” Ira retorted.

     LaDonna handed the paperwork to Tuwa who sat down and looked it over for a moment and then closed her eyes and ran her fingers over Naomi’s name and then John’s.

     I was about to ask LaDonna what the hell Tuwa was doing when LaDonna shook her head at me and motioned for me to be quiet. Ira seemed fascinated by the whole thing, but I wasn’t amused. This was nothing short of Voodoo and it wasn’t the way I had envisioned picking candidates. Tuwa might as well have thrown a pair of dice or flipped a coin.

     “You’re not going to like this Psyche.” Tuwa was suddenly staring hard at me. “It’s not going to seem logical, but Naomi will cause trouble. If you pick John things will go smoothly. He’s the right choice.”

     I didn’t say anything.

     Ira pushed the hair back from his face a sure sign he was engaged and curious. “Was that a Mapping technique?” he asked.

     “Yes, it originated from Shamanistic practices.”

     “What did you just do?” I asked trying to mask my indignation.

     “I scanned their energy,” Tuwa responded looking me straight in the eye with proud, calm defiance.

     “Uhm, I suppose I’m not used to this mapping thing, but this is not, as far as I know, any sort of scientific method,” I said.

     “What matters is results,” LaDonna said. “And I can show you her accuracy rating. It defies science, too, but you can’t argue with success.”

     “What is it?” Ira asked.

     “Statistically impossible, so much so you probably wouldn’t believe it if I told you. I’ll give you the study to take home,” LaDonna said.

     “I’d like that,” replied Ira.

     “Who did the study?” I asked.

     “A team of researchers at Georgetown University,” LaDonna said.     

     “You’re mother lived in Brooklyn?” Tuwa asked. I nodded. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

     “Thank you,” I replied.

Long after Tuwa and LaDonna left when Ira was pouring over the Georgetown papers, he asked me, “Did you tell LaDonna or Tuwa about your mother?”

     “No, I assumed you had.”

     Ira handed me the last page of the report with all the hard statistics about Tuwa’s abilities. I set down the list of names to look at it. According to the research her accuracy was between eighty six to ninety nine point ninety nine percent depending on the test taker and how they interpreted the information she gave them. When it came to hard studies without interpretation like the Zener card ESP test her accuracy rating was just shy of one hundred percent – para-psychological researchers claimed her accuracy had never been seen in a test subject – not in the entire history of the science.

                   Chapter 10 – Mapper

             (2044 – Late August—October)

 

 

 

     I reviewed the Georgetown papers a hundred times and each read confounded me more than the last. If the lead researcher’s reputation hadn’t been impeccable I would have dismissed Tuwa’s study as a forgery. The science of Mapping appeared to met between quantum physics and psychology, a long marginalized area of science, but in recent years as answers and reasons alluded humankind and the march backward into religious fanaticism took hold of the world, the study of such phenomena had taken center stage.

Sometimes I mused this trend was a desperate attempt by scientists to strike a balance between the cruelty of the world and their need to believe in something bigger while satiating their desire to have intellectual mastery — the one driving ambition of all people of science. This trait usually led to a dictatorial and rigid streak and often created road blocks for scientific truth seekers. On rare occasions this intellectual acquisitiveness was carved so deep it bore the rare scientist whose breakthroughs turned history on its ear. But even those men and women’s minds locked on a paradigm and repeated the mistake of their lesser colleagues. No mind – however strong and keen, could operate in a vacuum for long without the burglary of madness.

According to my research, Mappers were trained in what was once called “remote viewing” and besides studying psychology, mythology and shamanism, they used a sophisticated computer program inspired by twentieth century biofeedback machines, but with unparalleled nuance and subtlety. The program called, Neuropathtronics, was able to tag and track thoughts in the participant’s brain and helped strengthen the ability to, “connect with the collective unconscious,” using it as a way to read minds, time travel, or see anything, anyone or anyplace hidden.

     While all of it was fascinating, Mapping was still in its infancy and from what I could tell there wasn’t a lot of empirical data, making Tuwa the exception not the rule. One individual with extraordinary powers does not provide truly empirical data. I finally had to conclude after examining the Georgetown study that Tuwa did have some remarkable ability, but whether she was a skilled trickster, or an anomalous fluke, was completely unknowable.

     For the sake of the project I tried to keep my cynicism in check. Ira seemed convinced after several meetings with her. Research and time were waning and I felt the pressure to put aside questions until later and follow, for once, Ira’s lead to trust. LaDonna was key in making the Collective work and if her judgment was off, we may as well have given up. And we couldn’t afford to face that possibility.

     Weeks of interviewing, checking references, scanning the internet, and reading psychological profiles went by. Although I had grown accustomed to LaDonna’s quick decisions, often based on Tuwa’s intuition, it was difficult to embrace. LaDonna was charming, warm, and friendly, but occasionally her candor was brash, sometimes off-putting. No rational argument dissuaded her once she had formed an opinion.

     I was the odd man out, arguing against Ira and LaDonna’s “gut feelings,” and Tuwa’s visions. This, more than the grueling work, wore me out. I didn’t like fighting and always tried to avoid conflict. Ira and LaDonna’s minds tracked the same way. It was beyond frustrating, it was exhausting. Both relied on some indefinable feeling from data and interviews and of course when Tuwa was consulted, it was as if they were consulting a sibyl in the hub of a majestic oracle.

     I alone took into account all data and strategized a person’s likely behavior. Their evaluations were personally biased and potentially jeopardized the safety of the Collective. LaDonna’s phrase, “You have to learn to think outside of the box, use your right brain, be more creative in your choices,” was a vexing mantra. We needed balance and I had a plan to acquire it.

     Over dinner Ira and I looked over the paper work and I said, “I’m bringing Hyunae in. We’re desperate for another voice. This process is too important for gut feelings alone.”

     Ira looked up from one of the biographies he was reading and said, “We don’t have time. It might dead lock us – the timing is too crucial to screw around.”

     This was an argument of inconvenience and I countered, “This is my project. She’s in,” I said.

     Ira raised his eyebrows. It was uncharacteristically brazen and he gruffly mumbled, “Fine,” and went back to reading.

 

     Several weeks of indoctrinating Hyunae into the methodology of picking suitable candidates went by before she had any say in the decision making process. But once she started voicing her opinions she was a valuable ally, in favor of hard cold research, the assessment of facts and consultation of background to determine a candidate’s facility. Often this process frustrated LaDonna and Ira. Tuwa appeared unfazed. Ira felt it was too lengthy. LaDonna thought it unnecessary. But on several occasions our checks shed light on candidates who might otherwise have slipped through. 

Our biggest clash was over Naomi Goldberg, who LaDonna, Ira and Tuwa had a “bad feeling” about, first from reviewing her file, and later, resistance to her got stronger after the meeting with her. They refused to budge. But Naomi had an impeccable reputation as an environmental activist. They all wanted John Samuelson, but he had strong ties to Bill Weber, a fossil fuel proponent, who had sued several Japanese car makers for patent violations of hydrogen cars which turned out to be completely unfounded. It had been just a way to continue staving off the proliferation of alternative fuel sources so the fossil fuel industry could suck one last drink of blood from the dying planet.

I wouldn’t stand for anyone who was in bed with Bill Weber no matter how reformed they pretended to be. Logic finally won out after Hyunae and I dug in our heels.

     After selections had been made, Ira had second thoughts about the division leaders – they were all women. Hyunae countered, “If these candidates were all male except perhaps one woman, would anyone think twice about it?” His silence was our answer. He finally conceded that the core group were the most qualified and represented a diverse set of experiences and cultures despite their lack of maleness. He would just have to represent those issues if any came up. Besides as far as I was concerned these were not only the most morally upstanding, capable people for the jobs, it would be easier to hold panel meetings if there was no sexual tension between members.

 

     The first group sent into the temperate rain forest of Oregon comprised engineers and workers, the second tier was a party of assistants who came after the building and walkways had been constructed. The laboratories, computers, software systems and access lines, cameras, monitors, etc. were all set up before the core group of scientists relocated.

The department leaders (or the core, as we became known) drafted a mission statement which wasn’t easy because it had to encompass a new world view, the foundations of a new society, and a new civilization which would hopefully last for many generations.

     After several months of deliberation we managed to come up with: It is our mission to protect, save and nurture life on our planet, with honor and respect for all cultures, all species and the earth itself. We dedicate ourselves to this cause and to finding a reversal of man’s abuses against the environment while sustaining whatever life is left to sustain, so it may thrive now and in the future.

     Signed,

     Psyche Hershenbaum

     Ira Cohen

     LaDonna Washington

     Hyunae Gaffney

     Tuwa Redhawk

     Xin-Yi Chin

     Zoe Jones

     Safia Brahma

     Kimi Toyota

     Fayza Alavi

     Eva Rodriguez

     Aine Flanagan

     Naomi Goldberg

     Marina Balas

      

     Before the core made passage to Oregon it was decided that I, despite my desire to shirk titles, was named “Chief.” I had final say, breaking all ties and had the ability to veto the panel’s decisions. So I officially became the Collective’s leader. In case something happened to me or I was incapacitated, Ira would act as “Temporary Chief” until the panel nominated and subsequently elected a replacement.

 

     Chapter 11 – Northwest Territory

      (2044—November)

 

 

 

     We trekked through the forest in our white UV suits like aliens landing in a new world – three hundred and sixty degrees of green in every shade, dotted with scorched patches of earth and shriveled deformed brush and spindly barren ash colored trees. It was overwhelmingly beautiful despite the sun’s ravages. Ira was behind me carrying Chi in a cat carrier. Chi’s voice was horse from incessant meowing, but that didn’t stop him from continuing. And following Chi and Ira was the rest of the core.

About half a mile from the metal parking sheds where our jeeps were housed, was a maze of pathways to a series of structures perched on top of an absurdly steep hill. The site had been picked in case of a tsunami or overpowering rains. But the cost of building roads up the hill had been too much for our budget.

     As we climbed the hill toward the three square white buildings perched among the dying trees, we noted signs of acid rain and a multitude of deformities among the surviving plants, insects and small animals – all due to global warming. Despite a thick canopy created by mutant vines and trees, the damage was surprisingly extensive down to the forest floor. we needed to get an idea of what we were dealing with and what the surviving wild life was subsisting on if we were to save them. My first order was an assay of local biological materials along with a catalogue, chronicling rainfall cycles and its effects on the detritus.

Our vehicles were not conveniently located, but we planed to use transport mainly for future scavenging trips to Portland or Seattle so the garage was built in the cheapest place. Both cities were ghosts now. The nearest, Portland, had shrunk from six million people in 2020 (at last estimate, five years prior) to two hundred. And after an onslaught of sleeping sickness, the most hopeful estimates two years ago only considered the possibility of a few lone survivors.

Seattle which had a long history in computer technology had suffered a widespread auto immunity based plague. It had killed so quickly there wasn’t enough time to study it as of 2035 and the city was thought to be devoid of life. There was some speculation the unidentified disease was related to a large hole in the ozone which had shifted downward from the arctic.

All America’s cities were thought to be specters now. We hoped unknown pockets of life existed, but it was only a hope.

     Indeed the Collective’s first order of business had been to develop a UV shield. The series of bridges, walkways and gardening areas were covered in an opalescent mesh scrim which reduced the UV radiation by eighty five percent but members were still required to wear heavy sunscreen because burning would occur after thirty minutes even under the scrims. And if anyone was to venture past the scrims, UV suits were required. This was the new world’s first rule and one nobody argued with it.

     Me and the core scientists made our way up the series of redwood ramps to the central building which housed the meeting hall, cafeteria and dorms. LaDonna had already nicknamed it, “the nest,” and the name caught on.

     The building was an austere white rectangle without windows. The exterior’s lack of character made it difficult to imagine the inside even though I had seen and approved the blueprints. After punching the code into the side panel, there was a click and the door opened.

     “Oh, my this is ugly,” Hyunae said following me in.

     “No, just plain. It will be beautiful once are families are here and those amongst us who are artistic have decorated it,” Tuwa said from behind Hyunae. Hyunae turned and raised a speculative eyebrow at her. Tuwa said, “It just needs some life.”

     Safia heard the discussion and said, “I have some beautiful tapestries from India. I’ll take on the project of decorating the public quarters if no one is opposed.” She was diminutive in stature, but not in style. Her long thick black hair was elaborately braided and she wore modern adaptations of traditional saris which were joyfully colorful and intricately beautiful.

     A petite red headed woman came forward from the small crowd gathering in the entryway and stuck her hand out toward Safia. “We never formally met I’m Aine,” she said.

     “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Safia said taking her hand and giving it a firm shake with a toothy smile and friendly, glowing, amber eyes.

      “I’d be happy to help move things, arrange, whatever you want. I love decorating, but I admit I’m not very good at it. I’m not the creative type. I would love to learn though,” Aine said.

     The smile on Safia’s face never wavered, she beamed and nodded. Xin-Yi shook her head with a grim expression which was too serious for the situation. She whined, “I don’t think that’s fair.”

     Everyone seemed slightly startled by Xin-Yi’s statement. I flashed on her profile. She had been born in China, but was raised as an only child by wealthy indulgent parents, in America and had never had a serious relationship or many friends besides work colleagues. She had lived alone after her first semester of college until the present. Work was her life, her only life. These were red flags early on to LaDonna who argued her emotional inexperience might be a problem in such a small tight community. The argument was finally settled by Xin-Yi’s remarkable record of accomplishments as a genetic engineer and her dedication to idealistic university projects which focused on benefiting mankind. Many corporations had tried to lure her away with huge salaries, but Xin-Yi had stayed true to her vision of making a difference.

     I said in a calm steady voice, “Why don’t we retire to the meeting table in the next room? And we can all discuss this.”    

The room was large enough to hold the entire community. All the lead scientists, researchers, technicians and family members. An enormous table was set up panel style at the back wall, where the lead scientists were to hold meetings both open and closed. A stack of folding chairs lined the walls waiting to be used.

     I sat in the center, Ira on my left, LaDonna on my right. Everyone else grabbed seats in random fashion, except Tuwa. Tuwa watched Naomi struggle to find her place and then sat down next to her. All the scientists: LaDonna, Hyunae, Aine, Safia, Xin-Yi, Ira, Tuwa, Eva, Marina, Zoe, Fayza, Kimi, Naomi, waited patiently for me to lead our first discussion.

     Naomi flung thick, curly salt and pepper hair off her shoulder and said, “Safia aren’t you a software designer?”

     Safia nodded.

     Hyunae stared at Xin-Yi with determination and said, “I nominate Safia. She’s the most creative, besides being the best dressed.”

     Marina said in her usual stiff manner, “I certainly wouldn’t want to do it. There are plenty of more important things. I don’t see why we’re even wasting time discussing it. If Safia is offering we should be happy she’s taking on an added responsibility.” Everything about Marina seemed older then her 54 years. Her eyes were set in dark circles and her hair more salt than pepper.

     Ira shifted in his seat and said, “Since we’re going to be living together, eating together, working together I think every issue is an important one.”

     Zoe pursed her thin lips and raised her hand like a dutiful child. It was a ridiculous gesture among peers. Before I called on her, I was instantly struck by her painfully frail physique, pasty complexion, washed out blue eyes and dishwater hair which lacked any luster, perhaps it was mild malnutrition. I nodded at her and she spoke in a slow wispy voice which had a far away quality to it, “I second Hyunae’s nomination for Safia.”

     Fayza glared critically at Xin-Yi and said, “Are you satisfied?”

     I hoped Xin-Yi wouldn’t catch the bitterness in Fayza’s voice. There was a harshness that came with Fayza’s honesty. She was incapable of hiding any emotion, it danced across her face with every thought. I wondered if this had anything to do with her time as a young woman, in a radical feminist group in Afghanistan before she fled to the U.S. Maybe being so young and in such an extreme environment had trained her to be reactively forthright and outspoken, or perhaps the inhumanity she had witnessed left angry wounds. But her frankness would be a virtue in the Collective. We needed honesty above almost all else.

     Xin-Yi did not prickle at Fayza’s words, instead she sat straighter in her chair and said, “What if I don’t like it? I want to have a say.”

     A sharp creak was heard in the room, Tuwa pushed back from the table, got up and circled Xin-Yi. She said, “We are all anxious, afraid of our new life. We left our world and everything we have ever known to start anew.  This group – this room, needs to be smudged. We all have grief even if some don’t know it yet. This is a petty thing Xin-Yi, masking a larger anger. I sense it growing inside you. Let me help clear it and if you still want to help because of your joy in participating, rather than your fear of being excluded, we will all support you.”

     No one spoke for a while, Tuwa’s words hung in the room like shadows lurking ready to be born inside us. What she said was true and brought tears to my eyes, although I held them back. Finally, LaDonna said, “You’re right, does anyone disagree?”

     Around the table everyone’s heads shook except Kimi. She shuddered. When she spoke her words sounded thin and veiled. “I don’t know what smudging is. Will it hurt her?”

     Tuwa laughed. “No, it’s an ancient Native American practice I use it as part of my practice. Rituals help us to connect, make talk therapy more real. In this case we have already gone through a group therapy of sorts. There will be many issues brought to the meeting table and smudging will help clear the air, help us move on and let go of anger.”

     “So is it like meditation or prayer?” Kimi asked. Her black hair softly brushing her shoulders as her head followed Tuwa’s movement around the room.

     “Yes, it is a mutual prayer, more like a visualization grounded through waving the smoking sweetgrass and sage,” Tuwa said stopping when she got to Kimi.

     Kimi nodded looking down at her folded hands. She was a quiet person, soft spoken. Her pale ocher complexion, splashed with embarrassed pink. Tuwa knelt beside her and whispered, “Of course if you’re not comfortable with it you don’t have to participate.”

     Kimi studied Tuwa. Tuwa was mesmerizing with powerful features and ageless eyes that defied the etched lines of her face or salt and pepper of her hair. “I trust you,” was all Kimi said.

     LaDonna interrupted, “I nominate Tuwa for the position of arbitrator.”

     “Would you be willing to act in that capacity?” I asked her.

     Tuwa stood up, walked back to her seat and said, “I would be honored.”

     “Fine then,” Ira said. “Let’s get to work setting up the research committees.”

     After a long night of discussion it was decided Eva would head up the marine biology division, Aine would lead zoology and they would work in tandem with Naomi who would head botany. All would collaborate with the genetic engineering team chaired by Kimi in botanicals and Xin-Yi in animal and human development. Marina whose many years as a physicist had crossed over into environmental gasses would collaborate with Fayza’s work in geology and Hyunae’s research in astronomy and astro-physics. LaDonna and Tuwa who had psychology backgrounds, would collaborate with Zoe and Ira. Ira trained as an sociologist/ethno-botanist and Zoe an anthropologist/archaeologist. Safia would design and maintain all computer systems. I’d oversee all projects keeping the bigger mission on track — sustaining, nourishing and restoring life with the ultimate goal of reversing the effects of global warming.

     We had a lot of work to do, setting up our labs over the next month in preparation of our forthcoming staff. Safia would have the added adventure of trying to decorate “the nest” so it seemed homey and comfortable for all families and pets arriving a few weeks after the staff.

     It was a tremendous job and I wondered if we would be up to it. My main concern was the ability for everyone stuck in this tiny new world to navigate around one another without animosity.

      

                     Chapter 12 – The Environ

                      (2044—November)

 

 

 

     Reginald Strauch and his wife Camille Pamela walked from the aircraft toward an immense gelatinous sphere. Surveying his new empire he snickered and said to, “Money! Pretty great, huh darlin’. Look at what it can buy.” He put his hand to the fleshy gray exterior, but quickly pulled it back and wiped the slimy residue onto his pants. “God, damn.”

     Although Camille Pamela was dressed in spiked heels, her hair and make-up done as if she had just walked off the set of a silent movie, she wobbled closer to the Environ and mimicked her husbands gesture with one of her fuchsia lacquered claws. “Ick,” she said pulling it back to examine the goo under her fingernail. “I thought I felt it breath.”

     “You may have,” Reginald said shrugging. “It’s supposed to be alive, but don’t ask me how the hell it works — that’s why we got the scientists.”

     Paul Lamont who had been conversing with the pilot near the aircraft finished and walked toward the Strauchs with a small briefcase in hand. He opened it and handed Reginald a small gold card with a chain attached. Engraved on it were all the override codes for the Environ. 

     Reginald looked at it and said, “Can’t this wait?”

     Paul shook his head. “I wanted to show you how it worked in case of an emergency.”

     “Emergency. What kind of emergency?” Camille Pamela asked, fingering a stray golden lock which had blown free, in a seventy mile an hour gust, from the thick layers of her hairspray.

     Paul didn’t dignify her question, he merely shot her a cool detached look and proceeded with an explanation aimed at Reginald. “The top code will disengage the mainframe’s command. The second will open any door you punch into the local nerve center.”

     Reginald examined it carefully then inched closer to the keypad. There was no definable door, but rather a discoloration in the Environ’s flesh indicating an opening could be formed. Reginald shot a furtive and nervous look to Paul and said, “Is it okay to try this out, now?”

     “That’s the plan, go ahead,” Paul retorted glancing at his watch. But Reginald hesitated and Paul said, “They know the time of our arrival – the lab is expecting the interruption.” Reginald nodded, then slowly looking at the inscription, punched one number then the next, until a red beam flashed, lighting up the inside of the gray flesh. “Now the second code,” Paul instructed.              

Reginald became a little more confident and his fingers moved nimbly across the keypad. Paul loaded his gold card into the slot and an orifice formed out of the beast’s flesh and opened like a sphincter. Reginald smiled in surprise at his sudden power. “Great!” He exclaimed. “My card does it, too?”

     Paul nodded.

Once inside Paul stepped close to the keypad near the orifice. “For the sake of time just watch me,” he said punching in a third set of numbers from the gold card and sealing the Environ. He stuck it into the slot quickly pulling it out and slipped the chain around his neck hiding the gold card under his shirt. “I suggest you wear this at all times,” he said to Reginald.

     “When do I get one of those?” Camille Pamela asked.

     “You don’t, your husband and I are the only people authorized. I’m sure you understand… knowledge is power.” Paul smiled. “It was hard for me to get one.”

      Reginald tried to assuage his wife’s future vengeance. “That’s true darlin’. If he wasn’t lead scientist in charge of all this… whatever the hell it is, he wouldn’t have be havin’ a gold thingy. And, you know, he might need it if somethin’ happens… you know like some kinda scientific crisis.”

     Paul pulled Reginald aside to change the subject. “I need you to look over the Geneco files. We’ve had them stationed at the caves near the mine. They seem to be doing okay there.”

     “Right. How’s the breedin’ goin’?” Reginald asked.

     “Fine. The egg cave – as the wranglers call it, has produced another 50.”

     “How many of those ugly lizard, bastard clones are there?”

     “Nearing 400 and still hatching,” Paul replied.    

     They walked down the corridor. It was dank. The sun filtered through the Environ’s skin, and it cast a strange gray light. As they moved toward the heart of the giant beast only the ceiling provided illumination. Walls of flesh had been constructed to set up a variety of different rooms. Camille Pamela said, “It’s so morbid.”

     “Maybe you can think of some way to cheer the place up Mrs. Strauch,” a young woman said coming out of a room and starting toward them.

     “Kaitlin, is that you?” Camille Pamela asked.

     The woman shook her head. “Yes, ma’am’.”

     “Well for God’s sake step away from that wall it’s casting a shadow. I can’t see you. Where’s my boy?”

     “Jacob is in the nursery with the corporate nanny. I came to meet you,” Kaitlin replied.

     “You’re a little late for that, huh, honey,” Camille said.

     “Yes, ma’am’.” Kaitlin stepped into a gray shaft illuminating her long, shiny, chestnut hair which glistened even in the unflattering light. She was a slight woman with a stitch of make-up, porcelain-like skin and dollish features – visually the opposite of Camille Pamela whose presence was too large for any room. “Would you like me to show you around?” Kaitlin asked.

     Paul was impatiently checking his watch. He gave Reginald a tired look. Reginald said, “Sounds like a fine idea, Kaitlin.” He turned to his wife and said, “We’re going to go to headquarters. I’ll see you in our suite later.” Before Camille Pamela had a chance to reply Reginald and Paul Lamont disappeared down the long corridor.

     “Well this is certainly going to be an adjustment,” Camille said taking Kaitlin’s arm to steady herself on their walk.  “Is everything here this depressing?”

     Kaitlin nudged Camille down the next series of corridors. “No, the garden is absolutely beautiful. Would you like to see it or go to Jacob first, Mrs. Strauch?”

     “I need some cheering up. Jacob will be fine,” Camille said.

     After a series of hallways which reminded Camille of being inside a giant diseased intestine she asked, “Where are all the rooms?”

     “They’re everywhere, ma’am’,” Kaitlin said.

     “Than why don’t I see any? When we first came in there where all these openings with large rooms inside filled with furniture,” Camille said.

     “Those were the common areas you passed. This is the private wing. Each discoloration you see on the corridor wall is a door. Iris scanners allow the inhabitants inside to look out, kind of like a keyhole. And of course, it acts like a key, automatically opening the door for the occupant,” Kaitlin said.

     “Good Lord I’m never going to get used to this. Everything looks the same to me,” Camille said.

     Kaitlin walked to the end of the hallway, or so it appeared, and waved a hand in front of a blinking red light. An orifice formed and opened.

     “How did you do that?” Camille asked, staring at her.

     Kaitlin nudged Camille inside and said, “Everyone has access to this area for farming. We’re all suppose to put in at least twenty hours a month as part of our payment to Digibio for letting us live.”

     “I suppose we all have to eat,” Camille replied still keeping her eyes on Kaitlin. Once she realized how much brighter the room was she turned her attention toward the ceiling which was different than anything she had seen so far in the Environ. It had an ambient fire-like glow. “How come it’s so much brighter in here?”

     “I asked the same question when Jacob and I were shown around by one of the scientists,” Kaitlin said. “He told us it was because this room, while connected to the rest of the Environ, was uniquely developed to compensate for the oxygen created by the plants, and of course, they needed more light, too. The biological material the ceiling is made of extends all the way around and loops to the main body kind of like an eyelid.”

     “Well, why didn’t they make the whole thing like this? It’s so much nicer. Did he tell you that? Those men are such fools sometime. People need light too, not just a bunch of damn plants.”

     “He said it had something to do with the UV rays. I guess it’s not safe enough for people to live in all the time. It could cause birth defects. They aren’t really sure so they played it safe. Besides the membrane is much thinner here and the plants have been genetically engineered to resist the extra UV. And they couldn’t run the digital rods… I think that’s what he said, anyway it in an emergency because there’s no way out except back through the main body of the Environ. Oh yeah, and we’re supposed to wear sunscreen if we’re going to stay more than half an hour.”

     They walked around for a few minutes and Camille spotted a handsome, thickly muscled man walking hand in hand with a tall, thin, willowy woman with colorless blonde hair and eyes placed so far on opposite sides of her broad face she resembled a catfish. “How could a man that gorgeous fall for a woman so grotesquely ugly,” Camille said more to herself than to Kaitlin.  

     “There are park benches past the corn – near the herb garden at the start of the pines,” Kaitlin said pointing at a dense array of foliage.

     “Let’s head over to the nursery,” Camille Pamela said. She threaded her arm through Kaitlin’s, shuddering. “Ooh, I can’t look at that couple. Just get me out of here.” Kaitlin and Camille snaked down a path toward a charcoal gray wall. Camille’s eye caught the pulsing red beam and she ran her hand across it this time. The wall opened like a biological shutter. Camille grimaced. “I’ll never get used to that.”

     “You did great Mrs. Strauch.”

     Jacob was in the middle of a tantrum when Camille and Kaitlin arrived at the nursery. The corporate nanny was holding a small boy in her arms away from the barrage of wooden blocks Jacob was throwing. The boy had a red spot on his temple and was curled next to the nanny, with a pacifier in his mouth, rubbing his head. He had obviously been crying, but was worn out. The corporate nanny was in the middle of saying, “Jacob, calm down.”

     “You know mommy doesn’t put up with this sort of behavior,” Camille said. “You are to be a good boy, no more throwing blocks.”

     Jacob smirked, he wasn’t quite three years old, and his expression appeared too devious for a child of his age. He had a block in each hand and threw them with all his might toward Camille. One whizzed past her ear the other whacked her shin bone and sent an intense wave of pain through her whole body. Her vision went red and she jerked him off the floor, screaming, “You little fucking bastard!” Before Kaitlin could stop her, she was screaming obscenities, punching his tiny shoulder and shaking him hard enough to break him in two.

     His facial expression instantly changed from self-satisfaction to absolute and utter terror. His eyes reached out to Kaitlin who was frozen. Finally, she found the nerve to intervene. “Let me take him Mrs. Strauch. Why don’t I have Josephine take you to your room.”

     The corporate nanny came forward putting a gentle hand on Camille Pamela’s forearm. She jerked her hand back, still seething with anger, she pointed her finger at Jacob and said, “Little mister, you better pray I don’t get a bruise.”

     Jacob shuddered, he reached for Kaitlin’s hand. Camille made a swift motion toward him and hissed. He recoiled, crying. “I’ll teach you yet,” she said.

     Kaitlin tried not to look horrified. She had learned early on suggesting a calmer tone or implying a kinder method of discipline incensed Camille and made it far worse for Jacob. Instead Kaitlin would do what she always did when Camille was through with her tirade, hold Jacob close, rock him on her knees, and sing him a lullaby.

     The corporate nanny, Josephine, escorted Camille through the corridor and said, “We don’t spank children in daycare and we usually don’t have a problem.”

     “Save me your liberal bullshit. Spare the rod spoil the child, that’s what the bible says. The Applegates beat the hell out of their children, and they were the best behaved kids I had ever seen.”

     “Had?” Josephine asked.

     “The most famous televangelists in the world and you never heard their kids died of the plague?” Camille Pamela was indignant, her face screwed into a sneer. “What? Aren’t you a Christian?”

     “Yes of course. I just didn’t understand the reference. I knew that,” Josephine quickened her pace so Camille couldn’t see her directly. Some people blamed the Applegates for not taking the kids to a clinic fast enough, Josephine was one of them. 

     In the Environ everyone was a Christian, no one was allowed in with the exception of scientists, and before entrance, even they were made to join “The Wrath of God, Inc.”

“You’ll have to forgive me, but I don’t have access of course to your quarters. So I’ll leave you to retire,” Josephine said.

     Camille looked at her suspiciously before leaning into the iris scanner. The orifice opened. She dismissively waved a pink lacquered claw at Josephine and said, “Well, go on.”

     She entered into the living room and Camille spied the bar and made a beeline to it. The suite was better than expected considering the hideousness of the environment. Reginald, thank God had the good sense to mask the horrible gray with sheet rock. It looked by all accounts like a normal home if one didn’t examine anything too long. Most of the White Houses furniture had been brought in – what could fit, anyway – and it was big — three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a study, living quarter, playroom and den. Funny how White House furniture could brighten a room.

     She poured herself a bourbon and kicked off her shoes, and fell back onto the leather armchair, wondering what Sandy Applegate was up to. Camille aimed her voice toward the vocaphone mic, “Give me Sandy Applegate.”

     A soft male voice replied, “That is cell 33, hold… ringing.” 

     “What the fuck?” Camille said. She had almost forgotten she wasn’t back home.

     “Hello, Sandy speaking.”

     “I’m having a drink want to come over and join me? You know do some… Planning,” Camille said.

     “I’m so happy you made it Camille. I prayed for your safe journey,” Sandy said.

     “Oh, cut the bullshit. Come over and lets have a grand ole’ time.”    

     Sandy snickered. “What cell are you?”

     “How the fuck should I know? I just got here and don’t use that word… cell …it’s so distasteful. Computer… whatever the hell you are exactly… disengage the call.”

     “Disengaged,” the computer mimicked.

     Camille was pouring herself another drink when she heard Sandy’s voice outside the orifice. The computer voice announced, “You have a visitor.”

     “I fucking know that. I can hear her,” Camille screamed into the air. “Hold on Sandy,” she yelled as she set the bottle of booze down on the marble surface of the bar top and walked over to the orifice. She waved her hand over the red blinking laser – it opened. Sandy stepped in, hair teased and piled high like lavender cotton candy, her pink dress dotted with rhinestones accentuating a pastel print of doves with olive branches and a thick cake of make-up that had more in common with masks and clowns than other women. She looked like a demented cabbage patch doll with caterpillars for lashes and plump pink pin cushions for lips.

     Camille Pamela stretched out her arms and the two women embraced in a stiff hug. “What happened to you’re pink hair?” Camille said returning to the bar to pour their drinks.

     “I had it for so many years, in Vegas I guess I just got tired of it and decided last week, when we got to the Environ, purple would look better under the grayish light. Besides purple is associated with spirituality,” Sandy said on the couch opposite the armchair.

     Camille walked around the coffee table and sat beside her, handing her a drink. “Since this is my husband’s company we need to set a no abortion policy.” She took a sip of her drink and rotated toward Sandy. “Don’t you agree?”

     “Absolutely, no pre-marital sex either,” Sandy said. “Technically the bible says ‘it is better to lie with a whore than to cast your seed to waste.’”

     “And no condoms.” Camille leaned into the cushions of the sofa.

     “Absolutely! No birth control of any kind, but…” Sandy stopped for a moment and said in hushed tones, “We don’t have resources to support more people than we have now.”

     “Well those who can’t live by the rules can fend for themselves outside, or if their too afraid of a long drawn out death we can aid them out of this world, so to speak. Of course you can really help with that,” Camille lifted her glass and met Sandy’s eyes with a snarling smile.

     A slow dark grin spread across Sandy’s face. It was starting to hit her. She clanked Camille’s glass. “No adultery of any kind.”

     “By all means. But I do think women should be held more accountable than men. We all know how men are. They just can’t help themselves.” Camille smirked.

     “Those desperate, desperate men. How awful it would be if they couldn’t get laid. And what would we do if all those handsome scientists were punished? I sure couldn’t fix this Environ,” Sandy said, her southern drawl deepening with the bourbon. “I’ll have another one of these,” she said holding up her snifter and giggling.

     “I’m so glad we’re on the same page,” Camille said getting off the sofa and walking over to the bar. As she grabbed the bottle. “In our little kingdom, I need you to back me up with the biblical argument.” She sat back down next to Sandy. “No matter what.”

     “That will be easy. Everything happens in the bible, I could make a case for a parent killing a kid based on the story of Abraham.”

     “I’m going to count on you and Jesse to keep the minds of the hordes in line. We can’t have all the worker bees running wild. They need to understand the rule book and what happens when they don’t play by it.” Camille refilled the drinks.

     “I hear you darlin’. You know Jesse and I have always backed you guys on policy from the beginning of Reginald’s career. Nothin’s gonna change now.”

     “Just checking because it might not be easy.”     

“Oh, hell, don’t worry about it. We’ll get this place under control.”

     “You have a visitor,” the computer said.

     “Who is it?” Camille shouted.

     “Jacob and Kaitlin,” it replied.

     “Shit, let them in.”

     The orifice opened and Kaitlin walked through holding Jacob. “I’m sorry ma’am’ we didn’t mean to bother you it’s time for Jacob’s nap. I’ll put him to bed and I’ll head to my cell. If you need me, I’ll be here in a flash.”

     “Go ahead.” Camille feigned a generous smile and said, “Please, no more talk of cells. It’s your room, okay?”

     Kaitlin smiled and nodded back. She and Jacob exited the living room and entered his bedroom.

      Sandy shook her head and looked deep into her bourbon. She lifted the glass lovingly to her lips and reveled in the icy cold heat gliding down her gullet. “My, my, you’re going to have to watch that one. She’s a real temptress.”

     Camille stared. Sandy continued, “We had a real pious girl, never wore a stitch of make-up, clean as the day was long – you know that type – well, turned out to be a real trouble maker with the men folk. Seems they all wanted a piece of her – she was ‘a challenge’.”

     Camille looked hard at her. “Gilly? The assistant?”

     “That’s right, she fucked Jessie’s brains out while I was ministering in Florida,” Sandy stealthily met Camille’s eyes and took another sip of her drink.

     “That little bitch. I would have killed her.”

     Sandy snorted. “I would have too if I could’ve gotten away with it.”

     “Well, then, I guess we know which rules have to be made first.”

     “We sure do,” Sandy said raising another toast.

 

                Chapter 13 – The Collective

           (2044—December through 2045—March)

 

 

 

     All the families members and crew scientists arrived without incident. At first the dozens of family cats and dogs were isolated to their owners’ quarters, but over a period of months they were socialized, until in their own time, they were given free reign of the nest. There was a special sheltered outdoor area they had access to through a few electronic doors. Chi loved hanging out there, he had never been outside before. In D.C. the scrims were unreliable, torn in places. People knew where they were, but anyone who loved their pet didn’t allow him or her outside unaccompanied.

     There had been several town meetings in the nest – at one, a family member had brought in an old flat screen and we watched as a lone station in D.C. reported people flooding into the few emergency rooms left, with severe third degree burns. A category 7 hurricane, with winds of 220 mph had hit the North Carolina coast and broke into a fierce tropical storm with several tornados spinning off the hurricane. The city was ravaged, buildings torn apart by winds and the city’s scrims decimated. The reporter himself appeared to be suffering from severe UV radiation burns. And the doctors’ he interviewed didn’t look any better than their patients.

Europe had long since seen its demise from the mini ice age of the 30s and Africa had been rendered uninhabitable, ravaged by drought, disease and famine starting at the turn of the century. The next time we watched the flat screen there was only a test pattern, a few weeks later only static. We tried an old radio, but it was no different. Whatever was left of the world’s population had vanished within weeks.

At the next series of town meetings we established rules and regulations. The basic principles were simple, have respect for every member of the community and live by the golden rule. This of course was more easily said then done. LaDonna and Tuwa developed resolution techniques, and a form of group therapy, as well as individual counseling sessions. Everyone was encouraged to take advantage of both. Because of Tuwa’s background, she took the role of spiritual advisor, organizing rituals for those who wanted to be involved.

     My first concern was preservation and I concentrated most of my energy on Aine’s breeding program for rescued animals – some had been shipped in before the core scientists arrived and were cared for by the skeleton crew of techs who had set up the labs. But most animals were indigenous, collected from the area shortly after we arrived. The farming animals, chickens, cows, sheep, etc. were first on the agenda for obvious reasons. They had genetic mutations caused from ancestral UV exposure, most of the problems manifested as infertility. This was Xin-Yi area of expertise. In her twenties she had solved the crisis of rapid aging associated with earlier clones and ten years later had found a way to double the normal life span of a sheep. The sheep was still alive, safe in the Collective’s UV sheltered stockade.

     But there was a trickier problem to solve – repairing damaged DNA and reversing infertility so animals could repopulate without human intervention. Soon we would loose this opportunity with less and less genetic variance which could potentially render the situation impossible. The monumental task had already been started by Kimi back in D.C., but her government funding had run out and the study never completed.

There was growing concern about Naomi and her botanical project. She refused incorporating strains of UV resistant DNA into the Collective’s edible plant garden. After nearly a dozen leadership and community meetings, she conceded to a specialized oversight committee allowing them to decide. They comprised of fourteen scientists, seven of the best on her botanical team and seven from Kimi’s genetic engineering staff.

The committee concluded the UV resistant strains were perfectly safe for consumption (which had been Naomi’s argument against their incorporation). They presented their conclusion to Naomi and she refused to accept their findings. I had to call a community meeting where the oversight committee presented their evidence and the whole Collective voted 437 to 1 to implement their recommendations – six people abstained from voting feeling they didn’t understand the subject well enough.

A backlash against Naomi was swift on the heels of her controversial stance, and the botany staff presented a petition for her resignation as lead scientist of their department. Out of fairness to everyone, she was put on a three month probationary period with her performance to be reviewed at the end. This placated her staff but Naomi wasn’t happy about it.

Naomi called a closed leaders only session. After listening to fifteen minutes of her argument, LaDonna interrupted her, “So basically what you’re saying is you don’t think you’ve been treated fairly?”

Naomi nodded and added, “No one on my staff has anywhere near the level of expertise I have. I’ve put in twenty five years of research on edible plants.”

“And that’s why you’re still lead botanical scientist,” I said.

“Probation is humiliating,” Naomi hissed.

“There has to be a repercussion for betraying the agreement you made,” I said.

“I was forced to agree to that!”

“This is ridiculous,” Fayza shouted. “You’re acting like an insolent child. You have no idea what unfairness is – what punishment really means.” She got up from the table. “I can’t listen to anymore of this nonsense.”

Fayza was almost to the door when I said, “Wait a moment.”

“I’m in complete agreement with Fayza,” Kimi said. She stared hard at Naomi and said, “Ever since we got here you’ve acted like a total prima-donna.”

“How dare you,” Naomi retorted.

Maria chimed in, “I don’t agree with name calling, but in this case Kimi has a point.”

And then all hell broke loose. There was yelling about Naomi’s stubbornness and arrogance and other people telling people to calm down, and things just kept escalating. No matter what I did I couldn’t get everyone to relax. If it were a group of men it would have erupted into a mass fist fight.

The door slammed shut and the room went momentarily silent. Everyone turned to Tuwa who had just walked back in with a smudging wand and a hand drum. She lit the wand and started singing in what I suspected was her native language Cree and handed LaDonna the hand drum. LaDonna looked befuddled at first, but as Tuwa’s singing grew more intense, she naturally joined in. Tuwa moved the smoking wand around the room and then over each individual.

A few minutes later everyone was sitting again, five more minutes, and a peace crept over the room, half an hour later everyone was calm.

 

 

 

 

 

 

               Chapter 14 – Project Collective

            (2044—December through 2045—March)

 

 

 

     Eva’s project was also going to be difficult it required marine specimens and access to the ocean — meaning trips to the seashore in our trucks which would deplete our energy storage and require scavenging trips to Portland or Seattle to replace what was lost. But antidotes needed to be developed to a host of problems plaguing marine animals. It was an ambitious long term project, but necessary to the grander mission of restoring balance to the earth and without ocean health, the future would remain bleak.

     The sun was rising as I set off on my rounds, checking the research at the various facilities and collating it to be used for my staff. The information was to be tracked making sure no department went too far off the goal of the Collective’s mission statement. This required combing through findings, identifying links in research and putting bridge teams together when necessary to share expertise. It was a difficult task and I was feeling the stress of it.

     I finished scanning the previous day’s report into my wristcom and took a break to let Kimi show me the cattle pen where the animals grazed.

     “Aren’t they cute?” Kimi said. “My favorite is that Holstein near the fence with the black band near her eyes. She’s feisty,” she said pointing.

     “Feisty?” I said.

     “For a cow,” Kimi replied. “They all have different personalities they’re just subtle. You have to pay close attention to notice.”

     I smiled at the idea and then turned to walk back into the lab, but Ira rushed out toward me stopping a few feet away to gasp for air. “What’s going on?” I asked rushing to him.

     “You’ve got to see. Even I had no idea they were capable of something like this,” he said grabbing my arm.

     I was completely confused and his frantic behavior – it scared me. “Who are, they?”

     “Digibio, I didn’t understand the reference to it in the downloads. But I’ve re-examined it looking for clues,” He continued, walking me over to the nest.

     I shook my head. “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.” We entered the foyer.

     “Brace yourself, try not to show any emotion,” he said escorting me into the meeting room.

On a sofa near the window was a thin knobby looking humanoid with green lizard-like skin, an imperceptibly small bump and two holes for a nose, large yellow eyes and slitted irises. If I didn’t know better I would have sworn it was of extra-terrestrial origin, except for Ira’s caveats and ramblings about Digibio.

     “Hello, Ma’am,” he said getting up and bowing.

     I looked at Ira who was staring in fascination at the green man. I stepped forward and extended my hand to him. “Hello,” I said. The lizard man looked horrified by the gesture and took a step backward. “I’m Psyche.” But he didn’t respond.

     Finally Ira said, “This is Geney 199. He’s been trained to only answer direct questions.”

     “Where did you come from?” I asked.

     “Cave near beast, Ma’am,” Geney 199 said peeking at me.

     “I mean…” I started.

     “He was manufactured in a lab somewhere in Florida by an arm of Digibio, called Geneco Wave. They spliced together an amalgam of human and reptile strands to make a mining slave-race for the Environ. He’s clone number 199. Officially they are called Geneco, a registered trademark to Digibio and Geneco Wave, but among their own they call themselves Geneys.”

     “What are you mining for?”

     “Metal. We serve creator.” Geney 199 bowed his head.

     “How did you get here?”

     “Mine break. Friend, Geney 178 and Geney 200 die. I scare – hurt arm – walk long, then no can walk – no more.”

     “If you’ll excuse us. We’ll be right back,” I said tugging at Ira’s arm.

     We stepped back into the foyer and closed the door. “It’s unbelievable,” I said.

     “I know they’re sick bastards.”

     “He seems intelligent. I doubt he’s had any kind of education. He must have picked up English from the scientists.”

     “He looks mostly human. I bet they wanted the Geneco to look scary so no one would question using them as slaves,” Ira said. “Use racisms to the end degree, that’s what those assholes do – play on fear.”

     I nodded. “He does look very odd. Let’s get someone from medical to take blood – do a work up – give him a physical – make sure he’s OK from the accident.”

Ira nodded. “I’ll also have Kimi do a work up on his genetics, see what’s up.”

     “And he needs to be quarantined for the time being until we’re sure he’s not carrying anything.”

     Ira moved closer and stared at me. “You realize he can’t go back.”

     “I know.”

 

               Chapter 15 – The Applegates

      (2045—January)

 

 

     “Oh Lord have Mercy!” Jessie Applegate screamed into the wireless headset mic while prancing around the stage of the chapel in his electric blue polyurethane jumpsuit flagged with rhinestones. The room was packed to capacity. And although Digibio law required all inhabitants attend each Sunday, the Applegates seemed orgasmicly inspired by their audience. 

     “Lord have MERCY on your SOUL!” Sandy screeched, throwing her hands into the air as if engaging in a mock square dance with a virtual Jesus. Blanketed with rhinestones and outfit in a multilayered tulle skirt, turning her silhouette into a bizarre phallic sunflower, she leapt toward the audience. “Heal us of our SINS!”

     The karaoke music started – Sandy and Jessie clasped hands and sang, “Jesus, oh Jesus, you are our one and only. Jesus, oh, lord Jesus, dying for our sins! Jesus, oh, good Jesus, God gave us his only son!”

     Sandy broke free of Jessie to pump up the crowd by clapping her hands. “Come on all together now!” She bellowed. “Jesus, Oh Jesus…” They continued singing with a gathering stream of parishioners.

     Paul Lamont was at the back of the “church” leaning against a curtain that butted against the wall. He rolled his eyes musing: Such a tacky burlesque show, couldn’t the Strauch’s have picked a more dignified religious people? They have money. But Americans buy this medicine show and have been since the advent of tele-evangelism. Even still, they should have had the decency to exempt the scientists from this fiasco.

     When the song was finally over Sandy went behind the pulpit and read a passage from the bible and said, “The Lord – he gave us life. That life is sacred – precious. It should be valued above all other gifts. When a man SPILLS his SEED – that is SIN. Cause that seed could make a precious little BABY. And when a woman KILLS the BABY growing inside of her – that is TRUELLY A SIN! The worst KIND of SIN. MURDER! And when we lay down with another, for any reason other than to give the precious gift of life to a fellow human BABY — THAT is SIN.”

     Jessie Applegate chimed in, “As soon as even ONE SPERM leaves you – that’s the HOPE of LIFE – that’s a BABY – a human being. That’s why the Lord said, ‘It is better to lay with a whore than to spill your seed.’”

     Sandy gave him a strange glare and said, “That’s why stopping that baby from coming into this world with condoms or pills or anything, even the rhythm method, is a sin! Because that’s the hope of life — a baby wanting to be born!” Sandy looked skyward, clasping her hands together for dramatic effect, as if she alone could hear the voice of God above and was listening with her whole body.

     Paul rolled his eyes again hoping no one could see disgust cross his face. Don’t these people realize most of these poor souls are infertile? Besides there’s only so much room in here. After we mine enough metal it will still be at least ten years before we can get the Environ to reproduce and even then it will take another ten to mature. Even with the bio growth we’ll run out of space if people don’t use birth control.

     Jessie continued his rant, “God creates beautiful little baby spirits in heaven and they need a home here on earth. We can’t murder those precious little baby spirits just because we want to get off, now can we? If you don’t want to tempt the Lord with a home for His baby spirits then you have to say no! No to sex of any kind!”

     “Amen to that!” Sandy said.

     “Amen!” the believers cried.

     “When a wanton woman comes to you with desire in her heart, looking for a place to sleep the night. You just say no!” Sandy barked.

     “Amen!” Jessie hollered.

     “Amen!” the crowd repeated.

     “When you’re full of pride because a pretty lady pays you a compliment, remember the lord!” Jessie said.

     Sandy shook her big purple beehive. “Amen.”

     “Amen,” the crowd echoed.

     “When you feel that itch of lust, pray to Jesus!” Said Sandy.

     “Amen!” Jessie nodded to his wife.

     “Amen!” The audience exclaimed.

     Paul looked at his watch. How long where these idiots going to rage on about the lord? He had work to do. Scanning the crowd he spotted the Strauchs sitting at the front of the stage in special gold plated chairs. He had to find a way out. He scooted toward one of his techs, an asian man, sleeping in fits on a folding chair near the orifice and whispered into his ear, “Is there a secret chamber?”

     The tech woke in a start. “Why don’t you use the restroom near the back you can use your ID to get out the other side into the hallway.” He smiled. “Most of the scientists already escaped that way.”

 

             Chapter 16 – What To Do About 199

                       (2045—May)

 

 

 

     The room was crowded. In order to accommodate the town hall style meeting, the table had been moved and chairs were placed in rows and even still people lined the walls. Kimi stood at a makeshift podium and read Dr. Harold Candell’s report to the crowd, “Geney 199 shows no signs of disease and is indeed physically robust. Genetically his makeup is infinitesimally different than our own, with only the most minor adjustments having been made in the DNA strand controlling the skin organs, reproductive systems and digestive systems. Nearly all his genetic material is human and I would classify him as such. However because of these alterations he is also quite alien, sharing some characteristics with reptiles of which Eva, Xin-Yi and Kimi’s combined report will detail.”

     He took a seat behind the podium making way for Eva to speak. She scowled at her papers, muttering to herself before she began. “I don’t entirely agree with Harold’s report. Yes, humanoid, but not quite human,” Eva said quietly before she started reading from the report. “Geney 199’s body temperature fluctuates with the environment, allowing for adaptation to extreme heat. He has also been genetically altered to be physically stronger than an ordinary human being and requires feeding just once a month like a snake.”

Eva looked up at the crowd for a moment to make eye contact before she began again. “Normal human reproduction has been exchanged for one closely resembling lizards, from conception to gestation in an external egg. According to Geney 199 there are some mammalian traits shared such as nursing. Genetically however there seems to be no difference in the construction of his brain, and scans confirmed it appears perfectly normal in every human sense of the word.” Eva sat back down.

     I came to the podium. “LaDonna Washington gave Geney 199 a standardized IQ test and found him to be slightly above average, but felt he had strong potential and his IQ would rise significantly with education. Overall his cognitive skills were very good. The problem we face now is in our definition of human life. And while our charter doesn’t speak of the liberation of a genetically altered slave race, we have to consider not only what we will do with Geney 199, but others who might wander into our encampment. I’ll open the floor to discussion now. Yes,” I said pointing to Tuwa who was sitting in front of me.

     “All life is sacred and must be protected I see no difference or exception here,” she said with authority.

     Naomi stood up asking, “May I speak?”

     I nodded.

     “Are mission statement was drafted to save nature, this creature is a genetic amalgamation created by a corporation, not a life form that would or should have existed in the natural eco-system. Who knows what kind of havoc it – he and his kind could wreak if protected by us.”

     Aine shook her head. “Life is life, he’s here now. I’ve worked with all kinds of people across the globe and I’ll be frank Naomi, you sound like an early white settler in Australia, someone who would hunt Aborigines.”

     “That’s kind of extreme,” Kimi said. “I don’t think Naomi’s comment implied violence toward the Geneco.”

Naomi arched a thick brow and said, “This situation is quite different.”

     “You don’t think working in mines as slaves is serious?” Aine spitted back.

     Kimi replied, “No, I do… it’s just not the same as hunting people for sport.”

     “It’s just as horrible,” Aine retorted.    

     Naomi started, “How can say that to…”

     I spoke over her, “All of you please. The reality is Geney 199 is here and he’s staying here.”

     Naomi said, “Who decided that? I thought that’s what this was all about.”

      “He can’t go back. He would be murdered,” Ira said.

     “You don’t know that,” Naomi replied.

     “Please,” I said. “Let him finish.”

     Ira walked over to the podium. “We do know – based on what he told us. If a geney so much as faints from exhaustion – he’s killed. If he misidentifies a location or speaks when not spoken to – he’s beaten to an inch of his life, then made to go back to work, often dying soon after.”

     I scanned the crowd many of the scientist shook their heads in disbelief. “Do you doubt the moral corruption of Digibio?” I asked.

     Hyunae said, “No. But what do you propose we do about it?”

     “We keep him. Assimilate him into the collective for now – retrain him,” I said.

     But Naomi shook her head. “He needs to be kept away from us. He’s too different, the children are afraid. My boy saw him and had nightmares.”

     Tuwa said, “Are you proposing segregation?”

     “What’s wrong with that? The animals are separated.” Naomi responded.

     LaDonna got up from her seat and strolled to the head of the crowd, in front of the podium. “A long time ago Naomi, your people were slaved and not so very long ago, so were mine. Even after we won our freedom we were segregated, under-educated and ghettoized because of the color of our skin.” She shook her head. “It was immoral then – it’s immoral now. It has, and always will be immoral. What’s wrong is wrong.”

     “But…” Naomi started.

     “Don’t you remember your bible stories? Or the holocaust?”

     Tuwa stood up. “LaDonna is right. We can not allow ourselves to make the same mistake our ancestors did. The children will get used to Geney 199 and others of his kind who join us. We will incorporate them into our community. Young people are resilient and adapt quickly. I will train him in the arts of healing. He is a gentle soul and there is no need to be frightened of him,” she said. Her calm demeanor and spiritual wisdom descended on the meeting like a cool spring shower. She was quickly usurping my power not because she was trying to, but because she was the wisest among us. All those who had sought her counsel or came to her rituals found genuine peace in her presence. She was a stabilizing force and her ancient practices had quickly been adapted into a way of life over the eight months we’d been in our new home.

     Even the most rigid scientists were converting to her brand of spirituality because of the miraculous things they had witnessed her do. One of the strangest stories, something I didn’t witness, was of Tuwa healing the broken leg of an eight year old girl. Supposedly the girl had fallen off a chair while doing a play in the recreation room. Her chin broke in two, and it was so loud the room heard it. She went into shock almost immediately due to the pain.

At the time Tuwa was happening by the room and heard the girls screams, ran in and acting quickly she reset the girl’s leg. After chanting (some said ten minutes, other’s an hour) it was as if time had skipped backwards and the girl was perfect again. This one event instantly converted no just everyone in the room, but more than three quarters of the Collective.

 

But I didn’t see it. And I resisted Tuwa’s circle. Besides if there was a God – he had to be a real bastard. Allowing earth’s creatures to suffer and die in such horrible twisted ways. Not to mention what he had done to my mother and all the people of New York.

Religion had caused wars used fear and kept people from being rational enough to save themselves and the planet. No matter what – it was a bad game. I’d made it through far worse without the shelter of an omnipotent being. Why start now? Mom had been right. She always was.

 

                 Chapter 17 – Bone Machine

  (2045—June)

 

 

 

     Reginald Strauch clipped through the orifice and past the waste reassignment to the brain (as the scientists called it.) It was his first time in eight months of running the Environ he had to come to see Paul.

“Where’s Lamont?” Strauch asked a lab tech.

     The tech pointed him toward the central nerve center. Strauch walked to it and felt around for the sensor, but there wasn’t one. The tech called to him, “You’ll have to use your code.”

     Strauch let out a sigh of exasperation and pulled the gold card from under his shirt. It resembled a dog tag just a little too much for his taste. He squinted at the sequence, slowly punching the numbers into the keypad and sticking it into its slot. “Why didn’t you folks put iris scanners in here?”

     “Budget costs. I guess Paul didn’t think it was worth it since he’s usually the only one in there,” the tech replied.

     Reginald grimaced at him and turned to walk through the orifice. Paul was sitting at a luminescent wall of gray flesh. It was called the nerve center because all the Environ’s systems ran through the board in this room, like the base of a brain stem. Strauch took a seat and Paul finished what he was doing and said, “I take it this is urgent.”

     “Damn right,” Strauch replied. Paul betrayed no emotion. He simply stared into Reginald’s cold blue eyes, waiting for the tirade. And this drove Reginald insane. Paul showed no fear – a quality he despised especially in his subordinates. “Camille tells me your folks have been duckin’ out of services. She said you haven’t even bothered showin’ the last few Sundays, not even for roll call.” Reginald voice cracked – he could barely control his rage.

     “Yes, that’s all true,” Paul said.

     “Well, you mind tellin’ me why?” Strauch hissed.

     “I’ve been kept very busy these last few weeks. It seems Geney 199 has turned up missing.”

     “So?” Strauch demanded.

     “Missing as in no dead body. It seems he escaped. I put a tracker team on it. We used one of the wrangling jeeps and they’ve turned up evidence he went into the rain forest near the Oregon border.”

     Strauch stared indignantly at him. “And your point is?”

     “The Collective is located there. If he runs into them it will constitute a breach in Geneco security. Chances are, with that band of bleeding hearts, they’ll hatch a rescue operation – seeing the Geneco as a slave race, which of course they are. Who knows what else? With all the liberal gibber jabber they might want to destroy the Environ because it eats, drinks and sucks the life out of everything it contacts leaving trail of toxic waste in its wake. They might not like that, too much. After all they are trying to save the earth.”

Paul was sarcastic in his tone and Strauch didn’t appreciate it. If he could have disposed of Paul he would have – the man clearly had absolutely no respect for him. But, he was the only scientist who held all the pieces of the Environ puzzle. And as Paul had aptly said himself, “Knowledge is power.”

     Reginald sat back in his seat staring at the multicolored lights blinking in front of him. He had no idea what any of it meant. Finally he said, “You’re a scientist. I respect that, but I’m a politician and a CEO. I’m the decider and when it comes to governin’ you have to show me the same respect. The church is the founding principle in our system of government. It provides the moral underpinnin’ens for our folks. We can’t have a bunch of nobodies runnin’ around doing whatever they please screwin’ off. We need organization in order to survive not just here, but period. If you or your folks keep buckin’ the rules, everybody else will feel its okay for them to do the same. You understand?”

“Yes. But my people are important here. We have to deal with crucial life threatening crisis all the time, even on Sundays. I don’t think we should be penalized for taking care of these difficulties. After all without our ability to sustain the Environ you’ll have no world to govern,” Paul said.

     Strauch nodded. It was an intricate game of chess. He waited for a moment for his anger to subside and said, “Granted, but in those cases why don’t we agree to a tech representative givin’ a brief statement at the beginnin’ of service…”

     “Why not just exempt the scientists? They are of greater use doing their jobs.”

     “Damn it Paul! It was mandatory for admission, you and your scientists agreed to play by the rules,” Strauch said, the veins in his neck bulged, his face bursting into a hot scarlet flush. He took a deep breath and continued, “Now if we have a code system – it could be announced at the beginnin’ of service then folks would know and those scientists in that branch, or team or whatever the hell you call it, could do their job, but still be held accountable.”

     “Very well then, a code. I’ll come up with something simple,” Paul said.

     “But I want to make sure your folks are at least represented. No more of this sneakin’ out through the lavatory.”

     “Fine then, very good,” Paul said.

     “Don’t give me that horse shit! I mean it! The next time one of your techies nerds sneaks off he’ll get a public beatin.”

     Paul nodded indifferently.

     “And if that same son of a bitch does it again I’ll cut off his testicle or tit, and shove it down his or her God damned throat. Got me?”

     “Well that certainly won’t be necessary,” Paul replied.

     “It better not be.” Strauch got up in a rush to exit.

     Strauch was too pissed to go straight into his meeting with Jessie – he stopped back at his cell to have a scotch. While he was pouring himself a double on the rocks, Kaitlin walked in and said, “Jacob’s down for his nap. May I be excused for a moment to go to my cell? I forgot to bring the digi-fingerpaint scans I printed out for him this morning. He’s so proud of them.”

     “That dress is very becomin’ on you Kaitlin,” Strauch said turning toward her with a strange coldness in his eyes – a strange predatory look she’d never seen on him before.

     Kaitlin was instinctively afraid and backed up. “Thank you sir, may I be excused?”

     Reginald sauntered close staring down at her breasts, which were much riper, rounder and riper than he’d previously observed. “You’ve put on a little weight?”

     She smiled. “Yes, thank you.”

     He ran his finger from her navel to her sternum where he let it rest. Reginald felt her quivering with fear and it was as if the dark part of his soul had tasted divine ambrosia. He reached inside her dress. Kaitlin froze. What started as a caress became hard and frantic with his excitement. He pushed her down onto a glass end table. “You need a boyfriend Kaitlin. Every girl needs a boyfriend.” He whispered into her ear and reaching under her skirt. “I’ll be your boyfriend.”

     “No, sir. Please don’t…”

     “Shh…” He said putting his hand over her mouth a crazy disconnected grin spread across his face. “Don’t be afraid. You’re gonna love it.”

     She scooted back trying to leverage herself off the table. “Please…”

     “Be a good girl – be quite. Don’t wake Jacob.”

     He tore off her panties and stabbed at her insides with such violence, it felt as if she were breaking in two. Tears streamed down her face. She bit down on her lips to suppress the pain and its accompanying sound – and tried to slide off the table, but split the back of her head on one of the sharp glass corners. The blood gushed in a pool underneath her and Reginald pinned her shoulders down to keep her from sliding off the table. She began to whimper.

“Shut up!” Reginald commanded slapping her with the blunt force of a baseball bat. She blacked out for a second and bit through her lip. Blood trickled down her chin.

     Jacob heard the commotion and walked into the room. He stood by the entrance watching. Kaitlin reached out a hand and muttered, “Go back to bed.”

     But he didn’t move. “Daddy leave nanny Kaitlin alone! You’re hurting her!”

     Reginald screamed, “Get the fuck out of here!” Jacob scurried away and with one wrenching twist he exploded, cutting Kaitlin deep like a punch to her kidneys. He pulled out leaving Kaitlin in a heap of her own blood, dress heavy with the weight of it

He belted his pants and said, “Better take care of that. Don’t want you getting’ sick you have to get up bright and early tomorra to take care of Jacob.” She slid from the table and felt the back of her head where her hair was matted together with coagulated blood. “Don’t worry,” he said to her. “You’ll get used to it.”

     She backed toward the orifice and stumbled out into the hallway back toward her cell.

Reginald poured himself another drink and went to the bathroom. He cleaned off the blood and changed underwear. In the living quarters, he cleaned the end table and rolled up the blood soaked throw rug, took it into the bedroom and shoved it under his bed. 

Once he was done he kicked off his shoes and put his feet on the ottoman and called, “Computer turn on the flat screen. Dial up that there spy movie. You know the one that came out a few years back with my buddy Bill Surnow.”

     “Code 5, sir?” the computer asked.

     “Yeah, that’s the one.”

     “And make me a drink while you’re at it.”

     “Sir?” the computer said.

     “Awe, fuck,” he said getting up and sauntering over to the bottle of scotch he had left open on the bar. He grabbed it and brought it back to the couch with him.

     The orifice opened he looked over expecting to see Kaitlin, but it was Camille. He turned his attention back to the screen.

“What are you doing home?” she asked.

     “Had a rough day – talked to Lamont about the BS goin’ on with his scientist folks and the church.” He took a big swig of the bottle.

     “You don’t even notice anymore,” she said pushing his legs off the coffee table to walk past and sit next to him on the couch. He glanced at her. “I’ve been at my geneticists and plastic surgeon’s all day.”

     He looked more closely at her. “Nice eye color almost a violet and you’re voice is a little huskier.”

     Smiling she took the bottle out of his hand and placed it on the coffee table then onto her breast. “I had them push me up two cup sizes.”

     He looked perturbed. “I told you six. God damn it woman – how am I supposed to notice two cup sizes? I can’t tell a damn bit of difference. And your voice still has the annoying screech.”

     “It takes time. My voice will get lower and my breasts need to grow for at least a month,” she replied.

     “You should just go the old route since you change so much – plastic surgery’s faster.” He turned his attention back to the flatscreen. “And your hair’s still blonde.”

     She took a deep breath. “It will grow out. I have to wait to dye it so I can match the color, red is tricky.” She stared indignantly at him. “Damn it Reginald what’s gotten into you?”

He didn’t answer.

She caught Jacob standing in a doorway out of the corner of her eye and asked him, “Where’s Kaitlin?”

     “I just saw her a minute ago. She went back to her cell,” Reginald replied.

     “Her place,” she corrected.

     “Whatever. She was gettin’ somethin’ for Jacob. She’ll be back,” he said.

     Camille went to the bar and poured herself a glass of bourbon. She watched him staring vacantly at the flat screen – he seemed odd and there was a strange smell in the room and on him. Her eyes wandered the circumference of the room and she noticed the end table out of place, the area rug gone and a set of coasters on the floor. Something had happened. She went back to the couch and became engrossed in the action film.

     Half-way through, just as Bill Surnow was about to have his big death scene, Jacob tugged at her arm and said, “Mommy I’m hungry.”

     “Tell Kaitlin. Mommy and daddy are doing something important right now,” she replied, not taking her eyes off the screen. “Oh my lord it’s so realistic – it looks almost three-D. And Bill is so good, we’ll have to tell him over lunch next week.”

     “He’s damn good,” said Reginald taking another sip of his scotch.

     “Mommy,”

     “What! Leave us alone!” Camille screeched giving Jacob a ‘don’t make me hurt you’ look.

     Jacob recoiled putting his hand to his mouth and saying, “She’s not here.”

     “Who’s not here?” Camille quipped.

     “Nanny Kaitlin.”

     “Well, that’s a great way to treat the people who saved your Goddamned pathetic little life!” she said throwing up her hand. “Jacob fetch the hand held for mommy.”

     When he brought it back, she gave the computer Kaitlin’s cell number. But no one answered. “What the hell has gotten into that little tart? When I see her I’m going to chew her a new asshole.”

     “She had an ouchy,” he said pointing to his head.

     “You mean a headache?”

     No he mimed. He pointed to a cut on his arm. “An ouchy.”

     “What did she fall down or something?” Camille said. Jacob took a step back with his fingers in his mouth. “Maybe I should check on her.” Jacob nodded.

     Across the corridor was Kaitlin’s cell. She waved her hand over the orifice and let herself in. “Kaitlin?” she called. The room was small, drab and very gray – standard issue, no frills. The absence of noise drew Camille’s attention to the squishing sound of her heels on the Environ’s flesh. She wrinkled her nose at the reminder of its vulgar life.

Camille walked to the bathroom, which had only a wash basin, sink and toilet, and there passed out on the floor was Kaitlin. The first thing Camille noticed was the blood soaked dress and then a red trickle from her lip down her chin and the dried matted blood in her hair. Camille shook her. But Kaitlin didn’t respond but she was breathing. “Computer get Doctor Harris over here immediately. Tell him it’s an emergency.”

     Camille sat down in the other room and waited. Somebody raped Kaitlin. Who would have the fucking nerve to do that here in the Environ? Almost as soon as she thought of the question she knew the answer.

     Doctor Harris let himself in and Camille pointed to the bathroom. While he was administering a nano pill, Camille said, “I was warned about her past promiscuous behavior before I hired her, but she swore to me it would stop. I had no idea she was into that M & S stuff, though.”

     “You mean S & M?” Dr. Harris asked.

     “Yes. I think that’s right,” Camille replied.

     Doctor Harris smiled at Camille’s seeming naïveté’. “Don’t worry, her secret’s safe with me.”

     “Good, let’s keep it that way. We love Kaitlin and until we investigate, we wouldn’t want it to ruin her future.”

     “Right,” he said nodding as Kaitlin started to come to. “She’s going to be just fine.”

     “Thanks for coming so quickly and for your professional discretion,” Camille said walking briskly through the orifice and back to her cell.

 

 

             Chapter 18 – Ceremonial Cleansing

                     (2045—June)

 

 

 

     A full bright moon illuminated the sky. Tuwa was bringing larger and larger groups of people to the edge of the encampment into the rain forest for rituals on mild nights. It was a chance to be in nature without the worry of UV and it was as close to the old ways as the people of the Collective could get, many went solely for that reason. Most brought their children for a chance to see what the world had been like before scrims. But the children whose imaginations were ripe loved it. They were taken on magical journeys through other realms during Tuwa’s ceremonies, which drew heavily on American Indian symbolism of Buffalo Women and trickster coyotes and for them the story telling around the fire was reason enough.

     Over the course of the year the ceremonies had become more elaborate as members wanted to participate and other traditions had entered the mix. But on this night, it was Geney 199’s welcoming ceremony. He was to pick his own name and become a member of the Circle of the Great Spirit. After the bonfire had been lit and those who wanted to tell the stories of their ancestors had spoken, Geney 199 was brought to the center of the crowd. Tuwa took out her smudging wand while LaDonna beat a drum and anyone with instruments or noise makers followed along.

     The ensemble moved around to the music, dancing. Tuwa waved her smoking wand over Geney 199 and sang in a sweet, deep voice, “Tonight you are born into you’re own being. From the darkness of aloneness you are born into a tribe. We sing for your becoming. And celebrate your new life. A life given by your own doing and at one with divine holy will.”

     When she finished LaDonna put down the drum and came forward to stand next to Geney 199. She grabbed his hand and triumphantly lifted it skyward exclaiming, “Welcome friend!”

     “Welcome friend!” the members repeated.

     LaDonna grabbed his other hand and looked into his small amber eyes. “Those of us who wanted to shed ourselves of the past have given ourselves new names.” She nodded at a young woman standing across from her and said, “Redhawk in her old life was known as Mary. Flying Eagle was Max. Do you wish to take a new name?”

     He smiled, saying, “I do.”

     Tuwa asked, “And what is that name?”

     “Freeman Fred.”

     “Welcome to your new world, Freeman Fred,” Tuwa said.

     “Yes, welcome,” LaDonna said shaking his hand and stepping back for each person to have their chance to greet him.

     I had refused to go. Instead, I leaned on the rails of the front porch near the front door of the nest, waiting for Ira to come back from the ceremony so I could hear all the details. I looked out over the sprawl of simple white buildings dotting the landscape. The same structures that held an assortment of labs, offices and development rooms, but somehow they looked different tonight. I was the only person left at the encampment and the extreme quiet was something I had almost forgotten. Chi came up and marked my leg. I bent down to pick him up, petting him until he purred.

     I knew the ritual was important for Geney 199 to feel accepted. I had talked about it with him many times over the course of the last month, but I explained I wasn’t religious and had never taken part in ceremonies. I wished I could have gone for his sake, but I didn’t feel it would have been respectful to circle members because my feelings had always been so negative when it came to issues of spirituality and were currently very confused and mixed.

     I heard an amalgam of laughter and voices in the distance toward the southern perimeter. I took one last stroll across the porch with Chi and sat on the stairs looking up at the moon just beyond the scrims, peaking through the canopy of trees. It was a pleasant night, cool, but not cold, and I waited until the voices came closer before heading back inside the nest to the room me and Ira slept in. Chi followed me.    

     The room was tiny, just big enough for a full sized bed on one end and a wall of cupboards on the other for clothing. I sat, pulled off my boots, laid down and stared at the ceiling.

     The nest was still quiet. The door opened and I sat up, surprised to find Ira in the doorway. He sat next to me on the bed. ” It was so moving. You really should have been there. I don’t know why you’re so stubborn. You don’t have to believe in anything to go. It’s just a way for everyone to share stories and bond.”

     “You know that’s not true,” I responded.

     “It is for a lot of people and there’s nothing wrong with it. Tuwa has a way of making everyone feel connected to something greater than themselves. What’s wrong with that?”

     “Unfortunately, I don’t believe in God or the Great Spirit or anything like that. Besides don’t all religions make people feel connected to something greater, isn’t that one of the main points?”

     “This is different. You have to see for yourself. We’re having a welcoming feast in the meeting room. Why don’t you just pop in, if for no other reason than Freeman Fred and I want you to go.”

     “Freeman Fred? Is that Geney 199 new name?” I asked.

     Ira nodded smiling to himself. “Isn’t it sweet. Everyone else takes such grand names like White Wolf Running and he picks that. He just wants to have a chance to be like us. It’s kind of sad really.” He nudged my leg. “It would mean so much to him, just come. Nobody’s going to bite.”

     I shook my head.

     “Don’t be ridiculous. If I have to, I’ll stay here and stare at you, until you agree.” He waited for a moment and then added, “Think of it as research.”

      “Fine, but give me a second. Let’s wait until everyone is settled in. I don’t want LaDonna seeing me sneak in.”

     Ira snorted quietly. “What is it with you two?”

     “She’s been on me about this forever. I don’t want to encourage her by having her think her methods are working.”

     “Fine.” He laid back, grabbing my hand and massaging it. He tenderly kissed my palm. “I regret not marrying you.”

     I frowned and looked down at the comforter. “I regret that, too.”

 

     The long meeting table was pushed against the far wall and lined with food. Banners were woven together out of broken branches with hand made signs reading: Welcome Friend! The walls were filled with children’s drawings detailing different stories Freeman Fred had told their classroom about his life in the mines. I was struck by one – it depicted dozens of eggs cracking open with a frogish woman holding one of the new babies. The scene was so alien yet the child had somehow rendered it like one of those pictures I would have drawn of my mother, myself and my brownstone in New York. It almost made me cry, but I pushed the feeling away and moments later I found Freeman Fred. He was so elated I had come. He broke out of his usually cautious demeanor and hugged me. I laughed and said, “Congratulations!”

     “Thank you Miss Psyche.” He was beaming.

     Ira patted him on the back. “We’re all very proud of you Freeman Fred for being so brave.”     

     Tuwa waved a rattle near the banquet table. The room quieted. “We welcome Freeman Fred into our family and feast in celebrate of his heroic journey. Freeman Fred has seen the dark side of human nature and has found inner strength when others would have cowered. He has risen to the challenge and won many hard lessons. He has walked hundreds of miles to liberation but his journey is not over. It is only a new chapter in the book of his life. One we will fill with pages of laughter, joy, and happiness in this – his new home – among his new tribe of loving friends.”

     LaDonna beat her drum and said, “Now eat drink and be merry!” She let loose a belly laugh, jiggled her hips and said, “Let’s paaaaarty!” She started around the room. I hid behind Ira.

     For a brief moment I felt a pang of grief for not allowing myself to belong. I wondered why I had been so stubborn – but hadn’t history proven religion a source of intolerance, war, suffering and pain? It had always been antithetical to the humanitarian views which were woven into the very cells of my being. I looked around at all the stodgy scientists and their families dancing with noise makers in their hands. Their children painted and laughing. The freedom they had in union with each other and the acceptance, warmth and love lighting everyone’s faces.

     Maybe, just maybe, this really was different. I wondered if there could be a religion based on love, celebration and togetherness. One that allowed for diversity and acceptance, and fostered individual growth. I felt a twinge inside, a pain that longed for something more – a part of me wanted to believe.

 

 

                Chapter 19 – Roses Are Redheads

                (2045—July through September)

 

 

 

     Camille Pamela was careful to hide her transformation to the Environ public. She spent most of the month feigning ill so she wouldn’t have to go to the Sunday ceremonies and instead Sandy came to “preach” to her later in the afternoon. She stayed sauced up on bourbon, hanging out in her “suite.” While Kaitlin was recovering, Jacob spent nights with “Aunt” Sandy when he wasn’t in corporate daycare. Reginald had given Kaitlin a nasty, near fatal, kidney infection among other things.

     Camille’s hair was now flame red, eyes a bright purple and her back fat had migrated to her ass creating two giant basketball shaped cheeks. She was closing in on Reginald’s six cup size request. The growing pains made a great excuse to demand Dr. Harris siphon the precious (and limited) supply of oxycodone earmarked for the critically ill.

The gene-o-plastic surgery was remarkable, The structure of Camille’s face had broadened, her features spread apart, and in the case of her eyes there was so much room between them, she could have passed for a fish. Her nose had shrunk, and changed shape rounding into a ball at the tip. Her lips were now as thick and bulbous as a pair of copulating earth worms and her waist had shrunk to a third the size of her hips.

She spent much of her days staring at her own reflection and it was making her insatiably horny. But after Kaitlin’s rape, regular old B&D wasn’t enough for Reginald and she didn’t enjoy his new style of love making or more accurately his lack there of and unless she let him beat, cut or strangle her – he couldn’t get it up. Reginald could no longer satisfy her and she saw no reason for all her pain and beauty to be squandered by an ungrateful man.

     It was address day and Reginald would be busy taping his message to the Environ until late evening. She put on a red skin tight dress, tousled her hair, gave her neck a spritz of perfume and headed to the garden. It was community service week for Geney wranglers – the hottest men in Environ – six pack abs and fine, hard, man breasts. She had one particular guy in mind – the one with the butt ugly girlfriend who she had seen the first day, when Kaitlin showed her around. Through Sandy, Camille had found his name – Nick. He was still dating the horrible wretch but she was sure she could snag him. Before getting into the Environ he had a reputation for being a lady killer. And Sandy had checked his confession lists – he had many adulterous thoughts.

     When she made it into the garden the light nearly knocked her back. It had been a while since she had seen anything outside her suite and her new eyes were still adjusting. But soon she spotted him transporting a sixty pound potted plant to his work area and began digging. She sauntered into his line of sight and as soon as he caught a glimpse of her, he stopped cold and stared in foggy awe. She inched closer. He repositioned himself, leaning on his shovel and trying to break eye contact which was impossible in an effort to seem cool. But Camille was a beguiling siren in the gray dimness of the Environ’s milieu. She was every man’s wet dream, designed to erect any penis at her slightest glance, made by science to be more perfect and dangerous than nature could have allowed.

     She said in her new deep husky voice, “Hi, I’m Rose. You look so… hot.” She fanned herself, looking away briefly as she undid a button near the ledge of her breasts and rubbed her hand over her cleavage. “How about we get a nice cool drink together?” She smiled coyly at him.

     “Who could say no to that.” He stuck his shovel into the soil.

     She walked ahead of him making sure to wiggle her hips. They stepped through the orifice toward the worker cell area. It was the first time she had seen it. “How about your place?” she said. “I’m married. Wouldn’t want any problems.”

     Nick smiled putting his arm around her waist. “This way,” he said, angling her down another gray corridor and through the orifice to his tiny cell. It was smaller than Kaitlin’s – only one room with a toilet, sink and wash basin opposite the bed where she sat down, crossing her legs so the slit of her dress would expose the length of her leg. He stared at her. “You’re too good to be true.” He handed her a glass. “All I have is whisky.”

     “That’s fine,” she said undoing another button. He gulped his drink down and let the bottle and glass fall onto the squishy flesh of the floor.

     “I’ve never seen you around here,” he said sitting next to her and touching her arm. When she didn’t resist he gently rubbing the small of her back. She nudged closer and he lifted the hair off her neck and planted kisses down toward her chest. “I’m sure I would have noticed.”

     “Well, I’ve noticed you.” She smiled.

     He smiled back as he undid another button. “You have?”

She nodded and stood up to do a slow strip tease. He shook his head. “You’ve got to be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

     “And today, I’m all yours,” she replied.

     He couldn’t take his clothes off fast enough. He was so ready to burst before he even had a chance to touch her. The last time he had felt that way he had been a love sick teenaged boy. For a moment he wondered if he was still alive or was he hallucinating? Maybe he had died and gone to heaven? No, heaven was full of angels not hot porn queens.

     He wanted to screw her until he was raw. She was every fantasy he had every had, every wet dream rolled into one, every gooey lap dance, every pornographic digi-tape he had ever rented – all exploding at the same moment in time and space.

      

     A month later Nick was in the viewing room waiting for the taped address from the CEO’s wife. Everyone in the Environ was dying to see what kind of transformation Camille had made this time. Nick had made a wager with a fellow worker she had gone for an exotic look, having been a blonde for a while. Bill Surnow, who now co-headed the entertainment department for the Environ, introduced her. “Without further adieu I now present the fabulous Camille Pamela Strauch!”

     The view shifted to a black curtain and out popped Camille. His heart sank – Rose? He had been screwing her nearly every afternoon for the last month. How could he not have known? He was suddenly queasy. He ran to the public bathroom and puked repeatedly until every last atom of his cheese fries and beer deserted him.

 

                 Chapter 20 – The Downtrodden

                      (2046—January)

 

 

 

     In a small board room of the genetics division I listened to a presentation Marina, Fayza, Naomi, Xin-Yi, Aine and Hyunae had put together regarding speeding up the reduction of greenhouse gasses. They had pooled their various expertise in physics, botany, genetic engineering, geology, astrophysics and anthropology to work on a plan. Because Xin-Yi was the main presenter they had picked her department room for the meeting.

     “We can build tiny spore-like plants which are resistant to UV. They’ll have an increased carbon dioxide input and heightened oxygen output. They will not only act as a natural air purifier, but will also provide a layer of protection encouraging the growth of natural unaltered plant life much like the canopy we live under now,” Xin-Yi said.

     Hyunae took out a large digi-print and tacked it to the wall. “Look,” she said pointing to a breakdown in the layer between the atmosphere and stratosphere. “They can be so microscopic and light weight their natural resting place will hang just above the atmosphere and because they are UV engaged they will migrate toward the ozone holes. If those holes heal then they will seek out radiation disbanding out of the stratosphere. Eventually, they will drift closer and closer to the sun.”

     Marina unlatched her briefcase and unrolled a large crude handwritten graph. “Forgive the mess,” she said trying to get it to stay straightened against the wall. She opted for holding the bottom down as Fayza taped the top. “The increased production of oxygen will help stabilize the ozone depletion. This is world forming technology and could lead to a breakthrough in making uninhabitable areas inhabitable. From my calculations it will take almost a hundred years for the spores to proliferate and blanket all the earth’s atmosphere, but there will be enough to filter about thirty percent of unwanted solar radiation in about twenty. The problem of course will be erratic weather patterns, which we cannot predict at this moment, and the possibility of extremely intense rain cycles.”

     I raised a brow. “That could be a disaster,” I said.

     “It will encourage more rain forest and that will also encourage more wildlife,” Naomi said. “The only real worry we see is those possible pockets of human life that maybe struggling in areas we don’t know about.”

     “That’s a big if,” Aine said. ”But the fact of the matter is, any human colony would be made up of survivors which means people who are clever, capable and adaptable. We’ll just have to hope Darwin was right and the strong will survive the changes. If we don’t put forth this plan, chances are, all life will die out – including human. These potential pockets have a better shot if we give them a chance to grow food, hunt and avoid genetic mutations and the various multitude of cancers and auto immune diseases caused by excessive UV. Scavenging will no longer be an option for them, the ghost cities will be useless for food in a couple of years.”

     “What other options did you look at?” I asked.

     Naomi responded, “As you know this started out as a joint venture between Xin-Yi and my department for the obvious reasons of creating UV resistant plants. But the more we examined the models, the more we realized these new species could ultimately spread so quickly they would most likely cannibalize their natural parents. Or worse destroy the delicate ecosystems which are desperately trying to survive.”

     Aine added, “You could potentially get a more severe version of the Australian cane toad epidemic from the last century.”

     I nodded and said, “Well, I think you’re ready to make your presentation to the community.” I smiled at Marina and continued, “I would suggest however you make a digi-print of the graph. It’s unreadable.”

     Marina shrugged. “I was busy.”

     “Well it’s important for everyone to understand what we’re going to be working on next. Especially, if we plan on dedicating the vast majority of our resources and staff to this project.”

     The two looked to each other and smiled. It was more than they had even dared to hope for.

     The meeting adjourned. As I strolled down the hallway of the genetics building Aine jogged up next to me and tapped my shoulder. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Freeman Fred.”

     “What about him?” I asked, stopping near the exit.

     “There are reports he’s been having trouble adjusting.”

     My eyes narrowed as I scrutinized Aine. “I can’t believe it. I’ve been meeting with him regularly. He’s been here almost a year and this is the first I’ve heard of it.”

     “Well, it’s a recent development. He stopped attending ceremony last month and when Tuwa asked why, he said it was because his people had no history except being born slaves. When she tried to explain many people throughout history had been subjected to slavery, he retorted with something like, ‘Yes, but we were created solely for that purpose. We have no culture, but to breed, and work until we die for our masters. I have nothing to offer the Circle of the Great Spirit. It did not make me, man did.’”

     “Huh,” I replied.

     “And when she tried to convince him all living creatures had souls the Great Spirit created he said, ‘Not everyone believes that.’”

     “That’s true. Is it really so important for him to go to circle?” I asked adding, “I don’t.”

     Aine nodded. “That’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you.”

     I stared at her. “What’s the other?”

     “He’s been having night frights. His screaming is so loud he’s awoken several of his bunk mates. He’s also been withdrawn lately and he refuses to see LaDonna. It seems he’s depressed and feeling guilty for his freedom.”

     “I’ll talk to him,” I said, opening the door.

     Aine put a hand on my shoulder. “Tuwa believes that Freedom Fred feels a special connection with you. He sees you as a bit of an outsider because your beliefs and position keep you separated from the group. She thinks, if you come to circle so will he.”

 

     I went on with my duties checking lab reports at the various departments, but my mind never wavered from thoughts of Freedom Fred. There weren’t many people who had made an effort to know me personally because I had ardently defended my autonomy. But with Freedom Fred I felt different, maybe because he was so much like me in some ways. We had often taken walks at night around the encampment and talked about the Environ, his old life and the egg cave as he called it. The egg cave was literally that, a place with hundreds of eggs in a warm moist cave guarded by a female geney whose job it was to nurse recently hatched Geneys then send them off to be weaned and inspected for work.

     The nightmares he had been having were mostly about “the rock,” a six foot tall circle made of metal with straps. The wranglers used it to keep a geney restrained as he or she was lashed, burned or beaten. I wondered if the cosmic circle cross Tuwa used so much in circle was what was tugging at this memory and brought the fear and horror of the encampment back. His life before the Collective had been so unimaginably bleak that his will to survive awed and inspired me.

     When I was finished for the day I tracked him down. The sun was setting. He was sitting alone on a rock just outside the vegetable garden. I sat next to him. “It’s hard being the only one of your kind. I know, I’ve been thinking a lot about the two of us. We have a lot in common. Sometimes I think you understand me better than my mate Ira.”

     He turned to me, a bitter yet soft smile warmed his beautifully odd face. “But you have past fill with memory of mother, love educate, politic history, person history, even if not spirit one.”

     “Yes, but I also have a past filled with regrets, loss and sorrow, not unlike your own. And visions of a tomorrow that could never be realized,” I replied.

     Freeman Fred hit his chest twice and looked at me. “I speak from heart and tell you truth. You my deep friend.” He turned away in thought and I waited for him to continue. “If my soul as Tuwa say created by Great Spirit than aren’t souls of my kind also made by It?” He cast his eyes down at a row of young hybrid cornstalks.

     I didn’t say anything. I waited, musing about the gesture he had made. It seemed significant as if it were second nature and reverently genuine – although, I had never seen it before.  

     “But maybe you right and there is no Great Spirit. No thing above man…”

     “And his atrocities and creations,” I whispered, reciting my words to him on our walk six months before.

     “If that is so I wonder why bother live? I never thought these things before. I only try serve with no beating, no pain best I could. I no chance to think these things and now I know, these confuse me. The suffering of Geney is very great. How could Great Spirit allow if It is what Tuwa say, all knowing love?”

     “I can’t answer these questions for you. They’re the same ones I’ve struggled all my life to figure out. Perhaps you should ask Tuwa.”

     “I have,” he said looking at me. “She say Great Spirit create us, but no intervene in way of Its creation, like a painter who finish work. Done it take on own life – pass from wall to wall, slow decay until disintegrate and turn into something else. But I no understand this.” He shook his head and peered down at his thick knobby hands.

     “I think she’s saying, once we are given life each being has his own journey.”

     “Yes, but how Great Spirit give evil men know-ledge of creation? So they make people for only work and suffer, and die with no love, no freedom?”

     I put my hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps that’s why you made it here – so others could follow you out of the darkness of the mines. Maybe the Great Spirit sent you to us, so we could help.”

     He looked into my eyes. “Think so?”

     I nodded.

              

                Chapter 21 — Public Service

           (2045—October through 2046—February)

 

 

 

     Reginald had just gotten back to the suite when Camille assaulted him with, “She’s pregnant you asshole!”

     “Is it a boy or a girl?” he asked walking to the bar and pouring himself a scotch.

     “Bring me one while you’re there,” she said. “Twins.”

     He nodded walking to the sofa and handing her the glass. “Single mother. Can’t have that,” he said.

     “No shit!” Camille slammed her scotch.

     “Can’t have the minions breedin’ like bunnies.”

     “I’m aware of that. She’ll start showing by next month. I’ve got Sandy working on the moral high ground tart thing.”

     “What ya got?” He smiled deviantly. He knew he could count on her, always did.

     “The groundwork has already been laid. The first time you fucked her, I told the doc she was into perverse S&M shit. Then I leaked it to a few nurses and my beautician. Of course it spread like wildfire. And over the past eight months people have added to it with gems like – she fucks animals – doesn’t care if it’s a man or woman. This morning it hit the digi-net and I publicly fired her.”

     “Good, that’s good,” he said.    

     “That’s just the start.”

     “Excellent, I can’t wait to see your handiwork,” Strauch said. “Computer turn on the flat screen. I want to watch the news.”    

 

     On the following Sunday Camille was the first person to chapel. She was so excited. The ceremony started with a show of brilliant spotlights zooming around the room and stopped on the purple velvet curtain behind the pulpit. As soon as it did the karaoke music started to play and Sandy popped out with a wireless headset singing, “You died for our sins Jesus Lord on high.”

     As if he was being birthed out of the vacuum of a black hole, Jesse appeared from the curtain to sing the next line, “We are low, small little nothings, bound in the devil’s flesh!”

     Together they clapped and encouraged the audience to chime in on the next line, “Without the great scissors of Jesus to cut us from our unholy original sin, we would be nothing, but food for the worms!”

     Sandy pulled Camille from her golden viewing throne and handed her a mic to sing, “Every seed is a gift from the lord waiting to praise the son of God. And those that don’t know or worship him are damned to the eternal suffering of a burning fiery hell.”

     Camille sat back down while the congregation sang a reprise of “God is a jealous God, full of vengeance and spite, but Jesus will intervene for us cause he loves us with all his might.”

     “That’s right,” Sandy said when the song was over. “Jesus does love us. He will take us to heaven if we let him. But those who smite the commandments of God will not be tolerated among us.”  

     Jesse leaned forward casting his hand above the crowd. “It has come to our attention some of you have not been obeying your commandments! There are those who’ve been sneaking out of service, only to lie and say they didn’t!”

     Sandy said in a squeak, “And those who’ve done the unthinkable; laying with another outside the sanctity of marriage!”

     “This is a horrible crime against our Lord and Savior! And a sin punishable by the laws of the Environ. For those who don’t repent and make peace with the Lord through his advocates here on earth you will feel the wrath of the Lord Almighty!” Jesse said.

     “Jesus did not select us to live for us to be sinners! Those who don’t live up to the highest moral code will feel his vengeance here in the Environ!” Sandy exclaimed. 

     “Make your peace with the Creator! Repent! For those of you who admit your mistakes, and ask for forgiveness the lord will have mercy on your soul,” Jesse said raising his arms to the gray gelatinous ceiling.

     Sandy said, “Some of you have come forward and talked to Jesse or myself. You’ve told us of lust in your hearts, of problems in your marriage. We are all sinners. Jesse and I are here to help you make your peace with God. But we can’t help you unless you come forward with any and all your sins against the Lord. Too many of you have not used your confessional software and even more have not come to us with your problems.”

     Jesse said in a deep baritone, “I respect those who have had the courage to face the devil, look him in the eye and let loose the lion of God. We are that lion.”

     “Hallelujah!” Sandy said.

     “Hallelujah,” the congregation echoed.

     “No sin is too small or too big for the ears of this lion. Tell us your troubles. Take a load off your soul. Let Jesus hear your cries of atonement.”

     Sandy went to the podium and read from a print out, “We’re cutting sermon short today because of a special announcement from our CEO Reginald Strauch and his wife Camille Pamela. We want to honor them now with a small prayer.”

     Jesse took her place at the podium looking out somberly over the parishioners. “Jesus, Reginald Strauch is a great man, a worthy man. He reminds me of another man from the bible named Noah who built a ship with two of every kind to repopulate the world when the great flood subsided. In much the same way our CEO has saved us. Even if that flood outside never relents humanity will survive, thanks to him. We want to take this time to thank you, Oh, Lord for working through Reginald Strauch and for giving us him (and his lovely wife Camille Pamela) in our darkest hour. Without him our lives and those of our children would be rotting in the wasteland that lay outside. Amen.”

     “Amen,” the parish repeated.

     “Go ahead Reginald, Camille, stand up and take a bow,” Sandy said urging them out of their gilded seats. Reginald waved and smiled to the crowd behind him as did Camille. They promptly left to go to the broadcast studio.

     Bill Surnow was waiting with Ellis Rush in the booth. Their heady conversation about the best digital background to use came to a screeching halt upon the first rumblings behind the orifice. When Reginald and Camille appeared, Ellis quickly hustled them to the stage. One of Ellis’s daughters gave Reginald a fast powder and Ellis pushed aside a harried DP to look briefly at the shot on the digi monitor with the superimposed backdrop of the Environ flag to the couples left and the American flag to the right. He yelled at the camera man, “Pull back the shot it’s too tight.” And then watched the monitor until he made a satisfied grunt.

     Timothy strolled next to Reginald and asked him, “Are you ready?”

     Reginald nodded.

     “Okay let’s do it,” he said giving the okay to Ellis.

     “Roll film,” Ellis said. “One, two, three… and action!”

     Reginald began, “I hope all of you enjoyed the wonderful sermon by Cardinal Jesse Applegate and Bishop Sandy. I know I did, and want to thank them for their kind prayer on me and my wife’s behalf. But that’s not what this address is about.”

     “Over the past year, in our new world, many issues have arisen – things we did not plan for. While no system or people are perfect I have laid down certain ground rules for participation in our society. When all of you were selected for service it was not just for your expertise, but for your good Christian values. Unfortunately, it has come to my attention that some of you have not been fulfillin’ the social contract we made with you upon entrance into the Environ.”

     Reginald waved a hard copy of the contract at the camera. “I’ve highlighted certain excerpts from which I will read.” He skimmed the first page and then read aloud, “I promise to uphold the ten commandments if I should falter from this commitment I will willin’ly leave the Environ or take the punishment which will be decided by the CEO and his council.”    

     “Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior. I herby promise to attend services every Sunday except under extreme illness or cases of emergency. If for that reason I do not attend I shall seek private council of the clergy or attend special services durin’ the week.”

     He looked up from his paper and said, “I’m disappointed attendance records contradict this. Tonight will be a lesson to those who think they can buck the system. Let this remind you of your commitment to God.”

     Ellis Rush slashed the air at the first camera man then pointed at the one opposite on the sound stage. The audience saw a seamless transition to the second point of view. Two large ex-marines donning their old uniforms walked forward holding a small frail Asian man, clearly a scientist. The two men secured his arms and legs to a circular metal rack with a cross inside. The device had been brought in and cleaned up by the geney wranglers before the broadcast.

The camera swung around as one of the marines took a utility knife to the scientist’s shirt cutting it in half. The same man took a box from his pocket and unfolded it in a long line and laid it on the ground and played with a nearby dial at the device’s base. The other marine applied a clear jell to the scientist’s back.

     The first marine wearing the thousand mile stare pushed a button and the scientist writhed in agony. Rush instructed the first camera man to get a close up of the pain on his face – then a shot of the steaming welt left on the Asian man’s back as the military man lifted the tentacle up from the his skin and placed it lower down the length of the scientist’s spine. Again the volts sent the man into convulsions and he screamed, “I repent! Have mercy on my soul sweet Jesus!”

     Reginald Strauch nodded at the man with the device and he pulled back. The marines let the man out of the harnesses and walked him off the sound stage. The camera tightened on Reginald Strauch. “Praise the Lord, this sinner has been purged of his arrogance.”

     Jesse and Sandy Applegate came through the orifice from the make-up cell and stood in front of a green screen which supper imposed a digital portrait of Jesus looking heavenward with his sacred heart exposed to the viewing audience. Jesse said, “Let us pray. Holy Father and Son, we humbly exact your will on earth. Guide those sinners among us to the sanctity of your life. In Jesus’s name keep us from the devil’s fiery hell of damnation.”

     “Amen,” Sandy replied.

     “And cut,” Ellis said.

     “This concludes digibio’s public service override, regular programming is now available,” the computer said.

     A tech from the booth inside the studio waved his arms at Ellis and shouted, “You’ve got to see this!”

     Ellis strode over to him, “What?”

     “The ratings readout… It’s phenomenal. At the start of the broadcast only half the digi-monitors were engaged but when the prisoner was tortured every monitor in the Environ went on.”

     Reginald walked over to the huddle. Ellis turned to him and said, “They loved it, lapped it up like sweet cream.”

     “Good,” Reginald said.

     Camille’s ears pricked up and she walked over. “If they liked that, wait till they see what else we’ve got. This is just the beginning,” she said.

 

 

 

                Chapter 22 – Freeman Fred

   (2046—May)

 

 

 

     “I want you to help me,” I said moving Chi so I could flop over in bed and face Ira. “It will be hard convincing people.”

     Ira nodded. “It would go a long way if you went to circle.”

     “I know,” I said. “Do you think Tuwa would support my plan?”

     “Yes.”

     “I’m going to circle tomorrow,” I said.

     Ira lit up. “Really?” He paused for a moment. “It’s not just because…”

     “No. I need to get over my… resistance… my prejudice. It’s become the soul of the Collective.”

     “Have you talked to Tuwa?” he asked.

     “I don’t want it to be a big deal. I don’t want a welcoming ceremony.”

     He nodded. “I know it’s not easy. I’m proud of you. This is a huge leap forward, not just intellectually but…”

     “Spiritually,” I said completing his sentence.

     “Yeah.” He wrapped his arms around me. “You don’t know how happy this makes me.”

     I whispered, “I always thought we were so much alike until we came here. Did you change or did I?”

     Ira took a moment before he said, “I used to feel like I was in a war to save the world. But here I’m part of a team of people who care as much as I do and it’s amazing – it’s the first time in my life I don’t feel alone.”

I felt a stab in my heart, but said nothing. Ira read me as he always did and continued, “Of course, you took away the loneliness when I was with you, but let’s face it, we were operating in an entirely hostile environment. It was us against the world and that was lonely.”

I mumbled, “And here it has just been me against the world.”

“That’s your own fault. You chose not to participate out of stubbornness.”

‘I’ve been honoring my mother’s memory.”

“You’ve been hiding. You’ve been afraid. You’re mother was part of a staff, she had to negotiate and participate with other people in a group – you haven’t followed in her footsteps.”

That was it. The damn burst and I cried uncontrollably. Ira tried to hold me but I pushed him away. “How could you say that? You didn’t even know her. I haven’t participated because I was honoring her belief system.”

“You don’t know what that was – you didn’t even know how she wanted to be memorialized or buried. She may have been an intellectual, but she was never as closed down as you have been to alternate ways of thinking.”

“I said I was going to circle. Why are you being so cruel?”

“You have to want to open your heart. I know you, you’re just going to prove it wrong.”

I composed myself. “Well, you’re wrong – seems you have no idea who I am.” Before he had a chance to respond I left, trying to avoid eye contact with passerbys as I walked out of the nest and into the garden.

It was dangerous to go outside without sunscreen on, but I would live, a sunburn wasn’t the end of the world. The scrims would protect me from the worst of it. After inspecting the hybrid corn and broccoli, I went into the sheep pen where I paced back and forth, with them dutifully following, until I settled on a bench near their water trough and they herded nearby.

     I flashed on pictures of my mother, Miriam, walking up the steps of our Brooklyn brownstone, her dark hair sticking out from a striped knit cap, carrying a stack of papers to grade from her chemistry class at Columbia –  showing me a diagram of a molecule in a textbook when I was seven – bringing home a dying fern and explaining how care for it. Everyday I watered it, made sure it didn’t get too much sun near the living room window. She would stroke my head and tell me how proud she was and what a remarkable green thumb I had.

I wept like a broken child. 

     The last time I had done so was when I was three and I stood in the doorway of the brownstone watching my father lug his suitcase down the concrete stairs. It was the last time I saw him and somehow in that moment I had known it would be.

     “What are you doing in here?” Ira asked startling me out of the memories.

     “Nothing.”

     “Are you wearing sunscreen?” I shook my head. He grabbed my hand and pulled me up. “Come on.”

     But I didn’t budge and wouldn’t look at him.

     Ira moved into my field of vision repeatedly until it was ridiculous and I stared back at him with exasperation. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I know how important your mother was to you and I was being a real ass.”

     I couldn’t help but smile at his admission. “An ass?

     He nodded. “Please forgive me.”

 

     The next day was long and difficult for the Collective – one of the Petri dishes with spores ready for testing had been dropped in the lab. Kimi was furious and nearly got into a fist fight with the tech who had tripped and broken the dish. I had to spend the day arbitrating, half the Collective was as angry as Kimi, the other half felt there were plenty of other samples and all was okay. In my estimation it was an accident albeit an inexcusable one after a year of effort – spending nearly every available resource to develop them and with one careless tech’s mistake, we could have been set back months.

But I couldn’t take sides. I had to be neutral. I wanted to strangle the idiot. In the old world people got fired over much smaller infractions. All I could do was demote him to a less responsible position. Maybe I could retrain him for gardening with the agricultural sector. At least then his carelessness wouldn’t matter. The tech was inconsolably apologetic to everyone. But his reprisals upset people more and arguments flared all over the encampment. I was run ragged smoothing things over. But it was when the tech tried to apologize to Aine that it got really hairy and Tuwa, LaDonna and I all had to mediate.

     Aine screamed at him, “How could you be so fucking stupid? Just tell me how! After all we’ve worked for? Just tell me how! You stupid fucking bastard!” By the end of the tirade Aine was inches away from his face and Tuwa had to physically restrain from slapping him.

     The tech slinked away and Tuwa addressed her. “You are making things worse – causing more dissension.” Aine stared blankly at Tuwa. “You have a right to be angry it’s an emotion we all share, but let it pass. It’s a disease and must be released before it sickens all of us. We must stay focused on our goal if we are to achieve it.” Aine appeared to relax while Tuwa continued, “Let it go, yes, visualize a calm wave washing over you, sweeping away the anger.” When Tuwa was satisfied she released Aine from her grip.

     “Thank you,” Aine said.

     We dispersed and I caught up with Tuwa on the way back to her mediation room. “I want to thank you for stepping in.”

     Tuwa nodded.

     “I’m going to circle tonight, but I don’t want…”

     “Anyone to notice,” Tuwa said finishing my sentence.

     “Right.”

     Tuwa smiled. “We’ll make you invisible then.”

     I chuckled. “I thought I already was.”

     “Will you be bringing Freeman Fred with you?”

     I nodded and Tuwa continued, “Ask him to start compiling his list of stories for me, will you? He doesn’t believe in their existence, but any group of people become a community after a short time and stories happen. Remind him it’s the repeated ones I’m most interested in.”

     “Why is that?”

     “Because those become oral tradition and oral tradition is the precursor to religion and the beginnings of culture.”    

     “You really think patterns already began emerging?”

     Tuwa nodded. “Of course it happens on every level, individually, among families, lovers, co-workers, friends. Freeman Fred is in his mid twenties, right?”

     “That’s our best guess.”

     “And if there are 198 ahead of him, their zygote civilization is at least twenty five to thirty, right?”

     “Right. I see your point.”

     “There’s a seed in there I just have to find it.”

 

     A path had been worn through the brush into the deepest foliage within walking distance of the nest. A layer of dead pines and vines had made a blanket of brown charred foliage, acting as a natural scrim that absorbed enough UV and filtered the light in just the right way – allowing a plethora of plant varieties and trees to thrive under its sacrificial protection. In the daytime it was a small paradise of green. And throughout the year different wildflowers bloomed in little colored patches around the worn circle the Collective members had tread with their rituals. At present violets bloomed, from the ritual space, in a sea of purple shaped like a star until it hit patches of the deadly sun where they shriveled and were gobbled them up.

Collective members had dug a fire pit and filled it with stones near a moss covered stump that looked as old as the forest itself. It truly felt like a sacred place – a temple or a church and although I had never spent much time in such places, the area felt unusual – even magical.

Circle was just getting started when me and Freeman Fred snuck up behind everybody and joined the back edge of the gathering. Tuwa spotted us but said nothing. She walked the perimeter with the smoking sweetgrass and sage, smudging the area and then each individual. And I was struck by the concentration and deep piety of everyone involved.

It had been a year and a half since I had superficially engaged in the welcoming ceremony of Freeman Fred, and back then, Collective members seemed more unsure of their faith, and interested mainly in the tribal aspect of ritual – not the deeper meaning behind it. Now it was different – it seemed the people’s faith had grown – the rainforest had inspired them as much as the rituals had transformed them – there was a genuine peace and inner strength I hadn’t noticed before.

     Tuwa walked the circle and slowly my thoughts drifted into a state I can only describe as the half-dreamy state just before sleep envelopes. She sang an ancient song and images danced in my mind’s eye of a team of beavers built a damn as a kettle of vultures circled over head, slowly landing on the damn one by one. The vision felt warm and happy until a tiger pounced onto the damn and grabbed one of the beavers in its mouth, viciously tearing it to pieces. I shook my head to rid the violent images. Tuwa put her hand on my shoulder and hummed. I felt her voice resonating through my bones – shaking loose the darkness in my soul, and the images vanished.

     The ritual continued and Tuwa encouraged us to chant along. People around me began to sway, dance, move, drum and I felt my body responding, relenting to the overwhelming power of the unity. I had never felt so present and connected.

     She led us around the fire pit were we settled down and said, “Fayza has a story of the past to share tonight. A story which we must keep fresh in our hearts and in our children’s, because it is one of the many stories mankind has repeated throughout generations. We must keep alive all our trials in hopes we don’t repeat them.”

     Fayza sat in the talking chair near the fire. It was a simple bench constructed out of a makeshift log, reserved for the evening’s story teller. “Back in my country, my homeland, I was raised to read and think. My mother was a doctor and her mother before that. There was never a question about my calling in life. I was born a scientist. I had a passion for it ever since I was a little girl.”

     “But one day while I was in class at the University a group of armed men – gorillas – came. They rounded up all the women and threw us into a basement boiler room. It wasn’t big, no room to sit and barely any room to stand. We didn’t know what was happening. One of the women began crying. She said her father had warned her about a rebel group of zealots who had threatened to overtake and destroy the government – so they could force us all to return to the old ways, when women were not allowed to walk freely or be educated and a man could kill a woman without recourse.”

     “When the other women began to ask her questions one of the gorillas came in. He pulled her by her hair, ripping out clumps so violently her scalp bleed. After he got her up the stairs and opened the door, a blinding shaft of light shone on us. In that brilliant light we watched his black silhouette beat her lifeless and rape her with a knife. He shouted to us, ‘The next one who talks will have a fate worse than her’s!’”

     “That was the beginning of the enslavement. The zealots took over and the schools became closed to us. We were made to cover every inch of our bodies in cloth, only small holes through mesh, so we could see enough to walk without falling. We were not allowed to leave our homes without the accompaniment of a male relative. Women were raped and their own brothers were ordered to kill them or all family members would be exiled to face death by starvation. Men ran wild with their power, even the gentlest among them seemed sickened by it. They could kill us without reason and suffer no consequences. They held the thread of our lives in their hands and it drove them into a sick bloodlust. They were barbarians. So many women committed suicide – they could not bare the horrors around them. Their mothers, sisters and friends publicly stoned in the streets and raped on a daily basis.”

     “They told us we had no souls. We were worthless animals. When the white women came in secret to smuggle us away in their trucks, I wrote a note and pinned it to my door. It said: If I am a worthless animal than what are you who come into this world through my loins?”

     “That night when we piled into the trucks my dear old friend could not fit. I cried and begged her to wait until the women came back for her, but she said, ‘I will be dead by then.’ I told her, ‘If you take your own life take as many of them with you as you can.’ She nodded. She was a chemist before the revolution. I heard she strapped a bomb to her chest and went into one of the mosque’s during a zealot rally. She took three hundred and seventy two of those evil men with her. I was happy for her revenge even if it meant her death. That is how defiled I was, how filthy with anger.”

     “Those women who stayed behind had their spirits murdered, and to think of it now I still feel the rage of their injustice burning me. This is the world where I came from. I am free from it but the wounds are still tender despite the many years.”

     Tuwa put her arms around Fayza who was shaking. “Thank you for telling us. We will keep your story in our hearts so it does not happen again.”

     The circle disbanded, it’s members were lost in reflection. We walked silently back to the encampment. I wondered about human cruelty to a rational person like myself its vileness was incomprehensible. Yet it seemed to lurk in our hearts and plague human history. Fayza’s story was enraging and still, just three hundred miles away injustice was replaying itself. The Geney were enslaved – being beaten and tortured and defiled – worked to death. How could I keep Fayza’s story in my heart and not act on their behalf? I had to be like one of those brave women who had saved her – despite the consequences, I could no longer ignore my conscious or talk myself out of it.
 

                  Chapter 23 – Kaitlin

(2046—February)

 

 

 

     “It’s time. I’ve got more than half the Environ ready to stone her,” Camille said pouring herself a drink. She took a seat on the recliner across from Reginald who was sprawled across the sofa.

     “Is it really necessary to use Kaitlin as the first example?” he said lazily swirling his scotch before taking a drink. “There must be folks who’re more deservin’”

     “Are you forgetting about…”

     Reginald cut her off, “The babies, right.”

     “Twins! And they’re more than viable now. What better way to show we mean business than to publicly execute someone so close to us — that’ll put the fear of God into ‘em,” she said.

     “The polls look good,” Reginald said twirling his wedding ring. “What about the Applegates? Are they on board?”

     “Don’t be ridiculous. I made the list up with Sandy.” Camille knocked back her bourbon.

     “Great what have you got?”

     “Well let’s see…” She picked a tablet off the coffee table and read from it. “Hanging.” She looked up at him for a second, he shook his head. “You’re instincts are right, it came in last on the survey we circulated after service.”

     “Too old timey – boring,” he said sitting up.

     “Then we have poising – also a bad choice, no drama in it. Stoning, but that’s too Muslim. I kinda liked the tazzering – electricity is pretty gruesome, but it wasn’t preferred,” she said.

     “What about a firin’ squad? I always thought they were romantic.”

     “Don’t be an idiot Reginald, it would cause too much damage to the Environ. Besides what would we use? You’re grandpa’s old rifle.”

     “Well, you don’t have to get pissy about it. I just love those old westerns.” He poured himself another shot of whisky and said, “And by the way, we do have a militia.”

     “A ragtag group of ex-military men with guns and tazzers doesn’t really count as a militia.” Camille looked back at the report and said, “Number one on the list was stabbing, people felt any other method might jeopardize the babies.”

     “Good point. Well it seems you have it all figured out. Why don’t you arrange it and I’ll give the announcement?” He moved onto the arm of the recliner she was sitting in and ran his fingers through her hair. “I like the black better, it goes with your tits.”

     She smiled. “I think so too.”

     He put his hands on them. He was growing found of her new body. The older he got the harder it was to adjust to her changes. When he was younger it was exciting, like being with a new woman, but as time went on he felt more pressure to perform than excitement, and often wished she would settle on something. Constancy was a comfort to him, no matter what Camille did to her outside she was still the same woman and the sex always fell back into old patterns.

What he wanted more than anything was what he had with Kaitlin – power. Fear was the greatest aphrodisiac. He regretted being indiscreet. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Once Camille had found out she made his satisfaction nigh impossible and after Kaitlin got pregnant Camille vanquished her. Jacob and one of the corporate nannies had been given a suite on the other side of the Environ and when Reginald was home they were ordered to stay away. The nanny was allowed to bring Jacob home only when Camille was there and Reginald was out. No more access.

     Camille sensed he was preoccupied as he nuzzled her neck. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

     “Nothing.”

     She pulled away and stared at him. “Just spit it out.”

     “What are we going to do with the kids?” he asked.

     “Raise them of course. Isn’t that the Christian thing to do?” She replied.

He smiled deviantly at her. “You really are a genius.”

     Why don’t we go into the bedroom. I’ll let you use the chains. I know how much you like playing servant and master.”

     He ripped open her dress. “Put on the leathers. I’ll be right in.”  

 

             Chapter 24 – Slasher Circus

                     (2046—March)

 

 

 

     Kaitlin had been in the holding cell for two days. Her long silky brown hair had been shaven clean upon orders from Camille who wanted Kaitlin’s beauty to be as publicly defiled as her reputation had been. She was still wearing the same nanny uniform issued a year and a half earlier. The dress’s empire waist had ripped at the seam under the bust and split along the sides and Kaitlin’s pale white belly hung like a blanched peach laying out to dry on a dull gray blanket – her pregnancy used against her like a scarlet letter. But Kaitlin refused to be humiliated by the miracles growing inside of her even if they were a result of a violation against their mother – she believed they had come from God. Life was precious. And natural pregnancy had become too rare to be anything other than a gift.

The holding cell was tiny – built for a momentary stint, not for days. The only furniture was a single white plastic chair. And when she complained to the guards there was no bathroom and no bed – they told her to make waste on the Environ floor which would eventually absorb her business and use the sheet, they had given her, to lay on so the Environ would not start digesting her. Instead she chose to sleep folded into the plastic chair using the sheet as a blanket.

This was hell. The waiting. Waiting in the claustrophobic cell – encasing her in its sweaty gray flesh. And whenever she made waste it took hours to break down, creating a strange acrid smell that lingered in the air making her eyes water and causing her to choke. Sometimes she stared so hard at the walls, she swore the monstrous Environ was breathing. She imagined herself as Jonah waiting to be absorbed by the whale.

Her unborn babies were the only reason she yearned to live. The thought of Camille raising them seemed a fate worse than their deaths – this guilty thought ran wild inside her and worse she fantasized about killing both of the Strauch’s, stealing Jacob and escaping to some far away place – one of the ghost cities where she could raise the children alone. Braving UV exposure, plagues and natural disasters seemed like a paradise compared to the hell of the Environ.

Her children would have lives of unspeakable pain. If Camille treated Jacob with such malice, what kind of torture would her babies endure? She contemplated suicide. But it was a mortal sin and killing her babies was worse – she never believed in abortion, but now it seemed the humane thing to do. If God was a God of love – a life of abuse and torture couldn’t be His plan for any soul.

By the third day Kaitlin refused all food and liquid. And the guard received orders from Camille to force feed her. He tied her to the chair, stuffed bread into her mouth and forced her to chew and swallow. Eventually she complied, eating enough to satisfy him until he went away, leaving her to the business of figuring her next move. Starving herself wasn’t going to work besides there wasn’t enough time for it to work anyway.

She turned over the chair and looked for anything sharp, a metal bolt or rough plastic edge but there was nothing. Maybe if she tore her skirt and used it to hang herself? But there was nothing to secure the rope to. Perhaps if she lay naked, and still, on the Environ floor it would recognize her as inanimate biological material and begin digesting her.

After an hour of laying on the slimy gray flesh and breathing as shallowly as she could, she felt a gelatinous substance ooze from the beasts pores. It burned and she twitched involuntarily – the substance receded, leaving a an itchy film on her backside. She wiped it off with her dirty underwear and put her clothes back on. It was no use. She resigned herself to death at the Strauch’s hands. Her only solace was the possibility she could manipulate the execution so her babies could go to heaven with her.

The days in isolation were their own particular hell. Her mind flipped between fond childhood memories at the Strauch mansion playing in their indoor pool, with her parents nearby, before the Strauch’s had moved into the White House and the monsters the Strauch’s had shown themselves to be. And showing up at the White house shortly after both her parents had died of Skeleton plague, the graciousness of Camille and Reginald – how they had made her feel as if she was part of their family, even if she was just the nanny. She asked God out loud, “What did I do to deserve this?” She racked her brain for an answer, had she taken her parents for granted? Or shown them disrespect? Had she not shown the Lord the love he required or made the mistake of not telling people about the Environ as soon as she found out so others could have known and done something?

She flashed back to the rape and felt overwhelmed with anger. How could she be blamed? Everyone had turned against her, even the corporate nannies who knew the truth! Only her replacement, Josephine, would even talk to her after Strauch violated her. And Kaitlin had loved the Strauch’s son Jacob like her own.

She reflected on the papers the Strauch’s had her sign when she moved in with them at sixteen. At the time, she hadn’t realized by signing the document she turned over all her familial assets to the Strauch’s, in exchange for the privilege of working as their nanny. She hadn’t minded at the time – she was grieving and needed parents, and they had made her feel a part of their family. But in realty they had taken advantage of her in a time of crisis and made her into an indentured slave. At first she had thought it a blessing because it ensured her place in the Environ but it had been anything but that.

     Kaitlin had always been a true Christian – willing to turn the other cheek, have compassion for the underdog and lend a loving hand to anyone who needed it without resentment. The Strauchs and the Applegates had tried to turn her religion inside out, perverting it with their abject hatred, using whatever bible quote they could find to support their case – usually from the old testament. But as a Christian it was the new testament Kaitlin clung to. The Applegates and the Strauchs didn’t seem to suffer under the same high standards Kaitlin’s Christianity taught her. Instead it seemed religion was a cover for their sociopathy – a way to absolve sin after sin without thought, responsibility or repercussions.

Before Kaitlin’s mother had died she had warned Kaitlin about the Strauchs – at the time, her fever was a hundred and five and Kaitlin thought her mother was having hallucinations. But now her mother’s words came back to haunt her – she had said, “Don’t trust the Strauch’s. They hide behind the cross, but they worship at the altar of power and ego. They are morally bankrupt. Worse than that they haven’t any compassion.” Camille and Reginald had been two of her parents closest friends and the truth was Kaitlin had dismissed her mother’s words because she wanted to live and the Environ was her only opportunity. Kaitlin was ashamed of herself. This was why God was punishing her – she had ignored the truth in order to survive.

     She knelt on the slimy flesh of the Environ and prayed: Dear Lord, please give me strength to endure the pain of death and come swiftly for me. In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, Amen.

     The executioner’s soggy footsteps snuck up to the wall outside the orifice. Kaitlin recited the Lord’s prayer. “Our Father whom art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name…” The orifice opened. The executioner was dressed in a black hooded jumpsuit – a volunteer from the security department – a Neo-Evangelical zealot and ex-military man.

“Thy Kingdom come.”

He walked in.

     The executioner put shackles around Kaitlin’s wrists clamping them tight.

“Thy will be done…”

The Applegates had excused him from community gardening for six months as payment and assured him of a special place as junior deacon in the church for his sacrifice.

     She continued, “On earth, as it is in heaven.”

The executioner tugged at Kaitlin’s chains and she followed him, stumbling out of the orifice.

“Give us this day, our daily bread. He lead her down the dim gray hall. And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

     The executioner waved his hand in front of the wall and the orifice opened to bright white light. 

“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

The executioner pushed her toward another man waiting in the green room.

“For thine is the kingdom, and the power…” Kaitlin continued.

A young woman came in and powdered Kaitlin’s face and glossed her lips with cherry flavored color.

“And the glory, for ever. Amen.” Kaitlin waited with the executioner, repeating the prayer over and over under her breath until it was time for her entrance.

     It wasn’t a huge studio only thirty were allowed in besides, Camille, Reginald, Jesse and Sandy Applegate. The scientists who had been invited refused the invitation. That’s when Camille and Sandy came up with the idea of a lottery for the workers who were happy to fill seats.

     The spot went to Reginald. He gave a brief speech, “Let this be a lesson to all the evil doers among us. We have zero tolerance for your kind. This is a good Christian place and we’ll protect it to the death.”    

     The executioner tugged at Kaitlin’s chains. They entered the stage through a velvet curtain – she, bald and in the soiled, bedraggled nanny uniform – a sharp contrast to Reginald’s dapper suit and Camille’s couture dress covered in diamonds.

     Center stage on a platform was an enormous aluminum circle with leather straps on each side and when a person was strapped in, he or she made the shape of a cross inside it. The hideous circle-cross contraption resembled a medieval torture device. The Geneco wranglers had adapted old exercise equipment to keep the Geneco stationary while beating, whipping or tazzering them.

     The executioner pushed Kaitlin onto the platform. Two hooded men came forward and positioned Kaitlin strapping her wrists in and tying her ankles together, fastening the bottom strap to the base of the circle. The executioner double checked the buckles and gave a thumbs up to the stage hand.

     The Applegates entered the shot making sure to hit their mark beside Kaitlin. Sandy said, ”Your death will be swift and your twins saved.”

     “Do you repent?” Jesse asked.

     “I was raped,” Kaitlin replied. Nothing could save her now even if they accepted a false confession. She was going to be cut open like a sow, her babies stolen, and then cast into the belly of the Environ where she would be digested – there was nothing she could do but taunt them.

     “Still won’t admit your sin?” Sandy asked.

     “I was raped.”

     Jesse worked himself into false righteous anger, “Lying won’t work now Missy!”

     “I was raped.”

     “I asked if you repented, made your peace with the Lord,” Sandy said.

     “The Lord loves me. I am and have always been true to him,” Kaitlin replied. “It’s you who should ask for forgiveness.”

     Jesse shook his head. “Ain’t that somethin’, the whore calling the righteous into question.”

     “Only the Lord can judge who is righteous,” Kaitlin said.

     The studio went silent. Both Applegates knew Kaitlin was making people think, she was winning. “Poor lost soul,” Sandy said dabbing Kaitlin’s head with holy water.

     Jesse said, “If only you were strong enough to repent. You and your babies would be safe.”

“Liar,” Kaitlin retorted.

The crowd let out a collective sigh of disbelief and the Applegates knew they had turned the tables. Jesse wrapped it up with, “May the Lord have mercy on your soul,” and the Applegates returned to their seats.

     Kaitlin started to repeat the Lord’s prayer in a horse whisper, “Our father who art in heaven…”

     The executioner looked at Reginald.

     “Hollowed be thy name…”

     Reginald nodded back.

     “Thy kingdom come…”

     The executioner but a black hood over Kaitlin’s face. She had planned to move her stomach into the blade so the executioner would take her babies with her. But she couldn’t see and before she could sense what was happening the executioner’s blade was thrust into Kaitlin’s side. Kaitlin screamed and then whimpering silence.

The executioner used the blade to filet the area from her rib cage down in a circle to her pelvic mound and around back to her chest. In a roping motion her intestines, stomach, uterus and organs spilled onto the floor in a pile. The rest of her body hung like the broken martyr on the cross that she was – a gruesome hole in her middle, pieces of gore clinging to her spine.

     In the booth Bill Surnow fainted and Ellis Rush doubled over, projectile vomiting. It caught on like a yawn, one crew member after the next until they were all letting loose and the smell permeated into the audience where it continued to spread like one of those ancient Roman vomitoriums. The Strauchs and the Applegates however were curiously unaffected even as a noxious odor bubbled from the Environ floor, they’re expressions remained blank and if anything satisfied.  

     The executioner remained focused on his job, knowing he had to find the babies or they would die. He combed through the gore and pulled them out one by one, quickly cutting their cords. By their tiny feet he held one in each hand like prize pigs – a few people in the audience managed a cheer before the hooded assistants took the babies to a make-shift medical unit behind the curtains.

     Reginald gave a brief closing speech and a crew of bio waste workers un-strapped what was left of Kaitlin’s body.

     Camille smirked into camera one, “Remember folks, crime doesn’t pay.”

Reginald turned to camera two, put his arm around Camille and smiled like a kid on Christmas morning and said, “This concludes our missionary act of mercy.”

     A spot hit Jessie and the camera zoomed in on him. “Keep poor lost Kaitlin in your prayers. Ask Jesus to pull her from the gates of hell and take mercy on her soul. Amen!”

     “Amen!” cried Sandy and the audience.

     “And cut,” the assistant director said. Ellis had found a toilet and was still incapacitated.

     The audience filed out of the studio. Camille took Reginald by the arm and smiling at him she said, “I think that was a complete success! We’ll look at the numbers tomorrow. But what will we name the twins?”

     They made their way down the squishy hall toward their cell. Reginald replied, “I don’t know somethin’ biblical.” The Applegates followed after them for a victory celebration of booze back at the Strauchs suite.

     “What about Elijah and Jezebel?” Camille said.

     “Oh, those are perfect names,” Sandy said from behind. “Jezebel lest we forget the whore who begot her.”

     Camille nodded. “A prophet and a wicked woman. I could use kids like that.” 

 

              Chapter 25 – Releasing The Spores

(2046—November)

 

 

 

     After the setback everyone in the Collective had been forced to work such heavy schedules, tempers flared daily — people were cranky. There had been less time to meditate, cleanse, do spiritual work and bond through circle.

     When it came time to do the second experiment, Kimi and Naomi did not agree about how to release the spores. Kimi wanted to build a balloon and set the sample in a time released box, but Naomi wanted to release them outside the encampment and measure how fast they floated upwards. They argued around the table at the board meeting in the genetics building while all the division leaders were present.

     “But we did that! We already have that data. It’s a waste of precious time!” Kimi snapped at her.

     “Empirical data takes more than one trial. I don’t think I need to tell you that,” Naomi quipped back.

     “It’s true,” Aine interrupted. “But in this case time is of the essence. The longer we wait, the more the spores will have to compensate for damage. It will take more resources, strategy…”

     “We don’t really know…” Naomi started.

     “Kimi’s team has already built the time release, the launcher and the balloon. Are you suggesting we let all that work go to waste?” Marina said scooting her chair closer to the table.

     I shook my head. “Let’s not get too excited. Everyone keep an open mind and consider the good and bad in each plan.”

     “I for one say sooner is better,” LaDonna said in a low rumble. “No time like the present.”

     “We have enough data. We’ve been working on this for over a year. The first experiment was a success. I’ve always believed in moving quickly,” Ira said. “We all know from past experience how opportunities can turn into liabilities if not acted on fast enough.”

     “Or just the opposite,” Naomi retorted.

     “The weather could change. A storm could come and interfere with the test if we keep this up,” Hyunae said. “The conditions are perfect right now, from what I saw this morning, they will be for the next few days, but it’s very unpredictable.”

     “With all our expertise and research I think we can go forward to the next level of the experiment. If it saves one more animal, human or tree it’s worth the risk,” Fayza added.

     Tuwa who had been leaning against the wall came forward. “She’s right. Everyone seems to be in agreement except Naomi. And my spirit speaks, ‘It is time to follow the heart.’”

     “Amen to that,” LaDonna said, slapping the table. “Let’s put an end to all of this ridiculous fighting. We’re all on the same side.”

     Safia added. “I’ve programmed the time release capsule with an override. I’ve tested it many times and it has never failed.”

     “Fine then we go with Kimi’s plan,” I said.

     Kimi smiled.

     We set up the launcher and balloon. Everyone in the encampment stopped what they were doing to watch or participate. I took Ira inside and applied UV block to every inch of his skin, making sure to check and recheck for holes. He put on a thick cotton unitard, stepped into a treated jumpsuit and picked up his UV helmet. We rejoined the group waiting near the assembled launcher outside.

     It was small, but awkwardly shaped and cumbersome. Ira grabbed the launcher and walked several yards outside the encampment to the site were a part of the canopy had been cleared the night before. He engaged the meters, monitor and tiny computer, then hit the launch button.

He ran back to the encampment and half a minute later the capsule sprung into the air. We watched as it catapulted above the trees. Safia hit a button on her wristcom engaging the balloon. There was nervous silence as we watched. It took a few seconds for the communications to come in. She smiled giving us the thumbs up. Cheers and laughter erupted in the crowd.

We had done it – created an ozone bandage. It wasn’t going to reverse two hundred plus years of raping the earth but it was a start. For the first time in any of our lives, there was hope.

        

Chapter 26 – Genetic Slavery

                     (2046—December)

 

 

 

     Paul Lamont put on his UV suite and followed the Geneco wranglers outside to the mines. It was the first time he was visiting their camp. There were many reasons – mostly he had been too busy setting up the Environ to pay attention to them even though they had been his pet project before moving into the Environ. But after the mining accident when Geneco 199 went missing, the Geneco’s productivity had severely declined – if the low numbers continued the Environ would have a metallurgic crisis.

And with 199’s body yet to be recovered after more than a year of searching, Paul worried 199 (or his body) may have been spotted by the Collective. He now felt the necessity to understand the area the Geneco lived in and get a feel for the mines and encampment on the rare chance do-gooder Collective members decided to intervene in their enslavement – if memory served, which it always did in his case, they were a bunch of over-zealous tree hugging idealists.    

The head wrangler, a man named Johnson helped Paul into the hovercraft. “Where do you want to go first?” Johnson asked.

     “The reproduction cave,” Paul responded.

     Johnson leaned forward instructing the driver to head across a dried riverbed toward a cave about two miles north of the Environ. They entered a make-shift docking bay. Paul and Johnson got out. “You’ll have to excuse me if I’m not very good at being a tour guide. I’ve never done this before,” Johnson said leading Paul through the twisting cavern with his electric lantern.

     It was cool and dark – so dark, it was difficult to see. And Paul’s helmet obscured what little light Johnson’s lantern gave off. They hugged the cave wall to avoid bumping into it on accident and kept careful track of their footing.

     About a hundred meters inside a wave of sudden, intense heat hit Paul hard like lightning cracking through his UV suit. The glow of red light acted like their beacon into the egg cave.

Inside it was at least twenty degrees hotter. The heat lamps lined the ceiling of the cave and nestled close below on a bed of curved, heated foam where dozens of enormous spotted eggs – all laid by different Geneco women, but tended by just one “mother.” Depending on the Geneco woman, she could lay anywhere between one and two eggs a year, those who were more prolific produced smaller eggs between three to six inches shy of the normal twelve to fourteen inch egg.

The “mother” had fallen asleep while sitting on the platform that overlooked the eggs. Two, day old, hatchlings suckled each breast and the red glow in the room mollified the greenness of her skin to taupe. Paul flashed on his ex-wife Tricia nursing their son, Bryan, and in that moment he forgot the Geneco’s strange lizard-like features and saw only her motherly love and humanity. A twinge of guilt echoed through him until he reminded himself about the trillions of dollars the Geneco had cost to manufacture.

Fifteen years of development in the swampy bowels of Florida paid by the unwitting tax payer – during hurricane Barbara, Paul had to smuggle out the first Geneco in a cooler under his raincoat. He was sure the zygote wouldn’t survive, but it did and so did more than ninety percent of the samples. He’d risked his life to save them back then – if he had lost them his career would have been over, he would never have gotten another government contract or grant for that matter.

He hadn’t really contemplated how their mammalian traits would fuck with his sense of morality – he wished he would have eliminated all of them; it would have made things easier for all involved. He suspected the wranglers struggled with their humanness and would have been far less sadistic had the Geneco seemed more like animals.

     Paul asked, “Is she the only Geneco you have for all these eggs?”

     Johnson laughed. “No, they take shifts. They change every twelve hours.”

     “Where’s the training camp?”

     “It’s next to the brothel,” Johnson replied.

     Paul raised an eyebrow. “Brothel?”

     “A little joke among the wranglers. We call the female Geneco milkers, egg layers and whores. The one stop sleeping quarters and nursery is the brothel.”

     “It’s repulsively hot in here. Take me there.”

     They wound east through the cavern to an area where small electric lights were posted along the wall. Most had gone out, but it was a little easier to see. At the brothel’s entrance a simple white sheet was hung, Johnson tore it down, grumbling, “This is not permitted.”

     Some of the mothers were sitting in a circle talking others were teaching the small children how to identify precious metals and some very basic mining techniques. Johnson’s face went red and his neck veins popped. He raged at the women who were talking, getting in their faces and yelling, “At attention!”

     The mothers jumped at his command. One brave Geneco came forward and said, “Sir. Sorry, sir, for Geney relax time. Those fems be dutiful, short break, sir, after meal just end.”

     “Break over,” Johnson snapped back.

     “Yes, sir,” the mother replied saluting.

     Paul surveyed the quarters. It was filthy dank – smelled like rotten food, baby diapers and wet earth. He wondered how long before these mothers developed a more complex language of their own, maybe even a written alphabet.

All the earmarks of an emergent culture were there – women working together in a group raising children, having to communicate complex ideas about life and death to them. Isn’t that what myths were invented for? To ease the mind of children, Paul thought. It had always been women who invented such nonsense and even the vehicle for it – language, which explained why they could talk circles around any man in an argument.

Paul hadn’t thought much about it before, but seeing the Geneco females made him nervous. A uniquely human force was breaking through the carefully orchestrated world of the Geneco – the need to be part of something bigger. Next would come the weaving of tales to rationalize the irrational and create safety and control when there was none – a system to order a universe of random chaos. And then with or without the Collective do-gooders, the Environ would be in trouble. The Geneco were stronger and as their culture grew along with their population, eventually they would become more plentiful than the people of the Environ and could plan and win a revolution.

Paul considered separating the women but it was too impractical. He flashed on the original intent of his brothel visit – the immediate threat posed by 199 and the Collective. How would a mass exodus be stopped? Maybe it was better to allow it. The Geneco wouldn’t be able to take the eggs, and the hatchlings could be bottle fed. A new crop of Geneco would come up. The Environ would have to conserve for a little while but it was feasible. And while the hatchlings were being reared a new system could be developed to keep them isolated from one another. Strauch would never understand it, but he never understood anything. It was Bryan and his generation Paul were worried about – Reginald couldn’t think past a crack in the sidewalk ahead of him. He was the most short-sighted man Paul had ever known and if the Environ was going to survive someone had to be willing to think past the weekend.

     As Johnson lead him to the hovercraft Paul considered reviving the idea of implanting a microchip into the Geneco. The project had been scraped years earlier when Strauch glanced at the numbers and decided it was cheaper to brand the Geneco and keep their information on computer. Strauch saw them as uneducated and barbaric – there would be no way to convince him otherwise and without Strauch’s approval it would be impossible to get funding or resources donated for the project.

Almost as quickly as Paul considered options he had to shut them down. Reginald was as stubborn as an ass and no matter what sort of projections Paul brought to the table, Reginald would dismiss them. If he was to save the future generations of people living in the Environ, Paul had to take matters into his own hands.

     Paul and Johnson got back into the waiting hovercraft. The sleeping quarters were about a quarter mile away, there was easy access through an eastern cave, closer to the mines. After docking they inside through a narrow mouth that opened to an enormous cavern. The floor was lined with simple dirty white bed rolls, dried grass poked out from underneath some. Johnson shook his head and grabbed a handful. “They’re forbidden to do this,” he said.

     Near the back of the cavern a small group of miners, who had been beaten too badly to work that day, were sleeping. Some of them were dried grass offenders and Johnson started toward them. But Paul grabbed his arm and said, “Let it go. There are more important things to worry about.”

     “Perhaps being one of their creators you’re a little soft on them. I don’t tolerate insolence,” Johnson said as they headed back to the hovercraft.

     “Neither do I,” Paul warned.

     The mines were not far, taking only a few minutes to arrive at via hovercraft. Although Paul had approved the systems in place he was struck by the bizarre scene in front of him. It could have been three thousand years earlier except for the mix of wranglers in space aged UV suites. The Geneco (although lizard-like) looked entirely human from far away. They could have been the Jews and the wranglers a modern version of the Egyptians with silver colored helmets standing in for gold cornets.

But of course their humaneness disappeared with every footstep closer and to ameliorate the guilt, Paul reminded himself they were only manmade beasts – each one filthy, green, bald, knobby skinned with elongated pointy faces and small reptilian eyes and thick semi-circular slits instead of proper noses and only holes on the sides of their heads for ears. He had to stomp out his natural reaction of awe at what they represented by way of man’s scientific achievement – but by all aesthetic rules, they were monsters. He had to force himself to see them that way especially around the wranglers who burned with hatred toward them. Paul couldn’t afford to appear predisposed toward the Geneco or the wranglers would dismiss him as Johnson already had.

     The wranglers wore identical orange UV suits and carried a variety of tazzer guns, cattle prods and whips. Each preferring his own weapon of fear while the Geneco worked half naked without any protective gear.

A few hundred feet from the entrance to the mines were dozens of circle crosses – torture machines like the one used to execute Kaitlin – sloppily set up in rows. Each one different and modified in various ways – some had only straps to tie down their victims, others improvised wooden crosses crudely nailed together and fastened to the metal. A few used rusty old metal pipes welded to the once innocuous gym equipment. All used by the wranglers for beating, tazzering, strangling, shooting or whipping the Geneco who would either be left to die or not, depending on the wrangler’s will and to Paul it seemed way too much power for a group of sub-ordinary men like the wranglers.

Surrounding the circle crosses were the remains of dozens of Genecos in various states of decomposition. The wranglers claimed it was a reminder to stay within the confines of the rules. But all Paul could focus on was the waste and sadism.

     “How many Geneco have your men killed?” Paul asked Johnson.

     “Somewhere around eighty.”

     “You don’t have accounting for each and every death?”

     “Yes, we do. I just can’t remember off hand.”

     “This is an atrocity. It’s irresponsible not too mention how wasteful it is – trillions were spent in Geneco development. Strauch isn’t going to like you wasting his money. You need to control your renegade group of cowboys or I will,” Paul said.

     “When a Geneco isn’t doing its job we have no other recourse.”

     “Is that so?” Paul stared hard at him. Johnson fidgeted but didn’t answer. “What about the tazzers your people were given? Farmers used its’ predecessor for years on farms – the cattle prod. But the tazzer causes less cellular damage and more pain. It’s the perfect training and punishment tool. And most importantly it won’t kill the Geneco,” Paul said sternly. “You have to learn how to reign in your cowboys. Or perhaps we’ll have to line up your boys and let CEO Strauch teach them a little lesson on pain. I know he’d enjoy it after seeing how much of his money you wasted.”

     “You design a system – we’ll implement it – Boss.”

     “Get my driver. I need to go back to the Environ.”

    

 

              Chapter 27 – Fear Of Flooding

                     (2047—January)

 

 

 

     While Hyunae made her rounds to the various temperature gauges and observation posts, she began to have concerns over the dramatic climatic changes reflected in the data. The spores had been released six weeks earlier but no one had accurately predicted their effect. Naomi had thought it would take a year for the spores to settle and start reproducing. Xin-Yi had been more optimistic along the lines of six months, but six weeks was way too fast.

Hyunae hurried to the genetics lab.

     Xin-Yi was in her office hunched over her desk, reading lab reports when Hyunae busted in. “What you don’t bother knocking first?” Xin-Yi said.

     Hyunae held back a roll of her eyes. “I have something to show you. It’s very important.” She took off her wristcom and put it on Xin-Yi’s desk. “Read the output.”

     Xin-Yi smiled. “Faster than I thought.”

     Hyunae let out a sigh and shook her head. “The spores are creating instability.”

     “In the short term yes. But, I don’t see a problem.” Xin-Yi re-focused her attention on her computer screen.

     “Well I do. It’s creating an unstable jet stream and is greedily collecting moisture – which means only one thing – storms and more storms… flooding to be specific. We aren’t prepared for it.”

     “Well, bring your findings to Psyche she’s in charge of everything. Why did you come to me?” Xin-Yi asked.

     “Before I go to Psyche I want to make sure there isn’t some sort of defect going on with the spores. Is it possible they mutated?”

     “Anything’s possible… But not probable. We were too rushed, we probably just miscalculated our projections.”

     “Just? This isn’t a theoretical paper – it’s the balance of the earth at stake,” Hyunae retorted.

     “Don’t be so dramatic,” Xin-Yi replied. “It will right itself.”

     “I hate to admit it, but Naomi was right,” Hyunae mumbled.

     Xin-Yi laughed. “No, Naomi is never right. She’s one electron short of a molecule.”

     This time Hyunae’s eyeballs got away from her and rolled with the exasperation of a teenaged girl listening to her mother mispronounce the name of her new boyfriend. (“No, Mom it’s not Ion it’s Ian”) “Just figure it out,” Hyunae said.

     “Yes, Ma’am,” Xin-Yi said mocking a salute.

     “What is with you?” Hyunae asked.

     “Nothing, I’m happy our spores are a success.”

     “What are you smoking?” Hyunae leaned in close to Xin-Yi. “Look I know astrophysics and meteorology aren’t your strong suites, but I don’t think you understand how potentially deadly this could be.”

     “We knew it would cause flooding. What your telling me is it will happen sooner rather than later.” Xin-Yi was still smiling.

     Hyunae shook her head in disbelief. “And it could be potentially a lot worse than we originally thought so I need that data. Okay?”

     “Fine, I’ll get on it.”

 

     Hyunae found me in the garden with Naomi examining a new genetically engineered corn hybrid – a hardy variety more resistant to UVB and UVA rays than any we previously had. But despite the minor breakthrough a few generations down the pike the breed became sterile and if we didn’t find a way to fortify it with the UV resistant DNA sequence I had discovered back at Digibio we were in trouble. I had been trying to reproduce it in our labs, but due to the secrecy at Digibio much of what had led up to the acme of my research was withheld, and I was guessing at combinations that weren’t cutting it. I kicked myself for not having the foresight to steal their technology while I had a chance.

     Naomi and I were in the middle of discussing alternatives when Hyunae physically grabbed me away and walked me into her lab without a nod to Naomi. Hyunae was rambling on about a devastating rain unlike anything seen before by humankind. Naomi looked put off until I nodded in her direction. I didn’t dare interrupt Hyunae’s verbal spew – I’d never seen her so agitated.

     Once we hit her lab she laid it out for me. The charts and graphs she had prepared on the fly were hard to follow. “There will be so much rain… So much. I’m not sure we’re at a high enough elevation to avoid flooding,” she said.

     I examined them carefully and did some calculations. We were at the highest point of the temperate rain forest at just over four thousand feet. “The water should run down the mountain, but erosion could become a problem.”

     Hyunae nodded. “And what if we run out of supplies? We won’t be able to get into the dead cities to scavenge.”

     “If its a couple of weeks we should be OK,” I replied.

     “For all I can tell it might be a couple of years before this storm ends. I can’t see any end to the clouds. It’s massive, like something we would see on Jupiter not Earth as we used to know it.”

     “I’ll call a meeting,” I said somberly.

    

     Hyunae wasn’t prone to exaggeration or alarmism and her warning grew inexorable roots inside me – within hours a multiplicity of moral imperatives grew like weeds that needed attending – weeds that might destroy the uniformity of our ideological flower bed. The Environ was crawling around in the desert below us. Could it survive this deluge? Maybe. Surely, the Environ scientists would have taken into account flooding. But certainly the Geney caves couldn’t sustain a flood – the Geney would likely drown.

     We had to save them.

I stewed over every possible scenario for hours. And then there was the problem of where to put them and what their long term impact on the Collective would be and how to accommodate their basic necessities of housing, food, clothing. And what could they contribute to the Collective to give them value, not just for themselves, but for the members so they could truly assimilate and participate in our world without ripping apart the fabric of our new world? These were all going to come up in a town hall style meeting which we were gong to have to have if the community was going to take them in. The majority would have to agree, preferably everyone would agree, or we’d save them physically only to become a tiered hierarchical society like the Environ.

And if we became them the earth might as well stay dead.

     But we couldn’t turn our backs either or we’d be guilty of genocide and again we’d be as bad as the leaders of the Environ. I had to convince us to follow our charter to the letter and take a giant leap forward again. I had to inspire the Collective to rise to another challenge of life threatening vicissitude. My facts and passion had to be in order as they had been at the start of the Collective. I didn’t want to see any shadow ugliness in the meeting – know if we had grown apathetic to alien people’s suffering like we had so many times throughout human history.

     If I could get Tuwa to support me, I had a chance.

     It was late at night and thundering when I found her alone in the recreation room. The room was lined with book shelves – everyone had brought there library along with every other type of entertainment, a trunk full of board, virtual and simple computer games, a huge flat screen hung on one wall w/almost every film ever made downloaded onto pods for Collective members viewing pleasure and of course everyone’s favorite and not so favorite music was catalogued in an elaborate data base. Several scientists had made it their mission to gather as much of the old culture as possible to bring with us into the new world. Usually the room was full of noise and people talking but Tuwa was silent and alone sitting in a glider, deep in thought, knitting.

     Her wolf-like amber eyes refocused on me and I felt them digging inside. I shifted my weight and looked away to defuse her uncomfortable gaze but it didn’t seem to matter.

     “A darkness has settled inside your heart.” She patted the chair next to her. “Come, sit – tell me what’s going on.”

     Sometimes Tuwa made me nervous, this was one of those times – there was a strange indigenous formality to her speech and an unusual way of interacting that derived from living among tribal people. In their world everyone had a place, there were elders and shamans and fools, but all were treated with respect, the sort of respect never accorded someone in an urban world full of anonymous people who prefer to stay strangers. I supposed the formality was a form of respect – a way to keep adult egos dulcified and children satiated with a sense of belonging.

     I sat down near her and started, “The Geney…”

     “The storm won’t be as bad as Hyunae thinks, but it will drown them if we don’t do something. I’ve been having dreams,” Tuwa said. “I had hoped they were metaphors.”

     “We have to save them. It is a moral imperative.”

     “Agreed,” she said.

 “Convincing everyone isn’t going to be easy.”

     “Leave that to me,” she said. “Focus on where to put the Geney and how to take care of them until we can set up a sister community.”

     “You don’t think they should live with us?” I asked.

     “For the short term. But they need their own culture, time to develop their own identity. Assistance from us will be fine only in the short term, but ultimately they won’t want to live among us. They won’t trust us. And why should they?”

     “I hadn’t thought of it that way,” I said.

     “There species and culture are in their infancies, but once they are free their sense of self-will develop quickly and while we should stay deeply connected to them, we would reinforce their sense of inferiority and dependence if we simply took care of them. They would resent us.”

     “You’re probably right,” I said.

     “A people stripped of an identity are a lost people. They become misfits to the world they are trying to inhabit – this is why alcoholism and suicide were so high among Westernized indigenous people like the Native Americans and the Aborigines of Australia.”

     “We don’t want that.”

     “No. We don’t. We’ll work with them, but not rule them. They should develop their own government, make their own mission statement. And both our nations will have to form and ratify a treaty.”

     “You’ve been thinking about this for a while.”    

 “Since Freeman Fred joined us.” She smiled at me like the Mona Lisa and said, “We both knew one day we would have to take action and free his people.”

     I nodded. Freeman Fred had become my closest friend. I felt his survivor’s guilt, the pain of freedom when its price tag was those you loved were left suffering – my agony was the same. I had pleaded with Ira in private to help me devise a plan for Geney emancipation, but he felt there wasn’t enough support for it and didn’t want to divide the Collective over the issue. But it was different now their lives were threatened, Tuwa was with me and she could convince the devil to buy fire.

    

 

 

 

           Chapter 28 – Josephine The Corporate Nanny

                    (2047—February)

 

 

 

      With the new babies, Elijah and Jezebel, there had been no other choice but to take Josephine on. Camille certainly wasn’t going to raise the children – she hadn’t even raised her own. Camille didn’t much care for the head corporate nanny but she was the most qualified for the job and was by far the most unattractive off all candidates. Camille didn’t want a repeat of the Kaitlin episode. It was hard enough covering Reginald’s tracks the first time and it would be nearly impossible if there was a repeat.

Unfortunately, a small situation had come up for Camille complicating her feelings toward Josephine – Reginald had accidentally discovered Camille’s daytime entertainment. He had come home unexpectedly to discover Camille gone. It only took a couple of days for one of Reginald’s henchmen to track her down in Nick’s bed. A few days later a high level computer key code was found, scrawled on a piece of paper in the pocket of Nick’s jacket which was stored in his work cubby in waste management. Everyone in the Environ knew early on this was considered a capital crime for a multitude of reasons. The first was obvious – stealing – and with this code Nick could give himself as many credits as he wanted, in the Environ this was more effective than an old fashioned bank robbery. Second the crime of hacking carried a sentence of at least five years isolation, meaning no touching a keyboard and work was hard labor, or worst-case scenario death. Again, a potentially capital offense.

In the Environ anything offending the upper most echelon of the hierarchy was subject to capital offense – and the first caveat when entering the Environ, written in bold letters on every brochure, “All laws are subject to change and are set by the CEO.” Further into the snarl of information the pamphlet admonished, “All inhabitants of the Environ serve at the CEO’s pleasure.”

The Environ of course, had no judges or lawyers, eliminating the messy cost of expensive trials and the inconvenience of fairness. It was a true corporate theocracy. And to be fair the literature was forthcoming with the social contract – either submit to the rules or die. Most who were offered sanctuary in the Environ chose the former, heaven might be a great place to hang someday, but why rush it?

Camille’s vindictiveness spawned a mission to ensure Reginald’s sexual anguish for as long as she lived access to any other woman would be impossible. And no matter how ugly Josephine was any women within spitting distance of Reginald would wear such a tight leash she’d have a permanent bruise around her neck. He wouldn’t get enough eye time with her to have even a wet dream.

     Josephine brought Jacob with her on the first day she reported for duty, interrupting Camille’s hot wax treatment. The wax was being slathering on Camille’s new mustache (a side effect of the exotic look she was cultivating) by a nubile upstart esthetician who had been the toast of the fashion world pre-Environ. Camille pushed the fashinista away like a bum looking for a hand out and snapped “I need privacy,” as if mind reading was taught in beauty school. The esthetician scampered into the hallway to wait.

Camille put on a grave face and warned Josephine, “You are not to talk to Reginald for any reason and if he should come home while you’re with the kids, leave with them for the daycare center. Do you understand?”

     “Yes, Ma’am,” Josephine responded. Her gut told her there was something very wrong with the request although she didn’t know what it was. “I’m to report at eight a.m.?”

     “Unless Reginald is still home. Call first,” Camille said.

     Camille must have read the slight raising of Josephine’s brow as condemnation because she raised her voice in indignation, “Do you have a problem with that?”

     “No, Ma’am,” Josephine responded.

     “Send in what’s her face,” Camille said. Josephine called the fashionista back in.

 The esthetician touched the hardened wax and said, “It’s time to pull it. Are you ready?”

     Camille held up a finger. “Wait a second will you? You’d think for all the fucking money I spent funding that genetic cosmetic line those fucking doctors could eliminate this crap,” she said.

     “Shall I take Jacob to his play room?” Josephine asked.

     Camille nodded.

     “When will the twins, Elijah and Jezebel, be out of the hospital nursery?” Josephine asked.

     “How the fuck should I know – I’m not a newspaper, or a doctor for that matter. The most important thing for you to remember is: keep an ear out for Reginald. If you hear the slightest peep you leave immediately through the opposite orifice. It empties out into the corridor. And bring Jacob with you.”

     The esthetician ripped the wax off and Camille screamed, “Goddamn it! That fucking hurts! I’m going to rip those doctors a new asshole.”

     Josephine nodded and bent down to grab Jacob’s hand.

     “No contact between you and Reginald, understand? Anything suggesting you disobeyed me will result in your immediate termination,” Camille said.

     “I understand.” Josephine walked toward the play room with Jacob.

     “Or worse,” Camille yelled after her, getting up to walk toward the bar. She poured herself a bourbon and said to the esthetician, “Okay now what can you do with this china-girl hair. I want some body in it.”

     The play room was filled with every imaginable toy. It was a mess. As Josephine straightened up, Jacob sat in the corner playing with a set of dolls.

     The memory of Kaitlin’s hideous execution washed over her. It was brutal, barbaric – certainly not Christian. Josephine was beginning to have doubts about the nature of the Environ – the eye for an eye mentality and strange blood lust whipped up at Sunday services every week was brutal.

Josephine had been raised Catholic and was taught the New Testament trumped the Old, that Christ’s teachings were meant to abate the Jews perception of God – going from vindictive, jealous and angry to a kind and loving God. But it didn’t seem the Applegates saw things that way. Her years in CCD taught her Jesus preached the golden rule, love, forgiveness and turning the other cheek. She wondered if the Applegates were ignorant or perhaps their insidious fanaticism cloaked a sinister self-serving intent masquerading as religious dogma.

     After Josephine finished picking up, she sat down next to Jacob and noticed something which at first she couldn’t allow herself to believe – Jacob was using an action figure to hump a half naked female doll and relentlessly repeating “Fuck me bitch!”

     After the shock wore off and Josephine pulled the dolls away, she asked, “Where did you learn that?”

     “Daddy,” he said blankly.

     She was speechless. It took a moment to think of an appropriate response. “You’re not to use that kind of language.”

     “But if Daddy said it why can’t I?” Jacob asked.

“Daddy is an adult. You’re a child.”

     “I hate you!” Jacob boxed the air in front of her face and started bawling. “I want Kaitlin back!” 

Josephine wondered if Jacob knew about the execution or if he had accidentally seen the broadcast. Maybe this was why he was so disturbed.

He shrieked in one long deafening tone which morphed into, “Where’s nanny Kaitlin? I want my nanny Kaitlin!”

     She tried to draw him into a hug, but he fought her. She managed to grab his hands and get him to look at her. In a calm even tone she said, “Kaitlin’s in heaven now. She’s with God.”

     “No!” Jacob screamed tearing his arms away from her and throwing his little body to the squishy floor. Daddy promised! He said her ouchy would go away.”

     “Shhh, be quiet Jacob. You’re daddy will get angry.” Jacob became sullen. He curled into a ball and rocked himself, stuffing his thumb into his mouth – silent tears streaming down his fat pink cheeks.

     “It’s okay. You’re okay,” Josephine said sitting next to him and holding him to her breast. “You poor thing. It will be OK.” She pushed the hair out of his eyes.

     “Daddy said not to tell. Don’t tell or bad things will happen.”

     “You don’t have to worry about Nana Josephine – whenever you need to tell a secret, you can trust me. I will never tell,” she said rocking him.

     He nodded, almost imperceptibly.

     “Nana Josephine will always love you no matter what.”

     Jacob looked up at her in disbelief as if he’d never heard such a thing before. Her heart sank – such a small boy without even the familial pretense of unconditional love. He was a helpless tortoise without a shell, so frail and alone in a family of sadists. It was no wonder he was a bully with other children.

     Josephine took his tiny hand in hers and rubbed it. “My sweet little boy. No more worries. I’m here to protect you.”

    

         Chapter 29 – You Say You Want A Revolution

                      (2047—March)

 

 

 

     The sky had darkened at the western edge of the forest, storm clouds loomed stationary for days there. The radar showed it gathering strength, getting bigger and growing fiercer as two pressure systems collided, crashing against each other with unprecedented force. A crude radar system was all Hyunae had to decipher the storm with. She speculated dozens of water spouts were forming under the densest clouds North of Seattle and approximately five hundred meters off shore.

     I asked, “When will it hit us?”

     Hyunae shook her head and replied, “We have a week max.”

     I nodded and said, “I want you to be in charge of buttoning down the hatches. Make sure all roofs are leak proof and there are no places for moisture to collect around any of the structures, that includes the garage.”

     “Maybe we should consider towing some boats back when we get supplies from the dead cities,” Hyunae said.

     I nodded. “You think the flooding will be that bad?”

     “There’s no way to know.”

 

     I called an emergency town hall meeting. Hyunae presented the bad news. Once the room had thoroughly processed the gravity of the situation I took my place at the podium.

Generally I ran cold, Ira had always said it was because I was so slender – it was his nice way of saying ghastly skinny and awkward. Tonight I felt my scalp sweating, a brand new sensation I wasn’t fond of. I disliked giving speeches, but this was worse than usual – I looked out at the sea of familiar faces and drew a momentary blank. It wasn’t until my eyes rested on Tuwa that I remembered my words.

“We’ve managed to live through what would have been extinction if we hadn’t taken action. We’ve saved thousands of plant varieties in our gardens and hundreds of animal species in our zoology department. We’ve invented technologies to reverse CO2 levels while shoring up the spotty ozone layer.”

“This Collective has some of the finest minds humanity has ever known. We have created a miracle in the face of humanities biggest disaster. We are remarkable. And all indications are, eventually, we will achieve our ultimate goal of restoring the earth back to a habitable state.”

“We did not abandon the earth by climbing into a controlled environment and hoping for the best. We took responsibility – we made a commitment, and upon entrance into our new world – we all agreed on a mission statement.”

I pulled out our founding document and read it, “It is our mission to protect, save and nurture life on our planet, with honor and respect for all cultures, all species and the earth itself. We dedicate ourselves to this cause and to finding a reversal of man’s abuses against the environment while sustaining whatever life is left to sustain, so it may thrive now and in the future.” I held up the document and pointed at the long scrawl of names that followed the initial fourteen department leaders’ signatures.

“There’s no way we could have known our technology would have its own ecological blow back and the very thing that would ultimately heal our planet would endanger the lives of a people we didn’t know existed… I’m talking of course about the Geney.”

I looked around. The faces staring back were a mix of surprise, annoyance, fear and sympathy – all tempered with shock and pride. I wasn’t sure what to make of it or how the discussion would take shape. I took a deep breath and continued.

“We are faced now with the first test of our mission statement. About three hundred miles south-east of us, in the valley of a desert live the Geney. Their originators live in a comfortable controlled environment, the Environ, but the Geney spend their days mining and their nights sleeping in caves – with the torrential rain we expect, the mines will flood and of course their caves, too – leaving them homeless and defenseless against this monster storm.”

The marginal coughing fits and shifting in chairs ceased, all eyes were glued to me, hanging on each word. “If we are to live up to the ethics we have set forth than we have no choice – it is our imperative duty to save them.”

As I gathered my notes, a smattering of applause arouse to a roar. Marina, Fayza, Ira and Freeman Fred stood up and soon the whole room was on its feet in a standing ovation. I was shocked and suddenly very aware of myself. I scurried back to my seat while Tuwa floated effortlessly to take my place.

She waited for the applause to die down and then said, “I had planned a speech but….” She closed her eyes for a moment as if psychically scanning the crowd. She opened her eyes and said, “You have something to say Naomi?”

Naomi looked shocked. “I…”

“Don’t be afraid there are others who feel as you do,” Tuwa said. “Come here.”

Naomi hesitated for a moment as if looking for reassurance. Her eyes met Xin-Yi’s who motioned her to the podium. Naomi took her place next to Tuwa.

“Certainly we can’t let the Geneco die but contacting the Environ would be very dangerous,” Naomi said.

I stood up and said, “I’m not proposing we talk to the Environ.”

Tuwa said, “The Geney need to be free.”

I walked back to the podium and said, “I propose a five step plan. First we vacate them from their caves during the night…”

Naomi interrupted, “That’s stealing. We can’t just go in there and take them. They’re property of…”

“No living thing is property,” Tuwa said resolutely.

“But they wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for Paul Lamont or Digibio,” Naomi said. “They are his brainchild.”

This took me off guard. “How do you know that?” I asked. It wasn’t in any of the information we had and Freeman Fred had never mentioned Lamont.

She glanced at me nervously and continued, “Even if we did steal them, where would we put them?”

Tuwa’s nostrils flared in anger. “They are sentient beings with feelings, thoughts and exceptional intelligence. They are our biological children. The Great Spirit created them as He did all of us.”

“They were manufactured in labs,” Naomi squealed.

“The way they came into being has nothing to do with their creation,” Tuwa retorted. “They are divine beings with souls and spirits and minds, no man can create that!”

Naomi was silent.

Xin-Yi came to the podium and said, “If we do this we risk war with the Environ.”

I nodded.

A wave of mumbling washed over the crowd. Ira stood up and said, “Then we’ll assemble an army.”

Naomi jumped in, “If we save the Geneco the Environ scientists will develop another creature, and then what will we do? Rescue that new life form, too?”

Aine stood up and yelled at Naomi, “That’s a ridiculous argument – the slippery slope.”

Fayza yelled, “If we don’t save them, we are no better than those cowards!” A wave of affirmation burned through the crowd. “Let me be the first to offer myself as a soldier.”

A young man of twenty stood up and saluted, “I was stationed at Quantico when we were abandoned by our commander and chief. We heard about Strauch’s cowardice while on our mission to save the people of New York. The driver of our supply truck told us there was no more aid coming. A new plague had wiped out congress and most of the executive branch. General White sent a team to recover the President and discovered he was gone.”

Another young man stood and said, “I was there, too. Meeks and I are the only survives of our battalion. Some went back to their home towns to be with their families. We buried the others during the recovery effort. We were just lucky to be orphans I guess, and to hear about the Collective. I for one would lay down my life without question for this place, and for what we stand for. We’re what America was supposed to be – a Democracy.”

The two young man sat back down to a round of applause. “They’re right,” I said. “The only thing that separates us from Strauch and his people, is our willingness to honestly live by our principles – making excuses about what we choose to do or not do, for the sake of our convenience is the primary reason mankind extinguished life on earth.”

Both Naomi and Xin-Yi crept back to their seats without another word. And with that I knew we had won. My eyes met Tuwa’s. We smiled at each other victoriously.

 

     Chapter 30 – Preparing the Way

                      (2047—March) 

 

 

 

     Before the rain came, a mist settled around the mountain. Aine started calling the Nest, Avalon, it was so shrouded in fog you literally had to bump into the building to find the door. Luckily, the garage was further downhill and we were able to take one of the military surplus hover-buses out for a trip to the nearest ghost city, Portland.

     Ira had assembled a group of half a dozen, high ranking ex-military men, Robert, Max, Todd, Jack, Dave and Kevin. Fayza’s husband Robert was a retired five star Air Force General and took the reign of command at the men’s request. Max had been a Brigadier General 4^th class upon retirement to the Collective at 28. Todd, also a WWIII veteran, had started as an enlisted man, Private first class and had spent his life working his way up the chain of command. Jack’s background was also in the Army retiring to join the Collective at 38. He served as a Command Sergeant Major Command Class 9. Dave had gotten to a Navy Captain 3^rd class before his forced retirement at age 32 due to the dissolution of the Navy and fellow seafarer Kevin served as Vice Admiral 9^th class in the Coast Guard until its end in 2042.

     Since Ira had no military experience, he became a liaison between the Council of Department Heads and the newly formed military strategy coalition officially named the CAT (Collective Army Training) division, by its founding members. They picked the acronym first for the cats mystical powers and because cats had the highest kill ratio of any non-human animal on earth.

Ira, Aine, Fayza and I went along with the six officers on a weapons recon assignment. Among council members, the five of us decided it would be important to get weapons training to better understand the military and assist in a time of war.       

     The whole thing struck me as absurd – we might have to kill other survivors in order to live. It was nature’s cruel law turned against us at a brutal time, when all of humanity should have been working together but of course, was not, might never. I pushed the pessimism away momentarily to study the oddity flanking the broken old 5 freeway. 

     On the Western side was a wall of encroaching gray mist as far as the eye could see, and underneath it a renewal of verdant forest. On the East the sun bore done on scorched ochre earth and patches of dried vegetation. The old 5 cut like a knife between opposite worlds. The way the sky and land were split reminded me – either side: death or life – had an equal chance of winning. A shiver ran through me. A war was being waged and I felt like a white blood cell watching the battle for my host’s life begin.

After all we had sacrificed, and all we had worked for it might come down to humanities greed, again. I must have looked upset because Ira put his arm around me and said, “We’re going to win. The good guys always do.”

“Hitler,” was all I managed to say.

“And we won that war,” Ira replied.

“Not until twenty six million people were murdered in the Holocaust,” I replied. “I’d call that a pretty major loss.”

Ira stared blankly, no witty come back, not even a hint of what to say sparkling in his eyes. He turned away to look at the scenery whizzing past at just over two hundred kilometers per hour.

Soon we crested the mountain and were headed downhill barreling through the outskirts of the ghost city. The gray sky receded further West away from the blazing sun. What was once suburban sprawl was now a deadly quiet specter — rows of look alike houses melting in the afternoon sun like colored marshmallows.

We drove into the heart of the city and followed the bend of the old 5 all the way to the Oregon-Washington river and got off much to Ira’s chagrin on a distressed antiquated frontage road running between the river and Smith, Bybee, and Ramsey lakes. The further we drove, the more cracked and cratered the road became with at least two holes bigger than our hover-bus. This area seemed like the place everything came to die – corpses and animal carcasses littered both sides of the broken highway.

Ira leaned into the front seat and said, “Thought we were going to stay close to the 5.”

“We are,” Robert said.

Movement near a wrecked energy station caught my eye. A wild dog, or maybe a coyote, was running for cover under the station’s broken roof with a decayed human arm in his maw. As the hover bus wound closer to the first in the set of lakes, I caught a glimpse of his scraggly pack tearing apart a half-dead woman. Nashua hit me like a lightening bolt and before I or anyone else could open a bag I had heaved too much for my cupped hands to hold.

Ira ran to the back of the bus and grabbed an oily old towel and helped me clean up. I had seen a lot of horrible things in my life, but never realized how desensitized I had become until that moment. It had been nearly three years since we left the old world inundated with the violence decay.

The night after my mother passed came back to me as sharp and clear as the sight of the coyotes: hurricane Xavier was pouring its load on us, at the time I had watched a broken woman waiting to die on the street as if it were a biology experiment. I felt sick again. Ira was prepared this time and held a small trash can up to my face. I shook it off.

Fayza came at me with a pair of fatigues and a tank top big enough to fit five of me. I stared blankly at her. “The sickness will attract the dogs. Change before you suit up.”

I nodded. “Where did you get those?”

“From an old supply box under the back seat next to the first aid kit,” she replied. And before she could sit back down Aine had brought the kit and was searching for antiseptic wipes to take away the smell, but each one she opened was dried out.

The hover-bus came to a stop at an old Coast Guard base. Ira covered me with his UV suite while I changed my soiled clothes. I really wasn’t keen on nudity. Ever. And despite everyone averting their eyes, and being more than polite, I was embarrassed.

Regardless of my best effort I still smelled of sickness. Robert said, “Think it’s best for me and some of the boys to go ahead and grab the weapons first. Maybe you could stay behind – you know, inside with Fayza and the other gals – keep in contact via wristcoms.”

I wasn’t much for sitting on the sidelines, but endangering the group was selfish. I replied, “I came here to learn about weapons.”

“Oh, you will,” Robert responded. “Once we’ve got guns and can scare off the coyotes or dogs or whatever those things are.”

I nodded.

“We’ll find a place to practice. Guarantee you those little monsters won’t want anywhere near the sound of a gun.”

Aine, Fayza and I sat on the hot bus and watched the seven men rush the headquarters combat style. Within moments the men were back outside still without any arms except an axe. They seized a broken down shed. One of the youngest ex-militia, Todd, struck the first few blows against the door until another ex-soldier, Max, took over. A few hard blows and the wood splintered enough for him to reach inside and unlock the door. An enormous cache of weapons, a variety of guns too sophisticated for me to discern, glowed like gold at the end of a rainbow.

But to our horror the noise had awoken a angry pack of big scruffy coyotes and the men were instantly surrounded. The animals had to either be a mutation or the pack had interbreed with wolves and/or some other large dogs. Their coloring was darker than an ordinary coyote and they were twice the size of any I had seen on the East Coast.

The alpha went face to face with Max and blocked entry to the shed. The men needed something to distract the pack and it occurred to me that my smell alone would be enough. I rushed to exit the bus door. Fayza grabbed my arm. “No, it’s too dangerous. The men will be fine, they have size and an axe.”

I pulled away, “Just hit the button.”

“But…” Fayza started.

She wouldn’t so I did, spilling into the searing heat and sun. The noise and smell momentarily distracted the pack including the alpha coyote, but instead of baiting the pack away from the men my presence raised their hackles. Two coyotes inched toward me growling and the alpha barked at the men as if protecting a kill from a rival canine. That’s when I noticed movement inside the shed. The animal’s teats were enlarged and behind her I saw a puppy scamper behind her protective stance – a mother – not good. The alpha male lunged at Max. The men stepped back but the coyote managed to clamp onto Max’s arm and he dropped the axe.

I ran screaming into the shed – the sound of my voice amplified and echoing back inside the UV helmet. The mother coyote rushed to her pups at the other end of the shed. Most were hidden inside a hole in the wall which I assumed was how she got in. I grabbed a box of bullets marked .22, another marked .45 and took several nearby rifles and handguns hoping they would match.

Ira had grabbed the axe and was using the blunt end to hit the alpha’s nose. I threw ammo and weapons to Robert, Todd, Jack, Kevin and Dave’s waiting hands. Ira managed a strong blow to the coyote’s nose and he cried in pain and released Max. Max was trying to keep pressure on the bite but blood was oozing from his ripped UV suit.

I went through a cache of bullet clips looking for a match to the handgun I’d grabbed. I fumbled with a box that looked right and tried to snap it into place. The mamma heard the yelp of her mate and came growling toward me. The clip didn’t fit. It was too small. I grabbed a fallen magnum from a different box which had spilled onto the ground. It clicked in, melting into the steel like it was built into the gun.

I looked outside at the men hoping one of them would have secured his weapon, but they were still struggling with the same predicament I had had. The alpha male leered at me ready to clear me from the path to his mate.

I raised my hand up and clicked the trigger, but nothing happened. The alpha inched closer and I managed to remove the safety and aim again at the ceiling again. The gun went off. The bullet tore through the metal roof in a deafening screech. Both coyotes scattered – her through the hole in the wall with her puppies and the alpha zipped past the men with the pack following him.

Aine and Fayza were out of the hover-bus by the time I exited the shed. Aine had the first aid kit. She wrapped Max’s arm while Fayza and I helped the men commandeer the cache. Max waited on the bus. The rest of us picked out weapons to practice with and stuffed the surplus guns and ammo into the bay of the bus. There was more than enough for each member of the Collective to have one if need be.

I had no idea what any of the weapons were, but I overheard Todd telling Jack, “Most are practically antiques looks like all the handguns are old 911 Glocks released twenty years ago.” Jack nodded in agreement.

Robert set up some simple paper targets on the long side of the shed and from about a hundred yards we stood and emptied out round after round. I was the only person who managed to unload ten rounds without hitting my paper. But I did manage to hit Ira’s paper to the left of me – once. The aluminum siding was decimated but I couldn’t get anywhere near my target.

When I hit Jack’s paper (he was next to Ira) he studied me for a second and realized I was in serious need of instruction. He tapped my shoulder and motioned for me to hand over the weapon which I did without hesitation.

     “You don’t have any control,” Jack said.

     “I noticed,” I replied.

     “Here try this,” he said pulling a small gun from his waist belt. “Hold it straight.” He motioned to the top center part of the gun and said, “and line up your shot.”

     I did as requested and managed to actually hit the bottom corner of the paper.

     “Keep your hand steady this time,” he said.

     I tried again and actually hit the outer part of the circle. We didn’t stay long due to Max’s injury, but by the end of Jack’s lesson I had enough command of the gun that I was no longer dangerous with it.

     Ira corralled us, we made a check and headed back to the bus. This time Ira insisted he drive. I warned, “Don’t go to fast.”

     Ira grunted from behind the wheel, “We’ll be fine.”

     “It’s OK,” Robert said. “I’d prefer to get to work on strategy, we don’t have much time before the rain hits.”

     I nodded.

     The men huddled around Max at the back of the bus. Aine had done a great job, the bleeding had all but stopped. He’d need stitched and a few inoculations once we got back to the Collective, but he’d be fine.

     I stayed up front to make sure Ira didn’t push the vehicle too hard. He was anxious to get back. A few times when my attention waned I’d look at his instrument panel and see we were doing over 400 kilometers an hour and I’d nag him until he brought us back to a safe speed.

 

 

Chapter 31 – Belly of the Beast

        (March—2047)

 

 

 

     Inside the Environ’s nexus, AKA the brains of the beast and the only proper lab area, notorious genius hacker, Malone, labored over a series of numbers trying to crack their code. Malone had always been a free agent working both sides of the fence – the government and the people. Ira had known him as a fellow ex-con and rebel. Paul Lamont knew him as the greatest computer whiz alive.

Sam Malone was cocky enough to think he’d gotten into the Environ with donated money and his false Christian conversion, but it had been Lamont who had saved Malone’s ass without him ever knowing it.

For years Lamont had watched Malone from a distance, wanting to invite him to participate in Digibio, but he couldn’t risk exposure. Malone had an idealistic streak and would have blown their cover far too early on in the project. Lamont knew it was Malone who had helped Psyche and Ira, as a matter of fact, it was one of Lamont’s men, Herb Jones (Psyche’s co-worker at Digibio), who had made the false iris scan at Lamont’s command and handed it over to a man Malone had done time with.

No one knew, would ever know, that deep down hidden under the veneer of coldness and greed Lamont wanted the Collective to succeed. He believed someday they would find a way to save the planet.

Lamont was in a resource meeting when Malone entered their huddle. Herb was in the middle of explaining, “There isn’t enough vegetation to sustain the Environ in the valley for more than ten years. We’ll have to aim toward the Oregon border.”

“I’d rather we didn’t,” Lamont replied.

“The UV resistant hybrids take too long to mature,” Herb said. “We’ve got to reset the coordinates.”

Lamont nodded. “If there’s no other way. OK.”

The meeting disbanded. Malone caught Lamont’s attention with, “Are you sure we have the right numbers from the satellite?” 

“They were checked and rechecked that’s why I brought them to you,” Lamont responded.

“There’s no way the information could be right,” Malone replied shaking his head. “It would mean there’s a storm system headed our way that stretches all the way to Australia. It’s impossible.”

Lamont looked gravely at him. “A hundred years ago if you said hurricanes would reach speeds of 400 miles per hour, you would have been laughed out of the room. Anything’s possible. History isn’t applicable anymore.” 

“What do you want to do with the findings?” Malone asked.

“I’m not sure yet, just keep it to yourself for now. I’ll talk to the engineers – make sure they planned for a flood,” Lamont replied.

After hours of discussion with the lead Environ engineer, Lamont was assured the beast was a truly amphibious creature. A world made entirely of water had been one of the parameters the engineering team had considered. The only foreseeable problem was the energy issue – the Environ was a living creature and needed to eat. Northern California had been picked because it had once been wet and lush, subsequently, it had turned into a relatively thriving desert — enough migrated Joshua trees, sage brush, chaparral and various succulent plants had mutated to sustain the Environ’s immediate appetite along with a large variety of roaches and rodents – all extremely adaptable.

The air hole on the Environ’s top could still breath under water but if the arroyo remained flooded the beasts method of feeding would be disrupted. It would no longer be able to slither over its prey for a snack. The only feeding method for extended periods of time in water was from the inside. This had already been tested – those who died naturally were taken to a feeding orifice located in the garden which was hidden by a dilating mucous wall flap.

The Environ subsequently broke the corpse down without any problems – there had been an energy spike lasting for a day and a half and as a result, disposal attendants were trained to feed the beast by placing dead bodies just outside the flap. After a few hours the flap fully dilated and a tentacle would slither out, wrapping tightly around the body and dragging it inside to be masticated by two opposing walls of bone. The broken body then slid down a series of tubes into a digestion pit, where highly concentrated acids broke what was left into liquid form in an enormous turbo powered stomach.

Earlier on in the Environ history the policy had been: the executed were left on Geneco decomposing piles to bake in the sun, their bones a reminder of their misdeeds. And as far as the public knew this was still the case – there was enough video footage to keep the illusion alive for the remainder of Reginald’s life. But if flooding occurred this would have to change and of course, Reginald would whine about it. He enjoyed prolonging the humiliation of the executions in the public’s imagination.

But Camille wouldn’t be a problem. She was more rational and didn’t mind change. Paul decided to convert her first. But because she was brighter than Reginald, Lamont had to worry Camille would suggest a greater kill ratio to keep up with energy demands if the storm lasted more than a month. Paul worried she would suggest using the Geneco. He imagined them rounded in pens and cannibalized or worse if Strauch didn’t want to shelter the Geneco due to his characteristic lack of foresight, they’d be left to drown in their caves and unfortunately Camille only had so much sway with her moronic husband.

Paul struggled with the situation – either the Geneco would die en mass or more citizens would be executed in the near future under spurious claims – their blood used to keep the hungry beast alive. The least valuable members would be first, most likely the wranglers who’d be useless without their slaves. Next would come the labor force, equipment operators, metal processors, cooks, house keeping staff, nannies. Most scientists were pretty well protected, they were needed to keep the beast running, but technicians would be threatened if it continued and then who knew. It could become a free for all. All he could do was try to protect what was important to him in the coming time and hope the storm didn’t consume their valley.

 

It was Friday and Paul Lamont’s ex-wife Tricia was supposed to drop off his son, Bryan, in less than an hour. Lamont made his final rounds checking each station to see if any problems had arisen. All was fine. But before he left work, he asked Malone and Herb to come with him to his cell, where there was a modicum of privacy. They agreed.

Paul’s cell was not typical, more like the Strauchs’ then any other scientists. There was a living area, kitchen, bathroom and bedroom and he had commissioned a designer to decorate and put up actual sheet rock walls. It was simple, clean and very beige other than the hint of gray flesh poking between throw rugs.

Malone said, “I should have worked for Digibio.”

“It wouldn’t have made any difference,” Herb said. “My cell sucks, too.”

“Can I offer you fellows anything to drink?” Paul said heading into the kitchen.

“Whisky on the rocks,” Malone replied, taking a seat on the sofa across from Herb.

“I’m fine,” Herb said.

Paul came back with two glasses and a bottle of Jack Daniels. He poured Malone’s over ice and handed it to him – dispensing one straight up for himself and managing to knock it back before Malone had a chance to taste his.

Paul pushed a button on the side of his coffee table and a holographic chess board appeared, complete with holographic pieces fashioned after historical periods — the black pieces after Henry the VIII and his first wife Anne Boleyn and the white after Queen Victoria and Prince Albert.

“Technically, Albert wasn’t a king but in chess the Queen has all the mobility and real power,” Paul said.

“Why’d you pick Victoria?” Malone asked.

“I’ve always been fascinated by that period of time. They were poised on the brink of the industrial revolution the enormous advances that ultimately put us in the spot we’re at,” Paul replied.

“And that’s Henry the VIII and Anne Boleyn?” Herb asked.

Paul nodded. “They have a lot in common with the Strauch’s.”

“Did you call us here to play chess?” Malone asked taking a sip of his whisky.

Paul relaxed into the sofa and tried to wipe the creeping indignation from his face.

Malone squirmed. “I was just kidding.”

“Such a rapier wit,” Paul said.

Malone grabbed the whisky bottle. “Maybe you should have another drink, loosen up.”

“I’m loose enough,” Paul replied. He took a deep breath and started over. “Either of you play chess?”

“Not much,” Malone replied.

Herb shrugged. “A little with my dad when I was a kid.”

“Then you know it’s a game of strategy. I’ll keep it simple so both of you can follow along,” Paul said pointedly. He looked over his shoulder unconsciously as if someone might be listening and continued, “The king can only move one step at a time – he’s a useless liability, hidden away and protected – a figure head without a mind. The queen is the most valuable asset on the board, without her its nearly impossible to beat your opponent.”

“Rudimentary,” Malone said. “What are you getting at?”

“Imagine, this as a metaphor. Imagine we’re not the only players on the board,” Paul said staring hard at Malone hoping his body language could convey what his voice couldn’t for fear of being monitored.

The two stared for a long moment, finally a light of recognition flashed in Malone’s eyes. “If we’re not alone, who would are opponent be?”

“That’s the wrong way to think about who we’re playing. They’re less like an opponent than a team mate. They have a strong, decisive, rational queen with a weakness for idealism and Cupid.”

“Psyche?” Malone asked. Paul shushed him. “They survived?”

Paul nodded subtly. Herb jumped in, “It worked?”

“Be careful,” Paul said nodding to Herb.

Malone studied them realizing he’d been played, and all this time in the Environ he’d felt guilty for making a few bucks off an old friend he’d assumed was a goner. “You could have told me. It would have saved me a year of migraines,” Malone finally said.

“It could have cost my life,” Paul replied. “Besides if you knew, you might have gone with them.”

“Damn straight,” Malone said with a note of melancholy.

“I picked both of you for your personal connection and understanding of the importance of this… extraordinary team mate. In order for chess to be played we need our board intact. Their team excels in repairs,” Paul said.

He had their attention now, both men focused on Paul’s every twitch. “So far we’ve been lucky enough not to play a match against them, but I have reason to believe we will soon. I need both of you to be my loyal team mates. Can I count on you?”

Both men nodded.

“Good,” Paul said, getting up and activating the orifice. “That’s all for now. We’ll resume our chess lesson later.” Herb and Malone were buried deep in thought and left without another word.

Paul poured himself another drink and looked at his watch. Bryan would be delivered in moments. He knew Psyche, had studied the scientists she picked to join her in their new world and Paul was certain they knew about the upcoming rain and had already hatched a plan to save the Geneco. It was their nature. They were more than mere scientists like his crew, they were humanitarians.

In the old world it was an uneasy mix, science and compassion – one that came with consequences, usually to the detriment of the scientist’s career. It was hard to pay the bills solving world hunger, cleaning the air or saving the planet – much easier to make ones way attached to corporations and their motivations were always the same – bottom line, profits and greed.

“Your son Bryan is here with his mother,” the cold female voice Paul had assigned to his Digi-Monitor said. He had gotten tired of hearing Tricia’s name and liked keeping her where she belonged in his life as the vessel of his progeny and nothing more.

“Open up,” Paul said.

The orifice dilated and his ex-wife and son walked in. Tricia let go of Bryan’s hand and encouraged him to walk over to his father. She still had her long beautiful brown hair and those sad almond eyes that had sucked him in fifteen years earlier. He was always shocked at how beautiful she really was instead of the wicked hag she became in his mind when she was absent. One look at the ivory skin on her neck or the soft crescent of her lips made him angry at all she had denied him.

 “He’s all yours for the weekend. It’ll be nice for him to stretch out and play. There’s no room in our place to do anything except stare at the flat screen. We don’t even have enough…”

Paul completed her sentence, “Room for a virtual game station. So you’ve said a hundred times.”

“You could help us if you wanted,” Tricia said.

“If he’s too much of a problem I’d be happy to take him off your hands,” Paul replied.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” she spat back.

“Why can’t Dick get you a better cell? He’s Jessie’s right hand man,” Paul cooed.

“Let it go, it’s been three years,” Tricia said.

“Technically, it’s two years and nine months.”

Tricia bent down and exchanged hugs with Bryan and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Have fun with your dad, little man.”

“I wish you’d stop calling him that, it’s so repulsive. He’s a child, let him be one while he can.”

Tricia glared at Paul. She threw a kiss to Bryan and said, “I love you sweetie,” and without another word to Paul, she let herself out.

Paul stewed, Dick was the perfect name for his old rival. Irony of ironies was Dick had been the person who had “converted” Tricia and Paul to the Wrath of God, Inc., supposed bastion of family values and the very organization that had inadvertently torn Paul’s family apart. Looking back on it, Paul was sure Dick had finagled himself into being his family’s “spiritual overseer.” All new candidates were given one minister to work with and Dick had always seemed much too interested in Tricia’s “soul.”

The moment the family had stepped onto the headquarters unassuming cement path Paul’s stomach did a flip. At the time he thought it was just his lunch not agreeing with him, but once they entered the flat square stucco building and Dick greeted them, he knew. Paul saw the way the minister stared at Tricia, laughing at her inane jokes and avoiding eye contact with him. It was as if he had suddenly disappeared and his own wife hadn’t noticed he was gone.

After a few months of torture Paul tried to reason with Reginald about the church. But Strauch informed him his family would not be able to enter the Environ without becoming members of the Wrath of God, inc.

Paul’s ambivalence toward the church confused Tricia. He had been the one to insist on the family’s involvement and once she was genuinely converted, Paul debased her beliefs at every opportunity. He had to keep the secret of the family’s mandatory conversion for the sake of saving his wife and child’s lives. Tricia would never have gone along with it if she felt Paul’s interest had been insincere and although it killed him to loose her – he kept his mouth shut even after he found her in bed with Dick. Telling her would have exposed the Environ project and with her mouth, she would have said something to the wrong person and ended up dead.

He wasn’t sure Tricia had ever figured out just how much he had really loved and sacrificed for her. She wasn’t one to stew over the past or even reflect much on it. And with a new man in her life – Dick – she probably didn’t have time to think about anything but his ego-maniacal needs.

For the first year, just seeing her broke his heart all over again, but he had learned to steel himself against her charm and beauty. And he had secrets – things that guiltily crept back into his consciousness when he allowed himself to feel too sorry for himself. He hadn’t been the perfect husband.

 “Dad, can I play world builder?” Bryan asked.

Paul grabbed Bryan’s hand and walked him away from the flat screen and the control gloves. “I was thinking we could do something else, together,” Paul said.

The chess game was still on when Paul brought Bryan to sit opposite him at the holographic table. “What is this?” Bryan asked, reaching for one of the pieces but finding his hand go through it like a ghosts would. “Am I dead?”

Paul laughed. The boy had never seen a hologram before his mother was too poor to provide such games and the step father too stupid to figure out how to make one. “All you need to do is say, E2 to E4.” Miraculously the red coat marched ahead two spaces.

Bryan laughed and clapped his hands together. “Do it again,” he squealed.

“I can’t it’s your turn,” Paul said motioning for the boy to lean closer and Paul whispered, “tell the computer C7 to C5.”

“C7 to C5.” Bryan squealed again this time delighting in his power to make his medieval soldier advance.

“Now you have to learn to think ahead. Every decision you make will ultimately effect whether your soldiers live or die,” Paul said.

Bryan winced and retreated. He had seen too much death in his young life and Paul instantly felt sad for the loss of his child’s innocence and angry at himself for causing any inadvertent pain. His poor boy knew the anguish of a dying world and the loss of everything dear to him by the tender age of eight and only the contentious love of divided parents. No child should have to grapple with a world full of such heavy contradictions. It was too much for a developing mind to conquer. Paul’s chest momentarily tightened as it had when Tricia left.

“Daddy, what’s wrong?” Bryan asked.

“Nothing. I’m fine. Maybe we should play this some other time,” Paul said. “When you’re a little older.”

Sometimes Paul was unable to suppress his most shameful thoughts – a wish Bryan had never been born, not because he didn’t love Bryan – he did, with an intensity he’d never felt for anyone else, but because Paul felt such intense fear and responsibility for his son and the world had become a melodrama of suffering and death. His shame was for deciding to bring a human life into ugliness with the clear unadulterated knowledge of the world’s demise – where the only escape was through death. It often felt his motives had been purely selfish and illogical.

“Don’t feel bad, Daddy. All things have to die,” Bryan said. “Even the earth and that’s OK.”

Paul was shocked. He had secretly comforted himself with that sentiment a million times – never uttering them aloud to another soul. Had he let this opinion slip when Bryan had asked him an impossible question about God, Jesus or the meaning of life? “Where did you hear that?”

Bryan shrugged. “It’s true. Sometimes it makes me sad but only for the animals. We killed everything. We’re bad. We’re sinners.”

Dick had been feeding Bryan’s head with nonsense and it made Paul ill. He wished he had been brave enough to do what Psyche had done. If the Collective would accept him he would gladly steal Bryan and make a run for their encampment. But even if he did, Paul knew Reginald would do everything in his power to destroy them, even if it meant sacrificing the Environ and everyone in it.

Paul finished explaining as much of the game as Bryan’s attention span would allow and then put the boy’s PJs on, read him a story and tucked him into bed.

There was still so much to think about with the upcoming rains – what would he do if the Collective came for the Geneco? Paul walked into his kitchen and made a cup of tea. It would be a long lonely night of strategizing. He wanted the Geneco and the Collective to succeed. He hadn’t worked for thirty years splicing genes together to create a race that could withstand the increasing global temperatures, CO2 levels and UV-A and UV-B rays only to see them destroyed.

He couldn’t help but love and hate the Geneco in the strange way a painter loved and hated his paintings or a musician his songs. The creatures themselves offended human aesthetic sensibilities and at times he wished he could have made them more beautiful, not so monstrous. But in theory, when not confronted with the vileness of their appearance he loved them like they were his children – after all, they were the culmination of his life’s work.

If only he could find a way to let the Collective save them. But of course this would cause war unless, unless…

 

   Chapter 32 – Divided

 (March—2047)

 

 

 

     The herbs had been harvested and some of the staff and community members had decided to try something different for dinner. The lead cook had asked Safia if she had any good meatless curry dishes she might pass along since there was now a plethora of fresh spices. The meal was an unusually good one, everyone except Tuwa, who was praying and fasting in preparation for the mission, sat quietly around the dinner table until their plates were clear. It seemed like any other meal time except for the lack of conversation which I took to mean everyone was enjoying their food.

     Naomi began clearing the table and the air. She said to me, “I know you’re determined to gain support for the emancipation mission, but I really don’t think it’s a good idea.”

     “Neither do I,” Kevin echoed.

     All eyes focused on Kevin. He was after all a member of CAT, Operation Bare Bones and had been a high ranking officer in the Coast Guard before its demise. He looked around the room squarely and said, “Diplomacy should be the first step. We need to send an envoy warning them about the storm – that way they can do everything in their power to protect the Geney. Otherwise, they’ll perceive our rescue as a hostile act which could potentially start a war.”

     “But our mission is to save all life,” I said.

“If we loose our people to a war we’ll endanger our greater mission to save the planet,” Kevin replied.

     “No one wants a war, but we can’t just let an entire race of people be wiped off the map,” Ira said.

     “Whose to say they won’t protect the Geney,” Kevin said. “After all, they invented them.”

     “Whether or not they do save the Geney – what kind of life will they have?” I asked.

     “That’s not our responsibility,” Kevin replied.

     “Kevin’s right. We can’t risk war,” Kimi said. “We have to think about our own survival.”

     The table erupted in heated side conversations. The noise level became so loud I banged my fist on the table and said, “Please, everyone settle down.” For a moment there was a hush. “Nobody wants war. But does anyone honestly think diplomacy has a chance of working with the people of the Environ?”

     “If they see the Geney as their property won’t they want to protect them?” Safia asked.

     I was thankful Freeman Fred needed to feed only once monthly and tonight had turned in early to digest his meal and prepare maps to the Geney encampment. He would have been heartbroken to hear these people – his friends and “family” talk about him indirectly this way.

     LaDonna shook her head and groaned. “Girl I’d like some of what you’re on. You think these people are logical? If they had an ounce of reason we wouldn’t be here, let alone be discussing the Geney.”

     “But even if we do save them what are we going to do with them?” Xin-Yi asked. “We barely have enough room in the nest to sleep and eat. There are almost a dozen pregnant women right now and hopefully more to come. We can’t accommodate a hundred something geney.”

     “We build,” Fayza announced with resonant authority. “There’s plenty of land around us. We’re high enough in the hills to ensure against flooding.”

     Her husband Robert cleared his throat as if to say something, but she shot him a look and he kept quiet. “Robert took my target shooting. About six hundred meters to the southwest there’s a burn area. The trees have been cleared.”

     “Yes and we found a half dozen cave entrances on the northern face of the mountain nearby,” Robert added. Fayza looked at him detachedly as if he’d apologized for an argument she hadn’t quite forgiven him for. “If we had an overflow problem we could house some in there until we finished construction.”

     Hyunae had been quiet. She hadn’t said a word to anyone in days. She had a tendency to go deep into analysis almost to the point of catatonia, answering only in monosyllabic grunts indicating yes or no when she was thinking through a problem. Her voice was weak and frail, cracking from non-operation, she said, “It will take anywhere from a month to a year for the rains to stop. We have no idea. Construction can’t begin until its over. Where will they live in the mean time?”

     Ira had spent every waking moment on that question and had come up with a plan. “The observatory will be down due to the weather so the astronomy wing can be converted for the time being and then, when the rains clear, and we start construction, we can park the vehicles outside and use the garage – maybe set up some tents nearby for overflow or like Robert suggested use the caves.”

     “That sounds like a very doable plan,” Aine said.

     “Because its not your fucking lab that’s going to shut down,” Hyunae said. Her unusually emotional outburst left everyone at the table into shock.

     Fayza responded in an even calm tone, “We’re not shutting your lab down because we want to Hyunae, it’s just not possible for it to operate due to the circumstances.”

     “There are plenty of other things we can do. We can gather information on the storm and do calculations…”

     “But none of that’s going to matter,” Aine said.

     “We have hundreds of mathematical problems to solve. We have just as much work as everyone else,” Hyunae said. “How can we guarantee our equipment will be OK with over a hundred Geney living in our space? You tell me that.”

     “It will be fine,” Fayza said. “We can do our calculations in the Council Office.”

     “There won’t be enough room!” Hyunae said pitching her voice in an uncharacteristically shrill way.

     This was when all order broke down. Fayza lost her temper and she and Hyunae went at it while everyone else split into side arguments. I tried to pound my fist again on the table to no avail.

     I caught Robert’s eye across the room and went to him for back up. “We’ve got to do something to calm everyone down,” I yelled over the escalating noise.

     “This is what happens when you don’t have a military in place. We need protection and strong rules,” he said.

“With only a few thousand human beings left, war games and nation building weren’t foremost on my mind when I envisioned the Collective. The primary concern was survival.” 

“That’s why women never ran the world,” he retorted. “They can’t think long term.”

“Really? Because as I recall you boys raped, pillaged, warred and destroyed everything. I hardly think you can make a case for men’s ability to think long term on that record.”

Robert grunted and walked away. I was furious. The little bit of power he had been given and this was his repayment for being entrusting with the formation of a military. If I had more time I would worried about his arrogance and possible coo but the immediate situation was escalating out of control. The possibility of violence felt tangible. I never thought I would see the day when a group of rational, logical, cool headed scientists and techs became as out of control as an English mob after a lost soccer match.

     I escaped the dining hall without anyone noticing and ran swiftly down the corridor to the front doors of the next and around the pathways, past the labs and barns to a free standing windowless shack, originally built to house gardening tools, but cleared out and given to Tuwa for meditation and spiritual work.

     No one was to enter this sacred space without being invited unless it was an absolute emergency. I hated having to disturb her, but at this point Tuwa was the only member of the Collective everyone listened to. I knocked – there was no answer, so I let myself in.

     The room, which wasn’t more than 10’ x 10’, was thick with burning sage and sweetgrass. I could hardly breath. A circle with a divisive centralized cross had been painted on the floor, each quadrant filled with a different color – southeast was red, southwest blue, northwest yellow and northeast white.

Tuwa had told me six months earlier that the medicine wheel varied in color and meaning for each tribe. The Cherokee divided it north, south, east, west, below and underworld and associated different colors to their directions. But Tuwa had made her medicine wheel in the Hopi tradition, the tradition she had been taught since childhood despite growing up on a Creek reservation in Oklahoma. She had descended from a mix of many different tribes.

Tuwa was deep in meditation, sitting at the center point of the wheel, chanting and swaying in a resonant language that washed over me like ocean waves lapping at the shore. I’d never heard anything like it and assumed it was probably Hopi.

     I desperately wanted to speak to her, but something stopped me. Instead I watched and listened waiting for the feeling to change so I could interrupt her, but instead the sounds penetrated and I felt something shifting inside as if I were being cleansed by what felt like a pulsating electrical field. It was strange. My insides buzzed and the air seemed filled with a blue and white haze.

I had never been to a temple or a church or a mosque or any religious ceremony except once during childhood and a single visit to circle and neither had the same strange sense of privacy and intense communion as this. There were no words in my vocabulary for what I felt – all I knew was the feeling was foreign and it was making me strangely light headed and separated as if I had stepped into someone’s dream.

     I had to leave before whatever was happening to me got too far out of my control to reign in. But a split second before I turned, Tuwa made a motion to me and said, “Stay. Close your eyes and pray with me.” I was about to protest, say I didn’t know how to pray, didn’t know what to do, when Tuwa spoke again, “Just follow me.”

     So had Tuwa known I was there all along? What else could I do? I closed my eyes and went along with it – after all I had come into this space uninvited and there was an obligation to play by her rules even if I didn’t know how. Once I followed her song their was a sense of peace when the sounds didn’t stick in my throat and the unintelligible song held a mystery I couldn’t completely open.

     “I’m singing for guidance, for strength, for support of our mission. Hold the Geneys’ emancipation in your mind’s eye and sing with your heart. There are no right words,” Tuwa said.

     “That’s what I came here for,” I said.

     Something in my voice snapped Tuwa out of her trance and she looked at me with hawk-like clarity. “They’re fighting?”

     I nodded.

     Tuwa grabbed a yellow medicine bag and ran out the door. I had a hard time following her. She zipped through the garden, a short cut I never took, and into the nest through the corridor to the dining hall. I arrived a few moments after her, panting and out of breath. She wasn’t the least bit winded.

     Everyone was still going at it. I have expected them to have calmed into the mature adults I had always known them to be, but they hadn’t. It had gotten worse. Dave, an ex-Navy Captain, was inches away from Kevin’s face, both taking turns yelling so hard they were spraying each other with saliva. Naomi had cornered Aine and was gesticulating wildly in what could only be taken as angry gestures. LaDonna was in a sarcastic show down with Xin-Yi. Hyunae was giving the evil eye to Fayza and Ira was pointing his finger in admonition at Safia.

     Tuwa and I watched. She was drinking in every scene, studying where to crack it. I was shaking with nerves. Strange dusty memories glided across my inner eye – my mother and father yelling. My dad, a tall thin dark haired man, grabbing handfuls of his clothing and throwing them into boxes, carrying the small bedroom TV set down the stairs and into the trunk of his hatchback. My mother holding back tears, showing only rage and then absolute silence while we watched him putter away.

     I was lost in the past and hadn’t noticed Tuwa had lit sage and was making her way around the room singing in her native tongue. At first it didn’t make a difference, people continued battling. But as when she waved the smoking sage and sweetgrass wands around individuals, their demeanors changed, as if they’d been slapped in the face – a look of shock followed by a sudden grounding.

     Within a quarter hour the room had gone from an angry hostile den of lions to a calm, brooding pen of lambs. Next came a long tiresome group meditation and then grievances were aired and rebutted by her. By the end of the night a very small minority remained unconvinced, chief among them was Naomi. But even Naomi’s voice became meek, modest, unsteady and unsure – even she began to believe. The group mind had cracked open and everyone left for the night feeling things would ultimately work out.

Everyone except Tuwa.

 

      

    CHAPTER 33 – Into the Mystic

                      (April—2047)

 

 

 

     We were getting the first roll of clouds which were more gloomy than wet. The storm was moving leadenly across the sky, more like a snail carrying a wet wool blanket than the quick violence of a time lapse film. In the short term this was good and provided time to organize our mission and prepare, but in the long run it was disheartening. A storm of its magnitude moving inches a day meant it would stick around for a minimum of months, unless a miraculous change of air or ocean current shifted its direction.

     While the rest of the Collective cleared out the observatories and three labs dedicated to reading radio telescopes and deciphering old satellite feeds and put make-shift beds in the observatories (which were the largest rooms) and set the labs up as lounging areas, Tuwa kept me at her side. She insisted on personally training me in several meditation techniques. I was intrigued but resistant and asked her, “Why now?”

     “The Great Spirit insists. The mission can not be accomplished if you aren’t ready,” she responded.

     If everyone else was making sacrifices then how could I not? Yes, I had wanted to honor my mother’s beliefs and carry her spirit into this new world, but the philosophies she ascribed to had made less and less sense the longer I lived in the Collective. This world was nothing like the one my mother had come from and her rules didn’t apply. There was no more capitalism and thus its foil communism seemed just as ridiculous. Marx and Freud and Hegel and Kierkegaard, Plato and Sophocles, all had interesting points and observations and while all were enlightening under any circumstance – their wisdom was as applicable here as a Christian parable was to a Sumerian tribesman. Of course there was truth in all philosophy and all religion, but what I had been taught was no longer practical or sustainable.

     Saturday, a week and a day before the mission, Tuwa asked me to fast after sundown – she had a lesson planned for me in the morning. I was to meet her in the meditation shack just before sunrise.

     I didn’t normally eat much after dinner but somehow knowing I couldn’t eat anything made me hungry and slightly obsessed. I found myself standing in the middle of the pantry looking through shelves of canned corn, peas, beets, carrots and beans of all kinds. Another shelf housed at least fifty homemade jars of jams and pickled tomatoes, cucumbers and things I couldn’t readily identify. The pantry was huge and in the two and half years we had been cultivating and harvesting we had shown ourselves to be extraordinarily adept at providing sustenance for our group. A strange mix of emotions welled inside me, melancholy, pride and fear.

     I got the foot stool from the kitchen and went deeper into the pantry, taking inventory of the “nuclear food,” a nickname for all the preserved food still edible despite its age – twinkies, ho-ho’s, peeps, Little Debby Cakes, gum and stale candy, stuff people eat ritually for birthdays, special holidays like Christmas or Easter. It was a way to bring some familiarity, some bit of tradition into our new world. Rarely if ever did I enter the pantry and the packaging of these treats drew me. They were like edible relics, more beautiful than an Etruscan necklace or Minoan vase.

     I grabbed a box of candy bracelets probably rescued from a ruined Portland store on one of the scavenging trips. The box was colorful and decorated with cartoons of big eyed girls wearing bright bows and happy dresses.

     Inside was a sea of six or seven dozen multi-colored pastel bracelets encased in cellophane. I grabbed one and tore it open and rolled it onto my wrist – the band stretched tight leaving spaces like a used line of an abacus.

     A memory swam back from the deepest recesses of my mind – skipping down De Kalb Avenue to the corner store at Fulton Street (before the area was swallowed by the East River) with my best friend Janette. We had instantly bonded during recess in 4^th grade when the girls divided themselves up into teams to play kick ball without us.

Janette was my opposite, chubby, blonde, short and her mother, Cloris was a devote Anglican. I met Janette after her father died and she (and Cloris) had moved into her grandmother’s studio apartment. Janette loved to eat. She’d eat anything, but she especially loved sweets and that day her grandmother had given her twenty dollars to buy some staple items from the corner store, milk, bread, bottled water and whatever lunch meat she could afford – instead Janette bought four chocolate bars, two packs of bubble gum and both of us candy bracelets.

It was the first time a friend, or anyone outside my mother, had cared enough about me to buy me anything. I thought it was the most beautiful thing in the world and wore it until the candies were gray from dirt and pollution and had worn to nibs from sweat, baths and rain. A year went by and I never took it off. My mother noticed it was giving me a rash but I refused to remove it. One morning I woke up and it was gone, reduced to a single grayish pink disc on the bed sheet where my wrist had been.

I combed the bed for evidence like a detective looking for a murder weapon, but couldn’t find the elastic string leading me to the conclusion my mother had cut it off while I was sleeping and thrown it away. But when accused of the crime my mother denied any involvement. When I wouldn’t fall for her disintegration theory, she told me it had probably been chewed off by a rat and taken back to its den. This stopped me from any further line of questioning, the very idea of a rat walking across my bed and drooling on my wrist as it sawed the string with its little teeth gave me the shivers.

Years later, when I was on summer break from college, she admitted cutting it off me and I got so angry I didn’t speak to her for three days. It wasn’t just that she had taken a prized possession against my will, but she had made up such an elaborate lie. She tried to explain how irrational I had been and how tired she was of arguing over something so trivial, which only upset me more.

The Nest was dead silent except for the tightly held sound of my weeping on the pantry floor. I hadn’t seen or smelled or felt any of the hallmarks of my childhood in years and all that had been physically left of it was emptied into the Atlantic Ocean. This silly candy bracelet was the closest thing to a touchstone I would ever have. It was like finding a precious heirloom. My heart broke.

 

I woke before sunset and made my way to Tuwa’s meditation shack. The air was charged with the looming storm. The sky dampened by the heaviness of the wooly clouds, fresh and sad all at once. I had forgotten how silent the world was when everyone was asleep.

When I arrived the familiar scent of sage and sweetgrass wafted from the cracked door in a long inviting ribbon. She must have heard my soft footsteps through the dirt because she said, “Come in.”

The shack was glowing amber. At the far end a horseshoe of candles bordered a small central altar decorated with crystals, a wide variety of feathers, a small smoking cauldron, a statuette of a cougar, and a thick set of cards placed face down.

Tuwa grabbed a glass bottle of oil, motioned to a pair of pillows on the floor and said, “Sit.”

Before taking a seat next to me, she dabbed her finger with oil and messaged it into my forehead and sang a sacred Hopi song. This was her medicine language. Her mother had learned the ancient ways as a girl from her Hopi mother and passed the tradition to Tuwa, initiating her into shamanism almost as soon as she could speak. Perhaps this was why she was so remarkable – she not only had the gift (as LaDonna called it) but had been trained to use this unusual talent so early in life her brain had to have formed differently from other modern people’s.

“Close your eyes,” she said waving sage and sweetgrass in circles around me. “Clear your mind let the sweetgrass, sage and song float deep inside to the peace within yourself.”

     Images, numbers, letters, snippets of skylines and pieces of buildings I had lived in all flashed strobe-like inside my mind’s eye. There was no peace and the more I searched for it the more images flashed, changing like lightning, leaving nothing to hold onto except anxiety.

     Tuwa must have sensed my frustration, she broke away from her song to say, “Imagine your consciousness as a pearl floating in a pool of dark water, let it sink lower and lower. Concentrate on your breathing.”

     For some reason this worked and the images dissolved into blackness. My mind settled, the voices dimmed – my breath, heartbeat and the sound of Tuwa opening a bottle followed by the hiss of herbs hitting the charcoal inside the cauldron was all I heard. The moment I thought I was fully present I struggled to become present again.

     Meditation wasn’t entirely new to me. Ira had gone through a Buddhist phase right after he had gotten out of prison – not wanting to discourage him from getting his life back together, I went with him to the Shambhala Center in Manhattan every morning for almost four months. My ability to concentrate greatly improved, but the speed and agility of my mind changed – facts and information that used to swim close to the surface of my mind had to be dug out and plucked with what felt like a dull blade. I didn’t like it – felt like it was changing me too much, interfering with my analytical ability and I quit. Two months later, Ira quit, too.

     Tuwa was close I could feel her, she whispered, “See white light pouring from the sun, from the moon, let it fill you, cleanse you, wash away the dark places.” She touched my forehead in the place Indian women wore bindis, this time the oil on her finger tingled and burned my skin. I felt a strange jolt of electricity pulsating through her finger before she pulled her hand away. “See from here.” She then lightly pressed a finger to my throat. “Speak the truth.” She put her hand over my heart. “Sing with the light inside.”

     Each time Tuwa did this I felt myself open a little and fall deeper into an altered state. The light felt more real, the sweetgrass and sage more potent and my troubles dissolved into a mist.

     Tuwa sang in a gentle and warm voice. The song had only vowel sounds, which rolled from one to the next effortlessly. When she was finished she waved the smudging wand around me and said, “Open your eyes.” 

     How was it that I felt okay, even optimistic about the mission? But a strange flash of dread gripped me, and a man’s voice whispered, “a sacrifice is required.” Of course there was no man. I stared at Tuwa, trying to regain the peace I had felt just moments before.

     “We will all have to make sacrifices,” Tuwa said.

     It was as if Tuwa plucked the words out of my mind. How did she know and who’s voice had that been?

     “I don’t recognize the voice, perhaps he is a spirit guide, an ancestor, or maybe a time fragment,” she said.

     I stared dumbfounded at her. “How did you know what I was thinking?” She was reading my mind, there was no other possibility.

     “Oh, I’m sorry I thought I heard you speak.”

     “I didn’t say a word,” I replied.

“Sometimes after meditating with others I hear their thoughts,” she said.

There was an uncomfortable feeling of violation as if she was reading my private journal.

“I know, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t like it either,” she said.

“You’re still doing it,” I said aghast.

Tuwa shook herself. “I need to separate,” she said stepping outside and shutting the door of the shack behind her.

After ten or fifteen minutes I began to wonder if perhaps I should leave or if I was supposed to be doing something. But Tuwa had made me promise to spend the day with her so I waited and entertained myself by reading the home made labels of dried herbs and incenses that lined a wall of shelves.

It looked like some of the jars and their contents were as old as Tuwa, others looked freshly ground. If the names on some of the powders weren’t Kava Kava or Cayenne one would have assumed they were painting pigments.

I marveled at the primitive looking ingredients that I knew had cured several Collective members from certain death when standard medicine didn’t work. Tuwa had taken control of a tech who had developed a mysterious disease no diagnosis fit. She had brought him into the shack and prayed over him for weeks, feeding and giving him special teas until he emerged in renewed health.

Another incident involved a girl thought to have contracted a mutated form of Ebola after going with her parents on a trip to the ghost city of Portland to scavenge clothing. The girl had just come through a major growth spurt and there were no hand-me-downs her size.

The girl was quarantined and after weeks of trying everything the doctors could do – they gave up and pumped her full of pain killers. While the girl waited to die Tuwa asked the family if she could try a healing – they agreed to it. Due to the contagiousness of the disease Tuwa worked alone in the quarantined area. She was made to wear a suit to avoid spreading the disease which she complained made her work more difficult. But after a couple of months the child’s symptoms subsided and a few months later she was completely healthy again and released to her parents.

The jars were meticulously organized via an impenetrable code. I was staring hard, trying to puzzle out the logic when Tuwa re-entered the shack.

“Good, you’re still here,” she said. In her hand was a small white pouch. Embroidered in red was a circle with an equilateral cross inside. She handed it to me.

Inside were a variety of herbs and stones – quartz, lapis lazuli, coral and a small piece of turquoise with a mixture of sage, sweetgrass, a root of some kind and other herbs I couldn’t identify. “Keep it with you always. It is for protection,” she said.

“I’ll be fine,” I replied trying to hand it back.

She shook her head and closed the medicine bag in my hand. “If you should find yourself in trouble, hold it tight, close your eyes and listen.” She pushed my fist back.

There was something of a warning in the way she spoke and it sent a chill down my spine as if she knew my fate and was trying to ease or protect me from it. I put the medicine bag in my pocket and promised to keep it with me.

The rest of the day was spent teaching me songs and prayers. She insisted on my ability to recite them perfectly although she never told me their meaning. Native American customs were intricate and complex. Because I was the only member not initiated into Circle, I assumed my day with her was an initiation and she was preparing me for leading the group into “enemy territory.” It was reasonable to make a tribal leader out of me before a potential war – I figured doing so would make the community less edgy.

That night I had intense colorful dreams. My mother, Miriam, came to me looking younger than I had ever seen her, healthy, and vibrant. She was in a navy suit and white shirt. Her black hair, cropped short and curly. I had never seen her look more beautiful but she never said a word. She only smiled and when I talked to her she went about the business of cleaning up the nest which was empty except for the two of us and Naomi. Everything looked and felt so real except for certain details, one being a staircase that in reality didn’t exist – there was no second story to the nest. And a bright light coming from the top of it, casting a long dark shadow at the bottom in front of the steps where Naomi sat.

I woke the next morning comforted, but very confused about the meaning of the dream. I normally didn’t remember dreams and when I did they were always vague and colorless. I told Tuwa about it and asked what its meaning was. But she said only it was a visit from my mother and when pressed, wouldn’t say anything more.

 

             Chapter 34 – The Trip

                 (April—2047)

 

 

 

LaDonna, Aine, Tuwa, Freeman Fred, Fayza, Ira, me and Robert’s militia group CAT prepared the hover buses with water, food, blankets, some basic medicine and rafts in case one of the buses broke down in a flood plane. There were seven buses, each could carry up to fifty passengers. But with all the extra equipment it was realistic to count on forty but that would be plenty. We estimated less than 200 Geney were still alive.

The lead scientists were paired with at least one member of CAT. They would take turns driving if necessary. Freedman Fred was to be our liaison and was paired with Robert but of course Freeman Fred couldn’t drive and a young CAT recruit named, Sam, offered to be Robert’s driving partner.

Anyone who volunteered had to be trained in using a firearm if they had not had military training. Freeman Fred, LaDonna and Tuwa submitted a few days before the mission. LaDonna and Tuwa protested, but I insisted on everyone being armed just in case. I wanted every chance available for my people’s safety and the safety of the Geney.

Freeman Fred had spent the last two weeks working on maps of the area from memory. He didn’t know or remember how he had gotten from the mine to our encampment so we relied on old AAA maps found in the ghost cities to get to the general area. But once at the sight Freeman Fred had very specific drawings and schedules of when the Geney worked and slept and where the wrangler posts and congregation sectors were. He wasn’t sure of boarder guards since the Geney were locked up in caves at night and there was no way for him to know if or when there were patrols.

Robert surmised they might have one or two guards monitoring potential Geney escapes and the guards would be accustomed to inactivity making our entrance easier. Chances were good there might not be any guards, just an electronic fence or alarm in case someone exited the caves. I agreed with him. It seemed doubtful the Environ would waste resources on guards when electronics were more reliable and could be monitored along with everything else inside the Environ.

We ate dinner with everyone that night. The was an air of nervousness and excitement around the table. It seemed people had come around to the mission. I credited this to a series of rituals Tuwa had led members through. She had asked them to fly to the Geney encampment and see through the eyes of their brethren. Shortly thereafter the attitude had dramatically shifted – people went out of their way to tell me about their experiences and extol my heroic virtue for insisting on the emancipation.

One woman cried while relaying her experience of being in the consciousness of a young, confused Geney girl who accidentally hit her thumb with a mallet. The woman said she heard the bone crush and felt excruciating pain and was then yanked out of the cave by a man in an orange UV suit who took her outside and whipped her until the pain was so unbearable she could no longer feel her own back.

I had asked Freeman Fred if the things people were seeing in the rituals were true. He said, “Yes,” with such profound sadness in his eyes I had to turn away.

The dinner was especially good. One of the Turkey’s had been slaughtered in a sacrificial ritual that morning. “It was its time soon anyway and at least it served a purpose,” Tuwa had said when I asked her if it was really necessary. “All creatures are sacred and in honoring the animals spirit we honor our own.”

I couldn’t really argue. We did have to eat, but something about animals being sacrificed felt barbaric to me. I suppose everyday animals were sacrificed in the old world, we just did it without honor while no one was watching.

The Thanksgiving style meal was topped off with a chocolate cake Naomi had made. I was surprised. It was delicious and afterward I thanked her for it. She gave me a hug and said, “Good-luck. Be careful.”

Shortly after dinner we gathered the last of our supplies and headed to the buses followed by most of the Collective. I gave Ira a long kiss before we went to our respective busses. He took Max. I took Todd. LaDonna was paired with Kevin – Aine with Jack – Dave and Tuwa with ex-Green Beret and new CAT recruit, Gavin.

As I waited for my turn to exit the garage I watched the crowd. I noticed Naomi standing with her son, Steven, in front. She looked dazed, more afraid and somber than anyone else. She gripped his hand tightly – so tightly he winced and tried to pull away, but she didn’t notice. She was in a far away world. It struck me as odd.

One by one we exited the garage following Robert, Sam and Freeman Fred. I felt like a soldier going off to war. When my bus passed by Naomi I waved to her. But she looked right through me as if I were a ghost.

It was a three hour ride to the mouth of the valley where the Environ was situated. The buses could only safely travel a hundred and sixty kilometers an hour without overheating, so we kept our speed down and followed the broken remnants of the old 5 freeway which, in the old days, had taken motorists along the west coast from Mexico to Canada.

A few minutes after a sign welcomed us into California the rain went from a fine drizzle to pluvial. The deeper we plunged into California the harder the rain fell and the more difficult it was to see the line of buses ahead, or more importantly, the road. My wristcom had run out of juice and was charging. I tried to use the bus communicator to let the others know I wanted to slow down, but the storm was causing interference so I flashed my lights and honked the air horn to get Gavin’s attention.

I was a little worried they would think something was terribly wrong and try to pull over, but luckily it was Tuwa’s bus that Gavin was driving. I calmed myself and concentrated on her. Once I felt a connection I visualized the bus speedometer slowing from 160 to 100 kilometers per hour. It seemed to work because in a few minutes we had slowed to a careful pace.

A swarm of lightening revealed Mount Shasta looming close by – I had seen it once before on a trip down the west coast to visit Yosemite with my mother when I was a kid. It was seductively beautiful, but there was something eerie about it. My mother had told me some people believed extra-terrestrials lived underneath it and I remembered thinking I could see why. It had an unnatural feel, cold and predatory almost as if it were staring. Later I chalked my fear off to an innate sense of danger because it was a volcano. But now that we were passing it again, I felt there was something more to it. Tuwa had told me shamans and psychics had called it a power center, like an earth chakra. Another strobe of lightening convinced me Tuwa was right.

We were getting close.

Ira had spent more than a month going through all old data on the Environ and had found a coded reference to its longitude and latitude which he then located on a map. When the topography was explained to Freeman Fred he agreed with Ira’s assessment. I hoped Ira was right because there was no way to find it otherwise, the area was far too large and from what we knew about the Environ it was a dark colored biological entity that would most likely blend into the environment.

I followed the line of buses onto a small two lane highway, catching a decayed sign a few miles down the road that read 89. The rain became thicker and the lightening more continuous. We had been descending into a valley and as we continued the roads were washed out making it hard to tell if we were still actually on the highway.

There was static coming through on the bus communicator. Todd changed the station several times and fiddled with it until we could hear the exchange, Ira said over the radio, “Are you sure? Because the map we agreed on says its another ten miles before we head off 89 south.”

Freeman Fred crackled through the radio, “Just beyond hill. I positive. Sure one hundred per-cent.”

“OK,” Ira said.

The caravan turned off the highway and into a patch of sleeting blackness. A dozen kilometers later the sheets of ice turned into a hard deluge of rain before subsiding and during lightening cracks I could see lakes and streams forming in every direction. We continued to descend. I was apprehensive we would get to the valley only to find it an inland sea and the caves flooding or worse flooded. But more than anything I worried we wouldn’t find the Geney alive.

 

 Chapter 35 – The Trip

                (April—2047)

 

 

 

The Environ was across the valley, several miles from the Geney caves but we could see it in the lightning strikes. Its gray gelatinous skin shone like a slime covered slug. From what Freeman Fred had told me, it was marbled with dark gray veins and appeared almost translucent in daylight.

The geney caves were within its sights to the north. But the rain was giving us advantages – we were hard to spot and the thunder and lightening covered our noise.

We parked the busses on the side of the mountain out of sight of the Environ – a little walk to the caves. Todd loaded everyone out while I put on a raincoat and goulashes.

Outside, we huddled together under a protruding rock for shelter. “Do you have the sample key?” I asked. Ira nodded and pulled out a square black universal computer port module loaded with hundreds of override codes Safia had programmed in.

Ira asked Freeman Fred, “Where’s the entrance?”

Freeman Fred took the lead. We followed him around an outcropping of boulders at the bottom of the hill and sloshed through a knee high puddle rapidly forming into a pond.

“Beast behind next corner,” Freeman Fred said. Ira signaled for everyone to turn off their head lanterns.

The lightening had slowed to a momentary stop and a tear in the clouds revealed a full moon, giving us some much needed light. We rounded the corner of the mountain and across the plain I saw the dark shiny slug-like creature, asymmetrical sections were lit from inside. It was a grotesquely ominous and repulsive abomination, radiating the sickness of the people who had created it. I could see why the Geney had named it “beast.”

Freeman Fred had seen the Wranglers fumble with something on the eastern side of the mountain before and after the Geney were let in and out of the caves, but he didn’t know exactly where the keypad was. LaDonna, Tuwa and I walked to the general area and fumbled around, feeling our way along the mountain’s face. We divided the area in thirds to investigate. Everyone else crowded into a dry crevice, protected from the winds and rain.

The wall was slick and jagged, one wrong slip toward the rock formations could cause a fatal head injury. It was pouring so hard I couldn’t see a foot in front of me and the rain had such high acid content it was burning the small patches of uncovered skin the wind was exposing. Despite the rain goggles my eyes were watering and burning. The insensate blinking caused me to keep loosing track of any unique features in the rock which would normally have guided me. It was very disheartening. I was sure we’d never find it.

I grasped for what I thought was a rock formation and realized it was the hood of Tuwa’s rain slicker. She laughed. “Hey, watch it. You’re gonna poke my eye out.”

“What are you doing over here?” I asked.

“We’re not far from the keypad, just follow me,” she replied.

I almost asked her how she knew ,but decided not to waste my breath – it was like asking a spider how it weaved a web, for Tuwa it was so natural she couldn’t explain her abilities. She stopped about ten feet from where I had been feeling around.

The rain started beating harder and the lightening started up again. I watched it crack against the sky in the distance, followed by the low rumble of thunder moments later.

“It’s here,” Tuwa said.

“Stay there, I’ll grab Ira,” I said, breaking into a jog. The wind was fierce, I hardly made any headway against it. I ran to where I thought the refuge in the mountainside was and looked around, but couldn’t distinguish anything human in the darkness.

“Ira,” I called.

A muffled, “Over here,” came back. I followed its trail calling Ira’s name until his voice came back clearly and I reached him.

They were huddled close together, barely enough room to breath let alone move. “We found it,” I said. It took a moment for Ira to squeeze out of the shelter.

Ira secured his goggles and cinched the strings of his rain coat’s hood tight. He followed me through the sheeting rain in our search for Tuwa. Once we got close to where I remembered leaving her I began calling and she guided us with her voice through the rain.

Ira shielded the sample key and gently fit it into the keyboard’s port. An eternity shuffled by without any response from the gate.

The rain died down and several hulking black shapes emerged in the distance. “Hey, what’s taking so long?” Robert said making his way to us, behind him, Todd, Max, Kevin and Dave.

“It’s searching for the right codes,” Ira replied.

“Lets just shoot the keypad rush in and get the Geney to the buses and get on with it,” Max said.

“You serious? That would trigger an alarm for sure,” LaDonna said. “And we’d get out asses killed! Uh-uh—no way.”

“We don’t even know if there is an alarm,” Kevin said. “We’re wasting time.”

“Just be patient,” I said.

Dave opened his mouth to speak and Tuwa put a finger to her lips. “Shhh,” she said. “If there wasn’t an alarm this wouldn’t be taking so long.”

Another fifteen minutes went by without any sign we were close to unlocking the gate. The CAT division members were antsy. Clearly, they were used to the instant gratification of explosives, nukes and gunpowder. As the rain reassembled momentum and the lightening and thunder drew closer together, Todd’s frustration mounted. He stepped between me and Ira.

     “We can’t wait out here all night. The codes aren’t working,” Todd said.

     Robert heard Todd’s plea and responded, “It’s time for plan B.”

     “I told you this could easily take an hour,” Ira shouted back over the rumble of thunder. “Just relax, go back to the shelter if you don’t want to deal with it.”

     Both Todd and Robert made sour faces as if Ira had attacked their manhood – maybe he had, but he was right. I looked at my wristcom and said, “It’s only been forty minutes.”

     Robert and Todd fell back into a huddle with the other CAT members Max, Kevin, Gavin and Dave. It struck me as funny how bent out of shape they were while Tuwa, LaDonna and I waited patiently. I’d always heard women had a greater tolerance for pain. The thrashing rain and burning irritation of my eyes and skin had all but disappeared into the numbness of the moment. I hardly noticed it at all, but Ira winced and remained bent over like an old man with osteoporosis. My attention turned to Tuwa and LaDonna. They were turned away from the onslaught of water unbothered – only the volume of their speech was louder, as if carrying on a conversation in the middle of a crowded night club.

     Another ten minutes or so went by and the men became antsy again, this time they took out their weapons and, instead of asking Ira how long it would take, loaded the clips in. I got very upset and rushed to Robert’s side.

     “Tell them to stop,” I said.

     “We have to be prepared,” Robert replied. His eyes flashed cold and predatory in the lightning.

     “For what? What are you planning to do?” I demanded.

     “Whatever we have to,” he said.

     I yelled, “You think you can just shoot the keypad off and jury-rig the system so it will open and then what? Shoot whoever responds from the Environ and steal away with all the Geney intact?” He pulled out a second gun and clip and loaded it, ignoring me. “This is not some old western, Robert, hundreds of real lives are at stake.”

     He looked up at me with the glaze of combat in his eyes, a strange unnerving stare I had seen only once before on a soldier who had come back from Iraq. “You don’t think I know that? You don’t think I’ve dealt with life and death a thousand times before? You may have brought us to the Collective sweetheart, but America wouldn’t have survived at all if it hadn’t been for guys like me.”

     This was the first time I’d ever really been afraid since we lived in D.C. We’d had disagreements in the Collective, but we’d always reasoned them out. This was the first time in a long time I was confronted by the ugly side of human nature, the unchecked I – the runaway ego married to her dark half-brother the Id. And I was rendered speechless by its rearing.

     Tuwa must have seen me staring dumbstruck at Robert loading his weapon because she materialized. “Just because we can’t see it doesn’t mean we aren’t making progress,” she said trying to assuage the tension.

     “Just because you say so doesn’t make it true,” he responded.

     “Hey, everyone get over here,” Ira yelled. “It’s disarmed and it looks like the gates are starting to open.”

     Robert stared me down and sauntered over. We had come close to something very dark. Tuwa and I stared at one another for a moment as if to make sense of it and give comfort. Ira called out again. We made our way to him.

    

   Chapter 36 – The Geney Emancipation

                 (April—2047)

 

 

 

We stormed into the caves against my better judgment. But stopping CAT members from their agenda was as doable as teleportation – to call it impossible wasn’t quite fair, but thinking it achievable was foolish. Robert and his men had their weapons loaded and at the ready. Even though Freeman Fred had told them there were no guards inside the caves they felt it best to be prepared. Arguing was pointless for so many reasons the least of which was they had absolutely no respect for non-military style strategy. They had put their lives on the line countless times and disagreeing with a soldier about a potential combat situation was nothing short of arrogant. The thing was it really wasn’t a combat situation, but there was no way to tell if it would become one. Thus my authority in the situation was undermined and Robert took over.

The caves were surprisingly dark, not a hint of ambient light anywhere. Robert and his men stepped back toward the mouth of the cave where they could see and were about to engage their head lanterns when I said, “Freeman Fred can see. Maybe we should let him guide us. The head lanterns might panic the Geney. They’ll might think we’re wranglers.”

Robert’s mouth twitched as if to disagree when Todd said, “Great idea.” He pulled out an old fashioned flashlight and said to the men, “If we need more light we can use this.”

The men uniformly grumbled in agreement and stayed close behind Freeman Fred, the rest of us held on to the backs of each other’s raincoats for safety. The tunnel was long, or maybe it just seemed so because it was pitch black. The end opened to a mouth where three openings in the rock faced one another. A soft red glow softly sprayed us with light and with an intense heat that rivaled the worst hottest day the Devil’s Punch Bowl ever had to endure, inside was the Egg Cave.

The door next to the Egg Cave was the nursery where the geney mother’s lived, nursing babies and caring for toddlers. It was here that Tuwa and LaDonna said we needed to go first. If we could get the mother’s to understand and go with us then everyone else would follow without incident. After all in the geney culture they were the only individuals with any kind of authority besides the wranglers.

Freeman Fred, Tuwa, LaDonna and I had planned to go in and talk to them alone but Robert kicked up. “It’s not safe to assume they’re all alone in there. You need to take us.”

“No,” I said. “You’ll scare them.”

“They no have men,” Freeman Fred said.

“But it could be a trap,” Robert continued.

“This isn’t Iraq,” LaDonna said. “The Environ has no idea we’re here.”

“But…” Robert started.

“No,” Tuwa said. “You will wait here with the men. If something happens we will call for you. There’s nothing to fear.”

“I can’t be responsible if something happens,” Robert said.

“I take full responsibility for myself,” Tuwa said.

“As do I,” I said.

“Same here,” LaDonna echoed.

“Fine,” he said with macho exasperation. “I’m just trying to do my job.”

“And we deeply appreciate it,” Tuwa said. This seemed to placate him and he relaxed.

There was some light inside, enough to see the women asleep on torn rags, some with babies swaddled close by, others cradling toddlers in the crests of their arms. The gentleness and love of these women was remarkable knowing the torture they endured and the hopelessness they must have felt while raising their children. Children who literally had no future. They were slaves – less than slaves really, because slaves at least had worth to their masters, these people were treated like machines, yet I had never seen such overwhelming humanity and love nestled in one place before.

The plan was to use the hope the mothers’ had implanted through their lore of Freeland to get the Geney to follow us without a commotion. But first we had to get the mothers on our side. The Geney were still a very young race, too young to understand consciously how or why they were tapping into this human ocean of archetypes. But Tuwa and La Donna did and aimed to use their stories to interact with them on a deeper psychological level.

There was a woman sleeping alone, Freeman Fred nudged her. She startled awake. “What you here?” she said alarmed, waking some of the other women around her with the pitch of her voice.

“No harm. I bring the special ones. We go Freeland,” he said.

She rubbed her amber slitted eyes with the backs of her scaly green knuckles. “Sleeping,” she mumbled to herself, laying back on her nest of rags.

“No,” Freeman Fred said. “Real. Freeland Real. I 199.”

“199 dead,” the geney woman laying nearby said. “No play trick. Go bed.”

Freeman Fred asked me to turn my head lantern on. I did and he stood at the center of its beam. “See, 199. I bring Special Ones – take us there.”

The women gasped and nudged their sleeping neighbors awake. And the cave erupted in a chorus of whispers. The voice of the first woman stood out among them, “They smooth skin. Special Ones no be smooth skins.”

“Special Ones save me. You tell. No say Special Ones no are smooth skin. These Special Ones,” Freeman Fred said.

“Freeland no have smooth skins,” another woman said, the gash where a human mouth would be constricted into a strange expression I couldn’t read.

“Telling say only Freeland where Geney free. I free now. Go from Geney 199 to Freeman Fred. Special Ones good, no afraid of Special Ones, good smooth skin. Take all to Freeland.”

I came forward and explained the Collective as best and as simply as I could, telling them they would have their own place if they wanted and we would help them build it. I wasn’t sure if the women could understand everything, but the more I talked the more they relaxed.

Tuwa broke in to ask them about their stories of Freeland. It was very much like the concept of Eden or Paradise except there were taken to it by the Special Ones after one of the Geney came back to life. It was impossible not to notice how prophetic the story was and I wondered if the Geney woman who had originated the story was a natural shaman like Tuwa.

LaDonna’s thoughts were along the same line as mine. She tried to trace where and when the first stories of Freeland where, but none of the women could remember. The story had was always been – to them it was an axiom.

By the time we finished talking they were becoming persuaded we were the Special Ones and were going to take them to Freeland. Even the most skeptical of the bunch admitted believing was better than living as they had only to hand over their babies to slavery. But their were two women who were very afraid of change and didn’t want to leave what they had known their whole lives – these same women were attached to the eggs and didn’t want to abandon them, which of course we couldn’t take with us for many reasons, not the least of which was the eggs would not have survived transport. The Mothers agreed to help us establish trust with the others and let the individual Geney make up their minds about going with us.

The Mother’s went into the sleeping quarters first without us. We heard them retell the story of Freeland and of the Special Ones and make the claim that the Special Ones were here to take everyone to Freeland. They prepared the Geney for the inevitable shock of seeing 199 alive again and the bigger shock of the Special Ones being smooth skins like the Wranglers.

At first the Geney emancipation went unencumbered. They took what they wanted with them and lined up to get onto the hover buses except for a few White Shirts who didn’t want to leave. They had been given special privileges for being snitches. And I wasn’t sure if it was because they didn’t want to renounce their perceived status or they were afraid they wouldn’t fit into a new community.

One of the White Shirts, Geney 132, appeared extremely apprehensive and shaky. He dropped a small satchel of his belongings half a dozen times on the way to the buses. I asked him if everything was OK, but he didn’t say much, just nodded. Tuwa tried to get him to talk, but he resisted her as well.

The buses were parked in a row along side a wall of jagged boulders at the foot of the mountain, about three hundred meters from the cave entrances and out of the Environ’s site. The Geney walked in the straightest line I’d ever seen, tighter and more organized than an military unit. The lightening and thunder had rolled further West along with the heavy surge of rain leaving a misty drizzle.

We broke the line into four, one for each bus. Freeman Fred spoke to each group, telling them not to be afraid of the machines and what to expect on the ride – how it would feel and how long they would be traveling. They asked questions about where they were going which he answered.

I walked back to the other side of the bus to grab some supplies for the ride when I heard a faint moaning emanating from the black vacuum of the desert. I grabbed Ira who was waiting patiently near his bus and pulled him to the area I had heard the sound. But there was nothing and then…

“Hurting, hurting…” the female voice whimpered.

I engaged my head lantern and ran toward the woman’s cries. Ira followed, stumbling over a pile of jagged rocks shortly after he started. He fell, but didn’t hurt himself and decided to turn on his head lantern to see better. He found me bent over a female Geney. All he could see was her bloody and scabbed green feet poking out from behind my silhouette.

“Go get Freeman Fred and some of the Geney men. We have to move her,” I said ripping what was left of the soiled tunic on her back. The lash marks were deep and beginning to fill with puss. Ira ran back and I yelled at him, “And bring the first aid kit, make sure the antibiotics are inside.”

A crowd of Geney followed Ira back. He had tried to dissuade them but for expediency sake he relented. Tuwa brought antibiotics and a first aid kit along with LaDonna. The men of CAT decided to stay back and guard the bus area, keep a lookout for possible Environ security patrol. It was the first decision they had made everyone that everyone agreed with.

A crowd of ten people deep surrounded us in each direction. And it took a bit of jostling on Tuwa’s part to reach us through the empathic coterie. Although their faces didn’t show emotion like ordinary humans did, they struck me as being so heartfelt.

Profound sympathy was expressed through dilation of their irises and a bowing of their thin lips into a subtle O shape – if extremely emotional, their tongue hung out one side of their mouth and their eyes watered, but not like our ordinary tears – they’re crying resembled a dripping faucet. Their aggregate distress was tangible — some moaned in a sympathetic and disconsolate chorus.

I administered a shot of antibiotics to the young woman and Tuwa cleaned the wounds as best she could under the circumstances. The woman, however, was far to ill to travel two to four hours on a hover bus back to the Collective — she was on the brink of death and needed to be bandaged and stabilized with an antibiotic IV. Sunrise was in just over four hours, and we needed to get out of sight before the wranglers started their shift.

I motioned to Freeman Fred whispered to him, “We’re going to have to wait until tomorrow night. Will the Geney be able to keep a secret?”

Freeman Fred nodded, “Geney keep many secret.”

“But this is a big one. If anyone tips the wranglers off – people will die,” I said.

Freeman Fred pondered this. He knew the responsibility I was foisting on him, the decision to save this young Geney woman’s life potentially risked everyone else’s, and he was the only one of us who truly knew the Geney well enough. He sat down next and gravely pondering all potential outcomes while I continued to inspect the woman for any other signs of trauma.

Finally he spoke, “We wait. I talk to Geney. If I see no understanding we go tonight.”

“OK,” I said. “But first we have to move her to a secure location.”

“Ira and LaDonna look for cave. They be back soon,” he said.

Tuwa and I continued working on the woman. I placed a thermometer in her ear, her temperature was a hundred and two, far too high for a Geney — five degrees warmer than normal for them. They usually ran cool around ninety seven. I found a pack of liquid analgesic and prepared a shot while Tuwa went through her medicine bag for an herbal balm to apply externally until she could make a poultice.

Freeman Fred gathered the Geney into a group and explained what was happening while Ira and LaDonna brought Kevin and Dave to move the injured Geney woman.

Kevin and Dave had created a makeshift stretcher out of a bathroom door from one of the hover buses, some silver emergency blankets and cable. They moved her to a nearby cave without incident.

Freeman Fred talked to the Geney for over an hour. They repeatedly promised no one would utter a word to the wranglers, but instinct told Freeman Fred otherwise. He knew saving the young Geney woman would inspire confidence in his people and allow them to trust his new friends, making the transition into the Collective easier for everyone but the White Shirts made him uneasy. He was torn. And decided to explain it again, hoping the feeling would go away this time. The Geney again reassured him of their loyalty and eventually he came to believe they would keep silent if only to keep alive the well loved young Geney woman they identified as 218.

“We go night tomorrow,” he said. “Go sleep now and remember silence.”

The Geney disbanded and leisurely walked back to their cave. None had ever been outside at night and they marveled at the brilliant swirling tapestry of lights due to a momentary lapse in the storm. Freeman Fred heard them wondering how and what the pinholes of light were, and smiled when one mother said, “Lights of Special Ones. Put up in dark to find way home.”

On the western side of the caves wind had blown the desert earth into half a dozen modest rows of sand dunes and in that stretch of land there were no living indigenous plants, only the occassional shrivled stump or gnarled bones of venerable scrub oaks.

Tuwa and I were following the men who carried the Geney woman, 218. And I caught a glimpse of the Environ in the moonlight – its dark gray skin glistened unevenly, a black trail left in its wake, marking its gradual movement, resembled crude oil. Boulders around the valley formed a protective horseshoe around it. I marveled over thousands of people living inside it – from a distance it just looked like a giant slug.

Aine and LaDonna had scouted the area and found a canyon twenty miles north to store the buses. They each took a pair until they got down to just one we could use in case of emergency. LaDonna found a nearby outcropping of boulders on the western face of the mountains – it was big enough to hide the lone bus and less than a mile from the cave Aine had found for us to set up camp.

The cave was about a mile from where we had found 218 and the men were sweating and fatigued by the time we got to it. The mouth was low and the men had to Gerry rig a sleigh to push her through.

Somewhere in the distance water rushed and trickled, it may have been under us or around a lacy wall but I couldn’t tell. It was so dark the head lanterns and flashlights were uselses to break the inpenatrable blackness. I felt a tap on my head and nearly jumped out of my skin. A few drops of water had collected enough momentum to fall just as I was walking under them. I didn’t like it. Not at all. I had never been much of a fan of small tenebrious places and although I would never have admitted it, the cave scared me.

Medicine and a bed had been prepared for 218, but LaDonna and Aine hadn’t a chance to do much else. Tuwa pulled a bag she was wearing from under her shirt, inside were strange roots and herbs.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m going to make a poultice and this root…” She held up a dark earthy brown pepper shaped twig, “A natural anti-inflammatory and antibiotic – it also contains a chemical that encourages cell regeneration.”

“But she’s not fully human, it might be dangerous.”

Aine overheard our conversation and interrupted. “It was found in the last patch of Brazilian rainforest in 2024. If found earlier and the FDA allowed testing, it would have saved millions from the Nidor Improbus strain of Ebola. Initial European studies showed it sped recovery time anywhere from ninety five to six hundred percent.

And early on it was tested on a variety of animals, lizards were the earliest group. At the time there was Paramyxovirus epidemic and it was tried as a last resort. It reversed the disease in eighty six of one hundred cases.”

Tuwa opened a can of Sterno and filled a pot with distilled water. “I’m too simple to understand all that.”

“How did you know about it?” Aine asked.

“A friend gave it to me as a medicine gift.”

I followed and asked, “Why did you bring it?”

She smiled enigmatically. “I was told to.”

“By?”

“Every day I meditate and talk to the Great One. Before the trip there was much to pray about.”

Aine was as intrigued as I was about Tuwa’s strange process. “So how did you know it was an antibiotic and stimulated cell growth?

“Like I said, it tells me its gifts. I learned the art as a small girl from my Hopi grandmother. She could listen with her hands better than anyone, better than me.”

“So you hold it? Like psychometry?” Aine asked.

Tuwa nodded. The water was coming to a boil and she stirred in the root along with another dried cut green leaf that looked a bit like Basil.

LaDonna was tending to 218 in the meantime. We had brought just enough liquid antibiotics for a couple of shots and she had administered one to 218 as soon as she had been laid inside the cave.

218’s temperature was a hundred and three, dangerously high for a Geney – they ran colder at around ninety six degrees. Ira and Todd turned 218 over and cut off the shredded sack-like tunic, pealing it back from the matted blood. It was a hideous sight, her pale green skin lashed with such ferocity the wounds were like bloody ravines, in some we could see bone peaking through. One of the wounds across her shoulder blade was filled with puss and turning an off yellow. It was all I could do to keep from running outside the cave to vomit – more from the cruelty which boggled the mind than the wounds themselves.

Robert waved Todd over. The CAT members inspected their weapons and huddled together strategizing how to keep the encampment safe. Todd and Dave were ordered to prepare our nearby bus for an emergency escape and fire fight. Robert ordered them to sleep in shifts so they could keep guard all night. After Max, Jack and Gavin were finished checking maps, guns and rations they followed Robert out to survey the area. 

Tuwa had finished stirring and preparing the poultice. It needed to cool down. She hung it from a stalactite to drip dry careful to keep it from the path of its natural erratic drip of water.

Ira glanced up from cleaning out the wound and saw my wan face. “Get some fresh air. You’re not going to be much help otherwise.”

I nodded and quickly left bending under the jagged archway of the cave’s mouth. Tuwa followed after me. A cool gentle breeze caressed me, the storm had cleared and the sky above was cloudless for the time being. The stars and full moon so captivatingly bright against the inky blackness.

“It used to be so peaceful – so beautiful here,” Tuwa said. “When I was a kid this desert teamed with secret life.”

“I thought you grew up in Santa Fe.”

     “I did. But my father’s mom lived a few hours from here, near the Clamoth river. I spent a few summers with her, learning her ways. She was a funny mix of Achomawi-Shasta and Navajo blood. She invented her own medicine and mixed many legends. She told me stories of this valley. It was a paradise before the turn of the century, from here to San Francisco and east to the boarder of Nevada.”

     Leaning against the cold, hard boulder an icy gust of wind hit, I shivered. 

     “It won’t be cold tomorrow. Close to a hundred and thirty degrees and in the UV suits it will feel like a hundred and fifty,” Tuwa said, reading my mind. It no longer shocked me and the intimacy was oddly comforting in this aberrant place.

     On our walk back the moon started to set and the stars became brighter. I marveled at the tapestry of time they represented – by now some were long dead, having exploded into super novas, collapsing into white dwarfs or even black holes. But humanity had been lucky – we had gotten to see them in their full glory. The heavens were like a prodigious historical painting created by an ingenius master so incalculably clever we were amoebic by comparison. And we had squandered all this master’s gifts – only a handful of other creatures were privy to them now.    

 Our little blue egg had a particular vantage point, a unique cross section of time, place and space. If we ever were alone in the universe than we had been the only creatures to enjoy the vast spectacle of creation. And what a sad thought that was. There had to be others and we had to survive, there was too much majesty to waste on dust and open space – the universe needed an audience as much as we needed to live to enjoy it.

     “The Great Spirit deserves recognition,” I said. This time I was the one talking about the Great Spirit and uttering a half spoken phrase but Tuwa understood. She nodded.

     “Now you understand. We are the eyes, ears, nose and touch of the Creator. The Creator experiences Its life through Its creations. We are one and the same,” she replied.

     Until this night I had never thought about the universe this way and at that moment, the last tenacious piece of my skepticism faded into the desert wind. God had never been real – He had resided on some distant cloud in the nether regions of imagination. But if God was intelligence itself, the intelligence in all the universe, the math behind understanding a black hole, the law governing the way a flower blossomed, the crash of the ocean against a sandy shore or the unpredictable way a quark reacted, then I had seen God all my life. God was everything and everything was God.

     Tuwa said, “This is what the myths are for, to break down reason and allow us to access the God/Goddess within — the part of us that feels the oneness with All. It is the feeling some get from nature or some people get from seeing a baby born or from a beautiful work of art. It is All the One — the expression of ourselves. We are all mirrors of one another and all reflections of the Great Spirit.”

     I contemplated this on our walk back to the cave. I felt a profound transformation coming over me like a physical burning in my heart and an ecstatic rapture in my bones. Peace overwhelmed me, as if I were suddenly in the embrace of my mother. Tears ran down my face before I could stop them. Tuwa put her hand on my back.

     “You are feeling your destiny. The Great Spirit is stirring within. It is Her love you feel.”

     It took a few moments to get a hold of myself and when I finally asked, “Did you mean it really was my mother I felt?”

     “Yes, but not your biological mother. It was the spirit of the world, the Animus Mondi. She was thanking you as you more than any of her children have fought for Her and for life.”

     I didn’t quite understand even though I was really trying to and she sensed this. After giving me a little while to process it, she said, “Maybe it is because your mind has been more pure than most that you were able to clearly see what the rest of us could not let our hearts believe.”

     “What’s that?” I said.

     “That She was dying. We were all in a state of denial – us emotional creatures. In the nearly thirty years of being in the healing and mental health professions I encountered only one man who was truly honest with himself and didn’t fall into denial. He was dying of cancer and continued to fight for more time even as he prepared his loved ones to let go. This is true bravery. Not climbing Mount Everest or hunting a tiger or jumping out of a plane, that is recklessness masquarading as bravery, no – he faced the absolute truth naked, without even the blanket of faith to hold him. For him death was just an ending and he accepted it with grace and dignity.”

     “Accepting limitations is as great an act of bravery as pushing past them. Knowing when to concede is often the hardest part of a lesson because it requires raw, naked honesty. The gruesome facts were available for all of us, but only you looked at them. This is why you are the chosen one. You have the eyes to see.”

     “The circumstances choose me.”

     Tuwa shook her head. “You did what no one was willing to do. You accepted responsibility not just for yourself but for mankind. You looked at the facts unemotionally and figured out how to solve the problem. No one was willing to do that not even our President. Change is very frightening and the only reason you didn’t balk at it is because you have control of your feelings, your mind is disciplined. I admire you greatly. I could never have done what you did.”

     “What are you talking about? You’re the real leader, the center of the Collective, not me,” I said.

      “I calm the mind and give people meaning in their new life. But you gave them life.”

We were silent for the remainder of the walk except for the occasional pointing out of environmental features. I was deep in thought as we approached the cave and was quickly taken out of it when I heard Ira voice. “Tuwa, the  poultice is cool enough to use. LaDonna gave her another antibiotic shot along with some acetaminophen, but her fever hasn’t come down much.”

Tuwa nodded and quickly made her way toward the cave. I bent down, following her through the jagged layers of concentric circles that got smaller and smaller before opening into the encampment.

     Tuwa took down the poultice and patted the gummy residue left over in the pan onto the cloth. “I can take care of her from here,” she said relieving LaDonna for the night.

     She put the wet poultice on 218’s head and began singing an ancient Cree healing song. I had heard moms sing it to their sick kids around the Collective. It was a haunting minor key ballad that stirred visions of open planes and Native Americans dancing with smoking sweetgrass around fevered children.

     Tuwa broke away from the song and nodding at me, said, “I would like some privacy please.” I nodded back and ushered everyone out through the cave’s mouth.

     We huddled outside and LaDonna said, “I’m not sure we’re going to get all the Geney out tomorrow. We had the element of surprise in our favor tonight. People don’t like change.”

     Incredulous Ira asked, “You think they’d rather stay enslaved?”

     “It’s all they’ve ever known. We’re asking them to take a big leap. And some of them, those white shirts…” LaDonna shook her head. “We’ll have trouble with them. They have an elevated position here. They won’t want to give it up.”

     “What should we do? We can’t just leave them here to die…” I asked.

     Robert snuck up behind and broke into the conversation. “Damn straight we’re not leavin’ em’ here.”

     “We can’t force them to go,” I said.

     “Sure as shit we can’t.”

     Every muscle in my body tightened. “Are you suggesting we use violence?”

     Robert shrugged. “We have weapons.”

     It was everything I could do to restrain myself from screaming at him. I clamped down my jaw and said through my teeth, “For those who won’t come with us we’ll make an exit plan to higher ground and leave a map and communicator so if they change their minds, we can come back for them.”

     Robert shook his head and sniggered. “That’s just stupid.”  He leaned in close to my face. “If we leave them behind they’ll be able to identify us which would cause a war,” he said drawing out the word war for impact.       

     LaDonna, Ira and Aine closed rank around me. Their puzzled looks at Robert had became antagonistic glares. But Robert didn’t seem the least bit phased by the emnity – he glowed as if he actually enjoyed it.

     Kevin and Gavin had finished scouting their portion of the perimeter and joined our huddle near the outcropping of bolders. Kevin asked, “What’s going on?”

     “Put a woman in charge and this is what you get – they change strategies like they do outfits.”

     Ira got in Robert’s face. “If you have a problem with our leader, go ahead and ask Reginald Strauch if the Environ will take you in. I’m sick of your shit. Keep this up and we’ll have to resort to Lakota tribal justice.”

     “And what the hell is that?” Robert snapped.

     “You will become invisible to everyone,” Aine answered.

     Kevin wore a familiar dissapointed expression – one he often seemed to have when interacting with Robert. He apologized to us with his eyes and said to Robert, “We’ll need your help mapping an escape route.”

     Robert glared at him, but Kevin’s face was blank leaving Robert to grumble off into the cold desert night with his men.

     Ira grabbed my hand.  “Let’s go for a walk.”

     I nodded.

We went south-east through the canyon toward the Environ. The earth was sandy beneath our feet, ahead a grove of dead scrub oak – their gnarled branches stark against the glow of the setting moon and swirling stars.

 “Thanks for backing me up.”

Ira stopped dead and stared in disbelief at me. “Psyche.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just a lot to deal with. And it means so much that you believe in me because sometimes I don’t.”

“How can you say that? You’re a great leader, one of the best the world has ever known. You’re brilliant, fair, kind, honest, diplomatic.”

“I don’t know. I guess I don’t feel like a leader. I feel more like an outsider.” My calves and feet were started to ache from walking on the sandy soil. “I’m so tired.”

There was a small boulder, rounded down by the wind and rain just a few meters away. Ira walked me over to it. We sat down, holding hands and looking up at the stars.

“I can count all the times I’ve stared at the naked sky, on two hands. The scrims were already up in most of New York when I was born.”

“Same,” Ira said. “They’re so beautiful. It saddens me that our generation missed out on what we should have been a birthright.”

We sat in silence for a while. The wind picked up and he drew me close, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. He pushed the hair off my face in a tender gesture and said, “There’s one thing I truly regret.”

     “What’s that?”

     “Not getting married to you. I feel like it would have completed something.”

     “It doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t change how we feel about one another,” I replied

     “Maybe it would have made me feel like you would always be mine.”

     I pulled away to look him in the eyes. “What? You don’t feel that now?”

     “I don’t know. Maybe it would have made me feel more secure like you weren’t going to be snatched away at any moment.”

     I was puzzled. “No one’s going to snatch me away from you. I’ve never had even a passing interest in sharing my life with anyone else.”

     He nodded. “I just want us to be forever.”

     “I put my hand on his cheek. We kissed with a tenderness and passion we hadn’t experienced in years. “As long as I exist, I’ll love you.”

     “Same,” he said.

     I laughed. “Same? That’s not the acme of romance is it?”

He smiled. “I do what I can.”

 

     218 was breathing easier and stablized by the time we got back to the cave. Tuwa had worked some real magic for the young woman. It was getting late. The CAT members grabbed a bed roll and set up camp near the cave’s entrance, checking their weapons before cuddling up with them to sleep – all except Dave and Todd who were sleeping on the nearby bus.

The asymetry of the leftover bedrolls obsessed Freeman Fred who had been stacking and restacking them for nearly an hour. Ira walked over to him and as he tidied up the sleeping bags again, carefully setting them in a line before repiling them.

LaDonna saw me watching and whispered into my ear, “He hasn’t said a word to 218. I suspect this behavior is a manifestation of guilt.”

I nodded and was about to go to him, try to get him to talk, but Ira interviened. He put a hand on Freeman Fred’s shoulder and asked quitely, “You OK?”

Freeman Fred didn’t answer, he just kept stacking and restacking.

“218 is going to be OK.”

“Why I OK? Why her hurt?” Freeman Fred’s voice was loud and angry.

Ira whispered, “Let’s go outside and talk. Everything’s OK in here right now.”

Ira gently guided Freeman Fred to the small mouth of the cave. Outside in the cold desert air they walked to a set of small boulders and sat.

In the cold Freeman Fred moved a bit more slowly. He stared into the distance, his football shaped eyes, which were swallowed by the black of his dialated irises, met Ira’s and he said, “Why I luck one?”

“That’s a dangerous question, one that can lead you straight into the dark pit of existential crisis.”

Freeman Fred crinkled the skin around the small mound of his nose and tilted his head in confusion. “No understand.”

“We all wonder why me? And there just aren’t any good answers. It’s why religion and astrology were invented.” Ira took a deep breath and stared up at the stars for a moment. “I once asked Tuwa a question close enough to yours for her answer to apply.”

“What say she?”

“Life is a classroom – we’re all here to learn different things at different times. And pain is the greatest teacher we have while we’re on earth.”

Freeman Fred chewed on this bit of wisdom. “And dead, what she say?”

Ira had gotten used to Freeman Fred’s strange shorthand language. What he wanted to know was what happened after death, if earth was but one teaching tool. “In her religion people get recyled like old newspapers. The people of the Environ believe they go to a place called heaven. My parents believed someday they’d be resureccted into a paradise. Some people believe they just rot in the ground and become part of the earth again. Everyone has different ideas.”

“What think you?”

“I don’t believe in waste, to me Tuwa’s ideas make the most sense: we’re on a journey of individuation, and we keep growing and learing and coming back. Maybe we are reborn on other planets later on and learn other stuff. I don’t know, but I can’t imagine all of this being an accident,” Ira said gesturing toward the stars. “The universe is just too well designed.”

Freeman Fred always got stuck here, at the place where the creator made everything. Freeman Fred could never really get past the idea that if it weren’t for human intervention he would never have existed. In essence man was his god and he wondered if this were true where did his people fit into the grand scheme of God’s will. Tuwa had told him many times in many different ways that God programmed the universe and it was God who created his people not man and many species had been born due to other animal’s interactions – all of which had been God’s will.     

But Freeman Fred always felt a bit ripped off by this answer and when he expressed his disbelief or frustration with Tuwa’s answers, she would try a different way to explain. “People make babies with their bodies but, they don’t really,” she had said. “God has programmed their bodies to create new life and in this way man’s mind was programmed to make the Geney.” He hoped these explainations would be good enough for the other Geney because he found himself more in the camp of agreeing with me then with the rest of the Collective. He wanted to fit in just as I did but he couldn’t fake belief. And his mixed feelings about humankind confused his ability to find his connection to God, he found tracing his connection to the source meant going through the evil human beings who had enslaved him and his people, and as hard as he tried to find gratitude for the life they had given the Geney, he couldn’t find enough joy to get past the darkness surrounding the birth of his race. Why would a God not just allow people to have such tremendous greed and selfishness, but reward that greed and selfishness with the ability to make slaves?

Freeman Fred tried to shake all these confusing and contradictory feelings from his mind. He had to remain postitive and thankful for the people of the Collective for as evil as the people of the Environ were, the Collective had been its opposite in goodness and perhaps God’s plan for the Geney could now be activated. Perhaps now the Geney could learn and individuate in the way Tuwa had told him they needed to, perhaps now they could find their own individual purpose and help fullfill the destiny God had in mind for them.

Ira patted Freeman Fred on the back. “You OK?” Freeman Fred nodded. “We should probably get back then.” They walked silently, both taking in the quiet peace of the night.

 

     By the morning after a full eight hours of mostly sound sleep 218 was doing better and was able to sit up, drink a cup of herbal tea and take oral antibiotics.

     The crew put on their UV suits to do some local scouting – programming notes about landmarks into their wristcom. Freeman Fred and I volunteered to watch the Geney 218 so Tuwa could have a break.

     Freeman Fred dabbed the Geney woman’s forehead with a cool rag. She opened her eyes and stared at him. “Who you are?”

     “Call Geney 199,” Freeman Fred replied. “Who you are?”

     “I Geney 218. 199 dead.”

     “No, I leave go better place.”

     Geney 218 stared at me for a moment and asked him, “How be with them? Smooth skins you friend now?”

     “Yes. They help me same they help you. They no from big beast.” Freeman Fred handed her a cup of water and motioned for her to drink from it.

     “But if no come from big beast where from?”

     “I walk long time then only trees. Hear noise and follow, many days no food, hungry can no think. Walk to white clothes over tree, call sca-rims. Over there maybe food. Smooth skin see me first, I scared, but not know what to do. But they not smooth skin from beast. They good. They help and teach many things.”

     “Why they hang white clothes?”

     “They can no sun, it burn them. Same as smooth skin from beast, but not same.”

     “How you know? Maybe they make work and beat same as here.”

     Freeman Fred cast his gold eyes to the cup she still hadn’t drunk from and said, “You drink. Good for you. Make heal.” He waited for her to finish. “I live in Collective for thousand days. No mines. They help more than I help. Psyche friend. Ira friend. Tuwa friend. LaDonna friend. They come to help our people because my friend.”

     “People?”

     Freeman Fred nodded.

     She stared at him with suspicion for a moment and said, “You talk, too good for Geney, like wrangler.”

     “New friend teach. They teach you, too.”

     “How? Tazzer make you smart?”

     “No. They kind, no tazzer in Free Land.”

     “But we lizard creature. Geneco. Geney we not people.”

     “Yes. We like them. Collective do tests. Some lizard but most people.”

     218 put the cup down next to her and stared at him. He had the same gold eyes she did, the same scaled skin, thin lips and long face, but the more she gazed at him the more he seemed different from her.

     “Why you look at me with dark eyes?” he asked.

     “Tell truth for you, but I can no believe. Smooth skin mean. These they make me better so they make me work. Heal and beat again.”

“You know not same as other smooth skin. What smooth skin give medicine? Say prayer to Great Spirit for healing?”

     Although her face didn’t change in anyway an ordinary person could have read, it did to Freeman Fred. Her eyes dialated and the slits of her nostrils widened. She was confused and she asked him, “What Great Spirit?”

     “It make us. It make everything.”

     She shook her head now she knew he had lost his mind. “Smooth skin make us. Smooth skin make everything.”

     “No.” He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts, reminding himself that he too had once thought this and sometimes still did. It was a struggle to stay calm and away from the anger he had welling up, not at her, but at the lies the people of the Environ had propegated. He was afraid his feelings would spill out onto her and so he thought of Tuwa’s spirit song and waited until the feelings abated.

     She pointed to her head. “You full of falling thoughts.”

     “You pain. I know pain. But story we hear at bunks of other place where Geney free and food to eat and kindness. It true. I live there.”

     She was softning a little. Her eyes readjusted. “Free Land real?”

     He nodded. “I take you. Must believe. My friends are here to take all Geney to Free Land.” She remembered the stories she had heard since childhood in the nursing cave, of a place were the Geney could talk without worry, eat until their bellies were full, and rest when they were tired from working. Where no smooth skin beat anyone. But Free Land also had never included smooth skins at all, it was supposed to be a paradise, and this was where her mind glitched.

     It was impossible for Freeman Fred to explain that Free Land was a mythic place, but it was real in a metaphorical way like the stories he had heard around the Circle campfire, of Eden or paradise that Collective members had shared about their previous religious beliefs. But it reminded himself that it had taken him a long time to understand what 218 needed to see in a matter of hours and his only hope was to play on her imagination and her trust in him. It was all he had. 

     “How you explain smooth skin? There no smooth skin in Free Land.”

     He used the mythology to coax her into believing. “They are Special Ones. Remember story?” It felt strange to mislead someone, to manipulate the truth. He had never lied before, but he told himself it was not so much that as a greater truth he was revealing.

     She nodded. “One Geney come back from dead.” She stared at him, the slits for nostrils turning round as marbles. It was starting to sink in. The prophecy although their word for it was the ‘telling’, was coming true.

     Once he was sure she was getting the serendipitous connection he nodded for her to continue and she did. “Five Special Ones come from each finger on horizon to bring Geney to Free Land.”

     It was a vague enough idea to fit almost anything into and it was on the short list of stories he had heard repeated more than once, along with the dead Geney coming back to life. At first he was resistant and didn’t understand why he should bother with the assignment of trying to remember stories, but Tuwa had urged him to reexamine his “culture,” and this had inspired him to look back with different eyes – and with them he saw in the stories and imaginings, bits of philosophy sprouting that could be used to seed an identity and a “culture,” as Tuwa had called it. Thinking about the Geney this way had made him feel human, and proud for the first time.

     Free Land was a story he had heard in childhood and when he reflected on it in the mines he had cast it aside as a small kindness of his mothers because they couldn’t bare to have their children taken away. But as he was writing the story down he had rethought it as the mothers coping mechanism for the guilt of having to give up the children to a life of slavery and cruelty. A way for them to have hope, allowing them to nurture the next batch of hatchlings.

     Now he wondered if Tuwa hadn’t set up the mission by the story’s parameters to make conversion of the Geney easier. “There are five,” he said. “Ira, Psyche, Tuwa, LaDonna and Aine, they are the Special Ones here to bring us to Free Land.”

     He could see her eyes relax and cloud over into the world of imagination. Her jaw slackened and she went silent. Knowing it would take a while for all of it to sink in and change her view, he got up and poured some water into the pan and set it on the stove to boil with the herbs Tuwa had left. Once he was finished making the tincure he brought her a cup. After she drank it down she said softly, “So it true. I knew it true sometime, but pain so bad I no believe anymore.”

     He nodded. “It true. You sleep. Heal for journey.”

     She lay down. He covered her with the sleeping bag. Tuwa came back into the cave to relieve him and I of duty.

     Before I tucked into my sleeing bag next to Ira I pulled Freeman Fred aside. I was worried – getting into the cave was easy, the hard part was convincing all the Geney they wanted to be emancipated. A life of slavery was all they had ever known and change was not easy for human beings – this very issue had come up in the US when the African slaves had been freed, some wanted to stay in their own life for fear of what to do with themselves.

     “Is there someone the others have always looked up to? A leader of sorts?” I asked Freeman Fred.

     He nodded and said, “When we in cave some tell stories. They called the story makers, but mostly the story makers are the Geney mothers.”     

     “You’ll have to get the story makers on our side,” I said. “You have to make the White Shirts understand all have to leave or they’ll be slaughtered.”

     Freeman Fred nodded.

 

Outside Ira, Aine, LaDonna and the CAT members were spying on the wranglers from different locations beyond the mines. Of course the desert was unbelievably hot during the day especially in UV suits and the built in cooling systems were too loud to use. I followed Ira’s trail on my wristcom.

     In the daylight the Environ was an even more horrifying sight – a gelatenous slug with black veins snaking under its slimy gray skin. After a few hours of observation we realized the black trail wasn’t just a disgusting looking excrement it was toxic and instantly killed anything it touched.

     At sunset we watched the Geney march back into their cave. It looked like a scene from an old movie – hundreds of slaves herded after working on the great pyramids their clothing soiled and full of holes, ripped from lashings. Except for the White Shirts – their uniforms looked band new and freshly laundered. They kept the group moving by yelled things like, “Hurry, hurry. Quick, quick.” 

     East of the Geney caves I found Ira. This place was where the truth of the Environ’s politics, religion and spiritual beliefs were laid bare like the stacks of dead Geney and their scattered bones. It was a killing field, the way I imagined Cambodia had been during the last century, or perhaps Aushowitz or Dakou or Darfor or Rowanda. The grotesque stench of the Environ’s evil baking in the sun – a noxious sulphur – a nefarious poison – the very depths of inhumanity and spirtual abomination.

     A white metal cross inside a circle loomed over the area – a sadistic centerpiece and altar for human sacrifice. It was flanked with the dead and equiped with restraints and splattered with blood and looked like the barbaric Wheel Torture Device used in medieval Europe. I inspected its lumpy seams and welding marks and noticed the brand name, Gymco, which had been a manufacturer of excersize equipment in the early twenties. Someone had gone to the trouble of modifying a once benign machine into an executioner’s toy.

     We weren’t there long before the sound of a wrangler’s voice drew near. Ira grabbed my hand and pulled me to a recess near the Geney cave. Once their noises subsided we made our way back to our hiding spot.

     “No recent dead,” Ira said after we settled in.

I stepped on a jagged rock and twisted my foot, Ira caught me just before I hit the ground and potentially ripped my suit.

     “Let’s take a break,” he said.

     I nodded. There was an alcove and he took my hand and walked me over to it. I tugged at the fabric and plastic helmet, trying to adjust it to let more air in. “More than anything I feel like ripping this suit off.”

     Ira watched me for a moment. “You know, we look like astronauts. These suits remind me of the pictures I saw of the Mars Insomnia mission back in 2030.”

     “Isn’t that where this technology came from?”

     He nodded. “I guess so. Hadn’t really thought about it. It’s pretty sad.”

     “What’s that?”

     “We’re aliens on our own planet.”

     I took his hand and for a moment we were able to connect like we had before the Collective, when we were just struggling to survive the old world, before life and death was our responsablity – when we could share a bag of rice treats and laugh at some stupid Bill Surnow movie. Or take a walk and just be together, or have a bite to eat at some greasy D.C. hang where we could spot the occasional politician ordering a guilty plate of home fries.

     “I miss getting out of bed in the morning, making breakfast and feeding the cat before work. I regret taking that simple life for granted,” I said.

     He nodded. His eyes looked weary and dark, there was so much pain in them. Pain I had never allowed myself to see until that moment. “I miss that, too.”

     I wanted to reach out and comfort him in some grand warm gesture, but I didn’t know how and instead came up with, “Maybe we should get going.”

     We walked for about a mile before the canyon started to open up and the mountain terrane changed from mostly uninterrupted walls of hard brown clay with patches of limestone to outcroppings of large boulders.

     I pinched a sample of the soil into a baggy to take back to the Collective for later testing in case it might be needed. It had been very quiet for a while now, and I was just about to suggest we turn our UV suit fans on for a moment, when I heard the unmistakable sound of a gas fueled engine and bounce of an old army jeep echo through the canyon. It was distant, but it was racing very quickly toward us.

     We flattened ourselves inside the cracks of boulder outcropping, hoping not to be seen. The noise grew louder –  tires squealed kicking out rocks and dust. I grabbed Ira’s hand. The hoarse thrum of the engine was something I hadn’t heard since I was ten years old at the anniversary parade in New York City in a memorial for the third world war. Whatever these people were driving, it had to be an antique, not a standard solar fueled hovercraft like our fleet.

     My heart stopped when the engine cut. Ira squeezed my hand. The door slammed and we could hear a group of men talking in the distance. I could have sworn I heard one mention, “Footsteps in the dirt.”

     I looked at Ira. He knew I was thinking they were going to find us and were on our trail. But he shook his head. After a few minutes of grave hushed whispers a couple of the men laughed.

     Ira looked at his watch and wrote in the dirt: lunch break. I had an overwhelming urge to turn around and peek at them. Their conversation became looser and then lulled to a quiet. A few moments later the doors to their vehicle slammed shut and the engine revved.

     We watched them head off as I had suspected in one of the jeeps manufactured for the third world war. It was painted desert camouflage and through the small windows was a blur of bright orange UV suits. They turned past the Geney cave and we lost visual contact. I was relieved. 

     “Let’s stay put and eat some lunch. Maybe we should run our coolant while the coast is clear,” I said.

     “Not me. I’ve gotten used to the heat,” he replied.

     “Well, I haven’t,” I said turning mine on. It wasn’t loud, but Ira wasn’t happy and made a sour face.

     Not much stayed edible for long in the intense heat. I took out some crude peanut butter, flat bread and jam and made sandwiches. We ate them slowly with lots of water.

While I was putting away the jars Ira frantically tapped me on the shoulder and made a cutting motion. I turned off the coolant system. At first we couldn’t tell where the sound was coming from or exactly what it was. And then it came into focus.

One of the White Shirts was driving a converted golf cart full of mining equipment and riding shotgun was one of the wranglers. I whispered, “What are they doing this far away from the mines?”

Ira shook his head. “Can’t be good.”

The White Shirt and wrangler got out of the cart and walked toward us. We crawled deeper into the shadows of the mountain’s face. Their voices got loud enough for us to hear. I sighed, gratful they stopped before getting close enough to see us.

     “…they come Freeland.”

     “That’s just a story. I still don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.”

     “Secret. Say no tell. Take us Freeland.”

     “Who are they?”

     “Smooth skin.’

     There was a long silence and finally the wrangler said, “Don’t worry about some crazy myth. Just concenetrate on your work and you’ll be fine.” The cart’s engine started up again and the noise drifted into the distance.

 

     Ira and I went through the canyon to the outskirts of the Geney cave. We hid among rocks and from there it was possible to monitor activity coming from the Environ. I took readings on its motion, digestion and waste cycles. A few hoovercrafts departed just after noon, most likely a shift change, but other than that not much happened. 

     “It’s moving approximately four and a half feet per hour,” I said, running the calculations on my wristcom. “do you think it can reproduce?”

     “Let’s hope not,” Ira said.

 

     From where LaDonna and Tuwa were, they could overhear the electronic voice emitters of the wranglers when the wind blew just right. It came in bits and pieces of conversation, snippets of paragraphs or sentences.

     Through her binoculars LaDonna spotted three large circles of aluminum dotted with dark splashes and what looked like leather straps attached to them. Behind them was a pile of decaying Geney bodies. She didn’t want to focus on them, she knew what they were. She pulled the binoculars away to force herself to stop looking. The scene was wicked, morbid and making her upset. She was fascinated and angry at herself and the people of the Environ all at once – she didn’t like the feelings coming up, they made her feel dirty as if she were somehow responsible. “Look.” She pointed to them. “The rock. I didn’t think there would be more than one.”

     Tuwa followed LaDonna’s finger, but quickly averted her eyes. She had glanced over there, too, but couldn’t bring herself to fully take the bodies in, nor did she want to. Instead she kept her binoculars limited to the wrangler’s tent and the area directly in front of the entrance to the mines.

     At the shift change several wranglers huddled together and LaDonna said, “That doesn’t seem normal.”

     Tuwa nodded. “It has an inauspicious feeling about it.”

     A hovercraft glided to the south-eastern perimeter of the mines and a series of men exited the vehicle in UV gear, but these UV suites were different, light blue instead of the orange uniforms the wranglers wore. Tuwa studied the patches on their suites with her binoculars.

     “Can you make out an emblem?” LaDonna asked trying to focus.

     Tuwa took the binoculars from her eyes and turned to LaDonna. “Double helix. It’s the double helix.”

     “Shit!” LaDonna gathered up her supplies and stuffed them into her backpack. Tuwa did the same. “How are we going to warn them in time? We can’t use the transmitters from here.”

     “We’ll have to find them,” Tuwa replied.

     They took off running down the trail.

 

     Freeman Fred took a gulp of air, wiggling his tongue like a fan. Before he lost his nerve. He ran out from behind and dashed the same path. It was a few hundred yards, but every foot seemed like the home stretch in a marathon. His heart felt like it moved sideways, reving like a hydroengine in anticipation.

 He rounded the gate and headed toward the Geney cave entrance. A hovercraft in the distance pushed closer. He turned to see a small white speck floating out from behind the Environ. It was not a wrangler’s craft – it was the wrong color for that. He hid in the shadows and watched it speed toward the mines. When it came close enough for him to be spotted he ducked inside. There was a strange symbol on its side. He had only seen it once before, but couldn’t remember when – two serpents intertwined around a disc.

He rushed through the long dark corridor toward the nursery, even in the day it was too dark for an ordinary human to see, but Freeman Fred’s eyes dialated like a cats gathering the red ambient light leaking from the egg cave entrance halfway between the entrance and the nursery.

He pushed the sheet to one side and announced himself, “Hello mothers.” Freeman Fred bowed to the women and now the children who stared at him. There was no emotion readable, by human standards, on their faces. They had the same small dark eyes, and unmoving snout like jaws, but Freeman Fred knew there was a mixture of shock and fear in the women, curiosity in the children. He wondered for a brief moment if the Collective members would ever be able to understand the Geney, they didn’t show their feelings with as much drama as ordinary humans did; their faces were not capable of it. The key to reading was in the subtle muscular movements and swishing tongues, and the lack of blinking or the succession of it. These skills of detection were innate in the Geney, but would have to be learned by those unfamiliar.

     “I, 199, want make sure you come tonight, no be scared.”

     “Last night dream,” a woman holding a child on her hip said. “You ghost. You ghost. Why you haunt us?”

“I no ghost in bad dream. Not dead come to make suffer the Geney. Remember 218 — Special Ones heal her.” The woman stared blankly at him. “I here for real,” he said inching closer. “Touch me. I no hurt you.”

A young woman and new mother slipped in behind Freeman Fred. She had come from the egg caves to trade places with her counterpart.

One of the women, near the wall, nursing a newborn said, “You tell us why we believe in smooth skin? We know smooth skin. Smooth skin give us pain, make us work. Why they help? So they kill us, yes?”

“I will tell you long story how world was made. How Geney made. More out in world than caves or great beast or mines. This I know now, and come to you. Just believe what I tell and know I come help.”

“What about eggs? Help them, too?” the young woman asked. “They break if touch bad.”

Freeman Fred’s eyes dialated and the women knew the answer before he said it. “No can bring.”

“I go not,” said the young woman.

“No go, too,” said another young woman exiting through the threadbare bed sheet. “We mothers. We go – eggs dead.”

 

     I was taking pictures (for tactical reasons) of the slimy Environ at Robert urging – a concession I had agreed to after insisting we stay and save Geney 218. He wanted pictures of a doorway or opening, but I was having trouble finding anything except varying shades of slimy gray flesh. Up close, in my lens, I could make out slight movement and shallow breathing. I continued searching for any sign of a door but found only doorlike discolorations in a few places and a pale gray luminous bubble at the tip pointing toward the geney caves.

     I heard footsteps approach and then another set, before I could put the camera down I felt a hand on my back and my blood went cold.

     “It’s OK,” LaDonna said. She was standing next to Tuwa. In the distance I could see the shape of Ira’s UV suit several hundred meters away moving behind an outcropping of rocks were he, too, was taking pictures.

     “What’s going on?”

     “Paul Lamont and his men are at the mines,” Tuwa replied.

     “Did you tell Robert?”

     LaDonna nodded. Tuwa went to get Ira. “We found them on our way here. It’s not safe for you guys to be out in the open taking pictures. We need to lay low.”

     I nodded and gathered my equipment.

 

   Chapter 37 – The Geney Exodus

               (April—2047)

 

 

 

Geney 218 was in good enough shape to be transported. She had slept most of the day with Freeman Fred watching her, except for his short stint to the Geney cave. Tuwa had checked on her status throughout the day, refreshing her poultice and making sure Freeman Fred was giving her the antibiotics.

Luckily, we had prepared for the worst and there was plenty of food for a big meal. We waited in our hiding place, until the sun had been down for two hours just to make sure no wranglers were left behind, and listened until the sound of the patrol jeeps had disappeared before the drivers loaded onto the emergency bus to bring the rest of our fleet out of hiding.

The buses were invisible to the naked eye. But Todd’s memory was incredible and he led us about fifty miles north to an ordinary outcropping of rocks that hid our fleet. How he was able to distinguish them from the hundred or so other outcroppings we had seen on the way blew my mind. He had a map, but hadn’t once looked at it. His military training was remarkable.

The fleet was tightly packed inside and it took us a while to negotiate the rocks and get them all out safely. I took my place in the line and once LaDonna finally got her bus straightened we followed Todd back to the Geney caves.

On the trip back Tuwa suggested the use of CAT members as drivers. She said it would give them a feeling of control and power and lessen trouble with the Geney. She worried Robert’s aggressive attitude toward the mission had contaminated his men. I agreed, the men had become very distant to us over the 24 hours, Robert had kept them very segregated and there was no way to tell how they would interact with a group of scared Geney who already lacked trust in smooth skins. If we appeared too harsh or militaristic it would damage our burgeoning relationship with them. We decided to divide up council members as envoys on the buses and give the mothers and children extra support by putting Freeman Fred with them.

while we were grabbing the buses, Ira, Freeman Fred and Tuwa had gone to the Geney cave to get them ready for the trip but when we pulled up to the docking location no one was there – not a good sign. My heart sank. I parked and went to Robert’s bus.

“Keep the line. I’ll check to see what the hold up is.” He snarled at me but before he had a chance to reply I rushed to the cave.

At the mouth, Tuwa waited with a line of Geney behind her. She looked distraught. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Three of the White Shirts and two of the Mothers don’t want to come with us – the two who tend the eggs. Freeman Fred is talking to them.”

“Where’s Ira?”

“With the mothers and children who are coming. Some of the eggs started to hatch today and the women taking care of them say they can’t leave them to die.”

I nodded. “I guess the White Shirts are just Uncle Toms.”

Tuwa frowned at me.

“Let’s start loading the people we have.”

Tuwa nodded.

The line moved and the first fifty Geney climbed on Robert’s bus, the next fifty onto Todd’s. Still there was no sign of Freeman Fred or the handful of Geney who refused to come with us. I made my way through the darkness of the Geney cave listening for the sound of Freeman Fred’s voice.

They were gathered in the sleeping quarters. The three White Shirts sat on worn bedrolls made of rags and the two Mothers stood together near Freeman Fred. They seemed more unsure than the male White Shirts whose minds were made up.

“Who take care of egg?” One of the women asked just before I stepped inside.

“The scientists from the Environ will. Unfortunately these Geney they’ll will most likely live and repopulate the clan here. But if you come with us, someday you can come back and rescue them.”

One of the women’s eyes trained on me, her nostrils flared. “How know you?”

“I’m a scientist too. I know how they think.”

Freeman Fred shook his head at me. “But she not same.” I was blowing it for him.

“No, I’m not the same, but I know how they think. And I know if you stay here you will suffer and loose your chance to help your people.” It was clear Freeman Fred wanted me to leave. I nodded at him and said, “Sorry to interrupt, but the buses are getting ready to leave. I’ll give you another ten minutes, after that I’ll insist you come with me.”

Freeman Fred nodded and I left.

Kevin’s bus was last in the line, I watched it fill with the what was left of the Geney. Ira and LaDonna were making the rounds trying to calm those who were afraid, explaining what being in the bus would feel like, telling them about their new home. I waited by the mouth of the Geney cave anxious to see Freeman Fred walk out with the rest of his people. It seemed like I waited forever, certainly more than the ten minutes I had warned him about. LaDonna finally came to me and said, “Honey, it’s getting late. We need to get out of here or the receiving crew will send out the old 5 search party.”

“I know, just give him another minute.”

LaDonna nodded. “OK, but just one minute.”

But before she got to her bus near the front of the line Freeman Fred exited the cave with the two Mothers. I was relieved and disappointed the three White Shirts weren’t with him, but the Mothers were more important to the moral of the group and I tried to be positive – at least we had saved them. I helped Freeman Fred coral them onto the bus and then pulled him aside to ask what had happened.

     “Mothers no want to go, but what you say make them think it OK for baby. And White Shirt call Mothers name wrangler’s use. They no can live with them.”

     “What name?”

     “Call nest brothel – Mothers – whore. They laugh, very funny but Mothers no like. I no like.”

      “Thank you Freeman Fred.” I gave him an awkward hug that turned very tender. Despite all the torture and pain he had gone through no one could break his humanity. He was a truly great man. “You did a wonderful job.”

     “Wish White Shirt come.”

     “Maybe its for the best,” I said walking him to the bus. He got on and I walked back to board the one Kevin was captaining. Of all the CAT members Kevin was the easiest to relate to, even-tempered and likable. His wife was one of out lab techs – the two were always affable, but kept their distance.

     On my bus there was a mix of men and women. Most no longer looked scared, just resigned, some even seemed happy. Kevin pulled away from the loading area behind us the rest of the buses followed. I had just finished explaining their temporary shelter in the labs when one of the Geney pointed out the window and yelled, “Look!”

      “Shit.” I rushed to Kevin’s side and grabbed the radio. “Todd, everyone pick up the pace, approaching from the southeast is an Environ security jeep.”

     “No worries, their no match for us,” Kevin said smirking. “Those things are fossil fuel monsters from the last century. They max out at 100 miles an hour.”

     “Everyone,” I said addressing the Geney. “Make sure your safety belts are fastened.” I sat down in front and strapped myself in. I had a queer feeling in my stomach. Moments later our speed had gone from a comfortable 125 to 300 miles per hour. Going that fast made my stomach turn, twigs and everything rushed past in a blur. But we left the security jeep in the dust and once we had cleared the last mountain range on our way to the old 5, we slowed back to our comfort zone.

     But even though we had lost the security jeep they had seen us. We had left our scent all over the crime scene and there was going to be hell to pay.

 

                     Chapter 38 – The Arrival

                     (April—2047)

 

 

     The earth science lab had been cleared out and sleeping bags on top of mattresses lined the floor. The neighboring lounge had been converted into a living room and the astrophysics’ lab equipment had been piled into storage to create a temporary kitchen for the Geney. Within days of their arrival the storm bore down on us. The sheltered paths connecting the science labs and the nest had trouble withstanding the tremendous pressure of the winds and rain, flooding parts of the pathway until Ira and Todd found a way to patch them.

     There was very little we could do during the deluge except tend to things indoors. The animals were put in an elevated shed the techs had built, it constantly leaked but they were safe from the worst of the savage rains and occasional golf ball sized hail that pounded against the aluminum which drove some to kick down their stalls. The edible garden had been transplanted to a sturdy acrylic hot house, most of the plants survived. The Geney and our biggest problems were feeling cooped up and suspended in time, unsure if and when the torrential rains would end.

     Unfortunately, three weeks later when the sun reappeared in patchy waves so did something far worse. The thirteen of us were in a strategy meeting in the communal hall while the rest of the Collective was crammed into the biology labs watching an old film. The lab had temporarily been converted into a recreation room and most members spent the day there playing games and picking through books left out to be shared. I suppose I and everyone else on the council knew the day of reckoning would come, but after three weeks we had a false sense of safety.

     The pictures taken at the Environ were being passed around. Naomi was paging through them admiringly and said, “You’ve got to admit – it’s impressive.”

     “So was the web of Nazi concentration camps, but I don’t admire them,” I said. “Without the greater good as the central core, science is nothing more than devolvement.”

 “I’m sorry. I’m a scientist. I can’t help but admire innovation.”

     “We’re all scientists.” I said trying to wipe the snarl from my face. “Don’t forget the work of the dead – all the people who have come before us – thanks to them, and their decision to abandon life for the lofty goal of saving the people of the Environ’s skins.”

     Naomi leaned against the table and stared blankly at me. “It’s not as if they are personally responsible for the demise of the entire world. You can’t blame it all on Reginald Strauch and Paul Lamont.”

     “They’re the people who suppressed the information and sold room in the Environ to the privileged few who could afford it. And insisted those people pretend to be Evangilst Christians in the Wrath of God, inc., so they could be saved.”

“Ironically, saved to live in the belly of a hideous beast like in the story of Jonah and the whale, but I doubt God is going to save them from that monstrosity,” LaDonna said.

     I was still angry with Naomi and continued, ”They committed genocide for profit – turned America into a hollow corporation and sold it to the masses as a theocracy. They weilded Evangilism like a gun – turned America into Americhrist – a preverted greed based empire masquarading as capatlism with the rules unfairly slated so the rich could suck the marrow out of the poor until there was nothing left.”

     Naomi ignored me and consulted a sheet of calculations. “Well, we have to make peace with it at some point — it’s moving north and will hit the boarder of Oregon in…”

     “Aproximately fifty years,” I said. “Another twenty five and it will get to the heart of the Collective. I know and we can’t let that happen.”

     “What do you propose? We start a fucking war?” Ira said.

     “Maybe a treaty,” Naomi offered.

     Ira shook his head. “Do you really think they’d do that especially now that we’ve liberated the Geney?”

     “You’re right, we’ve stole their property,” Naomi said.

     I felt fire explode in my gut, the kind of rage I hadn’t felt since my mother’s death. “It’s hard to believe you’re a Jew. You bring shame to the memoriy of all who died in the holocost.”

     “Hey, settle down Psyche,” Ira interrupted.

     But I was on my feet inches from Naomi’s face screaming, “According to your logic our people rightfully belonged to the Egyptians and the Africans belonged to the Englishmen who captured them! Isn’t that right? Traitor!”

     She stared blankly back at me, more shocked than anything else. No one had seen me so angry or threatening, even Ira looked frightened. And the rest of my twelve collegues stared blankly, mouths agape. “Right?” I screamed at Naomi. “Right? Answer the question, traitor!”

     The room was as still as and quiet as a crypt. “No…” It looked like she wanted to qualify her statement or expand on her answer, but thought better of it. I took myself to the water cooler and poured myself a drink to calm down. I was shaking. No one spoke for a few minutes and then it was just light conversation about the archetectural plans for the Geney buildings and talk of materials to be used.

The Geney were involved in the design and wanted the buildings to be round and open inside much like the caves they had come from, but as most of our staff were not that skilled in building we were having some trouble accomidating their wishes. We had a few carpenters and of course the crew who had built the compound for us, but our buildings were very simple and functional rectangles with square rooms.

I sat back down at the table, rejoing the meeting like a mouse trying to steal cheese from a trap. I wanted to melt into the floor and said nothing for the remainder of it, just listened to the mundane concerns about the leaking roof in the garage and weather projections for the end of the Great Storm as it had recently been dubbed by Tuwa.

 

Inside one of the science team’s expedition hovercrafts, Paul Lamont and his companions Sam Malone and Herb Jones were traveling down the river that was once the old 5. Herb was nervous to drive but Malone was too cocky so Lamont decided it had to be Herb. Lamont was too important for such things. No matter how much Malone pushed Herb to pick up the pace from his stable one hundred miles an hour Herb stuck to his guns. Lamont had chosen them because of their personal connections to the Environ not their great skill and the two hundred and seventy something miles they had traveled together had given him time to wonder if he’d picked the right men for the job. They had both worn down his patience in their own unique ways. But Malone was good at navigating and despite the sheeting rain, signs of the Collective appeared. They turned down a frontage road. Their headlights reflected off an aluminum storage shed. They continued until they spotted the matrix of buildings half a mile away. They’d have to climb the steep hill in the rain or risk forewarning the Collective.

     The meeting was running longer than expected and Naomi had promised her only child, Steven, she would bring snacks to the kids during the break between films. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said to her colleagues just before ducking out.

     On her way to the kitchen Naomi heard a strange digital noise at the front door, as if the alarm system was having a nervous break down. She inched closer to examine it. And although she had never possessed a strong sense of intuition the hair on the back of her neck stood straight. The numbers on the keypad were swirling, morphing into one another. Something was very wrong. Her mind went through all logical explanations in a matter of seconds. Only the most bizarre and irrational thoughts made any sense: some kind of evil lurked on the other side – perhaps the circle had stirred a spirit in the woods and now it came to get them. She shook herself – it was a crazy notion. Slowly she grazed the door handle. It was burning hot.

There was a small peephole Robert installed in the door after the Geney had arrived for fear of repercussions. Naomi had almost forgot about it. Gingerly, she positioned her eye and saw a group of three men in foreign UV suits and rain slickers fumbling around in the sheeting rain. There was something familiar about the middle the one. A tuft of salt and pepper hair showed through his clear plastic visor and she waited for him to turn and face the door – it was an aged Paul Lamont. His eyes met hers through the peephole. She never forget those pale blue eyes. And abruptly the door flew open and she was knocked against the wall.

     They rushed inside when Paul noticed Naomi had fallen to the ground. Paul offered a hand to help her up and she took it.

     “What are you doing here, Paul?” As much as she hated what he had done to her, she couldn’t help but love him. “I heard you and Tricia divorced before the Environ was completed.”

     Paul nodded. “I’m not here to talk about the past Naomi. I’m here to save you and the future of the Collective.”

     Naomi crossed her arms. “Hhmm – I didn’t know you cared.”

     “How else could the Collective have survived so long? Strauch certainly wasn’t rooting for you.” Paul paused and stared into her eyes. “I’m sorry. I should have told you from the beginning I was married.”

     “Did Tricia ever find out?”

     “No.” Paul paused for a moment to recompose himself. “I need to talk to Psyche. Where is she?”

     “This way.” Naomi started down the hall toward the meeting room, Paul and his men followed.

     Naomi opened the door and Paul, Herb and Malone followed her inside. Ira jumped from his seat. The room went silent.

     Paul showed his palms to them – gesturing he had no weapon. Malone and Herb did the same. “We’re here to stop a potential war. We know you have the Geneco.”

     “Sit down,” I said grabbing a chair. “It’s good to see you Herb,” I said.

     He nodded. “You, too.”

     “Malone,” Ira said introducing us.

     “We finally meet,” I said shaking his hand.

     We made room for them at our table. Before Naomi left to finish what she hadn’t had a chance to earlier, she brought us some water from the kitchen.

     Paul took a sip and said, “Believe it or not I’ve been fighting this day from the inception of the Collective. Strauch wasn’t keen on letting you and your people live.”

     All of us were a bit shocked by the statement even though we shouldn’t have been knowing the type of person he was. Paul continued, “But I explained it was in the Environ’s best interest for the Collective to try and reverse global warming for our future generations. But he didn’t much care about it, too abstract for him until I pointed out your work might save his son one day. He called off his dogs with one caveat.”

     “And that was?” I asked.

     “The Collective couldn’t cause any problems for him. I assured him you wouldn’t. But I’m no idiot, I realized the day would come when you would find out about the Geneco and feel it your duty to help them.”

     “How did you know that?” Ira asked.

     “I have extensive records, psychological reports, spending habits, political affiliations, work histories, criminal histories, searches you did on the internet, virtual games you played. You name it, I know everything about everyone here – except what you dream at night.” He stared at us. “And it was clear from all my research you’re a bunch of bleeding heart liberals.”

     I noticed Tuwa hadn’t said a word. She stared at Paul with her hawk eyes and began to shiver. “Are you OK?” I asked from across the table. She nodded. LaDonna wrapped her unused sweater around Tuwa and felt her head.

     “You’re burning up,” LaDonna said.

     Tuwa didn’t look at her. She continued to stare hard at Paul. “Stop trying to ingratiate yourself and tell us why you are here.”

     Paul stiffened.

“You make yourself sound like some kind of hero but what you really want is a sacrifice, isn’t it? You came to demand blood, to feed the hungry demon you serve, Reginald Strauch.”

     It wasn’t like Tuwa to be so negative, so angry. And I realized it was her rage and anger making her physically ill. “Perhaps this negotiation is too upsetting for you Tuwa. Maybe you should go to your sacred space and cleanse yourself.”

     “Tell her,” Tuwa spat at Paul. “Tell her.”

     Paul squirmed in his chair and averted her gaze. “She’s right a sacrifice will have to be made to avoid war. Strauch wanted blood after you took the Geneco. It was everything I could do to keep him from bombing your encampment that night. I convinced him to just punish one person, make it seem to our people this was a random mutant wandering the desert. I told him if he started a war with you, our people would find out about the existence of the Collective and they would no longer trust him or worse they would rebel. But Reginald is not a logical man. He still wanted blood. I went to his wife Camille. She sided with me and after twelve hours of intense discussion he agreed to a compromise which is what I came to present to you.”

     “And what is that?” I asked.

     “He wants to execute you back at the Environ.”

     “No way!” Ira shouted. “That’s not a compromise.”

     “He has access to a nuclear weapon.”

     “Why weren’t they destroyed?” LaDonna asked.

     “I did my best to orchestrate their demise, but he managed to get one of his military advisors to put one in a bunker somewhere in case he ever had problems with you. I found out about it after the Geneco disappeared. But I suspected as much.”

     “What choice do I have?” I asked.

     “Wait a second. What proof is there of this bomb?” Ira asked.

     “We’ve seen it, me, Lamont and Herb. One of his top aids took us in the middle of the night and gave us a camera so we could show you pictures,” Malone said.

     Ira took the pictures from Malone and studied them. “How do you know it works?”

     “Believe me it works. The place was on fire with radioactivity. And I checked the electronics it was wired and ready to go,” Malone replied.

     “Why didn’t you hack into it and make it malfunction?” Ira asked.

     “I tried, but there was no way. We were blind-folded on the ride to the location and the computer running it isn’t linked to anything in the Environ.”

     “Strauch is not as dumb as he looks,” Aine said.

     “No, he’s dumb,” Paul said. “He’s just clever and devious. He thinks like a predator not a human being.”

     “He has bad coyote medicine giving him an advantage over rational people. He’s not bound by morality or rationality. Everything he does is designed to feed his ego and gratify his desires. He is a trickster,” said Tuwa. “A terrible and evil trickster.”

     “That he is,” Paul said. “But as I said earlier I expected you to emancipate the Geneco at some point and I’ve been working on a plan.”

     “We aren’t going to let you die,” Herb said to me. “We just have to make it look like you do.”

     “Can you guarantee that?” Ira asked.

     Paul paused, and with a somber look on his face said, “No. But we have a plan to give her a fighting chance.”

         

Chapter 39 – The Becoming

                     (April—2047)

 

 

 

     Paul and Malone went over the plan dozens of times with me on our way to the Environ. Malone had given access codes to Ira and an extensive map of where to find my “body” after the execution.

But I knew, along with everyone else, my chances of surviving were extremely remote and all the preparation in the world was futile. Paul had warned me there would be torture involved, of course he hadn’t told me until I was on the way to the Environ with him, but it wouldn’t have made any difference. I would gladly lay down my life for either the Geney or my people. There was no greater reason to die than to protect the lives of those you loved. At least my death would have meaning – stand for something, most didn’t get the opportunity.

But the reality of what was happening didn’t really hit me viscerally until I saw the slimy gray slug on the horizon, glistening in the late afternoon gloom. It was floating in a small lake that had once been a dry desert basin. The great storm had changed the area so much I never would have recognized it.

We traversed three quarters of the beast’s circumference before arriving at the proper discoloration that opened into an orifice. The holding area flooded when we entered. Herb cut the engine and the gray flesh healed behind us. We waited until the beast digested the water and docked the hovercraft onto a platform. Paul punched in a set of numbers on a mounted keypad near another skin discoloration and it opened for us. We entered next to a garbage shoot in the back of a lovely garden and walked through the bowels of the beast to the prison.

     It was past primetime viewing hours when I arrived at cell one. Paul contacted Rush and Surnow to set up the studio. This was big news to be vigorously exploited – an opportunity to keep “The fear of God,” as Reginald put it, into the Environ population.

     The Applegates were already conspiring with Reginald and Camille about how to best manipulate the situation and which angle to play. Now that they had a grade-A Environ hating heretic, the theatrics were up to them.

The situation had long been awaited by Camille who felt the worker bees attention waning. She noted after the public execution of Kaitlin productivity and subordination had been at an all time high.

An ebullient Rush and Surnow anticipated ratings would outperform all other executions and hungered for a protracted drama. Reginald and Camille agreed. “Why not make the most of it?” Camille said, huddled around the Strauch bar with her cohorts drinking the old bourbon she hoarded for such occasions.

     “What’s the longest possible death?” she asked.

     “Tazzering could take hours if we do it slowly, but still…” Rush said. “It’s not too dramatic.”

     “Bleeding to death could take a while if it’s done properly,” Jessie said. “I know of one famous case where it took days.”

     Sandy smirked. “Oh, yes – you are a genius, honeybuns!” 

 

     The Environ itself was profoundly disturbing. It had a musty foulness and engulfed the soles of my shoes if I stood too long in the same place. The squishing sound the floor made when walking, or sitting or leaning made me nauseous. The way it absorbed waste through its skin was particularly disgusting. If there was a hell this was it.

     For the first time in my life I was truly afraid. It wasn’t just my impeding death – it was being inside the gray beast. Everything about it was foul from its perverted inception as a secret escape hatch for the rich and greedy to its very real stench of human waste and stomach acid. I was in a world created by people I would never understand. They were as alien to me as extraterrestrials. I had never felt so alone.

A hundred years ago no one would have believed this future. They would have laughed if you said Democracy would be corroded out of existence by corporate interests and right wing fanatics – that our government would see citizens who differed with them as worthy of death. All of the beautiful concepts and ideals that had made America a shining beacon of hope, inspiration, morality and goodness would be brought down by greed, corruption and insanity. And all those along the way – all the good people who were too good to believe it was possible by remaining naïve – they unknowingly let it happen. All those too afraid to fight the powerful and greedy became silent acomplises. But who could blame them? They like everyone before and after believed in the goodness of man’s soul, only to find good and evil inextricably married inside each of us, some more bad than good, more selfish than selfless.

It’s too easy to believe we are all alike. And unless there’s a rational reason or at least an emotional one, the decent person cannot understand evil because he or she would never willingly engage in it. But for the sociopath, the person without the ability for empathy or love or anything except lower limbic feelings, destruction is the only means of abolishing the emptiness inside and for a brief moment excitement can be felt – the desert inside their souls can be momentarily satiated in the most minuscule, fleeting and insignificant way. And to them this small relief is worth any payment of destruction – even the death of our planet means nothing when feeding the ravenous monster inside. They are incapable of thinking or feeling past the nanosecond they live in. And what normal human being could imagine such a thing possible?

Unfortunately, things don’t have to make sense to be true. The Strauch’s were a dynasty made up of sociopaths from the great-great-great-great grandfather entangled with Hitler to the present monster Reginald – a long line of evil-doers and criminals, too powerful to stop, too scary to fight.

The work I had done with Tuwa had changed me. But I hadn’t been able to feel it until I was in the Environ. My heart hurt with the pain and fear the people living inside the gray beast felt. The air itself seemed laced with anxiety and repression, all natural joy squeezed out, their freedom crushed. It felt very much like I imagined a Jew in Nazi Germany would have felt like – the knowledge that at any moment your life could be snatched away, living in constant terror of crossing the wrong person, ever vigilant to appear the good citizen, afraid to look cross-eyed at anyone in authority.

It felt like hours had past in the gray darkness, one lone bulb swung overhead, providing just enough light to accommodate a trip to the waste area. I smoothed the tattered blanket over the shelf of flesh I was supposed to sleep on so I wouldn’t have to feel the wetness of the beast. My mind raced to Ira, Tuwa, LaDonna and Freeman Fred I hoped I would survive for one last chance to see them.

I still had no real idea if there was anything after this life, but it didn’t really matter either way. A part of me was glad to rest from the struggle of this world. If I was just a snuffed candle, I would never know it, and if there was a God, I had lived a life of compassion. And if that wasn’t good enough for Him and He truly was like the model the Applegates sold, then I didn’t want to join Him in their heaven because Heaven would be Hell.

     During Circle I had felt the Great Spirit’s presence embrace me tenderly in a gentle pink cloud. And the day before the mission when Tuwa had prayed with me I felt it again only deeper, as if my cells had been infused with an overpowering ecstasy. I can only compare the sensation to the heart-stirring feeling of witnessing tremendous beauty and heroic bravery beyond self-preservation. From that day to this, the seed of those experiences had taken root and I felt the first blooms opening inside me – if I concentrated hard enough I could sense the peace from its bouquet.

And then a strange thing happened – it had to be supernatural because I was alone in the cell without even a window or anything except the dark spot where a door should have been – the room instantly filled with the scent of star lilies, so strong and overpowering I felt as if I had been transported to a field of them. 

I stayed in my meditation for a while and heard Tuwa’s voice. She said, “Be still in heart and mind, follow this stillness into the void of emptiness. There you will find all time, truth, understanding and knowing ready to be plucked from the mind of the Great Spirit like a book from the library of time. All knowledge is available if you connect to the Great One.”

     I knelt on the squishy gray flesh of the Environ and grabbed onto Tuwa’s song, singing in unison with the memory of her voice. I visualized the Circle of the Great Spirit around me and smelled the sweetgrass burning, heard LaDonna playing the drum, saw Freeman Fred’s smile and felt Ira’s ardent kiss.

I remembered my mother walking up the stairs of the brownstone in her striped knit cap and scarf which sometimes smelled of patchouli or sandalwood when she had had the occasional date the night before. Her dense curly hair, painted with streaks of white, and of course her beautiful smile.

An afternoon came back to me, when I had been in middle school and a boy at recess had teased me about my name. After school I found my mother working at the kitchen table on a research paper and asked her, “How come you named me Psyche?”

     She put down her pen and smiled as if she had been waiting to answer that question. “There was a great scientist named Sigmund Freud. I named you after one of his concepts, to him the word signified the seat of consciousness. But he borrowed the name from ancient Greek mythology. Psyche was a Goddess who represented the human soul. She was married to Eros and due to a trick, she had to go through a series of trials before being reunited with her husband in the afterlife where she bore two children, Love and Delight.”

     “Why couldn’t you just name me Sarah or Elizabeth or Janet, something normal?”

     “I quite like it. It’s a wonderful allegory, something you’ll appreciate when you’re older,” and with that she went back to work. Now I wished I could tell her she had been right. Even if it hadn’t been my mother’s intention, my name was a gift of faith in something greater, a soul, an afterlife. I had never seen this before, the main focus of the memory had always been its preface about Freud, the other had been, but an afterthought, a clarification about the origin of an idea grounded in science. For all my years I had been so fixated on science as I presumed my mother had, but within my own name was a key to something bigger, discarded by me as irrelevant. Empirical knowledge had been my mother’s godhead – science the church through which she worshiped. I had kept this tradition alive for her sake and had resisted the Circle for what seemed like nothing but a child’s misinterpretation.

     Mom had known Psyche’s connection in mythology to the soul. Maybe she too had wrestled with mixed feelings. Perhaps she hadn’t been an atheist. Maybe there was just no time for theology in her life. Just because she rejected Judaism didn’t mean she rejected the notion of a greater intelligence, after all she had been fascinated by Freud and he lifted from mysticism. Even if the choice of my name had been subconscious, Freud himself had said there were no accidents.

     I held back tears. All these years I had clung to a child’s black and white world. Believing this had been my mother’s legacy. Perhaps my mom had simply put off these questions out of fear like I had. Did she pray the day the hurricane came or had it happened, too fast to contemplate? How ironic it seemed that in trying to honor her I had missed out on knowing her subtlety.

     I found myself shaking in fearful anticipation of the torture to come. My logical mind wasn’t scared – I would go into shock and feel nothing after the initial pain, but the irrational side wrestled with the nothingness and fear of feeling the cold hard earth of the grave. Death was inevitable for everyone I told myself – it’s natural, nothing to be afraid of.

What if there really was nothing else?

But time was not linear so by virtue of that fact there had to be something else if I could theoretically occupy more than one place in time. By that logic I would live forever in one of time’s streams. Somehow that round of logic didn’t make me feel much better.

     A faint ribbon of patchouli and sandalwood drifted by. And I heard my name called in the melodious tone my mother used when reading me to sleep as a girl. A brilliant white light broke the dark putrid air and with it came a warm halting peace so profound I evanesced into it, away from the pain of this world. My mother’s arms surrounded me. Everything was going to be all right – there was another side – I was touching it.

I heard a pop and felt a jolt. Every detail of the room became sharp – the subtle blue-gray veins in the walls, the bare light bulb, the discoloration where the beast’s flesh opened – everything was perfectly clear in every direction as if I were seeing in 360 degrees. I looked down at the shell of my body still kneeling on the Environ’s flesh and noticed a silver cord connecting me to it. I told my body to get up and lay on the tattered blanket, it obeyed as if by remote control.

There would be no pain.

I was free.

    

Chapter 40 – The Merger

     (April—2047)

 

 

     Freeman Fred begged to be taken along on the rescue mission, but there was no way to bring him along. Inside the Environ he would stand out and blow the mission. Instead Ira gave him the task of organizing the Geney into training groups. According to Hyunae the rains would let up in the next couple of weeks and soon they would be able to start building Geney encampment.

Freeman Fred was to gather all knowledgeable people in the building trades and have them teach Geney volunteers. It wasn’t really necessary because most of their training would be on the job, but Ira knew Freeman Fred had to have a focus or he would be thrust into despair about my circumstances.

Freeman Fred was already plagued with guilt and remorse and no matter what I said to him before I was taken away by Lamont, he was against my going. He had pleaded with Lamont to take him instead, but there was no way around my fate.

LaDonna and Tuwa felt their involvement in the mission to rescue me from the Environ was absolutely necessary. Ira didn’t argue. No one wanted to deal with Robert, but he was head of CAT and insisted on being included. Ira picked Todd and Kevin because of their familiarity with the water, their military training and demeanors.

Lamont had left pictures of the symbols on the Environ’s hovercrafts. Safia stayed up all night tweaking the colors to match the scans exactly, blowing them up and printing out stickers. Early that morning, before the sun rose, the techs applied them to a similar model in our fleet which had been carefully selected.

The team was to arrive at the docking station at exactly six thirty, just after sun down. They took all the medical supplies they could for the trip home, hoping I would still be alive for the equipment to be useful.

Ira didn’t want a lot of fanfare and only a handful of people saw them off at the docking station – Naomi was one of them. Ira noticed how distraught she looked. Her skin was ashen, dark circles hung around her eyes. She didn’t seem herself. And her son, who was usually glued to her hip when she wasn’t at work, was missing.

He put Naomi out of his mind. They had four hours to get to the Environ, plenty of time, but there was still a lot to go over on the way.

Robert insisted on driving, being the control freak he was and everyone was all too happy to have him preoccupied. Robert took it slow, pacing the ride so they would get there on time and not a minute earlier.

As they approached the gray beast Ira handed out the science uniforms Paul had left behind. LaDonna held one up and said, “You call this a uniform?” She shook her head. “How am I supposed to fit into this?” She raised an eyebrow. “Cause, I’m not going to strip naked to get into this thing. And that’s the only way I’d fit in this puppy.”

Ira looked through the tags and found Kevin’s extra large was a hair too big for him. He traded it for LaDonna’s large. Kevin complained it was a bit tight in the crotch, but LaDonna was satisfied and the matter was settled.

Robert hit it right on the nose, exactly six thirty after they found their way around back to the orifice on the elaborate map Lamont had given them. As soon as they got into position it opened and they did as instructed, entering quickly and shutting down the engine. The orifice closed behind them.

Malone and Herb met them at the next orifice opening and quickly led them to Paul’s office, where the monitoring devices had been pulled out after the first week of living in the Environ. And after an argument with Reginald in which he threatened to quit, he got his way. At the time he just wanted his privacy, but now he was thankful he had a place to hide the Collective members.

Paul was waiting for them and had prepared the room with everything they would need for the next few hours, food, water, chairs and a monitor for them to watch the execution if they were so inclined.

Ira had insisted on being at the execution as moral support for me. And Paul replied, “She won’t know you’re there. It will just upset you – possibly make it harder for you to do your job.”

“She will know I’m there. It’s important to me. I can’t let her go through this alone,” Ira replied.

“Hey,” Malone piped up. “A friend of mine from maintenance died a few weeks ago. The CFO gave me his effects after looking over his will. I have his old uniform. It might be a little big but…”

“Perfect,” Ira replied.

“Wear a cap, don’t let anyone see your eyes and whatever you do, don’t look directly at any of the cameras! Keep your eyes obscured at all times,” Paul said.

Ira nodded. “Promise.”

 

               Chapter 41 – The Spectacle

      (April—2047)

 

 

     “Almost ready,” Ellis Rush said to Jessie Applegate. “Get some powder on his nose!”

     Sandy came out from behind the red velvet curtains, in a dress that looked like it was spun out of cotton candy and speckled with glazed sugar. She stood next to him waiting for the make-up woman to finish her business on Jessie’s nose before standing on her mark.

     Ellis raised his arm and counted, “1, 2, 3… and go!”

     “A heretic is among us,” Jessie roared. “A woman whose soul purpose was to destroy our civilization! Take our property and ruin our way of life. She is a Godless woman. A scientist from a small group of mutants who had managed to live by a pact with Satan.”

     “These people were an abomination!” Sandy screamed. “They had no good Christian values like we do. She’s the only one left of this group of bandits who lived like animals, drinking the blood of the dead in the decaying cities and marauding from city to city feeding on what was left of the old world like vampires and pirates!”

     Jessie stepped forward to stare into camera one with a look of supreme authority. “These were a truly wicked people – the devils concubines, whores and minions of Lucifer. We knew about them, but we assumed they were all dead. Not until this lone mad woman came here did they pose a threat. But I will leave the rest of the explaining to our honorable CEO Reginald Strauch and his lovely wife Camille Pamela.”

     The studio lights came down and Reginald and Camille took their places behind the curtains. A spot light shone on the red velvet, and the curtains parted. They walked out and camera two zoomed in on their faces.

     “Psyche Hershenbaum is an evil doer. I know because she worked for Digibio before the Environ was complete. She was never considered for entrance into the Environ because of her Marxist Godless upbringing and her association with the criminal hacker Ira Rubenstein who she lived in sin with,” Reginald said.

     Camille put on her best husky baby girl voice and said, “But her madness goes far beyond this. The scoundrel group of scientists she had assembled, pillaged the old cities as Sandy has told you. All of these scientists are now dead, Praise Jesus. But somehow she alone managed to survive and in her UV demented mind she saw the Geneco as her only hope of salvation – by stealing them she hoped to build a new civilization where she could reign as their queen.”

     The curtains came up revealing the same torture device Kaitlin had been murdered on. It was a large aluminum circle with four black leather straps spread to Psyche’s approximate measurements. Reginald cleared his throat and then spoke. “She has committed the highest act of treason and for this, she will be executed. For her evil act we will make her suffer a long, painful and slow death.”

     “Let this be a lesson to those who do not believe in God and the ways of the righteous. Bring her out!” Camille shrieked, stomping her high heeled foot into the squishy gray flesh of the Environ.

     Two overweight guards muscled me in from the side of the stage. I watched my body from above. My arms and ankles were shackled to a chain around my neck which one of the guards tugged at to get me to hit my mark. I was tired, hungry, thirsty and lonely. It showed on my wan face, but the fire in my eyes still blazed with their injustice and I looked angry enough to be crazy. My eyes met Camille’s and instinctively Camille pushed off her mark. Ellis motioned her to step forward again, but it took a few seconds before she noticed and found her spot.

     “Take her to the post,” Reginald said. The guards pulled my chain and ripped open the back of my shirt and strapped my body into the belts of the aluminum circle. “Give her the standard 30 lashes the Geneco get when they step out of line. She’s an animal treat her like one.”

     I watched my body brace itself, eyes squeezed shut. Above me I heard praying and Tuwa’s voice filling the air with song as my body felt the sting of the first lashing, the second and as the third was raining down my body hummed along to the song only I could hear. With each strike my voice grew louder and the light in the room got stronger. The stinging pain and warm sticky blood were kept in a hazy cloud away from me.

The other side was opening in its full glory.

     Reginald was horrified. He jumped protocol and ran to Ellis. “What is she doing? Get her to stop that!”

     “She’s crazy. What can I do about it?” Ellis replied.

     “You have to do something!”

     Ellis just shrugged. Reginald was so incensed he stole the whip from the guard and stuck my back screaming, “Harder like this!” But I continued to sing, to rant, make noises frightening him. “Harder!” I watched my back split open exposing the red stringy sinew of muscles. Camille rushed toward the side stage and made cutting motions, but Reginald was worked into a frenzy and hadn’t noticed his bloodlust showing – threatening their “moral” empire.

     Camille finally stepped in front of him, pulled his arm back and smiling into the camera said, “Now that will do Reginald. I think you’ve contributed enough to the saving of her soul. It’s time for the next phase.”

     Reginald was still in an altered state like a shark in a feeding frenzy, his eyes dilated into black orbs. She smiled at him and repeated herself. He turned slowly toward the camera and said in a stiff voice, “Now the Applegates will explain the next… phase. Phase 2.” 

     “That’s right Reginald Phase 2,” Camille repeated.

     Jessie Applegate took the spotlight puffing like a rooster who had just won a cock fight. The camera tightened on him and his pompadour. “We will transform this heathen and make a believer out of her! For yea she hath spit in the eye of Christ. Even if we can’t save her body, we shall save her immortal soul. Yea, shall she seek thine glory in God almighty, Yahweh. Psyche Hershenbaum shall walk the walk our Holy Father’s only Son doth took – He who sacrificed his life, at his Father’s command, to purify us of our original sin. I speak of none other than Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior. It is in his name we give her this gift of ultimate redemption. Her flesh may burn, but her soul shall be saved. It is only through seeing the pain of Our Savior and the sacrifice Our Lord made for all of us sinners that she shall be received into the kingdom of Heaven and know the love of Jesus Christ, amen.” He turned to face me. I was still strapped into the aluminum circle and he said, “I pray for your sins and ask you to repent! May God have mercy on your soul!” 

     Sandy Applegate bounded to his side and exclaimed, “An eye for an eye the bible commands. Psyche Hershenbaum would sacrifice our way of life and so it is now her life which must be sacrificed.”

     “Amen!” Jesse commanded.

     “Okay and CUT!” Ellis yelled from the booth. “Do we have the corridor set up for the transition shot yet?”

     Bill Surnow nodded. “We sure do.”

     “Camera three rolling.”

     My eyes squinted from the blinding hot lights of the camera crew. The executioner loaded two large wooden planks onto my back and secured them around my waist with rope.

     I thought of Ira. One last sweet kiss on his lips –  the scrub of his beard against my cheek. One more look at his small handsome brown eyes or the course skin on his hands. That was all I wanted. Yes. I wanted to see Freeman Fred’s strange faint smile and welcome his old friends into the Collective. I wanted to hear Tuwa’s song loud and clear above all other chanting in the Circle of the Great Spirit. I wanted to feel the wind against my face and the sun beating down before it had became a laser. I wanted all of these things, but they were beyond my grasp and felt like worn faded memories from someone else’s life. Everything except Ira.

If I could have had his hand it would have been enough. Had I told him how much I loved him? Or how much having children with him would have been a gift if the world and circumstances had been different?

     The Executioner yanked on the chain pinching my neck and I stumbled a little, the wood planks rattled and pushed into the Environ’s fleshy floor.

     I longed to go back fifteen years to the time he had picked out a ring and asked me to marry him – I should have said yes, instead of giving him a diatribe about the sordid history of the institution. The truth was I had been scared to be dependant on him – to love him too much. I wished I hadn’t been so pig-headed, marriage didn’t seem so bad now. It seemed like a promise to see him again and I wished I had made it. 

 

              Chapter 42 – Healing Service

                       April—2047

 

 

     Tuwa was holding hands with LaDonna in Lamont’s office. Both had their eyes closed their heads bowed down singing a sacred song. I could feel their prayers, and hear them echoing through the viscous walls of the gray beast. And in the distance I could hear Freeman Fred, Naomi, Aine, Marina, Fayza, Hyunae, Safia, Xin-Yi, Eva, Kimi and Zoe and so many others singing their prayer songs, some together, others individually.

Ira was in the hallway pushing desperately through the crowd to get to me. I couldn’t see him yet, but I could sense him. 

     One of the guards fastened two large planks to my back with a tightly cinched rope. The wood dug into my wounds. I heard Reginald’s voice like a bee buzzing behind me and felt the hot lights follow as the guard pulled the metal chain around my neck. Walking was difficult, having lost so much blood from the lashings. I was dizzy and dipping in and out of my body.

     There were people behind me screaming and throwing things as we headed down the corridor. It was a maze. My head spun and I dropped to my knees. My neck jerk back as the guard grabbed my hair pushing me forward.

     “Get on your feet!” he screamed.

     I fumbled my way upward – my mind racing. Nature made chaos, but man made evil. I will die for the sin of greed. I will die for the sin of murder. I will die for the sin of denial. I will die for the greatest sin – squandering this world the Great Spirit gave us to protect. 

Just as they murdered the world, they are murdering me. Great Spirit guide me. Great Spirit stay with me. Those words repeated in my head and brought me temporary peace by snapping me back out of my body again.

     There was a light so bright I wished I could put my hands in front of my face to shield it. It was the beast opening it’s belly and expelling us into the garden. Artificial lights had been strung all around and as soon as we entered, a camera man had shone a blinding spotlight into my eyes. The mob was still behind me screaming different things that had become a wash of nothingness. I saw the pelting, heard the stones hit me, but felt nothing. It didn’t matter now. I felt the other world opening as if ready to swallow me. And in the brilliant light I saw the garden open up. I saw beyond the sea of adversarial faces.

     A voice whispered from above, “See how the world should have been.”

     Something grabbed my hand, an angel? A brilliant being made of crystal white light and pop the Environ disappeared replaced by a lush green valley teaming with life of all kinds. Children played in front of round shaped houses made of a strange dark material I’d never seen.

     We went higher toward the hills. There the earth was covered in vegetation, deer grazed by a stream while frogs hopped by and butterflies flew overhead. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen like the Eden my mother had told me about – a place that no longer existed during my time on earth. I felt tears streaming down my face and a sudden crash.

     And I was hovering back over myself watching my legs stiffly move across the squishy soil. The angel or great being, whatever it was, had shown me a stream of time we had not chosen. My heart ached for the world we had destroyed through sheer greed and shortsightedness. If we had faced it, we would have developed technology to change it, but the few who had money and power had protected their personal empires instead of putting the greater good first. And what did they gain? A few short years on the earth full of wealth and privilege at the expense of all life to come? It was beyond comprehension for anyone with a drop of empathy or kindness in their soul. Even for those who made the choice to deny the reality of global warming, what would it have hurt to embrace the possibility if it meant saving the world? It was almost as if the people before us were wicked and wanted to destroy creation in the name of the Creator. What sickness was this? Pure vanity.

I heard a strange humming all around, like Tuwa’s singing at the periphery of the horizon. It was washing closer as I treaded toward the center of the gardens where a circle stood – a once benign turn of the century exercise machine, turned gruesome Geney torture device. The guard stopped and Reginald Strauch came forward. “Unshackle her,” he said.

     The guard obeyed. Another guard came forward to nail the planks together. They fastened the cross to one of the circle crosses. Once the planks were secure the guard tied my arms to it and bound my feet together with rope and cinched them around the bottom plank. A group of men came forward with stakes and hammers and waited for Sandy to give them the signal.

     Sandy nodded. One of the guards took the thick metal stake and hammered it through my right palm and another guard nailed my left palm to the wooden cross. I heard my body screaming in pain below and saw my body writhing. Although through the grace of the Great Spirit I had left my body, the cruelty broke my heart.

The prayer songs grew louder, surrounding and protecting me. As evil as the Environ society was, people were good when given a chance. The people who lived under Strauch’s rule weren’t evil they were simply sheep as most people wanted to be. We needed to trust our leaders as we trusted our parents, believing they had our best interest at heart instead of reconciling with the idea they may have been using us or worse enslaving us. But no matter how hard people tried to deny the psychopathy of the Strauch regime and no matter what church the Strauchs attended, their deeds had always shown who they were if one paid attention. But for those who saw authority as infallible which was most of us, seeing the truth was a painful and difficult thing requiring a tremendous leap into the unknown of personal responsibility.

I watched the hateful faces jeering at my body and felt pity. These people were not bad, they just saw themselves as small and powerless. They didn’t believe they were special or unique in any way. They did not see what the Great Spirit saw – that they were one of a kind, gifted with logic, feelings, empathy, compassion, and a mind capable of almost anything. Instead they were being held captive by the devil of fear – a favorite Strauch dynasty tool and Reginald had sharpened it to perfection. He had made them feel so small murder was the only thing that gave them the illusion of strength.

“Great Spirit keep her safe, keep her whole,” Ira whispered. My eyes were drawn through the sea of faces. Ira had pushed and bullied his way through the crowd and was at my feet. My body was too weak to show recognition no matter how hard I tried to steer my lips to smile at him.

And then I saw him nod at one of the guards. The guard got up on a ladder with a garland of gnarled, mutated, cacti thorns and placed it on my head. He nailed a sign above it reading: Queen of the Geneco. And before he got down I saw Ira hand him a wet cloth. He wrung it over my head – it was cool and mixed with my blood in a stream down my face. The guard patted my forehead down. I watched as my body gave way, hanging limp, eyes opened – staring into nothingness.

There I hung above the angry mob. Reginald spoke into a microphone his voice booming, “Let this be a lesson to all of you. No traitor left behind!”

He laughed.

     “But seriously,” he continued over the PA. “We need to wrap this up, the UV levels are too high in this area to stay more than an hour without severe burns. Hope you all wore your sunscreen!”

     There was a big, “Hell yeah!” from the crowd.

     “Well, good. The only goose that’ll get cooked then, is the Queen here.” He sniggered and the crowd burst into uproarious laughter.

     But louder than the cruel laughter was the humming sound of my people’s prayers. I felt my spirit turning toward them as they lifted me upward until their prayers joined with an angelic humming so great it burst from everywhere at once. 

I was floating, ascending toward the clouds into a beam of brilliant golden light pouring from an opening in the clouds. Tuwa’s prayers and Ira’s love blanketed me. I felt the pulse of the earth and sky and the loud booming song of the Great Spirit singing me into the next world.

 

                 Chapter 43 – Ira’s Environ

    (2047—April)

 

 

     “Die bitch, Die!” Ira heard one man scream. He wanted to reach around and throttle the man, but he couldn’t do anything. Everyone around him was screaming. He only hoped I would see him, know he loved me and was there. I was speaking, but he couldn’t make out my words over the din of hatred. He wondered, How could people be so cruel? She had never wanted anything more than to save all of them. Didn’t they see that? The voice in his head stopped when he began to hear my singing rise over the crowd. He couldn’t take it anymore and jumped protocol grabbing the poison cloth from its bucket and handing it to the guard, commanding him to use it on Lamont’s orders.

Almost instantly the singing  stopped. My head hung limp, eyes open and vacant.

     He wanted to rush over and hold me in his arms but he watched the maintenance crew breaking into groups. He had to leave, now before he was found out.

     Psyche is dead. She’s dead. He felt nothing. His body went numb. His legs moved. His arms pushed the crowd out of his way. And he made it back to Lamont’s office not remembering how he got there.

 

                 Chapter 44 — Josephine

(April—2047)

 

 

     Josephine was left to tend Jacob, Elijah and Jezebel in corporate daycare with a dozen other nannies and two hundred of the most privileged children in the Environ – their parents were deacons in the church or lead scientists, like Paul Lamont’s kid Bryan.

Elijah’s diaper had been wet and while she was changing it, Jezebel started screaming and Jacob wandered out of the room. She called a young woman over – a fresh corporate nanny and handed Jezebel to her. “Her formula is in the fridge,” Josephine said. The nanny nodded and took the baby to the kitchen. Josephine put Elijah in his private playpen and went looking for Jacob.

The playroom was crowded with infants, toddlers and children from three to twelve years old. She tapped one child after the next, but Jacob was nowhere to be found. Her heart and head raced with every possibility. The daycare was in lockdown, he couldn’t get out without the code. He had to be somewhere. She took a deep breath and walked down the hallway toward one of the private napping rooms. She could hear the faint sound of a man’s voice coming from a room three doors down. She rushed to it and burst open the door.

There in the dark, Bryan Lamont and Jacob were sitting on his cot, mesmerized by the crucifixion playing out on the monitor. Bryan had found a way to jerry rig the monitor into receiving mode. Josephine went to grab Jacob’s hand but something about the woman being murdered stopped her. It was as if a brilliant white light swirled around her. She wondered if something was wrong with her eyes or the monitor, she paused.

“Do you see the light around her?” asked Bryan.

“You’re not supposed to be watching that, turn it off,” Josephine responded.

Bryan studied her. Josephine was obviously shaken. “That’s not normal is it?”

“Turn it off.”

“What is she singing? It’s another language isn’t it?”

Josephine grabbed both Bryan and Jacob’s hands and pushed them out of the room. She shut the orifice, putting in a lock code so it couldn’t be open by any of the children and rushed the boys into the playroom.

Josephine ran to her old friend Shirley’s office. Shirley was Herb’s wife and had started as a nanny, but after they had lost their child to the plague, Shirley retreated to caring for paperwork instead of babies.

“What is it?” Shirley asked.

“Turn on the execution,” Josephine said.

“You know how I feel about that.”

“No. There’s something strange going on. Something different. As a devout Christian woman, you need to see it.”

“Turn the other cheek, Christ said.”

“I know. I know,” Josephine said hitting the on button on Shirley’s monitor. “Look at her.” Shirley turned to see the screen behind her. “Do you see the light all around her?”

“Some kind of spot light I’m sure.”

Josephine shook her head. “I need to go. I need to be there.”

“We need you here.”

“Open your heart Shirley. This woman… This woman is not just a woman. A miracle is happening right in front of you.”

Shirley stared at the monitor and an overwhelming feeling of peace overtook her. Was it that woman’s voice or an angel’s? Herb had sworn her to secrecy and then told her all about Psyche heading another civilization. It was a secret Shirley had sworn she would take to the grave. Herb had warned her that he would be the next one crucified if anyone found out. Was it possible a woman could be the second coming? Shirley watched the light around Psyche’s body spiral and grow. Or was this some kind of camera trick. But why would they do that?

“She maybe the one we’ve been waiting for,” Josephine said.

“Go. I’ll cover for you. Hurry before it’s too late.”

Josephine nodded and ran out.

     The halls were empty until she got to the garden orifice where the crowd spilled out. Josephine pushed her way through the mob, mumbling please excuse me and pardon me, when appropriate. She managed to get to a flat concrete bench about a hundred meters from the crucifixion site and squeeze her way on top of it.

     It wasn’t a trick of the camera. All around the woman was a yellow glow around the crown of her head, like the ancients had painted around saints – white lights danced around her, swirling and blowing out into supernovas in spiraling vortexes upward toward the heavens.

     Josephine heard the jeering and looked around. In the sea of contorted faces full of vile hatred, some stood out – their eyes wide with rapture, faces placid like the beatific. Through this woman, God was separating the true believers from the sinners.

Judgment day had come. It hadn’t been the day of the Environ occupation – no. Judgment was here and now.

And they were killing God again.

 

                 Chapter 45 — It’s A Wrap

                     (2047—April)

 

 

     After I was gone, Reginald, Camille and the Applegates left. When the last stragglers headed back into the main body of the Environ, Ellis yelled to his camera man, “And cut. That’s a wrap.”

     Timmy asked, “So are we going to shoot the disposal?”

     “We’ll make a montage of the highlights of today. I’ll have you do the voiceover tonight then in the morning we’ll go to the disposal site, and do an update. She should pretty well be digested by then. Probably just get her outline through the wall or maybe her legs or head or something sticking out. That will be more than enough to make the point. We’ll see how the ratings go. If there’s interest, we’ll do another update at noon.”

     “Sounds good,” Timmy said.

     “OK everybody pack it up. We’re out of here,” Ellis said to his crew.

 

                  Chapter 46 – Disposal

  (2047—April)

 

 

     Lamont had been careful, locking the Collective members into his office until the time was right. He watched them on surveillance from his wristcom in Malone’s office after he was sure Malone had jammed all the camera signals. He had been meticulous in every way, thought ten steps ahead.

     Ira was extremely upset about the lockdown. He was screaming at the cameras, but it was for his own good. Lamont understood why he was so upset, my body was in very bad shape, the lashings, and wounds becoming obscured by the severe UV burns as I lay limp on the circle cross waiting for the disposal team to take my body to the dumpsite just a few hundred meters away. But it would do no good for me to have my team found out and murdered along side me. Ira was being irrational which was to be expected.

     The disposal team took me off the cross. Lamont had positioned Herb to be their leader under the guise that the science team wanted pictures of the wounds and scans for documentation purposes. But really it was to make sure no more damage was done to my body. Herb made sure they were very careful and no more tearing was done to my palms when I was released from the planks – Lamont’s biggest worry.

     They carried me to the disposal orifice and laid me down in front of it. But this was no ordinary orifice, it had hundreds of tentacle-like sensors under its dark gray spot. They wiggled and swayed as soon as they set me inside the yellow box at its mouth. Herb took pictures of my wounds. “It’s OK guys. I’ve got it from here,” he said. The disposal team dispersed.

Inside Herb’s camera Malone had rigged a signal interference device which first tapped me laying in front of the orifice and looped it, projecting these images back to the security cameras. But there wasn’t much time before security would get suspicious. The tongue usually took anywhere from twenty to thirty minutes to come out and start the digestion process.

Herb made sure the coast was clear and pushed the direct line to Lamont on his wristcom. “Ready.”

“The team will be dispatched,” Lamont’s voice came back.

Herb stayed with me pretending to take pictures and talking to my body. “You’re going to be all right, just hang in there Psyche. You’re gonna make it. You’ll be fine.”

But of course I wasn’t fine.

 

Hours of Tuwa and La Donna prayers had gone by. La Donna’s voice was hoarse from singing the ancient Hopi healing song, but Tuwa’s was as clear and committed as it had been since they had sat down together hours earlier.

Lamont had given all of them disposal uniforms to change into while Ira was tracking me. He had been happy to see all of them prepared when he arrived, but he was starting to worry. It had been over an hour, surely the disposal team would be done by now. Ira had rushed Robert through the rescue, thinking Lamont would be back for them any minute. But Ira was getting antsy – something was wrong. He searched for a camera to scream into but after turning the place over, he gave up and began pacing.

“You’re making this more difficult. Just sit down and wait like everybody else,” Robert commanded but Ira ignored him.

Moments later the orifice opened and Lamont motioned everyone out. Ira wanted to kill him, none of this would have happened to her if it hadn’t been for Lamont. “We were caged in there for an ungodly amount of time. Every second counts for Psyche right now.”

Lamont didn’t respond he simply walked in a fast clip followed by Robert and his men. Getting angry now isn’t going to do any good, Ira took a moment to breath and caught up to them.

 

My body appeared dead, but technically it wasn’t. It had created a sort of false apoplectic state. My heart was beating imperceptibly. I still had brain wave activity. The wet handkerchief that had been applied to my forehead during the crucifixion was infused with Zombutal, a little known or used drug developed for surgical procedures for patients allergic to anesthesia. The first company Lamont bought into had developed a chemically engineered version of the herbal compound used by Haitian Sorcerers to make zombies as well as the antidote to the drug, of course without the antidote, Zombutal would have been worthless.

The product and company had caught Lamont’s interested after he had almost died due to anesthesia when his appendix burst in his early twenties. The drugs were rarely used, only for patients who were deathly allergic to ordinary sedation. Lamont had brought stockpiles of the drugs to be used in case of emergency for himself or possibly his child, who may have inherited his allergy.

 

The orifice had opened and inside was what can only be described as a giant tongue laying in wait. The tentacles had started their job of pushing me closer to the orifice while coating my body with a gelatinous saliva. It was a strange sensation, being out of my body and hovering around unsure if it would survive. But I could hear and see Tuwa’s prayers washing over my body in strange vibrant colors, colors too vivid and beautiful for the naked eye to see.

During the crucifixion when I asked to let go into the light, I had heard a woman’s voice whisper from above, “Not yet, not yet.” Now the great light remained open above me. I heard voices moving closer to my body and waited, like my body, in a suspended state while the heavens remained ready.

The tongue was wiggling, slowly feeling its way toward my discarded shell. I wanted it to hurry, the light was so warm and inviting I hungered to dissolve into it and feel the oneness with creation I could now smell but not savor.

Ira ran ahead of the team to my shell, pulling it away from the grasp of the tongue which was just starting to roll itself around my midsection. The sun had gone down, but I had been left unprotected in the garden area long enough to have second and third degree burns on every inch of exposed skin. Off the digestion platform and out of reach of the tongue, Ira rocked my body gingerly. “You’re going to be OK?” He whispered into my ear, gently kissing my forehead.

Lamont, Robert, Kevin, Todd, Herb and Tuwa arrived next, followed by an out of breath LaDonna. Tuwa was still singing although her mouth was not moving. Ira was holding me and had begun crying and due to the strange private moment they all froze, unsure how to proceed, waiting for him to pull himself together.

“What have you people done to her?” Ira wailed at Lamont.

“We need to clean her off,” Lamont responded nodding at Robert and his men. Ira stepped away as they rolled my shell onto what looked like a white sheet and carried me a dozen meters to an open plot of soil. Lamont grabbed the garden hose and showered me as gently as he could. He handed Todd a bottle of homemade looking cleanser and he and Kevin applied it thoroughly to both sides with Ira keeping careful watch that they didn’t miss anything. Again Lamont sprayed me down and my shell was wrapped in an enormous thick cotton blanket. Tuwa put her hands on me, singing out loud, rocking back and forth in a trance.

Lamont gave Malone a signal over his wristcom to jam the few surveillance cameras there were on the way to the orifice. “C-section,” he said. He watched his wristcom for a few moments and then nodded to the men. They carried my shell quickly through the soggy garden and toward the orifice and to the docked hovercraft. The area around the craft was now dry. The Environ had absorbed all the flood water.

The men carefully laid my shell into an awaiting cot and covered me with blankets. Tuwa stayed by my side, holding my dead hand and singing, vibrant colors shimmering from her mouth and penetrating my broken flesh. Lamont took out the injector, it was much bigger than anything I’d ever seen before, and mechanized. He opened the buttons of my shirt, placed the flat nub under my sternum and pushed the button. Tuwa’s voice grew piercingly loud. A fiber thin needle punctured my skin and went directly into my heart.

I felt a thud and then… the pain, oh, God the pain! Every inch of my skin was on fire and my insides felt as if they had been steamrollered. I wanted to jump out of my body, but couldn’t. I was stuck in the excruciating pain. It was like being stuffed into a nail lined shoe box.

Ira yelled, “Give her something for the pain.” Lamont pressed the morphine gun to my skin and everything went numb and fuzzy.

I saw Herb hand something to Ira and mumble, “Use this to keep in contact. We want to know her progress. Malone and I, well, we’re both so sorry and…”

I blacked out.

 

                    Chapter 47 — Gone

   (2047—April)

 

 

 

     “Well, she couldn’t have just disappeared,” Reginald screamed at Paul Lamont. “She was fuckin’ crucified! Last I heard she was dead for fuck’s sake. And dead folks don’t just get up and go for midnight strolls, now do they? These people are superstitious they’ll think we killed the fuckin’ second coming!”

     Lamont had been careful to cover every step, to plan for every possibility except one, the camera crew came back to get shots of Psyche’s body being digested. After reviewing the crucifixion footage Bill Surnow decided to cover his bases by sending his crew to the disposal platform. Executions like Psyche’s didn’t come around every day – they were big ratings. He had made a spur of the moment decision to do a documentary, which he could air a few months down the road when Strauch would need something to dissuade the “restless” population from ideas of sinning. Problem was when the crew got to the platform the body was gone and by all rights the Environ should have been smack in the middle of its digestion cycle.

     “I checked the digestion cycle. It ran fast that night, according to our records the Environ had been starved for almost a week so its really not a surprise.” Of course this was utter bullshit and Lamont had gotten Malone to override and falsify all evidence to the contrary. Lamont had been scrambling since Herb caught the camera crew on the monitor.

     But Reginald continued to rage. “We need that fucking body. Rush and Surnow had set up their Goddamned camera crew this mornin’ and went there to report what they called the missin’ body. Fuck, they’ll do anything for mother fuckin’ ratings. How are we gonna keep this secret? This is just what I fuckin need! Smarmy fuckin has-been Hollywood weasels startin shit! We need her body!”

     “That’s impossible. Her body has been pulverized and digested by the Environ. There’s nothing left.”

     Strauch was pacing, sweating, in a terrible panic. “Can you prove that?”

     Lamont nodded casually. “Of course.” He threw a stack of papers onto Reginald’s desk. “The enzyme breakdowns and digestion calculations are all in here.”

     “No one’s gonna understand that horse shit. I need a skull or somethin’, somethin’ people can see with their own two eyes.”

     “Well we won’t be able to change whatever they broadcasted. I’m sure if you explain what happened to the people they’ll understand.”

     “Don’t be so fucking smug,” Reginald said. Paul Lamont shrugged. “This is a fuckin’ mess.”

     Reginald stopped mid-pace, his eyes suddenly glimmering with glee. “We can pin it on one of the Geneco like they came in to try and save her…. And fuck, I don’t know feed the fucker to a pack of wild dogs.”

     “There are no wild dogs left,” Paul quipped.

     “No shit. I know that… It’s a fuckin…” Reginald lunged close to Paul and shouted, “Just fuckin find me someone to blame.”

     “I’ll do my best,” Paul said.

     “No. You’ll find someone or I’ll pick one of your scientist bitches, one that gives you a hard on, and use her dead body as a replacement. Got it?”

     Paul was cool, not a hint of emotion on his face. “Do what you have to, and as I said, I’ll do my best.”

 

 

 

 

                    Chapter 48 — Shelter

   (2047—April)

 

 

 

     My body had been carried to the top of the mountain named, Sage Peak. The CAT members had built a basic shelter inside one of the storage caves they had found on a training exercise. It had been used for their cache of pillaged weapons from the ghost cities. They considered the area a top secret location, only they, and the team leaders were privy to it. Robert had feared bringing me back into the Collective in my present state would have incited a war with the Environ. When the team leaders saw the broadcast of me from the hover bus, they agreed.

     Dr. Harold Candell had done everything medically possible upon my arrival, but there were limits, and after he had given me all he could, he handed me over to Tuwa and joined the rest of the Collective in praying for a miracle – the sort only a holy person like she could deliver.

     Ira had been ceaselessly at my side despite LaDonna’s urgings for him to get some rest. Only when Tuwa insisted on his removal did he take transport back to the Nest where he took short fitful catnaps.

     It amazed Tuwa how alert I was. I was able sit up when eating or drinking, even crawl a little. Most of my day was spent sleeping, but when I was awake, I was different and this scared her, although she tried not to show it.

     Tuwa was worried about Ira – he had not made peace with fate as I had. Sometimes he would pace back and forth outside the tent cursing and vowing revenge. At other moments he would coo to me about all the projects we had yet to finish in the year ahead, but worst was when he broke into inconsolable crying cursing everyone from Lamont to Naomi for letting Paul in that day and cursed himself for not being brave enough to offer himself up as the sacrifice – even though he had.

Tuwa wondered if he was the reason I was hanging on. I appeared ready to pass, but it wasn’t that simple.

     On Friday each of the team leaders were allowed a visit. Tuwa agreed I seemed well enough. Ira took this as a sure sign I was on the road to recovery. Eva, Fayza, Aine, Marina, Kimi, Xin-Yi, Safia, Hyunae all came and stayed a few minutes in succession then left, gently saying good-bye with hopeful masks for faces. But Naomi didn’t show until much later and instead of walking right in as the others had, she stayed at the doorway looking terrified and ashamed. I said, “I look that bad?” But she didn’t laugh at my joke.

     “No, no…. you look very good.” She walked in and sat stiffly in a nearby chair. “I’m sorry, I…”

     “Don’t worry, Naomi, everything will be fine. It’s all as it is supposed to be.”

     She looked stunned, repentant and humiliated. She stared down at the backs of her hands folded on her lap. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.” She paused, took a deep breath and looked at me. “I trusted Paul. I never thought he was the kind of person who could purposefully hurt anyone.”

     “What do you mean?”

     She looked away. “We were lovers. It was a very long time ago. I was a graduate student and I worked on a project for his company.” Her eyes met mine and she must have read judgment in them because she defensively said, “I didn’t know he was married.”

     “It’s OK.”

     “No, it’s not OK. Nothing about this is OK, not what he did to you, not what he did to his wife, not what he did to me.”

     It hit me. “You were still in love with him?”

She nodded. “Stupid, huh?”

Wow. I could see it now, all of her bizarre comments about the Geney made sense. They were Paul’s creation – a part of him, his property. She had been twisting reality around this strange confused love, trying to mollify his monstrous acts into some lesser version of what they were. But seeing me she could no longer do that. And now she was broken.

I grabbed her hand and held it. “I’m sorry.”

Her eyes reddened and she choked back tears. “Please, no, I’m the one. Don’t you apologize to me. I’m the one.” She got up, kissed my cheek and ran out.

Tuwa rushed in. “Everything alright?”

I nodded.

     Naomi ran into Ira on her way into the nest and told him it looked like I was doing much better. It gave him hope and he decided to make a transmission to Malone on the strange little button device cooked up to stay in contact. He spoke at the box. “It looks like she’s going to make it. It’s a miracle – she’s speaking and eating.”

     Malone’s voice came back, small and tinny, “That is a miracle! I’ll pass along the good news.”

     “Thanks for all your help.”

     “My pleasure, man. My pleasure.”

 

Freeman Fred heard I was conscious and stole away from the newly assimilating Geneco to see me. He knelt beside my broken body reverently and took my hand in his, his eyes dilated, nostrils flared in what I had learned was an expression of abject pain and remorse.

“I not know peace or love, only pain my whole life ‘til you.”

I smiled at him and touched his cheek.

His expression became focused, his mouth bowed into a small circle. “But greatest gift is hope, not just for one man.” He pointed to himself. “But all man. You able to give one self to save many selves.”

Freeman Fred kissed my forehead. “You are the way, the true-eth. Love too small word for you.” He got up to exit.

“Wait,” I said as loudly as I could. Freeman Fred turned to me. “You must promise me one thing.”

“Any thing want,” he said bending close so I wouldn’t strain myself.

“Never let it be about me. You must promise. Don’t let anyone make the mistake of believing there is one path – the Great Spirit is everywhere, in every person, animal and thing. I am no more a part of It than anyone else. There can be no one true path because the road to the Creator is inward and different for each. Don’t let them say I am the one true way. Anyone whose heart is open would have made the choices I made – the only difference was, I was given the opportunity.” Freeman Fred looked quizzically at me. I grabbed his hand. “Don’t let them make a martyr out of me.”

Freeman Fred nodded gravely. “Promise.”

“The lesson isn’t in my death, it’s in you and your people’s life.”

That night Ira hovered around me while I slept, stroking my head until Tuwa reminded him he might infect some of the blisters on my scalp. He whispered softly into my ear how much he loved me over and over until he fell sleep at my side.

    

    

 

 

          Chapter 49 – A Miracle

(2047—April)

 

 

 

Malone couldn’t believe the transmission. He really hadn’t expected the good news, in fact he’d spent a sleepless night worried – perhaps the only time Malone remembered being worried enough about anything to keep him awake since his first big hacking job. And weirder still was the odd twinge in his gut, something he’d never felt before – guilt.

Malone had done many unsavory things in his life, committed many crimes, but he’d never looked back, never once felt a bit of shame or sorrow or remorse. He’d come to believe he was a sociopath doing whatever needed to be done to survive. But seeing me tortured to save a group of strangers, and not just strangers, but a people not even their creator cared about, had moved Malone. He realized in that moment he could feel for others – he’d just witnessed too much pain, death and selfishness throughout his childhood that he’d cut his feelings off, hadn’t allowed himself the joy of love, or the pain of remorse, sadness or guilt – nothing. He had turned himself into a big zero – a big nothing – an empty pit. But now it was different.

It wasn’t just Malone who had been touched by my suffering, Herb, too was moved into a kind of religious fervor which was exacerbated by his wife Josephine. Josephine claimed she and several children and one other childcare worker had seen an unnatural light around me while I was strapped to the circle cross just before I was given the toxin. Malone wasn’t convinced, but for him the lesson of my death wasn’t about salvation and the afterlife, it was about saving yourself in this life, the here and now, reclaiming the ability to feel and have empathy and a full inner life – something he’d lost by the time he was five years old when his parents died of plague. Suddenly, he didn’t have to steal something, or break into a defense department computer or rob someone to feel a rush, now he felt a tsunami. My crucifixion had been the earthquake in his subconscious awakening all the emotion he had spent years burying.

In order to spread the good news Malone had called a meeting in his small office. Minutes later it was jammed with a dozen people. They were Josephine’s people. She had a network of true believers, people who followed the word, walked its talk and had been waiting for the savior to return. They, too had seen the lights around me, heard the angelic music and upon hearing of my survival were convinced I, Psyche Hershenbaum was not of this world.

“She’s alive?” Herb asked for the third time with the same awe he had shown the previous two.

Malone nodded.

“You see,” Josephine said. “We witnessed a miracle.”

One of the believers, a young woman who worked in food preparation named Lisa said, “Why couldn’t God have sent us a Daughter? It makes sense. We wouldn’t be expecting it. It would be a great test for the true believers. His only Son and now His only Daughter. It’s so clear.”

“Yes,” Josephine added. “There are so many wicked here. He had to send Her to sort out the unworthy before his final judgment.”

Herb nodded. “Right. And if it wasn’t for Psyche the Environ would never have been, without her research Lamont said the Environ would have taken another ten to twenty years to complete and by then we would all have been dust.”

“Now wait a second…” Malone said. “There is something special about her, I’ll give you that. But she’s not God. God doesn’t exist.”

The faithful stared at him as if he had just murdered one of them. Josephine said, “Then how do you explain Psyche waking from the dead when you know better than anyone no human being could survive what she endured?”

Malone stared back at Josephine’s pious, watchful eyes, there was innocence and goodness in them. What could it hurt to let these desperate people believe there was something more? Perhaps they were right to have faith, if believing gave purpose to their lives and allowed them the strength to feel their pain then who was he to take that away from them?

 

            Chapter 50 – Proof

 (April—2047)

 

 

 

Reginald was desperate for proof of my death and Paul had spent the past forty eight hours trying to figure a way to save Strauch from taking another life. Paul had considered sending one off his men to the bone yard, chances were if they braved the rain and dug into the sludgy waters they’d find a few skulls and bone fragments to chose from, but even a casual observer of the Geneco would know one of their skulls from that of an ordinary human. Paul racked his brain. There had to be a medical skeleton in an old closet somewhere, but where? If he asked one of the medical crew, later when Psyche’s remains were found in the excrement trail, they’d be suspicious. The only two men he could trust now were Malone and Herb.

He rushed to get dressed and exit his cushy cell, his son still asleep. He couldn’t call one of the corporate nannies, it was four in the morning and this would sound an alarm. He told himself he’d just be gone a minute.

“Computer,” he whispered toward the dialing system. “Get Malone for me.”

It rang only once before Malone abruptly answered, “Hello.”

“You’re awake?”

“Who is that?” Lisa sat up in bed and whispered discreetly into Malone’s ear.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. Meet me at the lab.”

“When?”

“Now.”

“Give me five minutes,” Malone gave Lisa a kiss on the cheek, for a true believer she was one hell of a lover. He mouthed the words, “I won’t be long stay here.”

She smiled and nodded back mouthing, “I’ll make breakfast.’

“See you there.” Paul aimed his voice at the computer and said, “Disengage.”

“Disengaged.”

“I thought I programmed it not to talk back,” he mumbled to himself. He popped his head in on Bryan. The boy was sound asleep. His mother would be coming round to pick him up later that afternoon, but since the day had officially been declared a day of celebration, Bryan would most likely sleep in until nine. But to be safe Paul would have to hurry. Bryan had been having terrible nightmares since the execution. And if Paul was caught MIA Tricia would never agree to let Bryan stay over again. Half an hour at most, Paul told himself as he walked through the orifice.

 

Malone was still buttoning his shirt when he came through the lab orifice. Paul was right behind him. “Thanks for being prompt,” Paul said.

“What choice did I have?” Malone countered. “I owe my life to you.”

Paul nodded. “I don’t have much time. I need you to dig up an old medical skeleton for me.”

“Just give me a shovel.”

“Problem is I don’t know where one is. I don’t want to go to medical because they’ll get suspicious. Strauch is asking for evidence that Psyche was digested.”

“Won’t the waste cycle people know the timing is off?”

“I’m going to distress it and put it in the trail at the right time.”

“Risky,” Malone said. “It won’t look natural. Some people might not believe it.”

“Enough of them will. Besides I’m not worried about them, I’m worried about Strauch going on another murderous rampage.”

Malone nodded. “I’ll get on it. Shouldn’t take me long. I’ll have something in your office by noon.”

“Fine. That will give me twelve hours to manufacture its digestion. We’ll set it out on the trail at midnight.”

Malone nodded.

 

Paul rushed back to his cell. Bryan was screaming. He rushed in and held his terrified boy. “It’s ok. I’m here. Shhh,” he said rocking Bryan back and forth.

 

It took minutes for Malone to locate an out of use, broken down teaching skeleton. And all the better it was female. Lisa would not believe what he was being made to do. He rung up his cell. It took a while for her to answer, she was probably afraid of getting caught.

“Hello?” she said in a strange fake masculine voice.

“It’s me.”

“I thought it was but…’

“It’s OK. I won’t be able to make it to breakfast. You’ll never believe what I’ve been ordered to do.”

“What?”

“Suffice it to say Strauch himself doesn’t believe Psyche died. That’s all I can say. You’ll figure out the rest by tomorrow.”

Lisa glowed. It was true – now there would be proof to use for converting the lost. Psyche had been the second coming so many had waited for, judgment day was just around the corner, soon she would be reunited with her beloved mother, father, three sisters and brother. Every person she had ever loved, now she would get to hold them in her arms again, hold their hands, hear their laughter and voices speak to them again. For Lisa the saddest part of losing her family to the skeleton plague wasn’t their death because she knew their spirits survived and were with God – it was seeing her mother in a dream and not being able to speak to her. She had realized over time the sound of her families voices had faded from her memory and now all of them were but mute ghosts she could only hope to catch a glimpse of in the background of a dream.

It was just quarter to five in the morning. Josephine and Herb would still be home, although they might be sleeping. But Lisa was sure they’d want to hear the good news.

“Computer, Give me Mr. and Mrs. Herb Jones in section 2-A, cell number 3, please.”

“Dialing… Dialing… Dialing…”

“Hello?” Josephine’s voice croaked.

“I’m sorry to wake you but I have some big news,” Lisa said.

“What is it?” Josephine said nervously sitting up in bed.

“It’s not bad. It’s fantastic! So good I don’t want to spoil it by telling you over the phone. We need to gather the devoted together and take our vows tonight.”

“She’s alive?”

“Yes.”

“Praise be to God!” Josephine said so loud Herb woke in a start.

“What’s going on?” He asked, but Josephine just waved him away for the moment and he settled back on his pillow.

“We need a place to…”

“No worries, we can use our cell for the meeting.”

“It has to be late,” Lisa said.

“Yes. When everyone’s gone to bed. Midnight should do.”

“Great I’ll get it everything together.”

“Come by in an hour.”

“Will do,” Lisa said disengaging the computer.

 

           Chapter 51 – Progress

(April—2047)    

 

 

 

     Ira prepared the Juniper and Sage, detoxifying tea just as Tuwa had instructed. Both of them had cots brought into the tent inside the cave so they wouldn’t have to be gone while they were sleeping. They took care of me in shifts, although Ira had yet to take advantage of the new arrangement. My progress had gotten him so excited he had spent the eight hours he should have rested talking to me about everything that crossed his mind. It was as if he felt I couldn’t die while he was speaking.

Ira handed me the tea. It was bitter and unpleasant to the palate. I wrinkled my nose during the first sip. “Is this really necessary?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said sitting down next to me. I put the cup to my mouth and couldn’t help souring my face at the smell of it. “Drink it.”

“It’s disgusting. Almost as bad as that ‘wine’ you used to make out of old decayed grapes back in DC.”

He smiled. “I can’t believe I’m actually happy you’re teasing me about that.”

“I know. It used to make you so mad.”

“I never said a thing about it.”

“But your face did,” I said gulping down the rest of the concoction as fast as I could. “Could I have something to wash down the taste?” Ira handed me a cup of freshly squeezed apple juice. I took a sip. “Ahh, that’s more like it.” He smiled quizzically at me.

“I’ve changed, that’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “But it’s not bad… it’s good.”

I took hold of his hand and smiled. “I want you to know I’ve never felt happier or more at peace. And I know things now. I understand.”

He stared at me. “What kind of things?”

“Anything I want to. I can feel it. Everything’s different. I don’t have to wonder about why the world is the way it is; why the galaxy revolves around a black hole; how space-time is curved by giant celestial bodies, or ponder what it really means for time to be a dimension. I know. I feel all of it as if I’ve been plugged into the Source of All and my cells are glowing.”

Ira watched me with a blank look on his face. I could tell he was scared. I wasn’t the same Psyche, either I’d gone nuts or I was on my deathbed. I gently rubbed the flap of skin between his thumb and fingers and said, “Don’t be afraid. No matter what happens just know there is no such thing as death, just as there is no such thing as time.” But he continued to stare blankly. “Everything and everyone is eternal, you see?”

He shook his head. “You had an experience while you were…”

“Dead? Yes. How long was I technically gone for?”

“The poison Lamont concocted did more than just reduce your vital signs to indictable levels.”

“So, how long was I gone?”

“We think the poison alone would have worked, but with all the other injuries, it was too much.”

“And again, how long?”

“It took a couple hours before we could get to you.”

“Shouldn’t I have brain damage?”

“Ira nodded. It was a miracle the antidote got your heart going again.”

“If I was truly dead it wouldn’t have worked.”

Ira stared hard at me.

“It was Tuwa.”

He nodded. “Paul pulled me aside just before we left and told me the antidote shouldn’t have worked.”

Tuwa awoke and put a kettle on. She came over with some sweet tea and handed it to me. “You’ll like it,” she said and then turned to Ira. “You look exhausted. Go to sleep.”

“But it’s not time.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said.

Ira kissed my cheek and climbed into the sleeping bag on the nearby cot. “I’ll be right here. Don’t worry about waking me.”

Tuwa and I nodded. The moment his head hit the pillow he was snoring. “You will teach the path of the Great spirit to the Geney, won’t you?” I asked.

“Of course. You need your energy. You should get some sleep.”

I handed her back my tea and sunk into my pillow. “I am tired.”

It was a cold windy night. She stroked the crown of my head softly and sang a prayer song. She turned the lights off, leaving one just outside the tent, inside the cave, near the portable toilet and slipped back under the blankets on her cot. She hadn’t intended to fall back to sleep, just rest a moment, but her body was fatigued and asleep she fell.

 

     A few hours later I was awoken by a brilliant white light. It was burning hot and I was covered in sweat. My eyes were open, but I couldn’t see anything except white so I closed them and through my lids I saw the cave perfectly. A few moments later the light dimmed enough for me to open my eyes again and there standing in front of me was a tall luminescent woman. I wasn’t sure if she was an angel or maybe a Goddess but she beckoned me forward, holding out a hand to help me up.

     I threw back the covers. The being unwrapped my bandages and said, “You won’t need these anymore.” It felt good to be released from the tight restriction of my wounds. She grabbed my hand.

     It felt as though we were speeding through the cave faster than light. We were already somewhere deep inside and I felt weary from the journey through the twists and curves. I couldn’t understand how we had gotten there or where we were going or how far we had come. I looked down and realized I was naked except for my underwear. But how had it happened? I couldn’t remember taking anything off. Water was rushing up ahead from an underground river and the being stopped once we reached its edge.

     “The water is cool let it take away your pain,” The being said. “It is time to be released. Time to go home.” She put her hand on my forehead and I saw my body peel off my underwear and walk into the river. I stayed with the being, watching my shell float downstream. “Time for the flesh to be returned to the Mother,” she said.

     The angel put her arms around me in a sheltering gesture. I heard the ancient prayer songs Tuwa had sung, getting louder and stronger until the cave went blinding white again. My spirit become light and the pain disappeared. I was cleansed of all my earthly chains, and felt the warm all encompassing love again and heard my mother’s laughter bleeding through the other side. And into the tunnel of pure radiant white light we dissolved.
    

   Chapter 52 – Tox Stream

   (April—2047)

 

 

 

It was Midnight. Malone and Herb waited at the docks in wet suits. A few minutes later Lamont walked in with a large suitcase, inside was the fermented skeleton. It looked good, but there was no way it would stand up to testing but of course Lamont had fixed that end of things.

They got on the hover boat. Malone opened the orifice and the trio braved the stormy night and choppy seas. “Engage the infrared searchlight,” Lamont said.

“Engaged,” Malone responded.

Lightning cracked the sky and the rain turned from sprinkles into sheets. The little hover boat pitched and dipped in tandem with the ripples underneath. Herb, who was looking for the tox stream under the current via the infrared monitor, called out, “Stop! We’re right on top of it.”

Lamont strapped Malone into the harness. “You really think this will work?” asked Malone.

“A boat is coming out here tomorrow morning at daybreak to look for her remains,” Lamont replied while he unrolled the twin set of steel cords and hooked them onto Malone’s harness. Herb strapped the oxygen tank on Malone and then got into a harness on his own.

“Ready?”

“As soon as I see Herb prepared to save my ass if need be.” Malone put on his helmet and turned on the oxygen.

Herb strapped on his tank and hooked himself to the other set of dive reels and gave Malone a thumbs up.

Malone shook his head. “Uh-uh, not until you put on the helmet. It’s a fucking nightmare out there.”

Herb secured his helmet. Malone walked onto the deck while Lamont waited for his signal.

Malone took a deep breath, nodded and closed his eyes, jumping into the stormy abyss with the suitcase. Lamont hit the red button in front of the reels and the cord engaged, giving Malone more than enough slack to reach the bottom.

The trail was worn down by the water except for the six hundred or so meters from the Environ waste orifice. Malone swam to within a meter of it and popped open the suitcase. The skeleton wanted to float away. It was a struggle to get it to lay still in the toxic goo. He had to pile it over all of the body, leaving only the top of the skull to pop through so it would be obvious to the diving team in the morning. The toxic goo burned through the rubber gloves he was wearing. He had to get back on the boat and do a scrub down before it burnt through his skin. He yanked on the line.

 

          Chapter 53 – Underground Stream

                     (April—2047)

 

 

 

     Ira’s wristcom went off. It was pitch black in the cave, the light Tuwa had left on near the toilet had burned out while they were sleeping and he couldn’t see an inch in front of himself. He turned on his flashlight, but it was still too dark. He fumbled his way toward one of the other lights near my cot. As soon as the light came on he saw a small pile of bandages near my cot and gasped.

     “She’s not here! Wake up, Tuwa. She’s gone!” He yelled.

     “I’ll check outside,” Tuwa said. “You look in the cave maybe she woke up and got confused.”

     He wondered, what kind of crazy fever dream or delusion had she had to take off the bandages? He couldn’t understand. He pulled out a head lantern and put it on. Immediately, he saw signs that I had gone through the cave. He found a bloody shirt I had discarded a few yards in. He called out, “Psyche? Psyche!” But no answer came back. He figured I must have slept walked or gotten mixed up. Before he continued he went to find Tuwa.

     Tuwa was walking back inside when he found her. “She went through the corridor. I found her T-shirt.”

     Tuwa grabbed her head lantern and followed him with a cup of herbs to sprinkle as they went through the maze. It would be impossible to find a way out without markers, she thought it was likely I had gotten lost in the labyrinth. They yelled my name periodically. When they came to a fork, Tuwa filled Ira’s pocket with Juniper berries before they split up.

 

  Chapter 54 – Pulverized

  (April—2047)

 

 

 

No one was allowed to examine the bones once the divers had found them except through the lens of Bill Surnow’s live documentary being broadcast throughout the Environ with only a thirty-minute delay in case disaster struck and some emergency editing was necessary. To the naked eye there was nothing unusual about the striations on the skeletal remains or the pattern of fecal cover.

Lamont and his men had been waiting on the hover boat for the evidence, and as soon as the divers emerged from the water with the sludgy remains, Malone swaddled the bones in a special “holy blanket” and quickly ushered them into a small safe followed by bright lights and the watchful eye of the camera. The remains were then shepherded to the church altar, with Surnow’s crew in tow. They wrapped at the altar where the remains would stay until the mandatory attendance ceremony at eight that evening.

     Josephine was holding court back at her cell with Lisa and the other true believers. They watched the monitor like archeologists examining new fossil evidence of an ancient queen.

     “They did a good job,” Josephine said. “There’s no way anyone could tell.”

     Lisa nearly jumped out of her skin. It was as if someone had stuck a hot poker into her back. She narrowed her eyes at Josephine. “Are you stupid? Or do you want me dead?”

     “It’s OK,” Josephine cooed. “They have all taken an oath and they know the repercussions of breaking it.”

     Lisa snapped back, “And what are the repercussions?”

     “Permanent exile from the group and if need be… exile from the Environ.”

     Lisa’s expression went from repugnance to shock. “You may as well kill them.”

     Josephine shook her head. “Perhaps for some, but others would survive and some might even find their way to the colony of Psyche.”

     “That’s absurd.”

     “If they stayed here they would surely be murdered. We all would. At least they would have a chance.”    

     Lamont arrived early at the church, something he never did, but he was anxious to make sure everything went smoothly. Before the doors opened Bill Surnow and Ellis Rush surveyed the altar to find the best angles for the broadcast, to be viewed as a reminder the following day. And of course Rush and Surnow hoped the footage would be traipsed out, cut and re-packaged on the anniversary in some variation for the next hundred years, this might very well be their legacy. 

Paul watched them scramble around yelling to their crew as if every little thing were the next cure to cancer. He couldn’t help smirking. Malone walked in and snuck up on him. “Are you actually smiling?” Malone asked.

“Just look at them, if you squint hard enough it almost looks like they’re wearing berets.” Paul chuckled at his own joke.

     Malone pretended to squint. “I just see two guys with tiny dicks.”

     A quick hard belly laugh escaped Paul before he had the chance to reign it in. The crew stopped to look at him and Surnow turned around with a smile on his face. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you laugh. What did I miss?”

     Paul shifted his weight and crossed his arms. “Nothing.”

     Malone chimed in, “I just recited the daily limerick.”

     Surnow’s face soured and he went back to sorting out camera angles and script problems. “You’re pretty quick on your feet,” Paul said.

     “That’s why you hired me.”

     The stage hands motioned Paul and Malone off the altar. Shortly after they moved, down came the crucifixion scrim. Paul hated this particular backdrop it was an unnecessarily gory depiction of Christ’s final moments, blood streamed out of the wounds on his hands and feet, and instead of the clean line of the spear’s entrance point, God’s guts spilt as if he had been eviscerated instead of stabbed.

     At the stage manager’s request, Lamont and Malone moved behind the ghastly scrim. The bright white stage lights gave the illusion it was solid in front and completely transparent from the back. It was as if Lamont and Malone were standing on stage, something neither would have relished under normal circumstances, but this perspective would give them a heads up if anything went wrong.

Rush made a motion and the camera’s light turned on. Surnow patted his hair, and tugged on the sleeves of his formal jacket. “One, two and… Action,” Rush said.

Bill Surnow’s face contorted into his signature look of false concern. “Reporting live from the Church Room, this is Bill Surnow.” He paused for effect.

 “Tonight the final conclusion to our nation’s saga, the remains of the crazed mutant woman who poisoned to death all but a handful of Geneco. Tonight we will witness an even greater punishment than her death itself. For as the Lord God himself said in the book of Nahum, ‘The LORD is a jealous God, filled with vengeance and wrath. He takes revenge on all who oppose him and furiously destroys his enemies!’”

Surnow sobered his expression even more and said, “Indeed. Indeed…. This has been Bill Surnow reporting live. Services start at eight PM sharp, formalwear is required.”

“And cut!” Rush yelled. “That’s a wrap.” Rush hurried to Surnow’s side and patted him on the back. “Great work Bill, such intensity!”

“You really think so?” Bill replied.

The men’s voices became to faint to hear as they walked toward the exit orifice. Once they were out of earshot Malone said to Lamont, “You don’t think they really believe that shit, do you?”

“They’ll believe anything if it makes them special.”

The stage lights dimmed and Jessie and Sandy Applegate got in place, one behind each curtain, stage left and right. Both had more make-up on than Queen Elizabeth. Lamont whispered, “It always amazes me how a little bit of fame and a hell of a lot of vanity can castrate and humiliate a man without his knowledge.”

Malone snickered. 

Moments later the orifice opened and the room filled with all manner of people, from the lowliest commoners in simple jobs like housekeeping, education, gardening and childrearing, to the grandest Environ citizens in banking, accounting and government. The lower classes of women wore simple gray button down dresses, just past their knees and half-moon shaped bonnets. The men gray suits. The upper classes dressed in garish colors, dripping in whatever gems, gold and platinum they could afford. The more they were adorned the greater was their status. It was a vile new custom – one that offended Lamont’s sense of propriety.

The scientists trickled in last, sitting mostly in the back rows or wedged between people who had stupidly left a seat open between their party and the next. They came in specially adorned with badges or metals on their dress lab coats according to their rank of importance much like the ancients dressed the military for special services. Reginald had decided it would be easier to keep track of them at church and this way there could be no sneaking out but if there was, the public would believe it was due to a legitimate reason. 

The role of scientist had taken a strange turn in the Environ, both revered and hated. Science was taught to be wicked by The Wrath of God, Inc., yet it was utterly necessary to everyone’s survival. Despite this fact, there was a growing movement among zealous church members to downgrade the importance of science and publicly revile it while the upper classes pretended to go along with this but secretly bribed genetic specialists and chemists to make them live longer or give their skin a youthful glow.

Strauch himself was conflicted on the issue, not because he truly believed the horse shit being fed to the lower classes, but because the scientists posed the only real threat to his regime. He had been careful not to let anyone into the Environ unless they had shown absolute devotion to him and his family, almost everyone picked, except the scientists, had familial friendships with the Strauch gang that spanned generations even among the lower classes or “worker bees,” as he had begun referring to them. They had been chosen through the Strauch network of friends, and friends of friends, or because they were huge Applegate devotees and after all other posts had been filled by the highly connected they were squeezed in for menial tasks. A few were warned to fake their IQ test scores so they could get in. Josephine and Lisa were chief among them.

The lights in the audience went dim and the stage lights came up. From stage right Jessie Applegate bounded like a spry fifteen year old boy straight to the center, behind the altar with the safe full of Psyche’s supposed remains. And the circus began, for most of it Paul stayed focused on the crowd, watching their reactions to Jessie and Sandy’s overly dramatic presentation.

Sandy was particularly opulent and confident. Her lavender hair had been deepened to a royal purple and raised in a curly cone nearly three feet high. Her dress was designed to look modest but hugged her curves inappropriately. No one had to tell her sex sold, she had figured that out on her own at the tender age of thirteen.

Lamont couldn’t bear to listen to their sermon. Instead he thought about getting custody of Bryan. The boy’s brilliant mind was in danger of being spoiled by his mother and step father’s blind faith. It was essential someone carry on Paul’s work and keep the passion for science alive in this forsaken place. A place that would surely degrade into nothing within a few generations if Strauch and the Applegates had their way.

Jessie struggled to open the safe. He couldn’t seem to dial in the right combination on the lock. The energy in the room was fading and he was starting to sweat. He glanced at the scrim and seconds later Malone swaggered out. “Ah, I see God has sent me a helper,” Jessie joked to the audience.

Malone nodded his head and in seconds had the safe open, whereby he promptly went back to stand by Lamont’s side behind the scrim. Lamont was so locked in on how to win custody of his son, he barely noticed Malone had gone until he was back. Paul could make Tricia look like she had a drug problem, but that might get her killed. Forget about setting up Dick, the church would protect him as they had so many times before. No, he had to make them want to give Bryan over to him.

The sound of an enormous mallet crunching bones and cracking wood broke Lamont out of his daydream. The site of Jessie smashing the remains of what the audience though was Psyche’s remains was so gruesome it would have caused him to vomit had he not known she was safe at the Collective. Even still it was nauseating and he focused on the row of people he could study in front. Some looked excited, some cheered, but there were those whose faces had turned green and looked like it was taking everything they could to hold the contents of their stomachs in. Seeing it gave Paul hope for the Environ.

Of course, That was it, he thought. He would convince Tricia and Dick through education and privilege. If Bryan stayed with them he wouldn’t get the same access to the scientific community. He would barter an apprenticeship for his boy with them. If they allowed Bryan to live with him, he would promise to train him to take over the science department. There was no higher position than his except Strauch’s and perhaps the Applegates. And this would guarantee a higher class of marriage partner. Staying with them would relegate Bryan to the middle ministry class.

Lamont would appeal to Tricia’s ambition and Dick’s need to be the center of the universe, with Bryan out of their lives he would be her soul focus. It was fool proof. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? He wondered, knowing perfectly well it was because he hadn’t had a chance to think about any of it until then.

From that point on Lamont watched the ceremony with a glee he hadn’t felt since Bryan’s birth. Finally, his boy would come home to him. He had found a way to take back what Tricia had stolen.

 

Josephine watched the pulverizing of the bones with malice. She and her followers knew the truth and the absurd and vile spectacle of Jessie Applegate taking a mallet to a batch of digested remains and smashing it to bits, yelling, “Hallelujah!” between breaths and expecting the congregation to parrot him and his sick enthusiasm twisted her heart to revenge. She had never intended to let the truth go beyond the True Believers, but now she felt she had to answer God’s calling to expand the new religion. Of course it would have to stay secret and underground. But what good did living do if it meant being complicit in this perverse new world which was more like a prison than a community? The truth had set her free, let it set all those called to it free. God would be the judge. She would take whatever mortal punishment metered out by the government. If God wanted to make her a martyr than so be it.

The ceremony didn’t last long and when it was over victory parties erupted all over the Environ, in the bars and communal areas, privately in people’s cells. It was a good excuse to get drunk – a sanctioned excuse, the first communal celebration and holiday they’d been encouraged to show glee. The bars ran out of their allotments quickly and citizens broke into their private reserves, sharing them with near strangers. The entire Environ was drunk, everyone except for the True Believers who met at Josephine and Herb’s cell and quietly meditated on how to grow their movement slowly and without being noticed by the ruling class.

 

                   Chapter 55 — Lost

  (2047—April)

 

 

 

     Ira looked at his wristcom, only half an hour left before he had to meet Tuwa back at the pass, but he was on the right path. He had found more of my discarded clothing and heard rushing water up ahead. The corridor narrowed and he had to crawl through to a ledge that let down onto the bank of an underground stream. There he saw the last item, my underwear and picked it up. But I was nowhere.

     There was no place to go from here, but into the water. He had to face it. I had probably gone into the river and the current was strong. If I had, my body would have been swept too far down stream by now to ever be recovered. He put a finger in. It was freezing cold. I would have died of hypothermia within the hour. There was no hope I was alive. It was too late.

     He broke down at the water’s edge calling my name, “Psyche!” then softly, “Psyche.” He was helpless. He lost track of time and stayed there waiting. Other miracles had happened and he prayed I would reappear somehow. They had been so close to saving me. His strength had gone.

About an hour later he heard a woman’s voice calling his name. He sprang up hopeful, filled with joy. “Psyche! Psyche I’m over here.”

     Tuwa followed Ira’s call for me. She slipped under a series of stalactites and squeezed through the narrow opening that led to the underground river.

     Ira’s heart sank when Tuwa entered and said, “It’s only me.” She felt the stabbing pain in his heart as if it were her own. “I’m sorry.”

     Ira put his hands to his face and bawled. Tuwa held him.

 

                 Chapter 56 – Infinity

 

 

 

     The Environ was quiet again, things had returned to normal. The only whispering of miracles were those at secret gatherings of the True Believers. They had collected all the transmissions between Malone and Ira and had transcribed them, reading them daily to each other like a book of psalms.

     Paul’s plan had gone off without a hitch as far as the Strauchs and Applegates knew. He worried the True Believers would be found out eventually by trying to convert the wrong person or would be overheard in conversation about their radical beliefs and turned into one of the Bishops. They were on their own now. He couldn’t protect them and he told them so, but he also couldn’t stop them.

     Tricia and Dick put up a fight to keep Bryan, but gave up when they found out she was pregnant and in danger of losing the baby due to all the stress. Bryan they agreed for everyone’s sake would be better off with Paul. Just being in his custody would elevate his status and give him a better chance in life. He had shown no signs of the spiritually devoted and no talent for public speaking, but he did have the same brilliant and questioning mind as his father. In the end Tricia let him decide and he wanted to be with Paul. It broke her heart, but freed her at the same time – strange mixed feelings she could never admit to anyone. 

She and Dick relinquished the fight to stay involved and when baby Joshua was born weekend visits dwindled to an end. Bryan over the years became so like Paul – he had no tolerance for his mother’s superstitions and his step-father’s manipulations and they had another son to dote on who they seemed to prefer anyhow.

 

   Chapter 57 – Rope

 (June—2047)

 

 

 

     Naomi could feel their eyes on her everywhere she went and there were whispers, too. When she came into the lab her workers turned their backs on her, pretending to be working on something too important to talk to her, worse was when she addressed them and they wouldn’t look at her, answering only in monosyllabic grunts. She could feel their hatred. They blame me for Psyche’s death, that’s what she thought.

     Ira had stopped attending committee meetings. His excuse was his devotion to teaching the Geney so that when the rains stopped they could help with the building of their community. But Naomi knew the real reason, it was to avoid seeing her. Ira had made no secret of his anger toward her or toward Paul. Early on after my crossing he had lashed out at Naomi calling her a murderess, but he hadn’t meant it. In his grief he had yelled at her for opening the door that fateful day, called her Pandora, likened her to Delilah and to Eve, to every known villainess in history. But it wasn’t him, it was his pain talking, in his heart of hearts he blamed only himself for not being able to save me.

     Naomi had been having terrible nightmares since my murder. In many they started out with a happy reunion with Paul, embracing him and going into a private room to make love only to find midway through he would get rougher and rougher until his face distorted into that of a demon, horns on his head, claws for hands ripping her flesh apart. She would wake in a cold sweet, heart racing, afraid to go back to sleep. It became impossible to rest and when she could no longer keep herself awake, if it wasn’t the nightmares about Paul there were the other ones of my suffering, her imagination far worse than anything I ever felt.

     And then one day Steven came home from school and asked her, “Why did you open the door that day?” She had no answer. She had thought about it over and over but how could she explain to a ten year old boy the complicated feelings of a woman’s love for a man? Or the trust that comes with loving someone enough to want to be bound forever with him through the legacy of a child? How could a child understand what she herself could not. There was no reason she should have loved Paul the way she had, no good reason. He had done nothing to deserve it, but she had loved him more than perhaps anyone should. All he had given her was heartache, broken promises, lies and empty gestures that went nowhere, but when she saw him all the love she had came back and overtook her as it had all those other foolish times. She was a rational woman and it vexed her to no end that she could allow any tiny part of herself to be out of control, yet it was. She stood wanting to explain all of this to Steven, but couldn’t.

     “Roger’s dad said CAT would have stopped them if you hadn’t let them in. That if they hadn’t had the element of surprise we could have taken the Environ people hostage.” Naomi stood stunned, dumbly watching Steven. “He said it was all your fault.”

     Before she knew what happened, her hand made contact with his tiny face. And the slap was so hard it made the boy’s ear ring and cheek swell to a candy apple red in the shape of a hand. He looked as betrayed as she felt and ran out of their tiny room to hide in the kitchen larder where he cried himself to sleep among the canned and boxed food.

     Naomi stared at her red hand. She had never hit anyone, not even as a child, and never Steven, not so much as a tap. She couldn’t believe her own strength, her own anger so beyond her ability to control it like so many things now. She had made a fool of herself loving and trusting Paul, and now she had wounded the one person in the world who she loved more than anything, the one person she would have laid her life down for. “What have I become?” she whispered to herself feeling her grip on sanity ebbing away.

     She wanted to go look for Steven, but was afraid to see the pain in his eyes reflected back at her. It wasn’t just she who had suffered for her mistake, Steven was embarrassed by her. He too had come to hate her as everyone else had. And there was nothing worse than seeing hatred in your own child’s eyes when all you ever wanted from them was love. What good was her life now except to ruin Steven’s? If she stayed to be a reminder of Psyche’s death, Steven would take on his mother’s sins. It was already happening. He was teased at school, had been caught fighting with another boy. Up until Psyche’s death he had never had a cross word with another child as far as she knew, he had been the model student, now he seemed filled with rage and shame. But if he could have a fresh start. If he could be associated with someone else before his anger and shame distorted him, he would have a chance. He was young enough he might even forget about his real mother, and over time if he had the right person to raise him, someone like Tuwa, he could blossom.

     Naomi reached under her bed and pulled out her personal storage box, inside was a diary she had kept off and on since she had found out about her pregnancy. She resisted the urge to read her past, it was full of too much hope and possibilities that never materialized. She considered burying it so no one would find it, but there wasn’t anything scandalous in it and she decided Steven could come to know her through it. Maybe he would  understand one day, forgive her ignorance in love, and shameful foolish belief in promises.

Naomi paged through the small leather book until she found the place where the ink stopped and a clean yellowed page began. She wrote:

June 15, 2047

Dearest Steven,

I loved your father Samuel very much and for many years I believed you were very much like him. But as you’ve grown, I’ve seen you blossom into a very different young man and realize now what a mistake I made by keeping all of the secrets I have kept for so many years. If you have read this far into the journal by now you know that I had a romantic relationship with Paul Lamont before you were born, during one of the darkest times of my life. Your father had cancer and in my pain I turned to Paul.

I believed he was a good man and that he would leave his wife. We didn’t expect your father to live much longer, but things worked out very differently. Paul decided to stay with Tricia and your father lived through the cancer. I know it wasn’t right to betray Samuel when he most needed me, but I was not strong enough, our marriage was still new and I suppose I felt vulnerable and angry at him for getting sick and leaving me, even if it was through death.

I can’t really explain why I did what I did. I have lived with the guilt and the shame of it alone all these years. Your father never found out, which I was forever thankful for because I never meant to hurt him. The very thought of betraying him now turns my stomach, and I can’t believe I could have ever done such a thing to a man as kind as he was. Worse still was I truly loved both your father and Paul Lamont. And I believed both men truly loved me. Paul and I parted out of respect and love for our partners, or so I thought at the time, and not because we didn’t love one another. It’s very complicated and hard to understand even for me after all these years of thinking about it.

After seeing Paul again, I realized, you  were not Samuel’s son but Paul’s. I was never sure and I guess I wanted to believe you were Samuel’s. The timing of my pregnancy always made me suspect it couldn’t have been his, your father was going through intensive electric and concentrated radiation treatments which often had a sterilizing effect this is why you have no siblings.

Please don’t hate Paul Lamont or blame him for any of this. It wasn’t his fault. He is a part of you and you are a remarkable and wonderful young man. You have his great intellect and even demeanor, you should be proud to be his son.

 Understand I love you more than anything and none of this was your fault. Sometimes circumstances arise and we are like a canoe in a hurricane struggling to find our bearings and stay on course, but nature will not allow it. Sometimes things happen that are nobody’s responsibility, they just are the necessary conclusion to a series of events and no one can stop them. This was one of those times.

We can’t help who we love no matter how hard we try. I’m sorry for the shame I’ve caused you and for the heartache I’ve brought to so many. Please find it in your heart to forgive me. I will always love you.

 

     Naomi shut the journal and left it on her pillow. She went to look for Steven. One of the chiefs had found him in the larder shortly after he had cried himself to sleep and had carried the boy to the daycare room. Naomi found him tucked away from a group of half a dozen teenaged boys who no longer wanted to stay in the family bunk rooms. Naomi kissed his cheek gently and slipped a copy of her most recent will in his shirt pocket.  

     There was rope in the equipment closet just down the hall. She remembered seeing it there when she had put away the sweeper a few days before. Gingerly, she crept down the empty hallway. It had to be near three in the morning and everyone was asleep and she didn’t want to wake them.

     The closet was in disarray. The rope was buried behind a toolbox and a year’s supply of masking tape. It had been pushed into the deepest dark on the bottom shelf where she soundlessly cleared a path to it.

     It was misty outside something she hadn’t seen since they had first come to Oregon, but mostly she remembered the fog from her girlhood in Massachusetts. She was sure there had been fog in all the other places she had lived, but somehow only the childhood memory was clear. 

The cool wet blanket of mist caressed her skin as if with gentle encouragement – it both comforted and steeled her resolve. A bright, full, Strawberry Moon hung low in the sky – she caught glimpses of it between the thin swirling gloom. Its light bounced off the white air bestowing the night with a queer magical luminescence.

     As Naomi journeyed into the forest beyond the scrims an aberrant intoxication overtook her. The feeling was a surprise – she had expected a heavy inundation of guilt to paralyze her and erase the pain, perhaps even amend her macabre decision. 

The construction crew had left a pile of supplies near the pathway to the forthcoming Geney Village. Naomi scavenged around, contemplating a small foot stool made of metal, but decided it was too heavy. She grabbed a head lantern and with its light found a plastic bucket full of tools. After emptying it onto the ground, she carried the bucket with her.

Just off the lab’s path, about three hundred meters from the scrims, was a senescent red alder. It’s branches looked hearty enough to hold her without snapping. She tossed the rope around a low hanging branch and before she could chicken out she tied a figure eight knot, a skill learned from sailing with Paul, and secured the noose around her neck.

Standing on the bucket she anticipated her impending freedom. She had never been a particularly spiritual or religious woman, preferring to deal with the known world rather than faith. It had only been in the Collective she had felt the stirrings of a spiritual side – even still she had never been convinced of life after death. A part of her hoped there was nothing – that she could simply cease to exist and sink into the deep abyss. But if there was a life after this one she wondered about going to a hell or evil place for what she had to do. Would God or the Great Spirit be able to see her intentions and forgive her weaknesses? Naomi prayed the Creator was the one Tuwa spoke of and not the angry, jealous and spiteful God of her own ancestors.

Naomi took up the slack in the rope.

The Collective would be better off. Her death would provide them closure and perhaps a modicum of justice. She had been the citizen of Troy and had opened the door for the wooden horse. And poor Steven would finally have a worthy mother – a woman who could love him with all the strength of her divinity and grace.

She kicked the bucket – her body dropped hard snapping her neck. 

Her vision went white – into a sea of darkness and pop. She was out.

I was waiting near the pathway to the Geney village. At first she was confused and stood watching her body swing gently from the branch.

“Naomi,” I called. She turned but looked frightened. “Everything is OK. Let me help you.”

A powdery shadow clouded her features. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” she mumbled again and again.

“Don’t be.”

“Please forgive me.”

I drifted closer and realized it was her guilt and sorrow creating the shadow play. I grabbed her hand. “All is forgiven.” The darkness dissipated. I stared into her clear bright brown eyes and said, “Now come with me. I want to make sure you don’t get lost.”

She nodded.

We glided through the forest toward a bright golden light – it appeared whiter and more brilliant the closer we got. I motioned her to it. “But what about you?” She asked.

“I’ll be there soon. But right now I have work to do.”

Coming from inside the light a muddle of jubilant male and female voices called, “Naomi.”

I waved good-bye.

She smiled and stepped into the light where her spirit dissolved into the next world.

 

  Chapter 58 – In The Silence

    (June—2047)

 

 

     Ira awoke before daybreak the same time he had every morning since heading the construction crew for the Geney Village. He didn’t bother trying to fall back to sleep anymore – it was a waist of time. He threw on jeans and a T-shirt, put on his work boots and went to the utility closet to grab a UV suit. The crew wouldn’t be on the job for another two hours and normally he eat breakfast and leisurely mapped out daily assignments – but since the living structure was basically done, he decided to survey the burgeoning Geney village.

     Outside the fog was perched closed to the earth and the sky glowed behind the tree-lined mountains to the east. The UV suits were claustrophobic and he decided to wait until after leaving the scrims to put it on. The air was cool and still unusually fresh. The month long rains had revitalized the forest and charged the air.

Ira tried to focus on how beautiful the morning was and his new mission instead of me. But it was hard when he wasn’t surrounded by distractions, the construction site or the barrage of people who kept a watchful eye on him. Sometimes he pretended I was still alive just to get through the days and some late nights he would wander outside feeling his deep aloneness – by himself he could weep without worry someone would try to cheer him up.

The sun popped up behind the mountains. Ira reached scrims’ edge and began putting on his UV suit. But before he had could finish, he caught a swinging movement coming from the ancient red alder from the corner of his eye.

At first he thought it was a dummy or some kind of trick of light. But as he crept toward the tree he recognized the pale blue shirt Naomi had worn to dinner the night before. And even though her dark curly hair should have confirmed it was her, the sight of a dead body was such a violent shock after so many years outside the ghost cities that his mind played tricks on him.

He grabbed hold of Naomi’s midsection and pulled her head out of the noose. Her body was stiff – in rigor mortis and its surprising weight made him stumble forward and loose control of her. She slipped to the ground, skull thudding against the soft earth. Her hair tangled under her giving the illusion of a crown similar to statuary he’d seen of the Goddess Shakti wearing a headdress.

Naomi’s face was gruesomely contorted into a twisted snarl – she hardly looked real. The sun broke through the trees and he worried she would become severely disfigured from burns if he didn’t move her to the scrims soon. He could already feel the hot itch on his skin and didn’t want her son to be anymore traumatized than he would be after discovering her suicide. He couldn’t let Steven’s last memory of his mother be like Ira’s was of me. With every once of strength he dragged her body under the scrims and quickened to the Nest.

The first trickle of breakfasters lined the dining tables. After searching their faces for a division or CAT member, he made his way to Tuwa’s bunking room and found her heading out. One look and she knew what had happened.

“Get Robert and a couple of his men to help you move her body to the medical freezers. I’ll tell Steven. We can have a service for her in the next few days once a casket has been built or taken from one of the ghost cities.”

Ira was astonished. “How did you know?”

“I saw it last night with spirit eyes. I hoped it was a premonition and I could talk to her today – maybe stop her. But the Great Spirit abided, so it must have been her time to go home.”
    

    Chapter 59 – Broken

       (June—2047)

 

 

 

     When the word got out people mourned Naomi more than she would have ever believed and no one except Steven grieved more for her loss than the Geney. They understood her guilt because they had shared her burden. They were, however, confounded by the idea of self-annihilation, none had ever heard of such a thing and it triggered a host of complicated questions Tuwa would field for years to come.

The Geney’s notions of an afterlife were still forming and several stories had competed for potential doctrine. Chief among them was Mountaintop – an Edenic place on the acme of Mt. Free. It had been the highest mountain among all the ranges near the mines, and occasionally capped with snow giving it a mystical quality as they had never seen snow up close. In that legend no smooth skins existed on Mt. Free and the Geney played like children while paste (a sort of slop the wranglers fed them monthly) and water ran in plentiful streams.

But now that the Geney were acclimating to freedom and their new home – the myths had been abandoned for the stories and wisdom Tuwa imparted. They made hungry students and learned remarkably fast. In the short time they had been with the Collective most had learned the written alphabet, some had learned to read and do simple arithmetic and all had a basic understanding of mechanical engineering and construction. Ira wondered if their intellectual voraciousness was due to the human mind’s need for structure, and their utter deprivation of any ideological framework. Whatever it was, he knew they would do fine, and perhaps within as few as five years they could have their own government, and become independent from the Collective if they wished.

It seemed ironic to Ira that the Geney had insisted on scouting a location for Naomi’s body and demanded to do the hard labor of making a path from the Collective to a clearing they had found about two kilometers west. They had wanted to find an area big enough to become a cemetery in years to come. Freeman Fred had told Ira, “No one must alone forever. When we die, want to keep company.”

And indeed when Ira went to survey the clearing, it was big enough for several generations to be buried there – from what he could tell a forest fire had burned a hole over a kilometer wide and three long. Ira figured it must have happened, early during the last storm, with a lighting strike before the rains came to snuff it out.

Kevin and Dave volunteered to scavenge one of the ghost cities for a coffin and it was decided Coos Bay was closest and would do fine. They set off in the morning and a few hours later had taken a cherry wood casket lined with pink satin from the Williams Brothers’ Funeral Home and returned home just before lunch was served.

There had been no funeral for me because no body had been found but mostly because the grizzly nature of my murder had been too heart wrenching for even the most stoic Collective members to publicly mourn. Tuwa had decided to wait and meditate on the proper time and ritual to celebrate my passing. She had given me prayer passage to the next world each time she felt my presence. And each time the light would come and I would have to let it pass by because I was not yet ready.

But now that the Collective prepared for Naomi’s burial and ceremony, naturally it set off a firestorm of discussion of what to do about me. Among those who hadn’t seen my state after coming back from the Environ there was a small hope I had wandered into the forest and would return. Search parties had spent weeks looking for me despite Tuwa’s insistence I wasn’t lost. She knew. Ira knew. But the people’s belief in me gave Ira a minute irrational glimmer of hope he clung to in his darkest hours – Tuwa couldn’t bare to rip it from him. But now it had been two months and that tiny flicker of hope had slowly been snuffed like a candle flame in a covered glass jar. It was time to say good-bye.

Tuwa had found the note written to Steven and a copy of a will witnessed by a tech, just days before Naomi’s suicide. It was a simple document leaving her personal possessions to Steven and Steven’s care to Tuwa. And in the event Tuwa didn’t want to take guardianship LaDonna was second and Fayza third choice. It was a shock to Tuwa and she read it several times before it hit her. She wondered why her guides had not told her in spirit vision about Naomi’s wishes and decided they did not want to influence her personal decision.

Tuwa had been called to what old timers referred to as the Medicine Path before she was old enough to understand its consequences, there were sacrifices – a husband and children were some of them. Only once when she was a young woman had she been tempted to stray and marry a man who she had accidentally fallen deeply in love with. But fate had stepped in to make her decision.

After years of unemployment her fiancé was offered a research job in Washington D.C. at Digibio, and just before Tuwa joined him, he contracted Skeleton Plague. It was the first wave of the disease and very little was known about it. He was exiled to a secret research facility. She went to extraordinary lengths to find him, but wasn’t unable to get to him before he passed. He died in quarantine along with her dream of a family.

Tuwa spent all day in her meditation room, fasting and praying and seeking answers from the Great Spirit. Her guides dictated the service which she dutifully wrote down and later committed to memory. But no answer came about Steven, it was as if both possibilities were on either side of a page and both were empty. She couldn’t read either future.

It wasn’t like the old world where the rearing of a child was done in isolation by two parents or more often a single mother – raising a child that way would have been impossible for her. And Steven was old enough to mostly take care of himself, all he needed was a little help, someone to guide him, tuck him in at night.

Tuwa’s room wasn’t equipped with an extra bed, but she could have Steven’s moved in. It might be strange for him or her to sleep in the same room as a non-relative, if it was he could bunk with the other teenaged boys in the daycare center or perhaps with one of the families big enough to have kids in an adjoined but separate room.

And then she realized if she was going over the mundane details of where to put Steven’s bed, she wanted to be his parent. She had idealized her own mother, and had always wanted children from as early as she could remember and now was her chance. She suddenly felt a surge of happiness and thanked the Great Spirit for the gift.

She had planned to grab everything she would need for the ceremony and set up in the Circle Tent, but she was too excited to focus on anything except straightening out Steven’s guardianship.

LaDonna was coming out of a session with a client when Tuwa found her in the Medical Building. “I’m going to take him.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. I’ve weighed all of it down to the smallest detail.”

“OK then.”

“I’m going to put his bed in my room until he’s old enough to complain.”

LaDonna looked at her watch. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the ceremony?”

Tuwa nodded. “But I need to get Steven set up.”

“I’ll take care of it. Samuel and his friends can move the bed. Is there anything else?”

“No.”

“OK, then you better get it together, tonight’s a big night, people are going to be expecting you to pull out all the stops. Too many people in denial around here – you’ve got to get them to understand Psyche is really gone. We need to jumpstart the mourning process so healing can begin.”

“I know… Thanks for your help LaDonna.”

As Tuwa walked away LaDonna shouted after her, “No Problem.” LaDonna mumbled to herself, “I think that’s first time she’s let me do her a favor. She’s making progress.”

It was dusk and procession was about to begin. All the outside lights were turned on in tribute to the newly dead. Collective members began gathering on the deck wearing head lanterns and dressed in their finest clothes. The casket was at the entrance of the path and strapped to a cart Ira had jerry rigged. Robert, Max, Todd, Jack, Dave and Kevin surrounded it. Robert motioned to Max and he began to un-strap it.

“No, hold on,” Ira said. “It’s perfectly weighted the way it is.”

“We’re going to carry it,” Robert replied.

LaDonna stepped onto the deck in a red dress and her husband, Charles, in a three piece suit, the kids mirroring their parents in coordinating outfits. As LaDonna was brushing lint from Harriet’s dress she spotted Ira and Robert getting into it at the start of the path. “Here, help your brother. I’ll be right back.” LaDonna nudged through the crowd.

“The site is two kilometers away. Someone will hurt themselves,” Ira said.

“We can handle it.”

Ira looked at Kevin. “Does everyone agree with him?”

“It’s tradition,” Robert spat back.

“Yeah, for the pallbearers to put the casket in the hearse and take it out again at the site. Not to walk it all the way down to the cemetery.”

LaDonna arrived out of breath. “OK, everyone put your swords away.”

Of course Ira and Robert ignored her completely. “Max go back to work,” Robert commanded.

“No, Max I’m in charge and I say, no.”

“Boys this is no time for a cock fight,” LaDonna screeched. “It’s a damn funeral! Now get yourselves together and act right.”

Ira nodded at her, if they wanted to be macho assholes, then so be it. He turned to the men. “Do whatever you want. They’re you’re muscles to pull. Why should I care?”

Max finished un-strapping the casket from the cart. The six men took their places at each side and lifted it. Ira forcefully shoved the cart into the dirt. It toppled over and smacked into the mud. Everyone followed the casket except Ira – he marched, away from the crowd. LaDonna followed him.

“It’s OK to be angry. We all are,” LaDonna said.

“Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I wake up and reach for her before I remember – oh, yeah she’s gone. I needed to pretend she got lost in forest but I knew it wasn’t true. I knew it. I saw her clothes and the water and still I believed she’d be back – I really did.”

“It’s all very normal, Ira – everyone goes through denial.”

“Each morning I get up early so I don’t have to see anyone else and get that look from them.”

“What look?” LaDonna asked.

“The ‘I’m sorry, poor guy,’ look. I can’t take it. It makes it real and it can’t be. I’m afraid I’ll end up like Naomi if I take it all in.”

“You’re not her – you won’t.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I’m a psychologist – I used to get paid pretty well for those kind of opinions.”

“Seeing Naomi swinging from that tree – it made me so mad – for days I’ve just wanted to punch some one. And it was going to be Robert in about three seconds if you hadn’t come along.”

“It’s normal to be angry. It’s OK.” The line of mourners was disappearing behind the trees. “We should go.” Ira nodded. “But before we do, promise you’ll come see me?”

“I will.”

They started toward the procession, LaDonna said, “I know you’ve been using the Geney Village as a way to remember Psyche, but it’s time to go deeper.” LaDonna slipped her arm into his. “You’re going to be OK. I’ll make sure of it.”

Several dozen votive candles horseshoed the grave, Tuwa stood behind them and said a prayer, “Back to the Mother the body goes, up to the Father your spirit soars. Peace will be the land you occupy and love the song of your heart. Great Spirit bless Naomi’s journey to your kingdom.” She nodded to the pallbearers.

In unison they answered with a slow and steady walk to the grave, lowering the casket with grace and control only the strongest of men could accomplish. Tuwa went to Steven and said, “Hold open your hands.”

She freed one of the medicine bags from around her neck and emptied its contents into his cupped hands. She nodded to Steven and he knelt beside the grave and released the sage, lavender and sweetgrass – by the light of his head lantern he watched the herbs float in slow motion to the casket six feet below.

Tuwa pulled Steven away. The men threw dirt in leaden rhythm. The sound of it became a stream of softer and weaker thuds until the earth’s wound was healed again and Naomi’s body was swallowed by the Mother.

 

 

     The Circle tent had been erected a few weeks earlier to accommodate the new Geney attendance. The afternoon before the funeral Tuwa had gone inside and set candles at each direction and replenished the supply of sweetgrass and sage at the altar. The crate of noise makers and musical supplies had been delivered and left near the main opening. She went through and picked out maracas, shakers, small hand and Jimbay drums, a couple of flutes and ocarinas and a guitar.

     The mourners had stayed behind at the grave site until the earth burial was complete, but Tuwa had left a little early to ready the Circle Tent. She lit the candles at each direction and fired up her wand of sage and sweetgrass. Tuwa walked in a spiraling motion careful to smudge every inch. When she was satisfied she laid the wand in a small cast iron cauldron and sat in the center of the room. She sang a purifying song and a blessing song until she heard voices approaching.

     The mourners filed in each taking an instrument from the pile except Ira who grabbed the guitar from its stand. He had been permanently relegated to playing it at Circle after confessing he could play.

     Tuwa pointed and LaDonna pounded the same big drum, she always did at Circle. Following LaDonna came a chorus of Jimbay drums and small hand drums, shakers and ocarinas, layered on top of it was Tuwa’s clear strong voice which climbed to delirious heights.

     Tuwa danced clockwise around the center pole pulling children along with her and soon parents, and CAT members and Geney, and techs and anyone so inclined joined in. After nearly an hour of repetitive chanting and impassioned movement Tuwa pushed harder encouraging LaDonna to speed up the drum beat. Members followed her frenetic movement to a fevered pitch and into a state of mind where time stood still and the lines between life and death blurred.

     This is what I had been waiting for. It was time. I concentrated all my power. “Wind, blow!” I commanded. A gust of air blew the tent flap open. A few people noticed but soon ignored the phenomena.

“Wind, blow!” I shouted.

An enormous gust of cold air shook the tent and swept the members so hard it stopped the ritual. The room went silent and Steven pointed to me. And in concert: Fayza shook herself as if trying to wake from a dream; Marina tilted her head and squinted; Kimi smiled; Hyunae fell to her knees; Xin-Yi gasped; Safia’s eyes went wide; Eva took a step backwards; Fayza grabbed Robert’s hand; Aine laughed; Zoe covered her mouth; LaDonna stared in awe; Ira wept.

     “Don’t be afraid. Death is not the end – it’s just a new beginning,” I said. I didn’t know if they could hear me. But I did know they’d seen me and knew I was OK. My mission was complete.

Tuwa sang a sweet and ancient song in an unfamiliar language. But I knew its meaning. It was prayer passage, a guiding song between the worlds. A bright golden light appeared above me. A collective gasp came from the circle and I knew they could still see.

Instead of avoiding the light, as I had so many times before, I stepped in and all at once a thousand colors burst in every direction.

And then blinding white.

I melted into the warmness and love of the All One. And rose to the roof of the tent. I was allowed one last glimpse of the people I loved so dearly. They’re faces turned upward toward me.

I smiled and let go into the light.