tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60701258028031552422023-06-20T21:31:04.349-07:00The Tales of ThoraThorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070125802803155242.post-87705912265627167052012-08-10T21:58:00.000-07:002013-07-22T23:44:30.867-07:00The Cube2<span style="color: red; font-size: large;">NOW FINISHED!!!!</span><br />
<br />
I can't seem to get the title to appear right. it should read:
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The Cube<sup>2<o:p></o:p></sup></span></span></span></div>
<br />
If you haven't read <span style="color: red; font-size: large;">The Cube</span>, stop right here and go read it (Aug, 2011). If you <strong>have</strong> read The Cube, you may proceed to read.<br />
<br />
Oh and if you are new to this blog, I write stories based on random things my friends throw at me. I don't really make up the plot in advance, I just let it pour out, and I really don't edit. So, if you find this un-professional, well that's because they aren't supposed to be. They are supposed to be fun.<br />
<br />
This is a sequel to one of my more popular ones. Alex, my dear friend, talked me into writing a sequel over a very yummy lunch one day in OKC. It took me a year to finish. I never take that long to write these, but... I moved, got a demanding job, got injured, got divorced, got surgery, got hurt some more, took 12 credits summer semester... yeah, my creativity bucket has been on the fritz. So, sorry it took so long Alex... but then again, I'm glad I have something to give you right now of all times. Love you so much. (7/23/13)<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: red;">The Cube<sup>2<o:p></o:p></sup></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Part 1- The Axis<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We rounded the corner, our feet falling in a long practiced
unison on the concrete floor. I ran beside my husband, sweat beading my brow in
spite of the cool temperature. As much as I enjoyed our runs, I was glad we
were almost done with this one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The once plain corridor stretched out before us and I
strained my eyes to make out my favorite spot in The Level One Never-ending Mural
of Dreams, Hope’s unicorn. It grew before us as we approached, the white blob
taking on its familiar shape, the golden horn becoming more distinct. She had
only been six when we painted this mural, and already her artistic skills had
surpassed my own. Now that she was ten she was taxing even her art teacher’s
ability to help her improve.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was so proud of my daughter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was proud of my son too, but in a way as completely
different as they were from each other. John was just like his father, strong,
gentle, noble, handsome, and completely devoted to me, as all little boys
should be. Aunt Marsha had big plans for him already, and the poor little
soldier was only five. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Andrew’s pace slowed and I matched it, glad to finally be on
our cool-down lap. As my muscles cooled down my brain started up, going through
the list of things to do that day. Wake the kids and get them to school, head
for the office, then there was the meeting after lunch; which included all the
Department Heads, the Mayor, and the Council. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was bound to be dry. Everything had gone fairly smoothly
over the last several years. I’d even gotten the blue paint out of Harris about
five years ago. Well… I say<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> I</i> did,
but really what it came down to was Lynn told him she was naming her daughter
Azure and not Emily if she had to hear about it over one more dinner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Never argue with a pregnant woman, especially not that one.
The round innocent face, the blonde angel hair, the way she bursts into tears
at the slightest thing… isn’t she the best best-friend a girl can have? I love
her. We have plans for John and Emily, by the way, just don’t tell Reynolds. I
think he’d die that she was talking about his four year old’s wedding. When
Lynn had to requisition some training bras for their twelve year old, Brian
nearly had an aneurism.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was crazy to think that twelve years had gone by already.
I didn’t feel twelve years older. I didn’t feel like a thirty year old mother
of two with stretch marks and a career. I felt like… Tilly, off-beat, up-beat,
and down-right sexy Tilly who had changed in only one way, the world was no
longer about me, and thank goodness for that!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We reached the inclinator and started into our stretches
while Moua rattled off Andrew’s morning update through the speaker. I
half-listened while my thoughts returned to my own day, but caught the end,
which was my favorite part. “And that’s about it, Sir,” Moua said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sir</i>, it was the
loveliest word. Andrew didn’t brag about his promotions, but I was very proud
of him. Certain people, for obvious reasons, say Andrew got the promotions
because he married well, but I know differently. He got them because he was
talented, intelligent, trustworthy, humble, hardworking, patient, and the hottest
man in all of Nine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Okay so that last bit didn’t matter much to anyone but me,
but that didn’t make it any less true. My man was absolutely edible… I mean…
incredible… yeah… ehem.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We got the kids up a little late, so we dressed, fed,
brushed and rushed down to the school, only remembering when we got off the
inclinator that Hope had a project due. Andrew looked at me, and I knew he was
going to offer to go and get it, so I beat him to it. If one of us was going to
be late to work it shouldn’t be the one in the department that actually cared
about clocks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was headed back down the inclinator, solar system in hand,
when it happened the first time. The familiar whirring B Flat tone I knew so
well lurched up to an F as the inclinator just about dropped out from under me.
I caught myself against the glass, failed to save Neptune from pulling a Pluto,
and then looked in shock at the camera; as if my husband was still directly on
the other side instead of several links up the chain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I almost demanded an explanation out of the access
specialist, but then realized that if it was anything more than a minor glitch,
I would know about it before he would. There were certain advantages to being a
big wig, even one who had to hastily re-glue a planet in the school supply
closet and thus was even later for work than usual.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was still peeling little translucent strips out of my
fingerprint when I walked through the door, so I didn’t even notice the
irritated look on Celia’s face until she spoke.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“You forgot your phone again,” she said, “and I’ll have to
get it for you because the meeting has been moved up, to NOW.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Which meeting?” I asked, but of course there was only one
meeting today over which I had no say-so on its timing. “Seriously? I haven’t
even finished typing my notes!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Celia mirrored my exasperated expression without taking her
eyes off her screen, “I’ve got half of the morning rescheduled, but I can’t
seem to pin Harris’s office down to another time.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Well, it’s not like the stuff hasn’t been molding out in
that cave for decades,” I said going over to my desk and grabbing my tablet. “A
few more days won’t make a difference. Thanks for handling all this for me,” I
added heading back out the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I’m holding your phone hostage!” she called after me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Have I ever failed to produce chocolate?” I called back
through the closing door. The poor thing, I’d give her a raise, but that
doesn’t exactly happen on the credit system.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">~<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Naturally I was the last to arrive at the meeting, but this time I
wasn’t the only one looking a bit frazzled. There was a strained pitch to the
whispered conversations going on around the room, a tightness across brows that
hadn’t been tight in years. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Okay,</i> I
thought to myself, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">apparently this
elevator thing IS something more than a glitch.</i> I just couldn’t imagine
what.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">My taking my seat was a signal of sorts, one that had developed
unintentionally over the years, and just as I booted up my screen the Mayor clicked
her gavel for the meeting to begin. Mayor Pope did it with her usual efficient
air, and I hoped that in the upcoming election she ran for a second term. Next
to my mother and aunt she was the most capable woman I knew.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Speaking of which, both my aunt and my mother were present today,
which was odd. Usually only one of them came. As they predicted their jobs had
gotten easier and easier over the years. It had gotten to the point where my
mother had become a regular fixture in the Library and had often been found
helping out in the school, which Hope and John loved. She was an excellent grandmother,
but today she was back to business with a vengeance, and to tell you the truth
that made me a little nervous.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The others settled back into their seats, assuming the order
demanded by the Mayor’s Gavel. I called up my notes on my screen and set my
hands to the keys, trying to be ready for anything, guessing I wasn’t. I was
right.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“The meeting will now come to order,” Mayor Pope began. She
glanced up at the camera in the corner of the room. “Recording now,” the voice
of an access specialist said from the room’s speaker. We recorded all of our
meetings with the council. Sometimes I found it annoying to have to weigh my
words so carefully, sometimes I saw a distinct advantage in everyone knowing
there was a clear record of exactly how cooperative or un-cooperative they had
been.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“The record will show all nine council members, Mayor, and all
nine Department Heads in attendance,” Mayor Pope continued, “with the addition
of… which Co-Head of IRC-IDC are we listing as extra today?” My mother raised her
hand briefly and the Mayor said, “Ambassador Moren.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“The regularly scheduled monthly meeting has been moved up at the
request of Director Foreman of Power, and therefore his order of business shall
precede all others. Director?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Foreman cleared his throat and leaned into his microphone, “Thank
you, Madame Mayor. I apologize for the disruption in everyone’s schedules, but
I felt this warranted immediate attention.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">He then started in on a lengthy and technical report that would
have put me to sleep if I hadn’t been curious about what the point was and WHEN
he was going to get to it. He had jazzed it up a little with graphs and charts,
but I really didn’t get why we needed the re-cap of the weather on the surface
over the last 12 years. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">They were all over the place. First things had gotten hot and
muggy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The winters that usually covered
this area in deep piles of Olympic grade powder had instead brought monsoon
like rains and continued plant growth. It had been that lush, green world that
Andrew had shown me the day he proposed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">After that, things got a little nippy, alright, downright cold.
After the third winter had failed to melt away I figured we were in an ice age.
Everyone seemed to concur, as all the other Resorts reported similar
conditions. I tried not to worry about it, but that was when I started pushing
the fantasy bit with the community. I wanted them to start thinking of positive
outcomes to all of this, outcomes that were wildly different, but still a
future on the surface we would thrive in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">So wasn’t it a good thing that the temperature levels had been
climbing for months? Didn’t this mean that the frozen vegetation had a greater
chance? I didn’t get why Foreman’s expression was so grave.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Due to the increased energy output from the generators on the
underground river we have had to divert the power along…” Foreman droned and I
knitted my brow trying to figure out the complex electrical schematic on the
big screen. Why <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">couldn’t he just SAY the
batteries are full and we are wasting power </i>and then get on with it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Finally he did. He explained that after the surge that had jolted
my inclinator this morning they had shut down half the generators. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">And I’ve been listening for 30 mninutes, for
that?</i> I thought.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“How long do you expect the water table to remain this saturated?”
My mother asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“That’s the problem,” Harris interjected just as Foreman opened
his mouth, “The water table. It’s getting too high.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Foreman nodded, “All of the Resorts have reported similar issues,
but it is resorts eleven and four which are in the most immediate danger.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Danger?” a council woman asked out loud while the word
reverberated in my own head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Several of the Department Heads exchanged glances, but it was my
Aunt that answered the question, “Of flooding, or to be more precise, of a
Great Flood, one that might grow to cover the whole earth.”</span></div>
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">~<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After about a decade of shocked silence Foreman shuffled his feet.
I had been looking back and forth between my Aunt and Mother, holding my breath
and begging inside for the twin tightness in their jaws to disappear. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oh no, oh no, oh no,</i> I thought. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This isn’t good. If they are that stressed
about it that means they don’t have a plan. If they don’t have a plan it means
Grandpa Moren didn’t plan for this. If Grandpa Moren didn’t plan for this… oh
no, oh no, no, no, no, there has to be a way out!<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It took every ounce of maturity in my body to remain in my seat. I
wanted to run, I wanted to run to the school, grab my babies, and run. But
where would I run to? There was nowhere to go, there was no safe place in the
world. This was it, we were Noah without the ark in a concrete cave that was
about to get flooded.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“So,” the Mayor said slowly, like she didn’t trust her voice any
more than I trusted mine, “What’s the plan?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“That’s exactly what we are here to come up with,” Aunt Marsha
said in that nearly forgotten militaristic tone. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Come up with?” Councilman Adams asked in a tone that jarred the
nerves. “COME UP WITH?” he repeated nearly shouting. His face was well on its
way to purple. “YOU MEAN I MOVED MY FAMILY INTO THIS HOLE IN THE GROUND SO YOU
COULD LET US ALL DROWN?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">General Heinz looked thunderous but his tone was measured when he
said, “Mr. Adams, your family has survived a dozen year longer than the rest of
the human race thanks to this organization, and getting angry will not prolong
the time any farther.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“That’s easy for you to say,” Adams growled, “All high and mighty
in your 95+ apartment, while the rest of us are on 45 and 53.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Oh for heaven’s sake,” I burst out. “Do you honestly think we’d
let anyone drown first down there? Think about it! The generators are what…
fifty stories down? The trees are all on 27! Who says we would even survive to
drown if we ALL lived on 100?!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“The point is,” Reynolds said, “not to panic. We need to pool our
resources, work together, and come up with some options.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I’m sorry,” Councilwoman Moralez said. “I haven’t been reading
the reports on the surface because I don’t really understand them. Is it even
an option? Is the air still toxic?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“To tell you the truth,” my mother said, “We don’t know. The instruments
on the surface have been giving faulty readings for months now. It’s the same
at all the Resorts.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Adams crossed his arms and humph-ed. I thought my aunt was going
to deck him, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I</i> felt like decking him.
Did the man seriously think this was deliberate negligence?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“So, there’s no way to fix that either?” Councilman Lin asked,
pushing his glasses up on his tiny nose.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“There may be,” Aunt Marsha said looking over at Harris and then
Packer.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Like I said before,” Harris said, “It’s risky, but with this kind
of melt off it may be possible.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Risky how?” Mayor Pope asked. “What have you talked about?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“We send someone up to the surface,” Harris said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Or we send a robot,” Packer added.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“A robot could malfunction,” Harris said in a way that made me
think this conversation was on its fiftieth run around the idea table.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“A human would be stranded in de-tox for months,” Packer said. “We
should try the robot first.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Either way, we break the seal,” Dr. Reed said quietly. He had his
hands folded together in front of his face, his forefingers sticking up like a
steeple. He pressed them to his lips, forbidding the worst to be spoken. What
if it let something in?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Would it matter in the end?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There was so much to weigh, so many lives at risk, it was hard to
think through the panic that was swimming in my veins. I was sick to my
stomach, but there wasn’t time to give in to the panic. I had to be strong,
like Andrew.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Andrew.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Fear surged through me, and then I fought back tears at the next
thought. If the sent someone, Heinz would insist on a soldier. How would they
pick from all the members of the Security Department, and what family would be
left behind?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Couldn’t you build a robot that would take accurate readings?” I
asked. “I mean they sent those robots to Mars, right? They got all kinds of
Data from there.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Yes, with limited success,”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Harris said. “We don’t really know what it will face up there, so it’s
hard to plan.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Yeah, remember when that one robot landed wrong and couldn’t even
get around?” Councilman Washington asked. “It was a wasted mission.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“And we would have exposed ourselves to contaminants,” Councilman
Muskowvitz added.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“We could seal off the elevator on this end, right?” Mayor Pope
asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“It’s not the elevator shaft,” Harris said shaking his head. “That’s
just the last seal. The door to 27, the door at the top of the shaft, the hall,
the living room, the outer wall,” he said as he ticked them off on his fingers.
“Each was set up as a containment area. The question has always been how well
the containment would last through the unpredictable events of the cataclysm.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Well how do we even know if the elevator will work? I mean is the
cube even there?” Councilman Ivins asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“It is, unless an avalanche took it,” I said, then I blushed. Not
many people knew that Andrew and I had been up at the crystal many times over
the years. These days you couldn’t see anything through the snow built up
around the top of the mountain, but the cube had been there a few years ago.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“How do you know that?” Adams asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“It’s there, we would have known if it had been ripped off,” Harris
said dismissively. “I still don’t think any robot we send could be properly equipped
for all the problems it could encounter up there.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“So send two robots,” Councilwoman Gutpa said, “Or three, or four.
Safety in numbers, load them in the elevator, send them all up and they can
help each out. Surely you can figure out how to control them independently of
one another.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There was a little boy twinkle in Packer’s eye at the thought of
building four robots. Harris just looked like he wished he had thought of that
before a woman had. I didn’t care what it did to his pride, as long as we got
those readings.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">~</span></span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></span></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Part 2 – The Algorithm <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">If only it was as simple as putting a remote control car or two in
the elevator and pushing the up button. No, it couldn’t be. It had to be
complicated, complicated by part fabrication, postulation of obstacles, and
above all keeping it quiet so the children wouldn’t be frightened. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Keeping it from the adults for more than a few days had been
completely impossible in such an intertwined community. Between the leaders,
their spouses, the need-to-knows and their spouses, everyone had an inkling
within the day and my mother was busy putting rumors to rest by morning.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Anyone with any tinkering experience was called in, and we were happy
to find that Andrew’s friend Henderson in Access had helped his father build battle
robots for years. The gangly blonde looked more like he belonged behind a comic
book shop counter than hunkered down in Nine trying to save the human race, but
he took on the task with an awkward kind of assurance.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Andrew spent a lot of time working with them, too. It wasn’t his
department, but he worked better with Henderson than anyone else. He also had a
rough knowledge of engines and mechanics from his time on his Grandfather’s
farm, and besides he wasn’t one to sit back when there was action to be taken.
It wasn’t in his nature.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I popped in late one night with a cooler full of drinks, hoping
they would call it a night once they noticed the hour. It wasn’t that I wanted
to slow them down, but I was sure they weren’t doing their best work during
hours 18 and 19 of the workday. Even heroes need sleep you know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">They were hunched over this huge frame on the counter with a chain
saw at one end, wheels at the other, and wires spiraling off in every
direction. There were gadgets and gismos lined up in rows along the table and I
couldn’t decide which scent was more powerful, that of metal, grease, or unwashed
man. I felt like I was trespassing in an alien world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Is that the chain-saw from the cave?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Henderson jumped a bit, he had been so involved with his work, “Man,
you have a habit of appearing out of no-where, don’t you?” He glanced at Andrew
before returning to whatever he was doing with his soldering iron, “Does she
sneak up on you like that at home?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Nawh,” Andrew said reaching a grubby hand for the sports drink I
offered him. “I keep track of her, somebody has to keep her out of trouble.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Henderson laughed, “More like she gets you into trouble. Remember
that time you lit those candles in Access? Larson was out for blood, man.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“You got in trouble for that?” I asked him. He’d never mentioned
it. I hadn’t even known it was against the rules.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Are you kidding?” Henderson asked again with a snort in his
laugh. “Man he was so smooth… where’d you get that charred video card anyway?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Andrew smiled and shook his head, “Now who’s getting me in
trouble?” he asked passing his old buddy a drink. Henderson cast me a nervous
glance before chugging down half of his preferred energy drink.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Kids in bed?” Andrew asked me wiping his hands on a rag that was
just as dirty. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I skirted his reach for my waist and grabbed him a clean cloth
from the far counter. I passed it to him as I answered, “They’ve been asleep
for hours, Peters. Don’t you have a clock in this hole?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Used to,” he replied with that sexy secretive smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Used it for parts,” Henderson said bending back over his work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“You’ve used everything for parts,” I said looking around at the
collection of gutted appliances, yard tools, and things well beyond my powers
of identification. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Most of it was in the cave,” Andrew said, his hands now clean
enough to hold. “That place is like a genie for people with nefarious plans.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“It’s always served us well,” said with an impish grin, thinking of
the number of times we had taken long amorous breaks while searching through
that no-man’s land of cast off treasures. I ran my thumb up and down the back
of his thumb and gave his hand a squeeze. “You two going to call it a night
anytime soon, or should I bring you breakfast?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Andrew’s loyalties were split, he wanted to be with me of course,
but he wasn’t one to shirk a work so important. I could see the indecision in
his eyes. Henderson had no such conflict of priorities and went on working.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Maybe after we get the arm outfitted on #3 here,” Andrew said apologetically.
“It shouldn’t be too long.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I doubted that. The nights had gotten longer and longer over the
last two weeks. I kissed his cheek and left him, wondering what time he would
fall into bed tonight, wondering if he would get home before the kids woke up, wondering
deep down if this was a waste of the remaining nights of our lives. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I wasn’t sure I was going to get any more sleep than my husband.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
<o:p></o:p></span></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">~<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The tray on the paint had been dipped into by so many brushes that
the patches of original color were just little rings amidst the secondary and
tertiary hues swirled and streaked all over the surface. My mind wasn’t on the
paint though, and it wasn’t on the mural we were painting on the south wall of
level two. My mind was 25 levels up where the robots were being loaded onto the
elevator, while the majority of Nine was here, distracting the children.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Can we go now?” John asked his father. “I finished my sheep.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Hope isn’t finished yet,” Andrew said looking over to where Hope
was carefully depicting the way the light at the pinnacle looked through the branches
of her favorite tree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">John looked from the painting, to his father, back to the painting
and his sister’s deliberate and careful movements. He sighed deeply<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and sat down beside me with a thump. “Can’t
we just let her finish it alone? It’s not like she needs us here, she doesn’t
even <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">know</i> we’re here.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He was right you know. When Hope was painting she lost track of
all else, time, people, hunger, I was lucky she breathed. Normally I would have
packed up when all the other kids were done with their simple paintings and
then let her find her way home. Not today though, today nobody left level 2
until all the evidence of what was happening on level 27 was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Andrew challenged John to a race around the level. John was always
up for trying to beat his father in a footrace. Several of the more boisterous
children joined them as they made their way down the corridor, to the relief of
the crowd in general. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I waited by Hope, watching the way she filled in each vein with
the utmost care. She looked almost spellbound, and I would have thought her in
a trance if it were not for the furrow between her brows that belied her
concentration. I wished I had focus like that.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“She never ceases to amaze me,” my mother said, startling me. I
looked up and smiled then quirked an eyebrow at her. She nodded almost imperceptibly
and my belly twisted inside. The robots were off. It was time to report to my
station.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Baby,” I said touching Hope lightly on the shoulder to get her
attention. “I’m going to go look at the rest of the mural with Grandma. Daddy’s
around somewhere, but there’s no hurry. We’ll come get you for dinner.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">She nodded mutely, not taking her eyes off her work, and I took
the helping hand my mother offered. We left her there and walked along the
corridor, praising young artists as we went, our simple presence a silent signal
that it was safe to disperse. I was proud of our citizens for putting on such a
good show of festivity and calm at such an unnerving moment in Resort history.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We finished our walk up and down the corridor then took the
inclinator in turn with the other ascending parties. It stopped again and again
and again to let other passengers off, but that was okay. There was no way they
were starting without us.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We had to wait when we got there; several of the Council Members
hadn’t arrived yet. We waited in tense silence some of us watching the door,
waiting for them to come through, the rest staring at the screen where the
camera on #2 was trained on the dark line where the elevator doors met.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Councilman Young opened the door and held it open so Councilwoman
Benitez could come through first. She looked a little out of breath, and I
wondered if I looked that flustered every time I showed up late for meetings.
The looked around, taking stock of the fact that they were the last to arrive,
and then we all turned our focus to the screen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Access, is everyone in place?” Aunt Marsha asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Affirmative,” my husband’s voice answered. It looked like
dropping John off with his little friend had been a smooth transition after the
footrace. I was glad that, even if he couldn’t be in the room with me, we were
sharing this experience.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">"Henderson?” Aunt Marsha asked the lank form at the controls
in front of us. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Ready as we’ll ever be,” he replied. I wished I could ignore the
layer of doubt in his response.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Then please proceed,” Aunt Marsha directed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Opening elevator doors at Cube Level 2,” Andrew said, and again I
twisted up inside at the level of worry that I heard. I doubted the others even
noticed it, but I knew him too well. He was just as worried as I was.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The little dark line on the screen started spreading, growing
wider and wider until the whole screen was a massive black blank. “Now let’s
see if the lights still work,” Andrew said. There was a short pause and then a
flick, flick, flicker before the lights came on in full. I had to blink against
the sudden brightness. Someone sneezed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The room before us was familiar, though I knew I hadn’t been in
this one. This was the second floor of The Cube, and I had only been on the
first. We needed to use #1 here, at the sample portal. It was the safest way to
test the conditions outside. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We watched through the camera on #2 as #1 rolled through the door
and into the box hallway. #2 moved behind it and they both approached the far
doorway. Henderson controlled them all with the skill of a long time video game
addict.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The robots halted. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Closing elevator doors,” Andrew said. I heard the soft rolling sound,
which halted after two seconds and there was a slight sucking sound as the seal
engaged. I imagined the little light going from risky-red to good-to-go-green.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Opening Upper-Lab door,” Andrew said. There was a soft click.
Henderson worked the controls for #1 and a long metal arm came into view. It
pulled on the door lever, then pushed the door open. The lights struggled less
in this room, and in moments #1 and #2 were though the door. I heard it click
closed behind them as the robots moved across the floor. “Door sealed,” Andrew
confirmed as the camera turned and approached the exterior wall of the room.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Set in the plain white concrete surface was a round metal plate.
It was about the size of the plate behind my shower knob, but looked more like
the things that R2-D2 kept plugging into in Star Wars. #1 extended its collection
arm and plugged in, in a similar way.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I held my breath as #1’s little electronic lungs sucked in the
atmosphere from outside The Cube.</span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">A guttural sound of frustration came from Henderson’s lips, and
looking at his screen, I knew why. I had watched enough of the development that
I knew what the read-out meant as soon as I saw the water saturation and
temperature levels of the sample. The cube was still under a snow cap.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Henderson explained this to the others. I tried to ignore the
tense discussion going on around me and watched carefully for the other signs
Andrew had explained to me a few nights before. Sure it wasn’t anything
conclusive, but it was a start, and so far I was encouraged.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“What are you looking at?” Gupta asked over my shoulder, so close that
I could smell the argan oil in her long black hair.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Well,” I said. “I don’t pretend to understand all of it, but I
haven’t seen anything flagged as radioactive come up yet.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Can we trust that?” she asked. “This sample doesn’t contain much
air, and who knows how many feet of snow there are.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“It’s not conclusive,” I said. “But you know me, any opportunity
to look at the bright side.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Are we ready for the drill?” Andrew asked over the hubbub of
conversation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Affirmative,” Aunt Marsha replied. “Commence secondary procedure.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Plan B</span></i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">, I
thought. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I hope we don’t have to get
through the whole list</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">#1 backed away from the wall, at the command of Henderson’s nimble
fingers. The camera swiveled around as #2 took position by the portal. As the
camera rose it tilted downward. We watched as the drill apparatus on #2 engaged
with the portal. Then with a loud grinding and lots of vibration of the camera the
4 foot long drill bit started churning through the snow. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">First there was a puff of snow thrown backward, and then I watched
spots of water form all over the apparatus as they were thrown back from the
portal. In a few minutes the end of the bit had been reached, and Henderson
reversed its direction. It was time to switch robots again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">As the camera tilted up and away I saw that a puddle had formed on
the floor below the wall, was it toxic water? Toxic or not #2 tracked it all
over the floor and Henderson rolled #1 into it. The second set of electronic
lungs sniffed deeply of the air from the hole.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The analysis started scrolling by, and so many of us were reading
over Henderson’s shoulder that he hit a couple of buttons to split the main
screen and bring the readout up for all to see. The gobbley-gook of science
terms scrolled upward, and not able to understand most of it I looked at the
little bars beside the words, normal, normal, normal, high, low, but only
moderately so, if only I knew what the variances all meant. I needed someone to
translate it for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I looked over at Dr. Reed and watched his face as he read all of
the information carefully. He looked cautious, like he wasn’t going to make a
decision without a lot more information. Still, I would take cautious over crestfallen
any day of the week. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Are we sure this isn’t a pocket full of old air? It still looks
pretty cold,” Dr. Reed said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Well,” Henderson said tilting his head to the side. “Maybe we can
take a peek.” He moved #1 away from the hole again and then messed with the camera
angle again and again, trying to get it to line up exactly with the hole.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“There!” Shouted Adams as we all caught our breath at the flash of
light.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Henderson carefully backed up the control until the distant speck
of like beamed at us from the screen. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Four
feet</i>, I thought. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Less than four feet
of snow between us and the sky</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Peters, Henderson,” Aunt Marsha said. “While the diagnostics of
the air sample continue, please proceed with Phase Two.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The screen split again, and the camera on #3 showed the dark line
of the elevator doors to us again. The elevator was whirring, and soon my
husband announced that he was opening the doors. Darkness, light, the boxy hall
with a door on each wall, the robots rolled forward. Peter closed the elevator
doors, and we waited for the suction to complete before he opened the door on
the far side of the hall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">As #3 opened the far door I remembered pulling it closed behind
Smith twelve years before, the night my mother had come. Had I been the last
one to touch that door? How things had changed since I had closed that door on
the world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">#3 rolled through the door, followed closely by the satellite dish
topped #4. The plan was to plow or cut our way out, get readings, and hook into
the few satellites not taken out during the war. The dish on top of the cube
had been buried in snow for years, but once again, the stuff in my cave had come
in handy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Lights, Andrews?” My aunt prompted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Not responding, I’m afraid,” Peter said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Well, we
can’t expect everything to work right</span></i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">, I thought. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Harris, we’ve got a light bulb out,” Packer said wryly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Packer, we’ve got a communication glitch in the line between
Access and the socket,” Harris threw right back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The laughter was as weak as the joke, but it did make me feel a
tiny bit better to be reminded that this was all in the hands of capable men.
We refocused on the screen, trying to make out anything by the light coming out
of the hall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Attempting to activate kitchen and dining area lights,” my
husband said. Then added, “Not working either, sorry.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Let’s just hope the door works,” Aunt Marsha said, and I could
tell she was a little worried it wouldn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Trying the patio door lock,” Andrew said. A tiny red light
appeared in the distance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Watch out for the couch,” my mother said to Henderson as he
rolled #3 forward. He skirted the couch and headed for the glass door that
separated the open floor plan living area from the patio. As #3 approached the
red light moved around on the screen, then moved steadily upward. He slowed #3
to a crawl and squinted at the screen, looking for the handle of the door along
the wall of glass.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Gotcha,” he said, and reached forward with the arm to grab the
handle.</span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">~</span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I squinted in the dark and watched as the grippers closed around
the handle and pulled. Suddenly there was a deafening crashing and the screen erupted
in a trillion little specks of light. I wasn’t the only one who jumped away
from the screen in fright.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“What in the blazes was that?” Adams roared even as Henderson
called out his apologies.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Sorry! Sorry!” he said. “I guess the glass wasn’t rated for these
temperatures.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Well, you could have warned us,” Adams grumbled as the rest of us
took calming breaths to steady our nerves.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Sorry,” Henderson repeated but when he turned away I could tell
by the look on his face that he was thinking something more along the lines of “Like
I knew the door was going to shatter!” followed by a few choice words. He
directed his energy into lowering the shovel on #3 and clearing a path through
the gleaming pile of safety glass.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Once the robots were past the mound of glass it was only moments
until they reached the roll up door which opened out onto the mountainside. “Opening
blast door,” Andrew said, “this may be noisy, if it works.” I held my breath
hoping the electronics would<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>not fail us
again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">There was a massive screeching, which only quick thinking on
Henderson’s part silenced. His nimble fingers had muted the feed even while he
watched with us as the dim light showed an ever expanding strip of white
appearing along the floor. The snow pack reflected the dim light from the hall,
but we could not see any light coming in from the other side. I wondered how
much thicker the wall of snow was down here on the first floor of the cube, as
opposed to the 4 feet at waist height on the second floor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">There was no way to know until we<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>started digging, so the stopped the door at about 4 feet up and Henderson
got to work with the chain saw and shovel on #3 while the rest of us supervised
uselessly. Andrew offered to bring down #2 and use the arm on that, but
Henderson said they’d just be bumping into each other if he did. I went and
found a seat. This could take all night, thank goodness I’d asked Celia to check
on Hope, someone had to make sure she ate, and I couldn’t very well leave.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Henderson had turned the sound back on, probably to irritate
Adams, and the sounds emitted from the speakers were almost alien. There was the
chugging whirr of the chain saw, which squeaked and screamed when it hit the
hard packed snow, there was the chunk, thunk, crunch of the shovel as he
alternately pushed and pulled at the loosened chunks. It was definitely hard on
the nerves, and so I tried to tune it out and think of other things, until a
cuss word cut into the awkward rhythm and the work halted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Frozen?” Andrew asked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Yeah... we’re gonna need #2 until it gets thawed out,” Henderson
said grumpily.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Right on it,” Andrew said and Henderson started moving #2 to the
elevator. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Sure didn’t take long,” Henderson grumbled. “Probably wearing out
the blades anyway.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">It wasn’t long before #3 was warming by the hairdryer mounted on
the back of #4 and #2 was picking away at the upper edge of the tunnel, but
unfortunately that didn’t last long either. They kept switching machines, but
the longer they kept at it the less effected their inventions were against the
snow. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">If Councilman Adams looked frustrated it was nothing compared to
the look on Henderson’s face about the fifteen time the chainsaw froze up. The
vein in his temple was so large I thought it was going to burst. I sent a text
message to Andrew stating exactly that and asking him what to do about it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Excuse me, Doctor Reed?” my husband’s voice came over the
speakers. “It looks like #1 has finished its full evaluation of the sample. Do
you need us to take a break to give you a minute to look it over?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“That would be very helpful,” Dr. Reed said from his station. “If
I could have half an hour or so, do you mind?” he asked, looking at Henderson
with the kind of humble respect that could diffuse anyone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Yeah, sure,” Henderson, said in confusion. “I’m just gonna go for
a walk.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Hey bring me a drink while you are up,” Andrew said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I followed Henderson out into the hall. “Oh, were you going to see
Peters?” Henderson asked uncomfortably.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Nawh,” I said. “I’m going to go vent to my assistant about what
an idiot Adams is,” I whispered. “Plus, I’ve totally got to go pee.” The smile
on his face as he walked away made me feel a lot better about how the rest of
the project was going to go, the poor man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Half an hour later we were all back in the room and Dr. Reed was
still pouring over the samples. We waited quietly, although not very patiently,
for him to make his decision. He was a careful and thoughtful man, which had
been GREAT when I was pregnant, but right now I wished he would hurry up a bit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Finally he looked up and sighed. “I am cautiously optimistic about
the air quality on the surface,” the room started buzzing and he raised his
hand to silence it. “We only have just these two samples though, and we don’t
know if it is consistent with the rest of the air in this area, or if this area
is consistent with the air around the world. We must proceed as if any air from
the outside is polluted and dangerous until we have more data.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“What about the radiation levels?” my mother asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Both samples show radiation at acceptable levels, but again, that’s
not enough information to say it is safe.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“So, if we suited a man up,” General Heinz said, “We could send
him up to evaluate, or to address any problems that might arise with the equipment.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Malgun Gothic"; mso-fareast-language: KO; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Dr. Reed took a long deep breath and let it out
slowly, “Only as a last resort, and only if he goes through decontamination on
the way back.”</span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">~<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Suited a
man up</span></i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">, I didn’t like the sound of that. I understood it would be necessary
at some point, but it made me worry. If Andrew wasn’t such an up-and-coming,
reliable, level-headed trooper I might have felt a little better about it.
Plus, he was family, and while in most families that meant skipping out on
things that others had to do, it meant the opposite in our family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Maybe his metal leg will exempt him, maybe it won’t work with the suit,
I thought. It was a slim hope. It was really a paper thin hope, considering how
resourceful Resort people tended to be, but I clung to it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">While I worried I watched the screen as Henderson resumed his
work. The break had done him some good, and while I had not really abused Adams
to Celia, I was sure that Andrew had let Henderson vent. I just hoped this didn’t
go much longer or we would need another excuse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">After another hour or so I noticed that I could see better than I
could before. The rough square of the snow tunnel was lighter at the end. I was
about to point this out when the words were swept out of my mouth by a sudden
spark of brilliant light. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">That spark, though short, energized the whole room. Henderson sat
up in his chair and rubbed his hands together. He backed out #3 and sent #2
into the tunnel, arm raised for the strike. Pick, pick, pick, pick and it was
through! Light poured in, stinging my eyes and filling my heart. I joined the
cheers and then laughed to myself as Adams pounded Henderson so heartily on the
back I was afraid the lank hero might snap in two.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">It still took some time after that to open the tunnel completely,
but it passed in the blink of an eye as we all sat back and enjoyed the ever
expanding, bright blue portal. I watched the screen eagerly, waiting for
something to appear below the blue. I wasn’t sure what I hoped for, green would
have been nice to see, but it would have worried me about the melt off. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What is good news at this point?</i> I
wondered, but I didn’t ask. There were so many variables. It was better to see
what we had and then go from there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">As it turned out, I didn’t even notice the distant snowcapped mountain
until Councilman young asked if anyone knew anything about the peak. I had thought
it another chunk of snow. I squinted and sure enough there was a section that
didn’t jostle about while #3’s shovel tore at the pile. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">My mom reached over to the panel and expertly navigated through
the computer until she found the things she was looking for. She split the
screen again and displayed a picture of the view from the patio of The Cube,
and also the geological information on the distant peak. We all read it, but
some of us got more out of it than others.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“So at that elevation, it would normally have had snow until early
summer, right?” Young asked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">My mother and aunt exchanged glances, and Aunt Marsha nodded, “I’ve
seen it still there as late as mid-June.” My mother started typing on the
computer again and soon she had found a database with national park weather
information for the area. I looked at this month. In early March the whole
mountain would still be white. I looked at the temperature charts on the screen.
Would they match, or would it be too hot?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Can we get #1 down to run another analysis?” I asked. “The air
has been exchanging in that room for a while now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Andrew and Mom worked together to get #1 down the elevator while
Henderson continued cutting a path through the snow with #3. Each trip down the
tunnel the camera on #3 showed a little more of the outside world, until at
last #3 was able to plow forward, shovel down,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>and meet little opposition. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">We were on the lawn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Henderson reached over and operated the controls to move the
camera around. The snow sloped down in front of us sharply. We had dug clear to
the end of the lawn area and our precious robot stood right on the edge of the
mountain slope. The camera tilted down to look in the valley belowe, and my
breath caught at the sight. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Green. There was lots and lots of green.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I didn’t know how it was possible after the ice age, but somehow
the evergreens had survived. There were stately pines and shrubbery, moss and
even some small plants that were hard to distinguish at this distance, but
looked leafy to me. I shook my head in awe. How could all this life have
survived?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">My Aunt walked over to another computer and started typing away.
It wasn’t long before the eleven black boxes on her screen came to life,
showing grainy images from the other Resorts. I watched as she relayed the
information we had, issued cautions, and then allowed them to view the feed
coming in from #3.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Have you been able to establish contact with any satellites yet?”
one of the faces asked in a thick Scottish accent. No doubt he was anxious to
get that information. His Resort was one of the ones with the lowest altitude.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“We are about to clear an area for the dish, if we can get a signal
I will relay the feed immediately,” Aunt Marsha said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Henderson took that cue and trained the camera on the task at
hand. He expanded an area to the side of the tunnel, then backed #3 out so #4
could take its place on the hillside. With expert hands he guided them out simultaneously,
using the camera on #3 to make sure #4 was taking a safe route. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Searching for satellites,” Andrew said. The dish on #4 moved
slowly, panning the sky. “YES!” he exclaimed. “We found one, a functioning
weather satellite. I’m attempting to hack it now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Watch out,” I said, “They take hacking seriously here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The others were puzzled by my comment, but Andrew chuckled as he
worked. I could hear the clicking of his keys over the microphone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Need some help?” Henderson asked, after a minute.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“I think I’ve just about, GOT IT!” he said triumphantly. The
screen in front of us split again and my Aunt’s fingers flicked to relay the
data to the rest of the resorts. It took me a while to figure out what was
what. I watched as Andrew browsed through the layer functions until he found
one that showed a direct camera feed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I didn’t recognize what I saw. The familiar shapes of land masses were
gone. The white areas were rimmed with green, but the disconcerting thing was
the blue, blue everywhere. The Gulf of Mexico extended until an ice sheet that
spread down from Canada, there was a long island to the east that had to be the
Appalachian Mountains, but they looked more like Japan now, sticking at an
angle out of the ice cap.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Aunt Marsha started clicking again, splitting off a section of the
main screen again and bringing up a topographical map of the way the United
States used to be. The east coast was gone. Texas was gone. Gone, gone, gone,
the world was gone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“It is as I suspected,” the Scott said, “Everything below 400
meters is under water.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">400
meters, that was what? 1200 feet?</span></i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> I thought. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">There goes the bread basket of America. There goes most of the farmable
land in the world.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
~</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I looked over my shoulder to see how everyone was taking this.
Gupta had a pinched look on her face. Benitez had red-rimmed eyes. Mayor Pope
looked crestfallen. Lin and Moralez looked like bobble-heads as they tried to
take it all in. Washington and Muskowvitz looked like they were carved out of
stone, except that Muskowvitz’s hand kept clenching and releasing. Red-faced
Adams was white as a ghost and Young had his face buried in his hands. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">It was hard to see, hard to grasp, exactly what we had done to our
world, and it could get worse still. Those mountains that were islands could
also disappear, and us with them. I felt like my heart was pouring sorrow by
the bucketful all over my insides.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I wanted to throw up. I wanted to burst into tears and wail. I had
thought my sorrow for the loss of the world had dissipated over the years, but
now I knew that it had only been hiding, and hardening in some far corner of my
heart. I felt like the grief was going to kill me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I looked to my mother and aunt, both standing there resolute,
un-deterred in their lifelong ambition, with that old familiar hardness in
their jaws. Morens didn’t die of grief. Morens didn’t let fear paralyze them,
they chopped it up, threw it in their furnace of ambition and powered the
world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I was a Moren. I stood straighter, locked my jaw against the sobs
in my heart and glared at the screen, daring that water to TRY and take my
babies. We would find a way, and that was all there was to it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Peters,” I said in my most business-like tone. “Does that thing
have a thermal <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>function?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">He didn’t reply, just brought up the requested mapping layer in
two clicks of a mouse. I studied the image, consulting the legend at the side
to figure out what the globby-bands of color meant. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The southern end of the map was somewhat warmer than what
pre-apocalyptical<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>temperatures would
have been. It was still very cold here, still completely frigid to the north. I
wondered how much of that was because of the snow pack, and how much of it
would be some kind of permanent imbalance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I wondered how much pollution was still up there in the
atmosphere. I presumed that pollution is what caused the ice age, from what I
had gleaned from science lessons and the readings we had from before the
sensors went on the fritz. The air looked pretty clear though, now. White
fluffy clouds, blinding white light bouncing off the snowcaps, it looked like a
fresh clean world. It just all depended on how much of the ice caps melted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I prayed they wouldn’t melt all the way, even if they were
smaller, just… not all the way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">My mother requested a look at the ozone layer, which was far too
technical for me to understand. I just watched the tightness in her jaw for any
sign of good news. A little at a time it relaxed, and my galloping heart
followed suit. There was hope, somewhere in all that techno-babble she saw
hope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Around dinner time my mother politely encouraged those of us who
weren’t scientists to take a break. No decisions were being made at this point,
and the analysis of the data we had gained was going to take a good deal of
time to analyze. Several of the Council members looked to me, and I realized
quickly that if I didn’t leave, neither would they, so I stood and got on my
phone to figure out where my kids were at. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I knew Andrew would stay at his post, and these days that was kind
of normal for the kids, so thankfully they didn’t ask where he was at dinner.
We read a few chapters of Huck Finn, wrote in our journals, and Andrew popped
in just before it was time to tuck them in. It was just a regular night at nine
for them, but I was dying to ask Andrew for an update the whole time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">When they finally fell asleep Andrew sprung into action, “Put a
note on the com in case they wake up,” he said heading for our room. “Tell them
there was a meeting and to call Celia if they need anything.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Celia?” I asked, obeying and bringing up the com. “Well, what do
I tell Celia?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Malgun Gothic"; mso-fareast-language: KO; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Tell her we’ve gone spelunking,” he said. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Malgun Gothic"; mso-fareast-language: KO; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">~<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Umm, you’re kidding me, right?” I asked as Andrew handed me a
flashlight with a crank on the side.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Nope,” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Why aren’t we using the corded lights like we usually do?” I
asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Because they won’t reach where we are going,” he said. “Tonight
we venture beyond your little treasure trove.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“BEYOND?” I asked. “You aren’t seriously thinking about breaking
the seal, are you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Tilly, there’s no seal down here. They back filled the tunnel. It’s
completely blocked off. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Well if it’s blocked off, what are we doing this for?” I asked
him as we walked past the familiar piles of cast off belongings and towards the
massive dark hole in the back that I had always pretended didn’t scare me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“I’ve got a hunch,” Andrew said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“What kind of hunch?” I asked raising my flashlight higher to try
and dispel the darkness that was folding all around us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Well, it’s more of a wild hope, but when they built the resorts
they had to run tunnels a great distance underground, to hide what they were
doing from the rest of the world. I’m hoping that they left us something,
something we can use.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“What, like wooden beams?” I asked shining my light over towards
the wall. There weren’t wooden beams here, just concrete columns and arches. “Wouldn’t
wood have rotted away by now?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Maybe, maybe not,” Andrew said. “That’s why I’m here with you, in
case this is a wild goose chase.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">It kind of bothered me that he was grasping at straws. What kind
of conclusions had he reached looking at the data from the satellite? What kind
of future was he trying to protect us from?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Do you really think it’s going to get that bad?” I asked him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">His usually plump and delicious lips were pressed into a line. His
brows were knit together. He didn’t have to say it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I fought the tingle in my nose, and brought my flashlight down to
crank it. The grinding, rhythmic motion worked off some of my anxiety. That was
why we were down here, because Andrew and I felt the same, we couldn’t face our
fears in stillness, we had to act.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I brought it back up as we rounded a corner in the tunnel. The
blackness stretched suddenly out on either side of us, and we slowed our steps
as all but the floor in front of us disappeared. We were in some kind of cavern
it seemed. We moved our lights about and the beams of light played off stalagmites
and stalactites, reaching for each other in a slow motion embrace. I barely had
time to register the beauty of the cave before my light played over something
unnatural in shape and I brought the beam to bear on it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“YES!” Andrew said, with perhaps too much enthusiasm for the
inside of a cave. His exuberance echoed all around us as we hurried forward to
look at the dust covered blocky stack. As Andrew wiped furiously to determine
its composition I looked beyond it and my beam fell on another, and another,
and another. They weren’t all the same, some were beams, some were like this, and
some were crates stacked neatly in piles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“It’s sheet metal, Tilly.” Andrew said. “I knew he would have had
a plan.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I didn’t have to ask who “he” was. I just wondered how my mother
and aunt hadn’t known about Grandpa’s back up plan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Andrew, look,” I said as my light fell on a panel bolted to the
wall nearby. “What do you suppose that is?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">He was running to it in an instant, and I was right behind him.
Again we encountered decades of dust, but sleeves solved that. As I rubbed I could
feel depressions in the panel, like it was engraved. I stopped rubbing and trained
my flashlight on it. It was engraved all right. Engraved with blue prints,
detailed plans on exactly how we were going to survive the flood. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Andrew was standing back now, looking with me at the diagram. “Well,”
he said with a broad smile. “It’s not gopher wood, but it will do.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Gopher wood?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Yeah, ‘build it out of gopher barky-barky’” he sang, but it didn’t
help. Did gophers chew wood like beavers?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“It’s a boat, not a dam,” I said gesturing to the steel inscribed
design.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Not a boat Tilly, it’s an ARK. You have heard of Noah right?” he
said with an incredulous chuckle as he went back to dusting the plans off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Well, yeah… okay did the gophers help him or something?” I asked
helping him wipe. He wasn’t making any sense.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">This time he really laughed and looked at me hard. “Okay, Tilly,
when we get out of this mess, you are reading the Bible.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I rolled my eyes. If God got us out of this mess I would read the
Bible, the Koran, that blue book the Mormons were always leaving all over the
place, and every Buddha quote I could find. There had to be some Universal
power if we were going to get this boat, this ark, built in time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Malgun Gothic"; mso-fareast-language: KO; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span> ~<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Part 3- The Arc<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Aunt Marsha and Mom started in disbelief at the plans before them.
“Marsha, did you…?” My mother asked her sister. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“No, he didn’t say a word,” Aunt Marsha replied. “How on earth
were we not notified about this?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Well…” Andrew said. “You were kids. Maybe they didn’t tell you
about it because they wanted you to trust in the Resorts.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Just like
we just did</span></i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">, I added in my head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Yeah, well, still,” Mom said. “It wasn’t like they didn’t have a
million opportunities once we were grown.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“You’d think that<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Harris
would have known about this, at the least. Wouldn’t this have been listed in
the inventory?” Aunt Marsha said shaking her head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“I wonder if they put them at all the resorts…” Mom said turning
to shine her light on the piles behind us. “It would make sense.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“We’ll have to go and ask,” Aunt Marsha said already starting to
walk back toward the passageway. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Don’t you think we should confirm that it’s all here before we
get their hopes up?” my Mother called after her sister.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Like Dad ever did anything half way,” Aunt Marsha said. Then she
added, “We’ll let Harris do the inventory, we’ve got Inter-Resort-Communication
and Inter-Department-Coordination to do.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Peters and I followed them up to the communications room. We found
Dr. Reed asleep at a desk, lit by the flickering light of the screen saver. I
went over and gently shook him awake as my Mother opened the lines of
communication to the other Resorts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Some of the other screens popped right up, and others took a while
before the lackeys could summon someone in charge. We waited several minutes
for the last of them to appear. By the look of the faces on the screen it was
trying the last of several people’s patience to wait.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">When the last Resort was on-line my mother started right in,
“Thank you for your patience. I’ve called you all to discuss a discovery that
may, or may not present a feasible solution to the problem at hand.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The faces on the screen leaned forward, almost in unison. “Do you
have a final analysis on the air?” one face asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Actually,” my mother said turning to the Doctor who had resumed
his work without a word when I woke him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He shook his head. “We are still working on that. That’s why I said I’m
not sure if this solution is feasible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“We’ve made a discovery,” she continued. “In the natural caves adjacent
to our resort we found supplies and plans for an… Ark… of sorts. We haven’t
started an inventory, so we aren’t sure it’s all there, but I wanted to let you
know, so you can check your back tunnels to see if you were similarly
supplied.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“What do you mean, you just found this?” One of the faces asked in
shock. “You mean to tell us there was a Plan B and you didn’t know about it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">My mother wasn’t used to being in position, and I don’t think I’ve
ever seen her so apologetic. “Mr. Rastogi, please be assured that if either I
or my sister had been informed of this we would have made the information
available to you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Why wouldn’t we have been informed?” another face asked in
incredulity. “I’ve read all the manuals cover to cover and a boat was never mentioned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“I don’t know,” my mother replied. “Perhaps they wanted to protect
the supplies from use on other projects, perhaps they wanted to prevent
premature use or unwarranted use. All I know is that I’m glad that Peters here
was thinking outside the box.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Andrew was blushing a bit, I couldn’t as much tell by his face as
the way his mouth was set. He looked so relieved to have a solution. I just
hoped that it was one we could use, that the air quality results continued to
come back good and that it would be safe to go up to the surface.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The leaders of the other resorts were dispatching missions into
the un-explored regions of their service tunnels with some excitement. They
were all trying to be professional, but the thought of an escape was certainly
an excellent spur. Then, the teams sent, they turned back to us, faces
expectant, like this was the first of a list good news notices we had to hand
out that night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">We in turn turned to Dr. Reed who was still glued to his screen.
He didn’t notice the silence, so I broke it. “Dr. Reed,” I asked, “Do you have
any preliminary findings to report?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">He looked up from the screen and at the faces all looking down at
him. He took a deep breath, “Well I can tell you what the results are saying so
far, but this is by no means conclusive.” My mother reached over and switched
the camera at his station on. His face came up on the screen, and he continued,
“I’m hesitant to share these results, because I have no way of knowing if they
are going to apply to your regions at all. You have to understand, the air in
any given area may be toxic, you could be killing everyone in your Resort by
breaking your seals.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“With that said,” he added clearing his throat. “The air samples
we have been able to obtain here at Nine are all within acceptable ranges. The
soil samples show some elevated levels of radio-activity, but thus far it is
still within acceptable ranges. We have gone as far as we can with our robots,
and pending the return of acceptable results on the tests currently running, we
will be implementing the next phase of our analysis.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“What is the next phase?” someone asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“The next phase is to send a team to the surface to conduct
additional testing,” Dr. Reed answered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“More tests?” someone else asked. “How many tests is it going to
take? We are running out of time!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“I’ll be lucky to have generators in a month,” the guy from
Scotland butted in. “If I have an Ark down there, I’ll be lucky to get it done
in that time.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Then run your own tests,” Dr. Reed burst out angrily. “I can’t guarantee
anything from the other side of the world.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">He looked abashed at his outburst and looked around at our faces
before turning and leaving the Communications room. The faces on the screen
were a mix of contrition and anger. I started to go after him, but Andrew put
his hand on my arm, so I stopped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">My mother switched the camera back to her own station, “You’ll
have to excuse Dr. Reed,” she said more pointedly than apologetically. “He
takes his job very seriously.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">~<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I woke. In the dark I reached across the bed to find nothing but
the flat expanse of the sheet. I rolled over and groped around, finding first
the ledge of the table, then the switch for the lamp. The light was brutal to
my exhausted eyes, so I turned away from it and looked at the empty place
beside me, then onward to our bedroom door. There was a thin band of light at
the bottom. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">He was up again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I went out to the living room and watched him stare at the com
screen, unblinking, thinking, lost in the troubles of his mind. I waited for him
to notice my presence, but after a while I couldn’t stand staring at this
statue form of my husband. I longed to smooth the worry from his brow, to take
the burden off those big shoulders of his. I crossed the room and sat next to
him on the couch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">He blinked then, taking his eyes off the screen long enough to
clasp the hand I offered in both of his own. Then he continued looking at the
screen ahead. It was a map of New Mexico. I wondered how much of it was left,
how much was above the water line. I wondered if it was all green now, with the
never ending rain that was happening in all the thawed areas of the world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Andrew however didn’t seem to be thinking of blooming deserts and
brimming rivers. He seemed angry at the map. He kept scanning up and down, and
with a little time I found what he was tracing. It was as if some great secret
lay in the course of the Rio Grande, and he was determined to unravel it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“First spelunking and now white water rafting, aren’t we
adventurous these days,” I said, trying to be as light hearted as possible. It
had been a trying few days, in spite of all the good news.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The inventory was completed, and it was all there. The test
results from our robot were back, and they were all “satisfactory” or
“acceptable.” Several of the other resorts, the ones at lower elevations, had
sent teams up to the surface, accepting the possibility that those teams may
never return. So far the test results at those locations had also been
“satisfactory” or “acceptable.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Things were looking up from a few weeks ago, but no one trusted
the flow of news not to take a down turn at any moment. So we watched, and
waited, and debated. Oh how we debated. What if, what if, what if. It was all I
heard these days. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“What if the whole earth floods?” was the most common question,
and the fear in our eyes added, “and it stays that way?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“What if there are people out there still?” I also heard, but the
more rational among us shook our heads in doubt. If they had survived the war,
they had died of the fall-out. If they had survived the war, and the fall-out,
they had died in the ice-age. If they had survived the war, the fall-out, and
the ice-age, then the torrential flooding and mudslides of the last few months
had probably killed them. I’m sure all of us had woken from a nightmare about
mutant surface-dwellers at one point or another, but we had little to fear from
that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“What if the flooding speeds up even more and they don’t get out
in time?” was the most pressing question. The Resort in Scotland had already
abandoned testing and moved on to building its ark. They were only at an
altitude of about 1000 meters. At the rate the water was rising, their
generators were greatly at risk of flooding. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Andrew exited out of the map he was looking at and brought up
another one. It was a map of the world showing the elevations in colored bands.
My heart sunk once again looking at the areas color coded as the lush green
farmlands that used to be. Gone, 500 meters and down, gone, the last 100 meters
in the few weeks since the first meeting we had about this. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“There,” Andrew said pointing to the right side of the screen. “Do
you see that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">He was pointing at a large white and purple area on the Eastern
Hemisphere. It was roughly shaped like a whale and spanned the area above the
Himalayas. The narrow “tail” end reached over towards the middle east. I looked
down at the legend, the white and purple color-coded boxes were at the very
top, the highest elevations in the world were white and purple.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“That’s a lot of land,” I said. “Isn’t one of our resorts over on
that tail end, the one in India?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Yes, yes, it is,” he said, but he didn’t say it happily or
excitedly, he said it with a hard kind of voice I had rarely heard from him.
That was his soldier voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“But, they have the highest elevation of all the Resorts,” I said
in confusion. “So why are you worried for them?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Because all of this,” he said taking the cursor and circling the
largest part of the “whale,” “is in China.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“But… well… I mean you don’t think they survived too do you?” I
asked him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Think about it Tilly,” he said. “If your Grandfather and a
handful of others could keep a secret like this in democratic countries, what
kind of secrets could a communist government keep from their people in a region
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this large</i> and almost completely
uninhabited?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The thought was gut-wrenching. My hands got all sweaty and my
lungs got tight. I thought I was going to throw up. “You think they are armed,
don’t you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“If they have Resorts, you can count on it,” Andrew said.</span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">~<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“It’s not that the possibility didn’t occur to us,” General Heinz
told us later that day in his office. “It’s just not something we talk about
with the rank and file.” My uncle by-marriage was tapping the templed tips of
his fingers together in rapid succession, and by the gaze he had fixed on my
husband it made me feel he was adding things up in his head.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Yes, sir. I see, sir,” Andrew said in a tone that was all
business. Andrew respected General Heinz’s authority, but more than that he
respected him as a leader. If General Heinz said that there was a plan, Andrew
Peters, Access Manager, would trust that.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I however had never been part of the “file” and I was pretty sure
I had enough “rank” to take the old man on. “Does that mean that they have a
way of defending themselves? Does that mean there is a plan in place to keep
the others from finding out about US through the other resort? Does that mean
that there is some kind of escape plan in place for them in case they are
invaded?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Of course,” General Heinz said, with a bit of irritation in his
voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Of course to… which? All of the above?” I queried.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">General Heinz just kept tapping his fingers, adding, adding, or
more like weighing, weighing, and it was wearing on me. If he thought he was
going to keep this from me he had another think coming. I locked my jaw and
gave him my fiercest impression of my mother’s “tell me” look. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">He didn’t outright laugh, but there was a twinkle in his eye as he
gave in at last, “Okay, you win. But if you tell your aunt it was this easy to
break me I’ll be back in the barracks by 1700 hours.” He looked at both of us,
obviously waiting for some sign of agreement before proceeding. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Andrew and I exchanged glances and then nodded together. General
Heinz nodded in return and then stood up. He stepped around his desk, crossed
to the filing cabinet on his wall. Opened the bottom drawer all the way, then
gave it a jiggle and opened it even more. When the back of the drawer rolled
out we saw a box attached to it, a box with an electronic keypad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Peters would have seen this at one point or another anyway, with
the way he’s been climbing the ladder,” General Heinz said as he typed in a
number sequence so long I was starting to think he was playing a song. The box
beeped, and then there was a grinding sound as a flap opened in the back. There
was a book inside, hardbound, black, and a good two inches thick.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">He pulled it out and stepped over the drawer to bring it back to
his desk, “This,” he said with an almost reverent tone, “Is the doomsday
bible.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">That wasn’t what it said on the cover of course. The cover read:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Security
Operations and <br />
Defensive Tactics <br />
Volume V<br />
Top Secret<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Andrew and I leaned forward. “I thought there were only four
volumes,” Andrew said in a hushed tone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“There ARE only four volumes,” General Heinz said, “as far as you
two are concerned. Marsha didn’t even know about this baby until she got back
from her little trip down to the bottom with you two.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“You kept a secret from Aunt Marsha?” I asked in shock.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Wait a second,” Andrew said, way ahead of me, and a little angry,
“You knew about the arks?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Yes, yes I did,” General Heinz said with a sigh. “I had been
trying to talk the other security department heads into revealing that intel to
the other department heads when you so kindly took the problem out of my hands.
Of course, Marsha figured out pretty quickly that I had already known and…
well… it wasn’t pretty.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">He clenched his teeth against whatever impression Aunt Marsha had
made on his memory, and opened the book. He thumbed through the pages. Finally
finding the one he wanted, he turned the book around for us to read.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I hadn’t really had any expectations, not having a clue what to
expect, so I couldn’t decide how I felt about the things I was seeing on the
pages before me. We were armed alright, armed to the teeth. It comforted me and
chilled me at the same time, and I wondered what my grandfather had felt as he
laid these provisions in place. I wondered how many nights he had lain awake
debating, surely feeling as I did, that we had scarred the world with enough
war.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Yet at the thought of danger, at the thought of enslavement under
a cruel regime I had immediately wanted a way to fight. I had immediately
wanted a way to defend my children from the evils of the world. There was too
much to protect to stand with empty hands.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">What if we never got the chance?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">What if the waters kept rising? What if the purple disappeared and
all that was left was the white on the map, the tip of Everest? How would our little
Navy of nine arks fare? They were not battleships. They were not nuclear subs
with sonar and torpedo bays. They were just great big boats to fill with sheep
and chickens and bales of hay while we floated and prayed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I reached up and rubbed the triangle between my eyebrows that was
constantly knotted these days, and only skimmed as Andrew read. By the look of
concentration on his face he seemed to be memorizing the plans. My soldier
would protect us single handedly if it came down to it. My soldier would defend
us with his…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“No!” I said slamming my hands down on the table and pushing the
very thought away. In my distressed state I turned towards the door, but the
thought of facing the people on the other side of it turned me around again at
the knob. Then there was the book, and the hard set faces of the two men I
trusted most in the world. I couldn’t face them either, so I turned again and
again, pacing back and forth insanely as I fought the tears brimming at my
eyes, spilling past the bulwark of my lashes, streaking across the plains of my
face to fall, fall, fall and soak into the sea of tears that had already
drowned the rest of humanity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Andrew’s arms were around me then, and at first I fought them, but
then I sank into them, I surrendered to the overcoming sense of futility. “There
is no end,” I sobbed. “There will never be an end. All we have done to save what
is beautiful about humanity and we’ve brought it with us, we’ve brought war
with us.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Tilly, honey,” Andrew whispered softly in my ear, “We had to…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“I know,” I cut him off. “I’m not completely illogical you know.”
I said, trying to wipe and sniff my lapse in decorum away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Believe it or not,” General Heinz said quietly, “I feel the same
way. I never wanted to use these weapons; I never even wanted to admit that
they existed. I wanted to believe that humanity could make a fresh start.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></span><br /></div>
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
~</div>
</div>
</div>
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“A lottery?” I asked, sure I had heard Councilman Adams wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“That’s right,” he answered looking a bit smug. “That way it’s
completely fair who gets the honor of being the first to ascend to the surface.”
He didn’t have to add the part where he was preventing my family from getting
“preferential treatment,” it was written all over him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“You do recall that Resorts Three, Five and Two have been on the
surface for over a week building their arks, don’t you?” Councilwoman Gupta
asked, not managing to hide all of her irritation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Yes, but those aren’t here are they?” he asked. “They aren’t here
on this new continent . They are on the Appalachian Islands, the UK Islands,
and The Australian Islands. We have our own history to write, our own new
civilization to form, and every member of it deserves an equal opportunity to
be in the history books. Wouldn’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i>
agree Mrs. Peters-Moren?” he finished fixing his eyes on me with a glare that
dared me to disagree.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was so tired of the man I wanted to offer to send him up there
right now. The insufferable, pig-headed, inconsiderate, oh he was such an oaf! New
continent? It was exactly his brand of separatist thinking that was going to
tear our world in pieces even as we tried to re-build. We could STILL lose
every inch of land we had on this “new continent” and spend the rest of our
lives adrift and he was worried about his place in the history books?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I agree,” I said finally, but followed it quickly with, “on one
condition, I don’t want to be in the lottery at all, I withdraw my name.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“And mine,” Mayor Pope put in. She was followed immediately by
several others, and I watched carefully as the momentary triumph in Adams’ eyes
fell further with each withdrawal. “So I do I hear a motion to remove the names
of all Department Heads and Council Members from the Lottery?” Mayor Pope prompted.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“You don’t think that will make people think we are afraid to go
up, do you?” Councilwoman Benitez asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“That’s why we <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">should</i> be
sending a science team up first,” Dr. Reed said disapprovingly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Adams actually rolled his eyes at this point, “You haven’t had <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">one</i> bad test result!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The room erupted in unrestrained conversation. I buried my head in
my hands and sighed deeply. When I looked up at my mother she was watching me
from across the room with laughter in her eyes. I stuck my tongue out at her. No
one noticed, because all around us people were talking over each other. Mayor
Pope was rapping her gavel like she was pounding in a nail. Finally Aunt Marsha
put her fingers to her lips and gave a deafening whistle, which effectively
called us to order.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was the strain, all of us were feeling it, some of us more than
others. I barely ever saw my husband anymore, because he and General Heinz and
an elite group of others from Security were going around checking all the weaponry
in secret, making sure that everything was good to go, just in case. Of those
of us in the room only General Heinz and us Moren women knew that we had
already breached the surface here at Nine multiple times. It just wasn’t up at
the Cube where everyone was thinking, it was at the end of each launch tunnel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thankfully no-one had noticed, or at least hadn’t started any
rumors about the council that met in General Heinz’s office all day every day.
It was sheer luck that no one had discovered that they were slipping through a
secret trap door and navigating the extensive labyrinth of secret tunnels in
the defense network. I worried every day that someone would figure it out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">From what Andrew told me, all of the resorts were doing the same,
except for Eleven. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>India had not been
provisioned with weapons, and instead of a secret defense manual had detailed
escape plans and multiple smaller arks. They also had a self-destruct button,
so that there would be no way of tracing the locations of the other resorts
through Eleven’s communications network.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Grandpa Moren had planned for it all, but I wished the dire
predictions of our predecessors would stop coming true. The more predictions that
turned out to be true, the less hope I had for a better future. Adams could
talk about history all he wanted, I just wanted there to be a world left.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I left the meeting completely drained but with a to-do list that I
had to get to. Adams’ idea of a lottery had passed, and now it was my job to
officiate it. Just where exactly did he expect me to fit every last person in
Nine at once? Where?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was just walking into my office when the phone at my hip went
off. I waved to Celia as I answered it, but stopped dead when I heard the tone
in the Security Specialist’s voice, “Your presence is required in the Communications
Center immediately.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I did an about face and walked right back out the door, my heart
thumping. They never called me in like this, never. I tried for my sanity’s
sake to come up with something, anything other than the thing I feared, but my
efforts were in vain. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The phone went off in my hand, and as I raised it to answer it I
realized that my knuckles were white from gripping it. I tried to sound normal
as I answered, “You know I’m thinking we should put your desk in the back and
mine out front so I can actually make it to my desk once in a while.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Celia wasn’t biting. “What’s going on?” she demanded.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I don’t know, and with the way things are going I don’t know if I
want to know,” I told her as my definitely-not-for-speed-walking high-heels
wobbled beneath my near jog.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“What can I do?” she asked, being for the millionth time a better
woman than I. I’d have been throwing a tantrum in her shoes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Pray,” I said. “Oh and find out how many people there are in Nine
over the age of ten. I’m here already, I’ll call you asap,” I said hanging up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I rushed right past the secretary outside the Communications
Center, and into the big screened room. I almost thought I was in the wrong
room, but getting my bearings I realized that was because the room was not lit
by the screen this time. Everyone was standing around in a circle instead of
facing the one wall, so I joined the circle and waited for the others to arrive.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When Muskowvitz closed the door behind him Aunt Marsha broke the
silence that had been strangling us all. “Thank you for coming, I’m sorry to
call you all back here so soon after a meeting, but some top secret information
has come to our attention that you needed to be informed of right away.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I tried to catch my mother’s eye, but she wasn’t looking my way,
so I kept my face impassive and looked back at my aunt. Were they really going
to tell the others about the defenses? Shouldn’t that wait until we were
attacked, or at least until we could get Adams off the council?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“About ten minutes ago there was an aggressive attack on the
security of the satellite system we have been using. Our team was able to keep
it at bay long enough to wipe our usage history and activate the spy virus they
designed in case of such an event, but we have lost major control over that
resource,” Aunt Marsha said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Lost it to whom?” Councilman Lin asked.</span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">~<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span>
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">My aunt walked over to the computer and activated the big screen.
The image that came up was that of what was left of the Asian Continent.
Someone was very interested in the new coastline south of the ice shelf. It
kept zooming in and out, searching the locations of what used to be cities.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I looked to the side of the screen where the legend box sat. As I
suspected, the language had been changed from English to Chinese.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Again I sought my mother’s eyes, and this time she met mine,
giving me an almost imperceptible shake of the head. I was to keep quiet about
what I knew. I blinked a confirmation back at her and then turned back to the
screen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I held my breath as the image scrolled past the area where Resort
Eleven was hidden in the mountains of northern India. Thankfully the sparkle of
the crystal at its peak was mistaken for ice, and the Chinese took no interest
in the mountain but moved on to study other areas that had previously been
inhabited. I wasn’t the only one who let out a big sigh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Looks like they don’t know we are here,” Councilman Washington
said clapping the distressed looking Lin on the shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The initial relief faded fast. Soon the Council Members were
asking the same hard questions that Andrew and I had faced just days before. I
left the answering to those more skilled with evasion and half-truths and tried
to gauge how the others were taking it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I had expected Adams to explode. Instead he took a seat and looked
at the screen with the most piteously crestfallen expression. An hour ago he
was ready to lead the charge into a new world, but it seemed he was not equal
to this kind of threat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">A few of them were overwhelmed by the possibility of another war.
We had counted on peace, trusted the silence outside the resort walls meant an
end to conflict, only to find out we were in a 12 year cease fire. I didn’t
fault them any of the tears I saw hastily wiped away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Most of the council was in fix-it mode. They wanted to take
action. They wanted to save us from the impending disaster. I didn’t blame
them, but right now being still was the safest course of action.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“That snow pack isn’t going to last forever in this melt off,”
Councilman Muskowvitz said with a sour expression. “How long until the Chinese
get curious about the peak on top of Eleven?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“There’s no way to know,” my mother said, “But at least with our
spy virus we will know when they take an interest.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“We have to get them out before then,” Benitez said in the most
firm voice I’ve ever heard. “Do they know at Eleven? Are they watching this
too?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“They are, and they will be looking for solutions. Right now we
must urge you to keep this information absolutely top secret. It could cause
widespread panic and create lapses in security that would tip-off our enemies
to our whereabouts,” my mother said, fixing a firm gaze on each of them in
turn. “There is a reason we have not got Access on the line with this, there is
a reason we do not have interpreters in the room right now. This is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">classified </i>because it is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">vital</i> to our <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">survival</i>.” She ended by locking Adams in a look hard enough to
break marble, and the wilted man was nodding and gibbering his agreement in
seconds. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I stood there, staring at the screen, until the only ones left in
the room were Heinz and us Moren women. The satellite was studying the
mountains of the middle-east now, flipping through the input layers to see
through the torrential storm that seemed set on washing the mountains of Iran
into the ever expanding Persian Gulf. “Do you think there are Resorts there?” I
asked the room in general.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“No, that region has been watched far too closely for far too
long, both physically and fiscally,” General Heinz said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Are we really expecting to keep this from everyone for long?” I
asked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“As long as we can,” my mother said, “though we do need to get our
Chinese interpreter up here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Councilman Lin will be relieved to have his wife back in the
loop,” I said. I turned to leave but stopped at the door, “Oh and, is my
husband in the loop on this?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Of course he is, who do you think we had write the virus?” Aunt
Marsha said flashing me a grin. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Andrew and I were up most of the night. First we were fighting
about exactly what information we were allowed to keep from one another. Once
we had that settled we then spent hours and hours poring over the world map. We
both knew it was irrational, hoping that something would come to us that would
somehow bring our friends safely around the curve of the earth and leave our
enemies on the other side. No matter how the world had changed, the arc was
just the same, and peace was just as fragile in the hands of grasping men.</span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">~</span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
<br />
</span></span><br />
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Part
4- The Least Common Denominator<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
watched Father at the screen, standing there, owning the room as he always had.
His shoulders were thrown back, his head was high, his feet were spread to hold
the weight of all his titles. He was the Commander, he was the Emperor; my father
the ruler, my father the conqueror, my father the murderer of the world.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
stood at his side, I watched with him as he studied the new coastlines of the
world. The rains still fell, the waters still rose, and yet instead of fear, in
his eyes I saw only the greed, the lust, the thirst. The world would be filled
to the brim with water and still he would thirst.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
hated him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
hated him in silence, for that is the only way to hate the most powerful man in
the world, especially when you cannot escape him. Twelve years I had been stuck
inside this mountain with him. Twelve years I had pushed my hatred down harder
and harder so now it sat, like a lump of lead in the pit of my stomach.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yet
he never suspected, and it was no wonder why. I was a dutiful son, always at
his side, always quick to study, quick to obey. I knew the price that was
exacted of those who did not obey my father. I had watched the world pay that
price, as he rained atomic bombs down on them. I had watched my mother pay that
price, as she wept and reached her hands skyward, as if her pleading could be
heard over the berating beat of the helicopter blades, as if there was any
mercy in my father’s heart.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
had loved him once.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
had loved him when China was great. I had loved him when China was proud. I had
loved him when China was1.3 billion strong. I had loved him when my mother
lived.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now
China was shamed, weak, a few thousand tucked into holes in the ground.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now
my mother was dead.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now
I was dead inside and yet hanging onto life out of pure instinct, an instinct
as old and deeply rooted as China. I lived while dead, for in me China lived
while dead. As I lived, China lived; as China died, I died.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
and China, China and I, we were one. My father ruled us both. My father had
decreed our deaths. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We
were going to drown in the sea of his sins.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My
father clapped the young computer tech on the shoulder to congratulate him for
breaking into the satellite system. The tech bowed his thanks to my father his
head nearly touching the keyboard, but it was to me he looked. I praised him
with a blink and a twitch of my nose.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“There,”
my father said. “You see my son? Do you see how far China extends? They thought
they could stop us, but I, I out smarted them all. They thought they could
conquer China, and now, now China will be the word for Earth. No more Greek, no
more Latin, Mandarin!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He
laughed, and I pretended to laugh with him. He would not know it from my real
laugh. I didn’t even know my real laugh anymore.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“You
have indeed changed the whole world with your own two hands, history will never
forget you, Father,” I said, and I meant every word. If I succeeded in my plan,
if I and the secret band of youth that followed me managed to save any of this
world, we would never let his sins be forgotten by time. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He
bored of his newest conquest in moments, as I had known he would. He issued
orders for studies and reports and then went back to his pleasures. I remained
behind, not having to feign my interest in the information the satellite
relayed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Patience,
patience was key to winning this game. Patience was needed to see if the
flooding continued, patience was needed to move only when it was most
effective, patience was needed to kill only when the blood was needed. Fifteen
plans lay sorted in my brain, fifteen carefully crafted plots which all lead to
one end, China and I lived, and my father died.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">~</span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>I
was at my father’s side when he received the reports, and while the scientists
tried to dumb-down the information without making it sound like they thought
themselves more intelligent or educated than the ruler of the world, I easily
read the charts and graphs. I quickly came to my own conclusions. I had not
wasted the last twelve years as he had. <o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>Naturally
there was no guarantee that the gradual evening out of atmospheric conditions
meant that we weren’t facing a complete flooding of the earth, but I doubted it
would come to that. What concerned me was how high it would get before it
stopped and how long it would take to abate. We had reserves, but they would
only last so long. I worried that he wouldn’t put the replenishment plans in
place soon enough. The land on the extreme altitudes was only arable to a
certain degree. We needed to act and act soon if we were to survive.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>I
watched them try to impress this upon his tiny, twisted mind, but if they
didn’t use more forceful language he was never going to understand the peril,
so I cut in. “I beg forgiveness, but I am young and unable to see as you do,” I
began with an extra gesture of respect to my father, as if I thought he
understood anything at all. “You speak of planting and farming, but how long
will we have to wait before we see any real benefit from this?”<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>The
strain in the scientist’s eyes eased a little as, with a nod of permission from
my father, he turned to explain things to me. I continued to feign ignorance,
asking questions about the expected growing seasons, the atmospheric
conditions, pollutions, land arability, and last but not least, elevation.
“Your charts only show this area,” I said. “Won’t it take much more work to
farm such slopes? Why don’t we plant lower, closer to the elevation we are now?
There is much land on the map showing that color.”<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>The
scientist paled, “Honored Heir, didn’t you hear? Perhaps we did not mention…
all the land at this elevation will be flooded within a matter of weeks.”<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>At
last the information penetrated the layer of ego protecting The Emperor’s mind.
I saw his eyes widen for a moment, before he regained his composure. Then he
turned to me and cast me a look of scorn, “You should listen better, my son,
and not make them repeat themselves. We are wasting valuable time when we could
be preparing to… to… re-establish ourselves on the ancient soil of China. For
in the beginning all life sprung from the soil of China…” <o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>He
went on like that for some time, somehow under the delusion that his propaganda
was more important than actually issuing the orders that would assemble the
ships, relocate our precious resources, and ensure the survival of our people.
While he continued his impromptu speech I did a little communicating of my own.
By the time he issued his first order I had received confirmation that my
blinked and twitched orders had already been obeyed.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>~<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Again
I was at his side, and again I wanted to smear that smug smile with his own
blood through the liberal use of my pounding fist. It was uprooting day, the
day we disassembled the carefully planned and cultivated horticultural hall and
loaded the trees, fields, and gardens segment by segment onto our ships. He
acted like the system of carefully designed containers had been his idea, like
he had personally overseen the whole project.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Everything
was going according to plan, or at least that was the way he presented it to
the masses that stood cheering below us. They didn’t know that in less than 48
hours their homes would go dark. They had no idea that the lower levels would
be flooded in less than a week. He didn’t tell them what was in store, he only
issued orders.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
scanned the crowds below us, carefully noting among the uniformity the
differences only we would know. The youth under my command, while never
betraying their loyalty with any outward show, were easy for me to spot. We
marked ourselves, not with colors or clothes, but with honor, determination,
and vigilance. I could tell them by the way they walked, by the way they
watched as they cheered, by the way they moved through the crowds. My years of
training them had paid off.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now
I just needed to get away to join them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
waited for him to tire of overseeing the operation, and when he did I was
released. I wove my way around the underground city, finally coming to one of
the secret service entrances that we had made safe through a careful hacking of
the internal surveillance system. I slipped through the door and carefully closing
it behind me made my way down the ladder. I had taken it so many times I didn’t
even have to count the rungs anymore, I just knew when to reach out my hand to
feel the ledge of the airshaft in the wall behind me. In the complete darkness
I placed my hand on the cool surface. It was slicker these days, the humidity
from the rising groundwater coated the cement, the rungs of the ladder, it
clung to my clothes. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Several
meetings ago one of our members showed up with soaking wet shoes, she had
decided to find out for herself how high the waters had risen. No one had liked
how few rungs she had gone down before her feet splashed. The number decreased
every day, and she reported it to the others as she loaded their breakfast
trays at her station in the food service court. Of course I knew how high the
water was, those of us in the control room knew it all too well, but for those
in the lower levels, she was the most direct connection they had with our
timetable. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
pushed my thoughts of her out of my head as I crawled down the shaft. There
would be time to think of her when this was all over. Right now I needed to get
us through this alive. Then I could think about marrying her.</span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>The
grill on the end of the shaft was open, and I could hear the idle tapping of the
all clear signal. It was almost imperceptible over the sounds of the power
plant on the other side of the wall. I tapped the entrance sequence before
dropping silently to the floor.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>A
hand reached out to greet me, tapping across my shoulder and feeling up to my collar.
The insignia there was instantly recognized by the searching hand, and I
recognized the hand that lingered at my collar. Funny that it was her when I
had just been thinking about her, but then… Mi was always lingering in my
thoughts.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>She
tapped my shoulder twice then seven times, to tell me I was the twenty-seventh
to arrive, then her hand fell away in the darkness and I stepped away from her,
reaching out to find the wall I would follow to the door. I slid my hand along
its familiar rough surface. How many times had I touched this wall? How many
times had I reached for this door handle? How many times had I jerked it just
the right way to make it give-way though it always remained locked to the
untrained hand?<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>I
entered the small storage room where we met. We waited in silence. Not out of
necessity, but out of practice. Every member was valuable, so we set a time,
and only if someone was more than ten minutes late did we start without them.
We usually didn’t have to wait, especially not these days when matters were so
urgent.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>It
was only two minutes later when there was a tap at the door and our last
arrival slipped in with Mi at his heels. They took their places among the
storage shelves and someone flipped on the dim and yellowed light. All eyes
were on me.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>I
looked around, taking stock of the expressions on their faces. Some looked
worried, some looked excited, all of them looked determined. My eyes lingered
for a moment longer on her face, taking in the resolute line of her jaw, the
protective look in her eyes, that strange mix of strength and adoration Mi wore
when she looked at me.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“Whose
turn is it to be the bird?” I asked. When Pu, who worked the kitchens and
struggled with his weight, moved toward the shelves Mi stepped up and climbed
to the perch for him. She opened the ventilation grate ever so slightly and the
light from the main generator room striped her face. I would have blinked my
thanks at her, but I knew she wouldn’t look away for even a second, not Mi.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>We
had a lot of business to cover today, and I got to it. Ship assignments had
finally been posted and it was time to organize the teams that would work
together after launch. We hadn’t been able to weight the assignments like I had
wanted to, there was too much participation from mid-level supervisors in the
selection and distribution of labor. Our changes would have been noticed. One
of the ships had a single China Fighter. Another had seven. My ship had three,
plus me, and our mission was the most difficult, because we had to deal with my
father.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>I
announced the team captains, and we divided to discuss the implementation of
our plans on each ship. Only three of my fifteen plans were appropriate for use
on a ship, and all of our plans had to be altered after we landed. Everything
was changing, the world we had been raised in, the halls and ventilation shafts
we had wandered for most of our lives would be gone. I knew that the time to
act may not come at all on the ships, but I knew that preparing them not only would
keep them ready to act, it would keep them united during in-action.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>After
the meeting we left in our usual fashion, two or three at a time, and in
complete silence. Mi kept watch, until in the end it was just her and me. She
closed the grate and quietly climbed down to the floor. “Do I need to tell you
about your part?” I asked her.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“I
listened,” she said. “I can use my eyes and ears at the same time you know.” <o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“Oh,
good,” I said. “Then there is no reason to linger.” I flipped the light off,
and then we slipped out the door. Mi followed me to the shelves that had served
as our ladder to the ventilation grate all these years. I reached for her hand
in the dark and pulled her toward the wall, but she resisted, freed her hand
and shoved me slightly. I gave in and went first, leaving her to secure the
grate behind us. She didn’t like anyone taking care of her, especially not me.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>~</em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>I
stepped out of the service door and let it click shut behind me before I moved
out to the crowded street. I had gone about five steps before I was seized from
behind and shoved up against the wall. Startled women screamed and the area
around me emptied immediately, all except the two security guards at my back.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“What
is the meaning of this?” I demanded in my most authoritative voice as I
struggled against my captors.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>One
of the guards recognized me, and turned in surprise toward his companion.
“Officer, this is Jiang Bang! Are we supposed to arrest the son of Jiang De?”<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“He’s
not going to be happy when he hears about this,” I said haughtily. <o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>The
other officer’s face flickered with confusion only for an instant before he
said, “Sorry, Sir. Our orders are to arrest all personnel using the service
passages without clearance. That includes you.”<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“Without
clearance?” I sneered. I raised my voice, “I have clearance levels you haven’t
even heard of.”<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“Then
why didn’t you know not to use the service passages today?” the officer replied
as several other officers appeared out of the crowd. He turned and called to
them as he snapped the cuffs around my wrists, “Check through this door, I’m
taking this one in.”<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>I
hoped she had heard me. I had certainly made enough noise, and Mi knew the
service shafts well. Maybe she would get away, maybe some of the others had
too. <o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>Walking
down the jail-block my heart sunk lower and lower. Though none of us betrayed
our acquaintance, and some of them were putting on a good show, demanding
explanations through the bars as we passed, we had nearly all been caught.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>I
began evaluating which of my men was the weakest link, which of them I needed
to bolster even while I figured out how I was going to get us out of here. We
had plans for this, excuses tailor made for discovery in difference situations.
I reminded them of their excuses by dropping code words while I yelled at the
guards to let me talk to my father. They slipped into their roles well,
tailoring their behavior to match their excuse. Some wept, some cowered, some
rocked nervously, and some stood and yelled through the bars with me.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>It
was nearly an hour before General Zhou came marching down the block, heels
clicking, aides fanned out behind him. He ignored everyone else and walked
right up to me. He fixed his piercing gaze upon me and asked, “How is it that I
find you here, boy?” <o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“He
sent you?” I asked feigning pain. “First I am thrown in jail like a thief and
then he cannot even come to hear me?”<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“I
asked you a question,” the General said with iron in his voice. “Do not make me
repeat it.”<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>I
slumped against the bars, “I was meeting a girl,” I said. “I wasn’t doing
anything wrong.”<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“Really?”
The General asked, unconvinced. “What girl? Where is she? What’s her name?”<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“I
don’t know, she’s just a girl,” I said. “I don’t usually get their names,” I
added with a wink.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“You
make a habit of this?” The General said with distaste, as if he never did the
same thing with the beauties my father kept around for just that purpose. That
particular perk was nothing either of us would mention in public though, so I
just looked at him and shrugged.</em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“Fine,
I will inform your father of your bad habit,” he said turning on the ball of
one foot.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“Oh
come one, you’re not going to leave me here…” I called after him.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“It’ll
be good for you,” he called over his shoulder.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>Leave
me there they did. There was no response to my repeated demands, there was no
response to my refusal of meals, the guards didn’t even speak to us after that
point, and eventually we all went quiet. I watched the clock on the wall spin
around and around as the hours went by, as the waters rose beneath our feet, as
the launch loomed closer. Just as I was beginning to think we were going to be
left here to drown the silence broke, with the sound of chains.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>They
marched us out of our cells, a serpent line that clinked and jingled. The
marched us past the waiting masses. They marched us into the first of the
ships. My father glared down at us from the railing as the crows screamed and
hissed at us. My men looked scared.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>The
brig inside the ship was a single cell, better suited for a single
insubordinate worker than for eighteen China Fighters. There was hardly room to
sit, much less lay down. No one was looking at me. They rubbed their wrists,
they hung their heads, and they waited in silence. <o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>I
woke in the middle of the night to feel the room lurching. We fell all over
each other and the confusion broke our silence. The guard woke too, and,
wanting information as badly as we did, he rushed out the door of the room.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>The
door to the room swung to close but was butted open again and again. The
hallway was packed with people, panicked expressions on their faces. They
screamed and yelled and climbed over each other, some heading left, others
heading right. In the melee a few people were knocked into the room. An old man
tripped and fell, his head hitting the bars at my feet. I knelt down out of
instinct, trying to help him through the bars, but his wife beat me off, as if
I had been trying to harm him. <o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>Then
another form was thrown into the room and landed against the bars. She cried
out in pain, and I was so concerned for Mi’s injury I almost didn’t notice that
in her thrashing she slipped a ring of keys through the bars. I reached to help
her up, but she also batted my arms away, even while feverishly blinking and
twitching directions to me. She then rushed from the room, rejoined the
feverish mass in the hallway, and slammed the door behind her.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>I
hadn’t been the only one reading her face, and the requested riot commenced
immediately. I was slammed against the bars by the bodies behind me. They
screamed, they climbed the bars, they threw their shoes.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>Then
one of the shoes hit the target, and the sole security camera was knocked
askew. Immediately the press abated behind me and I started trying the keys. As
soon as I got the door unlocked someone vaulted past me to rip the camera right
off the wall. Others started ransacking the room, looking for anything they
could use in the fight.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>There
wasn’t much. We busted a chair, grabbed a few pens, they would do in a pinch
but more than I feared our lack of weapons I feared the crowd. They knew our
faces now, there would be no getting past them unreported.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>The
others looked to me for orders, and I tried to think of a plan, any plan, but
this was something I had never planned for.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>The
door burst open again and a bundle laden form fell through the door. My men had
the door closed and the intruder pinned before they even recognized it was one
of our female China Fighters. It was Fang, the one that worked in laundry, and
she had brought us a present.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>As
we quickly dressed in the Security uniforms Fang explained that she and Mi had
sabotaged the support beams that kept the ship upright on land, and that the
storm tossed rising seas, were battering the ship against the rest of the
pylons. “Everyone is rushing onto the deck, it’s mass hysteria,” she said with
her eyes gleaming.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“Where
is Mi?” I asked, “Who else have we got?” <o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>She
shook her head, “Just us,” she said motioning at the hastily dressing men.”Mi’s
plan was to gas the bridge, but I don’t know if she’s gotten there yet…” she
stopped short of expressing her concern that Mi could carry out her plan.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>Gassing:
plot number eleven, risky, especially on ship as the ventilation would
eventually carry it throughout the ship.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“Do
we have masks?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>She
again shook her head, “We went with a non-lethal, we have to get there after it
clears and before they wake up.”<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“Let’s
go!” I called, and was nearly crushed in the stampede for the only door.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>The
hallway was clearer now, and the stragglers quickly got to the side at the sign
of our uniforms. Halfway to the bridge I remembered where the security supply
room was and we made a detour to tey our keys in another door. I didn’t know if
Mi had acted yet, but I preferred to be over prepared than under.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>The
guard in the security room had remained at his post, but between the surprise
entry of nearly twenty combatants soon convinced him to cooperate with his own
binding. The floor was still lurching under our feet as we raided the Security
room, I didn’t know if the massive cracking sounds we heard on occasion were
pylons or thunder, but either provided much needed cover. <o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“You,”
I said to the guard, “Does this computer tap into surveillance?” </em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>He
glanced from me, to the computer, to the gun Pu held on him, and rattled off
the access code as fast as he could. Cong was on it, and he brought the feed
from the bridge up to show a room shrouded in gas, bodies lying slack all over
their stations, one dainty body prone on the middle of the floor. Had I not
known that profile so well I would never have recognized her in that whore’s dress.
It had been the perfect disguise.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>My
men sprang into action without command, rushing the bridge. Between the masks
and the uniforms we met no opposition. As I entered the bridge though my heart
sank, nowhere among the limp and useless command crew was my father to be
found.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>I
growled in my frustration, “Where is he?” I shouted. I gestured wildly for my
best techs to man the computers while the others took on the task of binding the
bodies and locking them up in the board room.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>I
knelt beside Fang who was administering to Mi, trying to rouse her, “Please
tell me we just took the Flagship,” I said.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“Oh
he’s onboard alright,” she said, “Unless the coward jumped in a lifeboat.”<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“I
bet he would,” I said. I wanted to ask if Mi was going to be okay, I wanted to
reach and feel for her pulse, but I didn’t, because right now I had to finish
the fight she had carried out almost alone up until now. <o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>In
moments I was on the deck, fighting against the press of people, two of my best
men at my back. I made little headway. I looked wildly about the crowded deck,
people screamed, wept, and clung to anything bolted down to avoid getting
knocked overboard. <o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“He
wouldn’t be up here!” I shouted to my comrades over the din of the storm. We
turned and made our way back to the bridge in frustration.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>The
others looked up in surprise at my quick return. “Roll back the videos, find
out where he went!” I shouted. “And someone check his stateroom and make sure
he’s not still in bed!” I said throwing my hands in the air.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>I
felt completely useless. All these years of waiting and plotting and hating,
for what? To have him slip away right when things got interesting. I turned to
leave, desperate to do something, anything, but the sight of Mi’s prone form
turned me back around. I couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t think of that, so I
started pacing, back and forth, back and forth, like a mad-man on a trip. Maybe
I was a mad-mad.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>I
had just spun around at one side of the room when a hand to my chest stopped
me. Angua, my right hand stood there blocking my way. “Stop,” he said, “and
think.” <o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“I’m
trying to think,” I growled, “but you are in my way!” <o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“Fifteen
plans,” he said. “Fifteen plans and you’re PACING?” He grabbed me by the
shoulders and pushed me against the wall. “You wanted to lead, you wanted to
take the world from the despot, now TAKE IT!” He gave me one last shove for
good measure and then spun away in frustration. I thought about turning him
back around and punching him, but as I came away from the wall it came away
with me. I turned to stop what I thought was a falling wall panel, only to find
instead a door swinging into the room.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>Beyond
it was a set of stairs, and caught on the railing, a sequined scarf.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>~</em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>Any
noise I had made coming down the stairs would have been covered by the raging
of the storm, but still I proceeded with caution, leading five men into what
could quickly become our deaths. How many would my father have brought with
him? Besides the girl that was… how many men would he want to save with his
private escape route? <o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>Would
he even still be here?<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>Reaching
the bottom of the stairs I halted, and peered around the wall to where a small
yacht hung, ready to be delivered to the sea via a sophisticated lift
system,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>were it not for a broken pylon
which blocked the opening. My father stood to the side, giving useless
instructions to the four sailors who were trying to dislodge the massive post,
to no avail. There was no sign of the woman, and no time to account for her. We
could be discovered at any moment.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>I
signaled my men to follow me, and silently we crept forward. I raised my gun,
smoothly bringing it to rest on my Father’s temple as I placed him in a grip I
was sure he wouldn’t be able to break, even if he hadn’t stiffened with fear at
the gun.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“I
would have thought you would have at least come to visit me,” I whispered.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>He
yelped. Yelped. I felt him shiver even as the sailors turned to discover the
laser dots resting on their torsos.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>There
was a scream and a breaking of glass, after which one of the Sailors tried to
be a hero, only to find the boys with the guns didn’t really need the guns. As
he grunted in pain under Angua’s grip the others got to their knees slowly. <o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“Wise
decision,” I told them. “He’s not worth dying for, he’s not worth the lives
that have already been taken in this war.”<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“Who
did you kill?” my father whimpered.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>“I’m
not the killer here,” I replied. “Yet,” I amended pressing my gun tighter
against his head.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>I
wasn’t stupid enough to think I had won. I knew it was an act, but the sailors
didn’t know that, and I needed to handle this well if I was going to keep him
subdued long enough to lock him up. Killing him now made me an assassin. Trying
him and sentencing him for war crimes, that made me the leader of the new
regime.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><em>~
</em></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">We stood at the railing, looking out over the endless sea. It had
been called endless before, but now it pretty much was. The only things left in
my world that were solid and firm were the arms around me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Peters and I did this every morning after our run around the deck.
Others were still running, we had quite the running club going these days. It
had grown slowly as the past eight months had drifted past. We were all a
little stir-crazy, or sea-mad, or victims of cabin fever, whatever you chose to
call it. It was all the same, after hiding in the earth for a dozen years we
were being driven mad by the sea and the sky.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Andrew pulled away from behind me, the military time clock in his
head telling him it was time to go. It was almost time for our daily radio
communication with the other arks. It was time to talk to my mother about the
nothingness going on in our lives.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Showered, dressed, and sitting in the conference room we waited
for the radio to come to life. We didn’t wait long, Aunt Marsha and Mom were as
punctual as Peters. After all, they were the “Inter-net.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The long list of check-ins began, as if we wouldn’t have noticed
if one of our floating neighbors had gone missing overnight. All the resort
arks had been gathered here for months now. We sat here, floating somewhere
above Colorado, waiting for the waters to wander away, waiting for the peaks to
poke out of the waves.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">It hadn’t been a firm plan, for everyone to meet up here. After we
had lost the satellite to the Chinese though, they just came. I was a little
more relieved each time, and then we were complete. I don’t think any of us
could stand the isolation anymore. Just standing on deck seeing all the arks
around us, main decks lush with trees, sheep running the lower decks, children
somewhere in-between, it was hope, it was community, it was humanity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I was about to respond for our ship when an unknown voice crackled
onto the frequency. At first I couldn’t understand it, had one of the kids
gotten a hold of a radio? Then the voice came again and my lungs froze inside
me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I was still trying to find my voice while Andrew was calling
battle stations over the ship’s comm. The room had been griped in a fist of
fear, but thankfully some found their feet while the rest of us tried to find
our heads.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“New China Fleet call American Fleet, do you copy?” the heavily
accented voice repeated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">New China?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“What do we do?” I asked Andrew, the radio in my hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Not our call,” he replied. “Lilly Lin is on her way up. Maybe we
should have assigned her to a different ship.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I nodded, she would have been more useful to be in the room with
the people who were really in charge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The hail came again. “New China Fleet call American Fleet, do you
copy? We come in peace.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The ship’s comm crackled came on, “Confirmed sighting of three
ships, they are sailing in out of the sun. Sorry…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I felt bad for whoever was in the crow’s nest this morning. Not
that it mattered. We were equipped for survival, not evasive maneuvers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were loaded to the teeth, but we were also
loaded down, with precious cargo.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">If they could hear our radios they were close, too. We used short
range radios for just that reason, so distant enemies would not detect us. I
wondered how they had found us, they hadn’t shown any interest in our location
on the satellite at all. We knew, we watched it every minute of every day. They
pretty much kept it trained on the tip of the Himalayas, waiting for Everest
Island to become a mountain again. It had almost disappeared six months ago,
all but the very tip. The waters were receding now. The Chinese were farming,
and we estimated another two to three months before we could land on peaks of
our own.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“New China Fleet call American Fleet, do you copy? We come in
peace. Please answer.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Lilly Lin ran into the room and leaned on the table to catch her
breath. She was still in her pajamas, her braid still frayed from sleep. She
looked embarrassed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“New China Fleet call American Fleet, do you copy? We come in
peace. Please answer. We hold our position.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">She looked at me, “Am I to answer for us?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I looked at Andrew, Captain Peters as he was called these days. He
shrugged. I started at the radio, then jumped when it came to life with Aunt
Marsha’s voice, “New China Fleet, this is General Marsha Moren of the Western
International Fleet, please hold for Ambassador Mathilda Peters-Moren and our
Mandarin Interpreter.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Did she just say?” I asked the room at large. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Yes, yes, she did,” Andrew said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Talk about the fast track,” Gupta said with a wink, like this was
any time to be funny.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Oh honestly,” I said running my fingers through my hair. “Lilly
isn’t the only Chinese Interpreter in the Fleet.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“It’s not me they are entrusting with this,” Lilly said coming to
sit by me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Yeah, but why me?!” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Ummm,” Mayor Pope said, as quietly as I had ever heard her speak.
“Remember that Mayor’s meeting I went to a couple months ago?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I buried my head in my hands.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“We kind of voted you in charge… in emergencies,” she finished. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I wanted to point out exactly how unfair it was to vote someone
into an office they never had run for, but before I could the radio came on
again. “Ambassador Peters-Moren, please proceed when ready,” Aunt Marsha’s
voice said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">When ready. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Oh okay,
give me a week,</span></i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> I thought.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I closed my eyes, sighed, handed Lilly the radio handset. “New
China Fleet,” I said, and she translated, “This is Ambassador Peter-Moren, we
are listening.” When she turned off the microphone I turned to Andrew. “I think
it’s time to use that virus of yours to take the satellite back. We need to
know if it’s just the three of them.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“I’m on it boss,” he said, leaving the conference room and heading
for the bridge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The Chinese answered back and Lilly took notes and translated, “Ambassador
Peters-Moren, we are a diplomatic envoy from the New Republic of China, sent by
President Jiang Bang. We wish to express the peaceful intentions of our new
government and our hope for peace for the future.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Here,” Andrew said bringing in another radio, “Madeline’s on channel
11 and wants a relay of what’s being said.” He handed it to Mayor Pope, who
consulted Lilly’s notes and relayed the translation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Does he have a name?” I asked Lilly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">She shrugged and asked, then replied, “His name is Han DaZhong, he’s
translating for Jiang Mi, the First Lady.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Eyebrows went up all around the room, and Mayor Pope relayed the
news. I began to have hope. If she was the wife of some new President, then
this could end in peace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“It’s just the three ships,” Andrew said, poking his head in the
room. He cocked an eyebrow at me, and I gave him a half grin. He could stop
checking on me now. He had guns to man in case this went bad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“First Lady, we extend our greetings and express our happiness
that the waters of mankind’s mistake are receding from the mountains of your
homeland,” I said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Ambassador, we thank you for your happiness and express our concern
about your welfare. We are encouraged to see so many plants on your ships.
Perhaps this horrible end will be a new beginning for all of us,” was the
reply.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“We are curious about the mission of your envoy,” I said. “Did you
come to negotiate a cease fire?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“We came to inform you of our new government, to express our
peaceful intent, and to open correspondence. Our President and our people
believe that communication is the path to peace. We hope this overture of peace
is acceptable to you,” replied the First Lady. “Our President wishes to assure
your President that he is not like his late father in character or politics.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Late Father?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Yes, Emperor Jiang De was tried by the people and executed by
drowning for his crimes against the People of China,” she said. After some
surprised silence she added, “We apologize if we acted preemptively. My husband
instructed me to convey his willingness to be tried in his father’s stead, if
it would prevent further war.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The stunned faces around the table mirrored my own. I didn’t know
what to say.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">~<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">First Lady Jiang De was pregnant, very pregnant. Part of me wanted
to call her husband and chew him out for sending her on a mission at such a
time. Then looking at the determined set of her eyes I wondered if he had been
given a choice. I introduced her to my husband, and to Hope and John. She eyed
my husband’s uniform, but when she saw his metal leg respect filled her eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">We walked the fruit level of our ark, she particularly liked the
birds that hung heavy on the branches. She worried that the flocks wouldn’t be
supported by the ecosystem, and I knew just what she meant. At the back of the
ark I showed her the farm, the floating gardens we hoped to keep safe from the
elements until they could be planted in real soil. Hurricanes were a concern
for her people too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">We walked past one of the big guns, and she talked about how she
fell in love with her husband while they planned the liberation of their people.
She said she still had breathing problems from the gas. She said it was a small
price to pay if it was the last battle, especially as they hadn’t had to kill
anyone that day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The children loved her, and I could tell she liked them. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She kept looking at Hope and putting her hand
on her bulging belly. I asked if she was having a girl. She said she hoped she
was having a President, either way, but they wanted it to be a surprise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">She visited us each day for a week, and I visited her smaller
ships, each swift and lightly armed. She invited me to come to her home and
meet her child someday, and I told her I really hoped I could. They were simple
conversations, one woman to another. Perhaps someday they will be historic,
perhaps they won’t, but I know they changed me, they gave me a friend on the
other side of the world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">So long mankind has divided the earth, so long it has broken the
world in pieces and compared their size to one another. Now, now instead of
looking at what can divide us, we look at what we have in common. We find what
good things we have in common that can multiply us, not so we can compare our
size, but so that we can add to each other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">And in this, mankind has not died, but grown, exponentially.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p></o:p><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
</div>
</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
<o:p></o:p></span><br /></div>
</div>
</div>
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070125802803155242.post-57868634227521500472012-03-19T11:06:00.002-07:002012-03-19T11:12:23.211-07:00The Aspen and the Oak<span style="font-size:85%;">Build-a-story completed 3-19-12</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Reader submitted story elements:<br />Another world/reality/out of comfort zone<br />Missing one of the five senses<br />A mother’s amazing love</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Thanks girls! Love you! Hope this doesn’t disappoint you.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;">The Aspen and the Oak</span><br /><br />I only took my eyes off him for a moment, the briefest<br />second when I heard another child cry out in pain. The other mother ran to<br />comfort her child, scooping up the little one, holding him to her. I turned my<br />eyes back to the playground to find my child.<br />It was rarely hard to find him, he wasn’t the kind that<br />bounced off walls and ran a lot. When we came to the park Aaron spent the whole<br />time swinging back and forth, the wind making his hair dance and float. He<br />didn’t pump hard like other kids, didn’t jump off or scream, he just reached<br />his feet up towards the sky and let himself glide.<br />He wasn’t on the swings though. When I saw that empty swing<br />my heart leapt into my throat. The seat was twisting fitfully, like Aaron had<br />left it hastily, jerking on one of the chains as he went. Aaron never did<br />anything hastily.<br />My feet propelled me to the swings, but my eyes were<br />scanning the playground, searching for the green shirt, the old worn out jeans,<br />the brown twisting locks that always drew my fingertips. I wrapped my fingers<br />around the chain and clutched it while my head spun back and forth frantically.<br />“Aaron?” I called. “Aaron where are you?”<br />He was nowhere.<br />“What does he look like?” “What was he wearing?” the other<br />mothers asked me. I barely registered the concern in their faces as I scurried<br />around the playground, searching for my son, my child, my whole world. My head<br />was spinning faster than the merry-go-round.<br />Then I saw him, and my heart leapt. I called his name, and<br />ran. I must have gone out the gate, crossed the parking lot, but I was only<br />aware of the distant green shirt disappearing among the tree trunks.<br />“Aaron! Aaron!” said, finally catching up and grabbing a hold<br />of his shoulder. “Why did you leave the swings? Why did you walk off without<br />me?”<br />I turned him to face me, but his gray-brown eyes were<br />distracted, almost dazed as he asked me, “Do you hear them, Mommy? The trees<br />are singing so beautifully today. I could hear it, even on the playground.”<br />“The…what?” I asked, quite concerned now. Why was he acting<br />like this? What was he talking about?<br />“The trees, Mommy, listen to the trees,” he said again. He<br />turned his face and closed his eyes, listening with pure pleasure. His<br />expression was soft and peaceful, like he was asleep in a very pleasant dream.<br />A million things floated through my mind, hallucinogens on<br />stickers, bacteria in his brain, a reaction to an immunization? No, it had been<br />too long for that. What was happening to my boy?<br />“Aaron, let’s go home,” I said reaching for his hand, but he<br />stepped away as I reached, drifting away from me, into the forest.<br />With other children this would be normal, to reach for a<br />hand that was moving away. This was not normal with Aaron though. He always<br />listened. He always obeyed. He never gave my aunt or me the slightest bit of<br />trouble.<br />Maybe she would know what was wrong with him. She was a veteran<br />nurse after all. I was just a CNA at the nursing home where we both worked. She<br />had seen a lot more in her years. I had always relied on her wisdom. She was<br />all the family we had, since my mother had withered away a few years ago.<br />I caught up to my wandering child and grabbed his hand<br />firmly. “Aaron, we are going home now,”<br />I said.<br />He turned and looked at me, his eyes sad, like they were<br />when he had to get off the swings because of rain. It pained him to leave. “Don’t<br />you want to listen to the trees, Mother?”<br />“It’s just the wind,” I said, giving his hand a little tug.<br />He followed me obediently. “We can listen to it in the tree at home.”<br />“It’s not the same,” he said sadly. “That old tree has no<br />one to talk to anymore. He hardly remembers any of the songs.”<br />“Is this something from a book you read at school?” I asked<br />as we stepped into the parking lot and headed for our beat up old car.<br />He shook his head swinging my arm. “They said you wouldn’t<br />remember,” he said.<br />“Who said?” I asked. “Remember what?”<br />“The trees,” he said as he opened his door and climbed up in<br />his car seat. “They said you would not remember. Grandma did though, Grandma<br />remembered her whole life even though she wasn’t the same.”<br />“Grandma remembered what?” I asked, completely confused and<br />a little exasperated.<br />I wasn’t the only one feeling exasperated. Aaron shook his<br />head and looked away as I checked his seatbelt. His lips were pressed together<br />in frustration, but at least he didn’t look all out-of-it anymore.<br />~<br />Aunt Deborah came out of the nursing home looking just as<br />tired as usual. The years and years of twelve hour shifts were taking their<br />toll, but it was a sacrifice she made for us. This way someone was always home<br />with Aaron, and once a week we both had the day off. I was glad tomorrow was<br />that day, it would give us time to figure out what was going on with Aaron.<br />She climbed into the passenger seat and reached back to<br />touch his weary head. He had fallen asleep on the way over. “Poor thing must<br />have worn himself out swinging again,” she said with a soft smile.<br />“He didn’t swing as much today,” I said starting the car and<br />putting it in gear. “He ran off into the woods, actually. It scared the living day lights out of me.”<br />“The woods?” Aunt Deborah asked, giving me an odd look.<br />“What did he go in there for?”<br />“He said he was listening to the trees sing,” I said. “It<br />was kind of eerie. He said something about mom and the trees saying she<br />remembered… It was very weird.”<br />“He was too young to have any memory of Ann,” Aunt Deborah<br />said.<br />“I know, weird huh?” I said. “You don’t think he might have<br />touched something on the playground that got in his system or something?”<br />She weighed it in her mind for a moment, and I remained<br />quiet, sure she was trying to recall the effects of different street drugs from<br />her days as an ER nurse. Her lips were pressed together, and her brows were<br />furrowed. “Kids make up funny things at this age,” she said. “You said the same<br />thing to me once, that the trees were talking to you.”<br />“I did?” I asked, surprised. “I don’t remember that.”<br />“It was a very long time ago,” she said. “It’s just a phase.<br />Just ignore it and it will go away.”<br />~<br />“Can we go to the park today?” Aaron asked as soon as he sat<br />down at breakfast.<br />“I think we’ve had enough running off for the week,” Aunt<br />Deborah said with a severe look at Aaron.<br />He ducked his head to avoid her gaze and stuck his spoon in<br />the cereal, “Can we go to the library instead?” he asked.<br />“May we…” I prompted.<br />“May we, PLEASE, go to the library today?” he asked. “I<br />promise to stay right where I am supposed to be the whole time.”<br />“Well, when you ask like that, how can we say no?” Aunt<br />Deborah said, giving me a look that mirrored my feeling of relief. The longer<br />we kept him interested in other things, the faster he would move on from this<br />fantasy.<br />That is, IF we can GET<br />him interested in other things, I amended my thought after we got to the<br />library. He headed straight for the non-fiction section and pulled out a book<br />on trees. He brought it to the table and sat down, opening it carefully and<br />studying the depiction of an elm.<br />I thought about trying to distract him with other books, but<br />I thought perhaps that would only make him want to read about trees even more. I<br />left it alone and got out my homework. He just sat there and slowly turned the<br />pages.<br />“There he is,” Aaron said pushing the book over to me a few<br />minutes later. I glanced at the page. The tree featured on its glossy expanse<br />was an aspen, pale and lean. I turned back to my homework without comment.<br />“Don’t you recognize him?” Aaron asked.<br />“I don’t think trees are him or hers,” I told him without<br />looking up from my assignment.<br />“But you don’t recognize him?” Aaron asked, obviously<br />concerned. He pulled the book back and stared at the page. “I think it looks<br />just like him.”<br />“Looks like who?” I asked, frustrated.<br />“My father,” he said simply.<br />“Don’t be silly, you’ve never met him,” I said.<br />He hadn’t. In fact, I had barely met the man. I didn’t know<br />his name; I had no idea where he was, or where he was even from. All I knew was<br />what little I remembered from that night. He was this pale, quiet, strikingly<br />handsome man, standing under the full moon and looking at me in a way that<br />still sent shivers down my spine.<br />Aunt Deborah had been scandalized when she found out I was<br />having a stranger’s baby, but then she was always more traditional than mother.<br />Mother had just walked into the yard and quietly stared into the night. Those<br />five silent minutes were the longest of my life, but after that she never<br />criticized, never acted ashamed, she just started knitting things in green.<br />Of course people around town just chalked it up to “like<br />mother, like daughter” since none of them had ever met MY father either. Mom<br />told me that they were married, that he had “gone the way of nature” before I<br />was born. Not even Aunt Deborah believed it. I could tell by the way she<br />clammed up when they disagreed, the accusation was right on the end of her<br />tongue, but she held it back every time.<br />I think she was glad she did. I think she was glad she had<br />spent the last two and a half decades helping support us, even moving into the house<br />when mother got sick. I think that even though she disapproved of our origins<br />she still loved Aaron and I fiercely.<br />Aunt Deborah came over with her new stack of romance novels<br />and sat down at the table with us. She was always reading them. Mom had once<br />told me it was because she would never have another romance of her own. I had<br />asked what that meant, but my mother had just shaken her head and gone on with<br />her work.<br />That had been years ago, more than ten probably, it was<br />funny I still remembered it. I remembered wondering if it meant my mother would<br />have another romance, since she didn’t read novels. She never had though. I<br />don’t think she wanted to. She was willowy and beautiful to her last day and<br />many a man had tried to cure the sad longing in her eyes. None of them would do<br />for her; none of them were my father.<br />“May we go to the park, if I promise to stay on the<br />playground?” Aaron asked, interrupting the battle between my homework and my<br />memories. “Please, Mother?”<br />“Your mother has homework to do,” Aunt Deborah said without<br />taking her eyes off the page.<br />He slumped in his chair and looked sadly at my backpack.<br />Then he took his book back to the shelf and selected another from the same<br />section. He took it to a beanbag chair and got lost in its pages. I shook my<br />head and tried to focus on the page in front of me. I wished I was half as<br />smart as my son was. He had taught himself to read when he was four watching<br />educational television, and after that had completely lost interest in the<br />screen. He was writing whole sentences before he started kindergarten a month<br />ago, all on his own, no pressure from us.<br />By the time I finished all of my homework we were all very<br />hungry and Aunt Deborah announced she was taking us for burgers. This was a<br />very rare treat in our household, so I was more than happy to agree.<br />Aaron was less than enthused though, “I’d rather go to the<br />playground, and make a mud pie.”<br />“You can’t eat a mud pie, silly,” I told him.<br />“Well trees do,” he said.<br />“You are not a tree, you need protein,” Aunt Deborah said,<br />more severely than made sense to me. She didn’t usually get testy with him.<br />Aaron caught the tone too and raised no further objection.<br />I think she felt bad about snapping at him, because she took<br />us through the drive through and then drove to the park. I raised an eyebrow at<br />her as she parked the car. She just shrugged her shoulders as Aaron got out of<br />the back and walked toward the swings. <br />We grabbed the bags and cups and headed for the picnic<br />table. It took some coaxing to get him off the swing, but once he was seated at<br />the table he ate without complaint. The air was a bit nippy today and the warm<br />food felt good in my belly. I was glad we had come, there weren’t many days<br />like this left in the year.<br />“The trees are getting sleepy,” Aaron said as he finished<br />his food. “Time for a long winter’s rest.”<br />Aunt Deborah closed her eyes, like she was holding back an<br />irritated reply. The comment felt funny, hanging in the air like that though,<br />so I answered him, “Yes, they are already starting to change colors. We’ll have<br />a whole pile to rake up soon.”<br />“Like the barber,” Aaron said. “Neat and tidy, sweeping everything<br />clean.”<br />He was pretty imaginative today. I wondered what had gotten<br />into him. Aunt Deborah was wondering too, but he just asked to be excused and<br />returned to the swings. I watched the way his hair dance in the air, back and<br />forth, back and forth.<br />“That boy needs some friends,” she announced suddenly,<br />startling me. I had nearly been hypnotized watching my son’s lazy glide on the<br />swing.<br />“He gets along with everyone at school,” I said.<br />“No, he just doesn’t make trouble with anyone at school,<br />that isn’t the same as having friends,” she said.<br />“He’ll find the right one, sooner or later,” I said. It had<br />been years before I had made a close friend, and Aaron was even more quiet and<br />reserved than I was. It would take time to find someone who fit well with him.<br />“Maybe you should join a Mommy-and-me club or something,”<br />Aunt Deborah said.<br />“It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?” I asked.<br />“Those are for pre-school moms.”<br />She frowned. “Well, he probably would get along better with<br />an older child, anyway,” she said. “Does he ever talk to anyone here? Or at the<br />library? Maybe you should ask his teacher if there’s a club for gifted<br />children.”<br />“I… I suppose I could, if you think it’s what he needs,” I<br />said. I didn’t think there was such a club for kindergarteners.<br />“He needs something, get him distracted from all this<br />non-sense,” she said.<br />Her fervor confused me. I agreed that it was odd, but hadn’t<br />she said herself that this was just a phase? Why all the bother? “He’s only<br />five,” I said.<br />“Well five or not, he should have some sense,” she snapped.<br />“Talking trees.” She got up and started stuffing the wrappers in the bag. I<br />went to help her but she yanked everything out of my reach and took it to the<br />trash can. Then she marched right over to the car and got in.<br />The way she sat there, with her arms crossed, staring at the<br />steering wheel it was obvious she wanted to go home. I didn’t know why. She<br />wasn’t one to get upset without reason though, so I sighed and went to get<br />Aaron off the swings.<br />“Did I do something wrong?” he asked when I told him it was<br />time to go.<br />“No, of course not,” I said gently as he took my hand.<br />“Why is she so upset then?” he asked.<br />“I don’t really know, but we should try to be extra good<br />anyway. Maybe she’s tired. She works really hard for us you know,” I told him.<br />“She needs to rest,” he said with a nod. “She needs a<br />winter.”<br />I had to smile, there he went again. How his little mind<br />made connections like that, what a gift it was. It was a shame to try and<br />squash something so beautiful out of him. After all, he was such a good boy,<br />and only five.<br />We approached the car and I looked through the window. My<br />hand was on the handle when I caught the expression on my aunt’s face. It was<br />satisfied, almost triumphant, and it irritated me. What was with her anyway?<br />I dropped my hand from the handle and gave a tug on Aaron’s<br />little limb. It was like he could read my thoughts, and immediately we were<br />both running, giggling, towards the trees. We tromped in through the mess of<br />last year’s leaves, kicking and jumping, dancing further and further into the<br />light speckled shelter. Aaron was laughing like I had never heard him laugh. My<br />heart flooded with the beauty of the sight, the curling branches, the gentle<br />twisting of his hair, his smile, the golden leaves. It took my breath away.<br />He ran over and hugged a tree, hard, like it was a long lost<br />friend. He even kissed its rough old trunk. I could have sworn the tree<br />shivered with pleasure, and I had to laugh at myself. A happy tree, Aaron was<br />rubbing off on me.<br />“This way, Mommy,” he said suddenly. “The trees say to go<br />this way.”<br />So this way we went, deeper into the forest, the late<br />afternoon sun always to our left. We ran and ran, the wind racing through the<br />treetops above us until suddenly he came to a skidding halt. I laughed and<br />backtracked to join him. “Silly, why did you stop?” I asked.<br />“It’s him, Mommy,” he said in a hushed voice. “We found<br />him.”<br />“Found who?” I asked, but as I followed his eyes I knew. My<br />heart sank in my chest. He was staring at a tall, handsome aspen. We had<br />followed this fancy too far. “Aaron, honey, let’s go back to the car,” I said.<br />He looked so sad again, and kept looking back as I pulled<br />him away, kept looking back until he could no longer see even a patch of the<br />white bark through the trunks and leaves. I was just sick inside. What kind of<br />a mother was I? I should have listened to my Aunt.<br />She was stone cold silent as we got in the car. She still<br />hadn’t spoken a word when we parked the car under the old oak outside the house.<br />Instead she glared at the tree and then rushed inside. Aaron and I exchanged<br />guilty looks and I headed for the door. He turned away and went right up to the<br />massive trunk. He placed his hand on it, almost in apology. For the briefest<br />moment I wondered who he was apologizing too, the tree, or to the grandmother<br />who had passed away, lying at its roots in the middle of the night.<br />~<br />I awoke suddenly, the feeling of something missing<br />overpowering me. I made a wild dash to Aaron’s room, only to have my fear<br />confirmed. The fluttering of the curtains beaconed me to follow, come, come away.<br />I ran for my shoes, and my thumping about roused the other<br />occupant of the house. “What? What is it?” Aunt Deborah asked squinting against<br />the light of the hall.<br />“He’s gone,” I said. “I have to find him.”<br />“Gone, gone where?” she asked.<br />I stopped, my hand on the doorknob, and I looked back at<br />her. I didn’t understand it myself, but somewhere in my heart I knew it to be<br />true. The words stuck in my throat.<br />“To his father,” she said, her face going whiter than her<br />nightgown.<br />“How did you…?” I began, but she interrupted me.<br />“Go, go before it is too late!” she cried, rushing forward,<br />pushing me out the door.<br />It didn’t even occur to me to take the car, not until I<br />reached the corner and the chill of the night had somewhat permeated my<br />mixed-up mind. I heard a clack, clack, clack and looked back. I wasn’t the only<br />one out of her mind.<br />By the light of the full harvest moon I could see my aunt,<br />beating the old oak with the broom handle. The wind was blowing fitfully in its<br />leaves, almost as if the tree was protesting the assault, crying out for her to<br />stop. She joined its cry with her own, wailing unintelligibly as she struck<br />again and again.<br />I ached to go to her, but heeded another call, the need of a<br />mother to be with her child. So I turned and ran, ran harder and farther that I<br />ever had before. I ran until my face was numb and my fingers cramped. The<br />autumn air was ice in my lungs, but still I ran.<br />I halted on the edge of the parking lot, suddenly afraid to<br />take the next step. This is it, I<br />told myself. This is the edge of reason.<br />Reason, however, was no longer my friend, for she stood<br />between me and my child, between what everyone could see and what.. I couldn’t<br />explain… just felt true.<br />I was about to step onto the earth when something to my left<br />caught my eye. It was a child’s shoes, my<br />child’s shoes, lined up neatly at the very edge of the asphalt. I imagined him<br />standing here, just as I was, called by something beyond understanding, and<br />leaving his reasoning behind.<br />I took off my shoes and carefully placed them beside<br />Aaron’s. I looked up at the trees, silver and silent in the moonlight. Then we<br />both shivered as I took the first step.<br />With no sun to guide me I couldn’t tell which way I was<br />going, yet somehow I could feel the way. The moon watched my slow progress<br />through the trees. The branches reached out to touch me, almost in greeting, as<br />I passed by. The further in I went the less I could hear, of dogs and cars, of<br />slamming doors. It became very silent, and soon all I could hear was the<br />shush-crunch of the leaves under my feet.<br />The trees were thick here, the light was very dim. I could<br />barely see a foot in front of me but I kept going, kept following the slight<br />flutter in my heart that pointed me towards my child. The moon was just a<br />distant sparkle through the leaves.<br />Then suddenly I came upon a clearing, washed in silver<br />light. The bright bark of the aspen stood as a glowing shaft before me, but it<br />was the two figures at its base that caught my eye. My heart stopped beating,<br />frozen painfully in my chest. Never before had I seen the child with his<br />father, the father with his child.<br />I watched their lips as they spoke, but my ears were failing<br />me. Not a whisper of their conversation reached me. I stepped forward,<br />straining to hear, longing for the voices that were sweetest. The silence was<br />deafening.<br />He looked up at me then, those pale eyes and dark streaked<br />hair like a dream. He was unchanged, like we had met only moments ago. Like I<br />had turned away only for a second to have and raise our child, like somehow I<br />was the one who had disappeared into thin air with the rising of the sun.<br />I should have been angry, should have hated him, should have<br />beaten him with a broom, but I couldn’t feel any of those things with those<br />eyes upon me. Those eyes I had missed so much, those eyes that I had tried to<br />forget, those eyes that looked back at me from the face of my child, I could see<br />nothing but those eyes.<br />We were face to face, his instant proximity surprising me<br />and soothing me at the same time, the way it had done before. I felt his hand<br />upon mine, and he lifted it to his moving lips. I felt the kiss upon my skin,<br />felt the tingles upon my spine, but still no sound reached my ears.<br />It had felt like this before, every moment was bringing back<br />the memories. The energy in the air, the feeling of devotion that swelled up in<br />my breast, the way my senses seemed to extend beyond myself. It was all the<br />same, except I could no longer hear his voice. It had been like the rushing of<br />the sea. His lips were moving, his eyes hungry for me to understand, why<br />couldn’t I hear him?<br />“He says you have to remember,” Aaron said. I jumped at the<br />sound of his little voice and dropped his father’s hand. I felt my face get<br />hot. I felt exposed, revealed in my nakedness. He shouldn’t know this, no one<br />should know about me and this… this…<br />There was no other word for it, this tree. My love, my soul,<br />belonged to this man who somehow was a tree. I had never spoken it, never<br />revealed the foggy memories I had of him. They didn’t belong in the 2-by-4 and<br />asphalt world. He was too sacred to share, and now my son knew it all, perhaps<br />better than me.<br />My love laced his fingers through mine again and I looked<br />back up at his face. It was soft, pleading, so full of love. He nodded, urging<br />me to listen to our son.<br />I looked back at the little face I knew so well, pale in the<br />moonlight.<br />“I don’t know what I am supposed to remember,” I said<br />choking on the words. “I want to, but I cannot remember.”<br />He looked over at his father and then back at me. “You have<br />to remember, Mommy,” he said. “You have to remember who your father is.”<br />“But I don’t know, baby,” I said sinking down to kneel by my<br />son. “I never met him. My mother never told me his name.” I clung hard to my<br />love’s hand and reached to grip my son’s shoulder. They didn’t say it, but I<br />just knew; I knew if I could not remember I was going to lose them both. I<br />couldn’t lose them. I couldn’t bear it. I would do anything!<br />I tried so very hard to think, to remember. I thought of<br />every conversation we had ever had on the subject, but my mother had been so<br />very mute. No matter how many times I asked her she never uttered his name.<br />I remembered her face the last time we spoke of it, how she<br />turned fitfully in the hospital bed and faced the window. She whispered that<br />her husband had gone the way of nature. With agony in her eyes she lapsed into<br />silence, mouthing his name. I had tried so many times to read her lips in my<br />memory, but the consonants escaped me.<br />I felt myself mouthing it the way she had, trying<br />desperately to give voice to the word I had never heard, to name the name by<br />which I had never been known, but all that came out was a shushing, a whisper<br />of wind upon my lips.<br />Aaron’s eyes lit up, “That’s it, Mommy! You almost said it,<br />try again!”<br />“But I’ve never heard it, how can I speak it if I’ve never<br />heard it?” I asked him in despair.<br />He looked at me with great pity and yearning in his eyes.<br />“You have heard it, Mommy,” he said. “You’ve heard it every day, whispered on<br />every leaf. They tried to make you remember, but you forgot. You let the world<br />take it away. Remember, Mommy,” he plead then moved his mouth that very same<br />way. His tongue was still, but his lips moved, repeating the word I could not<br />hear.<br />I looked up at my love, but he was doing exactly the same<br />thing, moving his lips without sound, chanting in silence the thing I needed to<br />hear.<br />My heart ached within me, tears trickled down my face, a sob<br />burst past my lips and I kept on sobbing. They wrapped their arms around me and<br />I closed my eyes against the torture of knowing I could not hear them, but I<br />could still feel their breath on my face. I could still feel the words I could<br />not hear.<br />I slumped against them, and let their breaths soothe me. As<br />long as they held me, as long as they tried, they were still here. I soaked in<br />the feeling of their arms, their silent whispers, the love I could feel flowing<br />over my skin.<br />The wind swept my hair up and away from my face, rushing<br />against me. It filled my ear with its whispers, with the sound of a million<br />leaves. Aaron had called it the song of the trees.<br />Aaron had called it the song of the trees.<br />The trees spoke a language I could not hear. NO! The trees<br />spoke a language I WOULD not hear. I had known it once. Aunt Deborah had said<br />so, she said it just yesterday! I had once known the language of the trees!<br />I sat up, listening as hard as I could, I looked hard at<br />Aaron’s mouth as he spoke with the trees. He was chanting it with them!<br />I drew in breath, capturing every wisp of wind I could fit<br />in my lungs, and then I let it out, shushing and flowing, imitating the trees.<br />I breathed out the last of my breath, until my lungs ached and my head swam,<br />and then something inside of me broke free.<br />My body slumped to the ground, but my spirit lifted free. I<br />was floating, flowing, wind and moonlight wrapped in one. The hands that I<br />held, solid and formless all at once pulled me gently away from the flesh. I<br />looked back at where we had once been, and watched as the last of the leaves<br />that had been my love’s temporary body floated and rested over the two empty<br />forms. I had inhabited that body for twenty five years but now it seemed<br />strange to me.<br />I understood now, and with a glow inside me stepped with my<br />love into his real body, pulling our son in behind us. I felt myself flow, cell<br />upon cell, outward, upward, down into the earth until this body could no longer<br />hold both of us and I shot up out of the ground beside my husband. Our roots<br />entwined, our branches brushed lovingly, and our little sapling grew in<br />between.Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070125802803155242.post-86962481349359590222011-11-22T11:48:00.000-08:002011-11-25T16:16:00.150-08:00The Husband and His BrideHello my sweet dears who are kind enough to follow this blog. I'm ready to write another build-a-story, but this time I'm going to post the request for story elements here.<br /><br />So I'll take the first three thrown at me in comments on this post. Then I will edit this post to put the story in when it is done.<br /><br />I take it as a very good sign for my mental state that I able to write so much, I may be getting back to my books soon... which is good... and bad. Good because I need to finish them, my few select readers really want to read them, and I miss my characters, but bad because I don't usually write build-a-story stories when I'm working on a book.<br /><br />Anyhoo, next story is up to you!<br />_________________________________________<br /><br />Okay here it is! I was so excited I wrote the whole thing already. I'll have to get started on character out lines for a new book now, bwahahaha!<br /><br />Build-a-story 10, 11/23 through 11/25/11<br />Blog Follower submitted elements:<br />A unique wedding ring<br />An enchanted building<br />A bird of paradise flower<br /><br />The Husband and His Bride<br /><br />The first time he saw it he thought it was some trick of the light or a butterfly flitting among the bird of paradise flowers. What he saw was no butterfly, but Nathan Roe wouldn’t know that for weeks. He would never have suspected what he saw the night he had to go back for his notes was nothing of this world. No, guys like Nathan Roe didn’t even read about magic; much less allow themselves to believe in it.<br /><br />That is where a lot of people go wrong these days.<br /><br />Thus it was that the second time he caught the plants watching him he thought it was the first time he had ever seen a plant move so quickly, with the exception of a Venus fly trap, everyone knows they move quickly. Petunias though, petunias aren’t supposed to move hardly at all and yet he could have sworn he saw one shudder as he turned away.<br /><br />Odd, so very odd, he thought, as there was no wind here in University Greenhouse 7; no wind, hardly any insects, certainly no rodents, just soil, plants, fertilizer, equipment and the occasional person. Perhaps the bloom had been caught and suddenly became unstuck as it moved to follow the fading summer light. Yes that had to be it, he decided, without allowing himself to see that nothing was close enough to the bloom for it to have been stuck upon.<br /><br />Sometimes people are just too reasonable. Perhaps if Nathan Roe had been a bit less reasonable he would not have become entangled in such a sad situation as he found himself in. Perhaps if he had been an art major, or less analytical of mind, certain unpleasantness could have been avoided. However, he being who he is, anyone can see how his own nature was the real root of his soon to be problem.<br /><br />He left University Greenhouse 7 that evening and walked towards the main campus, intent on a light supper and a few hours with his notes. There was hardly anyone about, as it was summer session and those who did remain at school for the summer usually found other things to do with their Friday evenings. Nathan Roe was just not that kind of guy though, and so he was alone on the path, all except a pretty young blonde who was coming the opposite direction with some urgency in her step.<br /><br />“Oh I am so glad I caught you,” she said, doing just that to Nathan Roe’s arm. He looked up in surprise, not having noticed her presence among so many pressing horticultural thoughts.<br /><br />“Can I help you?” he asked automatically as he tried to place the somewhat familiar face. Classes had just resumed for the summer, and Nathan Roe, graduate student and favorite of the department, had three classes of names and faces to match up before he graded finals. She must be one of my students, he decided.<br /><br />In truth she was, she had been in class with him just today, and she revealed the matter that was so pressing as to bring her to this remote section of campus on such a beautiful summer evening. “I think I left my notebook in 7 today,” she said. “I simply can’t do my assignment without it, can I bother you to let me back in for a moment?”<br /><br />“Certainly I can, eh…” he paused in his reply as his hand searched his pocket for the keys.<br /><br />“Ann, Ann Wilson,” she supplied with a relieved look on her face. Ann Wilson was under the impression that such an important person would have plans for his evening, and that she was possibly delaying him from meeting a girlfriend, though of course she was entirely wrong on that count. Nathan Roe didn’t have girlfriends, he hardly had friends, and all of the friends he did have had other titles attached to their names, like Dean, and Professor, and such. He had a few acquaintances with whom he got along well, but unlike Nathan Roe, they had things they did with people on Friday evening.<br /><br />Being exactly the kind of person he was Nathan Roe didn’t offer up much conversation as they walked the short distance back to University Greenhouse 7, and this left poor Ann Wilson feeling a bit censured for being so forgetful. Contrary to her own self-incriminations, her mind had been quite worthily engaged at the moment she forgot her notebook. It wasn’t focused on the notebook, but it had been engaged in other things, like wondering why the sunflower seemed to be tilted a little bit in towards the class instead of fully facing the sun, and why the bird of paradise flowers were twisted so on their stalk when it would be more natural for them to face another way. You see, Ann Wilson, though a sophomore, was a bit more observant than the much lauded graduate student who taught the class she attended on Friday afternoons. She just wasn’t the most observant when it came to the location of her things.<br /><br />“I’m terribly sorry to have bothered you,” she said timidly as they approached the bit of sidewalk that led off the main walk and to the door of University Greenhouse 7.<br /><br />“No bother,” he said, and though his voice was genuine it was also a little surprised to have been apologized to. After all, leaving a notebook was something that happened often to busy University students, and certainly nothing that needed to be apologized for. After all he had done the same thing about two weeks before. “It happens all the time,” he added, noticing the tenseness around the eyes behind those heavy rimmed glasses.<br /><br />She smiled, and for the first time Nathan Roe really looked at Ann Wilson. He wasn’t sure if it was the beauty of her smile or the startling hue of her green eyes, but something about her caused an unfamiliar excitement to squeeze his chest. He forgot himself for a moment, standing motionless and smiling back at her when he should have been inserting the key in the lock. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, thumping like he was facing a final he wasn’t prepared for.<br /><br />Ann Wilson was more cognizant of the passing of the seconds, but unlike Nathan Roe she had just enough fantasy in her soul to enjoy them instead of being confused by them. She enjoyed the lingering gaze of his eyes, which were as dark a brown as rich loam. She liked the hesitancy in his smile, guessing correctly that it wasn’t often shared, and therefore she found it all the more worthy of earning.<br /><br />Thus favorably employed Ann Wilson let the moments tick by, not breaking the gaze and letting her own heart count out the value of the moment. It was a fifty heartbeat moment. In the more evenly measured human seconds Nathan Roe could not tear his eyes from her face for a full thirty seconds.<br /><br />When Nathan Roe did finally manage to think well enough to realize he was staring, and smiling, he blushed deeply and turned his attention to sliding the key into the lock. He opened the door silently and they proceeded across the threshold and through the hanging plastic barrier that protected the carefully controlled climate of University Greenhouse 7. As the plastic fell behind them all trace of the color drained from Nathan Roe’s face.<br /><br />The flurry of motion could not be ignored or excused this time. The branches of the trees snapped upward, when they had been nearly touching the flowers below. The flowers quickly arranged themselves, like children caught playing after the bell. The needles on the cactus quivered as it twisted back into place. The ivy rustled as it climbed back up the wall with alarming speed.<br /><br />Ann Wilson, as the more imaginative of the two, recovered the use of her joints before Nathan Roe did and turned to him with a gaping mouth. “Did you…” she began slowly.<br />“… see that?” Nathan finished for her with a bit of a quaver in his voice. He took a step backwards, shock and, indeed, fright growing on his face. “We have to get out of here,” he said taking another step backwards.<br /><br />“No,” shouted the pine, and the ivy responded to the implied order with lightening speed. It launched off the wall, twisting and twining itself around the two startled humans, lashing them together until they could do not but squirm in an effort to remain upright. “They have seen too much,” the pine said, his needles at attention and moving threateningly as he turned his dark lined face towards the intruding humans.<br /><br />“Time to make fertilizer out of both of them,” the cactus said, who was known to the entire greenhouse to have a very prickly personality.<br /><br />“No!” both humans protested in their pronounced distress.<br /><br />“No,” echoed the birch as she turned gracefully away from the west window. The soft rustling of her leaves drew every eye in the room. “How can we inflict such violence? It is not our way.”<br /><br />“Besides,” tweeted a bird of paradise flower, “the small one with fair colors is kind.”<br /><br />“Yes,” the sunflower agreed with his rasping voice. “She turned my pot and pruned that dead leaf that had been itching me all week.”<br /><br />“I say we prune them both,” the Rosebush said, bitter after years of having her prize flowers hacked away by insensitive lovers.<br /><br />“No,” whispered the tulips, more forgiving of the frequent cuttings. “The humans have cultivated us, we cannot repay them this way.”<br /><br />“Sssstill, they have ssseen too much,” the ivy hissed its leave rattling menacingly around the terrified humans.<br /><br />“We won’t tell!” Nathan Roe managed to squeak out through his pale lips. “No one would believe us anyway.” In truth, that no one would believe them was the thought foremost on Nathan Roe’s mind, he wasn’t sure he even believed it, even while he was living it. If he had possessed the use of his hand he would have pinched himself, or even slapped himself to get out of what he strongly suspected was a terrible dream. Instead his hands were behind Ann Wilson’s back where he had put them in an instinctive effort to protect her as the ivy attacked. Had the situation been less dire he might have been able to enjoy holding her in this way.<br /><br />“Yes, we will keep your secret,” Ann Wilson agreed. “We mean you no harm.” This also was a thought very much meant, on Ann Wilson’s part. Confronted with a place of such wonder Ann Wilson’s heart felt joy mingled with the fear. Her long love of flora had often made her wish she could understand the needs of plants better, and here, here was an opportunity to learn what no Graduate Student or Professor could ever teach her. This excitement coupled with the warm presence of Nathan Roe’s tall strong body pressed to her and his long arms wrapped around her made this experience significantly less traumatic for her than him.<br /><br />“They can’t be trusssted,” hissed the vine, and it squeezed its captives all the tighter, snaking tendrils up around the human’s necks. At this point Ann Wilson began to share some of Nathan Roe’s trepidation.<br /><br />“That’s right,” the pine said. “They could come back and spray us all, like they do to the dandelions outside.” The pine tapped the window to remind them all of the horrors they had seen.<br /><br />“But if we didn’t spray the dandelions they would kill the lawn,” Nathan Roe said out loud, though he had not meant to.<br /><br />“It is not for humans to interfere in the war between the grass and the dandelions,” the oak said turning her lovely head of leaves toward the humans. “How will the grass become stronger if it is not left to its struggle?”<br /><br />“You humans,” the cactus bristled. “You are destroying species after species in your quest to make us serve you better.”<br /><br />“You would be better served,” the bird of paradise flower squawked, “to leave nature as it is.”<br /><br />“Oh I agree,” Ann Wilson said quickly. “It is appalling the way we humans have shifted the balance of nature. You may not know this, but many of us are trying to change that.”<br /><br />The birch’s leaves shivered with pleasure and she and the oak exchanged pleased looks. The pine’s eyes were squinted in distrust, but the cactus was raising one cautiously hopeful bottle-brush brow. Some of the flowers rallied to support her. “You see, we told you she was nice! Set them free, set them free!”<br /><br />“Them free?” The rosebush said her branches stiffening. “Set her free perhaps, but that tall one is not to be trusted. We must protect ourselves.”<br /><br />“No!” Ann Wilson begged, rather to Nathan Roe’s surprise. “The birch is right, this is not your way. You are plants, you believe in growth and reaching for the light. So does he, he is a teacher. If you spare him, and teach the teacher he can in turn influence the minds of others to respect nature. This is a great opportunity for you!”<br /><br />The pine and the cactus exchanged long glances, communicating in silence the way plants had done since the dawn of time. In truth, though both had been built to survive harsh conditions and came across quite briskly, they each nursed a soft spot for a particular human, the one whom had enchanted University Greenhouse 7 long ago. While they still held such a regard for a human they could never despise all humans, and therefore Ann Wilson’s pleas did not fall on hardwood hearts, but indeed on souls that longed for light.<br /><br />“She has spoken wisdom,” the oak said after a stretch of silence in which the humans hardly dared to breathe.<br /><br />“Such wisdom is familiar,” the cactus said. All the enchanted plants nodded their heads, each thinking with fondness and respect the enchantress from a time long past. Many of them were too young to have known her, but her magic and tale lived on as part of their roots.<br /><br />“Such wisdom is welcome,” the pine said, and not even the rosebush disagreed.<br /><br /><br />The following spring, when University Greenhouse 7 was in full bloom a large group of humans crowded in amongst the flora in residence, special guests for a special day. The last to enter was Ann Wilson, dressed in white and carrying a bouquet of roses willingly given by a dear friend.<br /><br />The guests in attendance thought a breeze must have followed her in, for as soon as she entered the air was filled with petals, showered from the trees. She walked on her father’s arm, making her way slowly up the aisle to where Nathan Roe stood between the oak and the pine. Their favorite Professors filled the official capacity of witnesses, but the bride and groom knew that the most important witnesses were those silently watching, rooted to the spot with anticipation.<br /><br />Ann Wilson and Nathan Roe had prepared their own vows, and after the Justice of the Peace had welcomed the assembled he allowed them to speak the words upon their hearts.<br /><br />“Ann Wilson,” Nathan Roe began, his voice thick with emotion. “Since the day we met you have helped me to grow in ways I would never have imagined. You have blessed me with your intrinsic wisdom and I shall never be able to repay you. From this day forward I swear to practice the art of husbandry. To give you all the nourishment and support you need as you grow and change and fill the world with your unique gifts.” A tear rolled down his cheek, and Ann Wilson reached up to wipe it away with a tender smile.<br /><br />“Nathan Roe,” she said. “I have watched you grow and change, and have loved you through every moment of it. You are sure and constant in your growth and your deep roots are a source of strength to me when the winds blow and the seasons change. Today I swear to always be near you, to cling to you and aid you as you relentlessly reach for the light.”<br /><br />“The bride and groom will now exchange rings,” the Justice of the Peace said. Each of them turned away and reached into the branches of their favorite tree to remove the rings they had placed there to be blessed by the magic of this place. A jeweler had worked many long hours creating the rings, laying leaf after leaf onto the gold. He had created a set of rings as unique as the couple who had commissioned them, never understanding as he did the special meaning behind the golden leaves of ivy.<br /><br />“With this vine I bind myself to you,” each said as they exchanged the metal representations of how their souls and lives had become entwined, never to be separated. Nathan Wilson-Roe pulled Ann Wilson-Roe into his arms for a lingering kiss and as the humans assembled clapped and cheered they didn’t even notice the quivering of the leaves.Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070125802803155242.post-20551448453909969822011-11-13T11:06:00.000-08:002011-11-13T11:08:32.142-08:00IdealBuild a story 11/10/11<br />I asked my friends to pick a house for me to set the story in. They chose Ideal Palace in France. I’ll let you enjoy a google image tour instead of linking you, it is a real treat for the eyes. It has a fascinating history which I tried to incorporate here. Enjoy!<br /><br />Ideal<br /><br />As I walked the familiar path towards my regular afternoon destination I heard a friendly honk and raised my hand in greeting before the car could even pass me by. It passed me in a moment and I could see the back of Monsieur LaRoche’s hand waving at the center of the car as the vehicle went on ahead of me down the lane. I knew most of the cars that passed this way, knew the drivers, knew where they turned off, and could usually guess where they had come from too. This was my road.<br />Of course I owned it no more than any other citizen of France. I didn’t even live on this road, well… not really. I lived here, but I didn’t sleep here, or get my mail here, or have any relatives with any claim to any of the houses here.<br />My mother, father, and I lived above my father’s bakery, in the town. Every morning we rose well before dawn to heat the ovens, form the loaves, bake the bread, open the shop, greet the patrons. It was a predictable kind of life, not the kind you ever got rich in, but the kind that kept your belly full.<br />When I said I lived on this road, I meant that this is where I did the thing that made my life worth waking up to every day. This was the path to my special place, my dream land. This was the road to Ideal Palace.<br />It’s a very well-known landmark, and anyone who lives around here can tell you how to get here. Some of them have even played tourist in their own town and come for a tour of the Ideal Palace. That was how I first came here, with my primary school class.<br />I’ll never forget how amazed I was with the nearly overwhelming feast of art that twisted and twined its way around Ideal Palace. There wasn’t a lonely spot or a centimeter that lacked meaning. There wasn’t a corner that was neglected or a curve that didn’t have a story to tell.<br />Some people who come to Ideal Palace think it is garish, too busy, or overboard, but I love every inch of it. I love the way the themes overlap and the eye has no place to settle. I love that you could look every day for a year and still not really see it all.<br />I passed the gates of my home-away-from-home and waved to Jacqueline who was just greeting some visitors. The visitors would pay for a tour, and they wouldn’t be disappointed. Jacqueline would be sure they got an eye full of, and an ear full about, Ideal Palace. They would leave with their minds stuffed with information… and they still wouldn’t fully understand.<br />I dropped a loaf of bread off in the office, then walked around the Palace until I came to the place where I had started sketching yesterday. I resumed my place, under the tree, and took out the pad of paper and pencils I brought every day it wasn’t raining. I carefully studied my work in progress, then sat staring at my subject for several minutes before I put the pencil to the paper. Slowly, carefully, I formed the curves and lines, shading and smudging to convey the layers of dimension, the depth of imagination that my hero, Ferdinand Chavel, had possessed.<br />I was absorbed in my work until a voice sounded out from just behind me. “You must be Gabrielle,” the young male voice said.<br />I jumped a little, and then worried over the damage to my drawing before worrying about who was addressing me. The smudge removed, I turned to look up at the person who had interrupted me. It was indeed a young man, perhaps a little older than me. He was handsome enough, if one went for guys with looks, but I didn’t like the way he was leaning against the tree, like he owned it, like he owned everything around him.<br />“I’m Neil,” he said extending a hand for me to shake.<br />It was then I noticed his accent, American. No wonder he acted like he owned the place. I debated on not shaking his hand, then decided against being rude and shook it as quickly as possible. Unfortunately he took it as an invitation to join me and sat down on the grass next to me and looked unabashedly at my drawing.<br />I quickly closed the pad and started gathering my things. If he was going to stay, I was going to leave. I hated to loose hours of good light and cut into my daily visit to paradise, but it wasn’t like I would get any work done with this strange American bothering me.<br />“You are really good. They told me you were, but I didn’t really believe them. Is it true you haven’t gone to art school or anything?” He asked me, though in truth it was a little hard to make out with his thick accent. It was like nails on a chalkboard to hear French spoken that way.<br />“I have not been to art school,” I answered in my secondary school English, which I was sure was better than his French, at least less painful to listen to. I saw him looking at the pad of paper I clutched to my chest and I clutched it all the tighter. Who was this nosey stranger and what did he want?<br />“Jacqueline said you come every day, that’s an admirable dedication to your art,” he said, again in French.<br />I’m sure I looked like I had seen him sprout two heads, as absurd as his statement was. MY art? Were we not standing on the grounds of Ideal Palace? How on earth could he talk about MY art? It was… it was sacrilege.<br />“Excuse me,” I said in English and then hurried away, leaving him there by the tree. I’m sure he looked confused, but in truth I don’t know for sure because I didn’t spare a glance for the bold, blonde American.<br />I came upon Jacqueline and her tour group. I waited for the break where she lets them approach to see the detail on the Hindu shrine and then I walked up close to her. “Pardon me, Madame,” I said to the woman who was like another mother to me, “but who is that rude American, and why does he know my name?”<br />“Oh that’s Neil Jacobson. He is taking his summer holiday to study Ideal Palace. He studies art in San Francisco. I told him he should watch for you to come.”<br />“But why?” I asked her, stunned that she would invite him to interrupt my daily pilgrimage.<br />She blinked in surprise at the emotion in my voice and I ducked my head, ashamed to have spoken so forcefully. “Because, Gabrielle,” she said, “if anyone knows and understands the art of Ideal Palace, it is you.” She slanted her head to the side and her expression was confused. “Did I do wrong? I didn’t think you would mind, you are always so helpful when the children’s classes come and when we have large groups…<br />“No, no,” I hastened to assure her, though I didn’t mean it. “You did no wrong, I was just unprepared. I wasn’t sure what he wanted… it is difficult to make out what he is saying.”<br />She grinned at that, “He does insist on speaking French, though my English is excellent,” she said, and without exaggeration, her English really was superb. “He says he has studied French for years and hopes to improve this summer.”<br />The group was ready to move on now so she directed their attention to the next section and left me to wonder what to do. I certainly couldn’t return to my work, not with that American over there to bother people. There weren’t enough visitors that Jacqueline would need any help. I stood there by the Hindu shine for a few minutes debating, and then my mind was made up for me. Neil Jacobson appeared, walking around the side of the Palace, so I turned and headed for the road.<br />I was halfway home before I regretted the decision. It was a fine afternoon, and I had just left the only real way to enjoy it. What was I going to do now? If I returned home early there would be questions. I didn’t want to explain to my parents why I had left early. They wouldn’t understand. They were always talking about sending me to Paris to study art, as if there was enough money in the till to cover such a wild dream. It wasn’t even my dream, it was theirs, and I wasn’t going to give them an excuse for bringing it up again.<br />I turned then, and pointed my feet towards the cemetery. If I couldn’t sketch the palace I would spend some time by the artist’s mausoleum. I had finished drawing it years ago, but I thought that being near his resting place might calm me. If anyone could have understood me, it was the late Monsieur Cheval.<br />The groundskeeper had been neglecting the mausoleum again. Grass was sprouting in the cracks. Why he found it so hard to keep the destructive plants away from the work of art I will never know, it did not take long. I got into my bag and found my scissors and then proceeded to trim the fringe of tall grass. I cut it extra short, perhaps if it took a while to grow back up again the groundskeeper would find the time to apply some herbicide.<br />My work done I looked at my watch and found I had passed the time quite well. If I left in ten minutes and walked slowly I would be home exactly on time. I cleaned my scissors on my jeans and then sat with my back against the twisting and curving stone I knew so well. I closed my eyes and in my heart begged Monsieur Cheval to make the rude American go away.<br />“Oh, hello Gabrielle,” that young male voice said.<br />My eyes flew open. What on earth was he doing here? Had he followed me? I stumbled to my feet and quickly crossed to my bag. I shoved the scissors inside the bag and started walking away quickly.<br />“Wait!” he called, “No, don’t run away again, please,” he said running after me. At least he was speaking English now. I stopped, though I did not turn to face him. Instead he circled me, placing himself between me and the cemetery exit. “Whatever I have done to offend you, I am terribly sorry,” he said.<br />His face looked so earnest that I felt a little sorry for him. It wasn’t really his fault, I supposed, that he had been born who he was. It wasn’t really his fault that I was who I was either. I just didn’t really want anything else in my life. Americans were supposed to be tourists, not… not people you had to really communicate with and let get to know you. I could feel my cheeks starting to burn.<br />“It is nothing,” I told him. “I must go home now, they are expecting me.” I went to step around him but his face was so distressed I felt like I had to add, “I will see you another time, Neil.”<br />“Okay,” he said a little too brightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Gabrielle.”<br />I didn’t look back until I had left the cemetery and when I did he was kneeling by the tomb, examining it closely. He was writing notes and taking photos. I shook my head, how could he hope to understand art if he didn’t try to draw it?<br />I was a little relieved when I woke the next morning to a drizzling gray sky. I never went to Ideal Palace when it rained, so no one would think it odd that I did not go, no one but the American perhaps. I wondered if it could rain all week. Perhaps if it rained two weeks together Neil Jacobson would go home to sunny San Francisco and leave me alone.<br /><br />The next day it shone bright and clear, and I lingered at my chores, setting off for Ideal Palace much later than usual. Madame LaRoche even stopped to see if I was all right. I made up a story about being extra busy today, which I hoped would satisfy her curiosity and not pique it, and told her I really preferred to walk, but thanks for the offer of a ride.<br />I snuck along the side of the grounds, trying to blend in with the trees and bushes until I got to the right place to resume my sketching. I had not seen a soul when I settled in at the base of the tree. I dove into my work, praying I would be un-interrupted.<br />It was nearly an hour before I heard footsteps and knew my solitude was over. I resolutely ignored Neil as he came over and sat next to me by the tree. It irritated me to have him looking back and forth between my drawing and the Palace, comparing, and no doubt seeing every tiny error I had made. The gall of him, coming to my home with his college art degree to critique me, Americans were so irritating.<br />Before long the light had shifted enough that it was time to halt my work. I closed the pad of paper and reached for my bag. It was not where my fingers grasped and I looked up to find that Neil had it slung over his shoulder, like he expected to walk with me somewhere.<br />“May I have my bag please?” I asked him in an overly patient voice.<br />“I thought I would carry it for you,” he said stepping in the direction of the office. “It’s is the gentlemanly thing to do.”<br />I closed my eyes for a moment, so he wouldn’t see me roll them, and then walked briskly ahead of him towards the office. I pushed the door open with a little more force than was strictly needed and then held my hand out for the return of my bag.<br />“Ah, Gabrielle!” Jacqueline’s husband Francis said with a smile. “I was about to send out the search party.”<br />“I am sorry, Monsieur Gascon,” I told him. “I came late and did not wish the miss the light.”<br />“It is nothing,” Jacqueline said accepting the bread from me, “as long as you are safe. Neil, you could have told us you found her.”<br />“I am sorry, Madame,” he said. “I was so excited to watch her work. She is almost finished with another page.”<br />This of course led to requests to see my still unfinished work, and as they were such close friends I felt I had to show the Gascons the latest page.<br />“What is this, I never noticed this,” Francis was saying, as he usually did when looking at my work. I had long ago started to wonder if he really missed so many details of the place he worked every day, or if he just did it to make me feel observant. My money was on the latter, I knew him to be a devoted curator.<br />“Well, I had better be going,” I told them. “I’ll be late getting back.”<br />“Oh we were hoping you would come to dinner,” Jacqueline said. “Neil is coming, and a few people from the historical society. You know how much it helps to have you there when there are potential patrons at the table. I meant to call you yesterday when it rained, but then a bus came and I completely forgot.”<br />“But,” I said looking down at my dirty jeans and tired blouse, “I am not dressed for a dinner party, Madame, I would only embarrass you. There simply isn’t time…”<br />“I can drive you home,” Neil said, oh-so-helpfully. “Then you can help me find my way to the Gascon’s house after you change.”<br />“Oh no,” I said, “My father would never approve…”<br />“Non-sense,” Jacqueline said waving her hand. “You are not a child any longer, you can ride a few miles with a friend. Oh please come Gabrielle,” she begged, and who can say no to Jacqueline when she begged. How else could we have gotten the donation for the replacement carpet last year? I sighed and relented.<br /><br />“Pull over here,” I told him, a block from my home.<br />“Here?” he said, obviously scanning the shop signs for the bakery.<br />“Yes right here,” I told him. “I would rather not have to explain you to my parents. They read too much into everything anyway.”<br />He didn’t seem too happy about it but didn’t argue. “Okay, I will just run to the room I rented and I’ll meet you back here in an hour?” he asked looking at his watch.<br />I nodded and got out of the car, hoping none of the shopkeepers that were so chummy with my father were looking out their windows right now. I quickly crossed the side street and stepped into the bakery. The bell alerted my parents to my presence, but my mother had not risen from the back table by the time I had walked through.<br />“No time to talk,” I told her as I headed for the stairs. “I’ve been invited to the Gascon’s for dinner tonight with some people from the historical society.”<br />This was not a regular occurrence, but happened often enough that my parents did not question me about it. Jacqueline always arranged a ride for me with one of the little old ladies from the society, and I always made sure that my late night did not affect my work performance the next morning. Sometimes my parents even went out in my absence, though why they didn’t do this when I was home I will never know, I certainly could sit alone with control of the television for an evening.<br />I hurried through my preparations, wearing the same black dress I always wore, just selecting a different wrap and painting my nails to match it. I threw my hair up in a twist and jammed in a bunch of pins to secure it. A few wisps escaped, but I rather liked the effect so I didn’t bother to use my mother’s hairspray to try to keep them in place.<br />I shoved my identification and lipstick in my mother’s old clutch purse and then made my way down the stairs. I called a hasty goodbye to my parents, and yanked the door open, so they wouldn’t bother coming to see me off. I walked quickly down the block and stepped around the corner of the side street to watch for Neil’s car.<br />He was five minutes late, and smelled strongly of aftershave and cologne when he came around the car to let me in. I wished he hadn’t bothered with the gesture, someone was sure to notice. I ducked quickly in the car and then scanned the windows of the nearby shops as he took his time walking back around to his door. I didn’t see anyone… but that didn’t mean much.<br />He really didn’t know the way to the Gascon’s and I wondered how he would have fared if I hadn’t been there to direct him at every turn. He parked the car along with the others on the street, and then hurried around to open my door. I decided not to let him do it this time, and then pretended not to see the perturbed look on his face when all that was left for him to do was close the door of the rental car.<br />He offered me an arm, but I again pretended not to notice. I didn’t know why he was treating this like some kind of date, because it certainly wasn’t. As far as I was concerned if he wanted a French summer love story to take home with him he needed to start looking somewhere else immediately.<br />Jacqueline looked stunning as she greeted us at the door. By now she had figured out my alternating wrap trick and complimented me on how this one brought out my eyes. I didn’t know how a red wrap was supposed to make my plain old brown eyes look better, but I smiled and accepted the compliment anyway.<br />Neil, of course, had to be introduced to everyone, and for some reason Francis thought the job was best given to me. I tried to keep a respectable distance between the American art student and myself, but I still was subjected to numerous appraising looks from old ladies who should have known me better. How could anyone think I would be an item with someone in just a few days? I had never even had a boyfriend.<br />I sipped carefully at the glass of wine Jacqueline had pressed in my hand, knowing I would need my wits sharp if we were going to get the donation we needed to repair the roof. Neil hadn’t seemed to get the message though, and he drank freely of each glass supplied to him. Thankfully he seemed to be acclimated to alcohol, as I had heard all American students were, and his behavior did not become embarrassing, though there was no helping his accent.<br />By the time it was time to leave, however, I was a little worried about how well he was going to drive, so I begged a ride from the first of the old ladies to leave. Several people raised an eyebrow at that, but I really didn’t care. The rest of the evening had gone well and it wasn’t like I was making a scene.<br /><br />The grounds were empty when I got to the palace the next day, so I headed straight for the office and found the three of them pouring over the architectural diagrams Francis kept in the back office. They were so engrossed I hoped to leave the bread and escape unseen but at the last moment Jacqueline looked up and called me over. She asked about a specific section on the top level, but even as I answered I knew that she had known the answer already. I wished she would stop trying to make me look good in front of Neil. Wasn’t anyone on my side anymore?<br />I finally got away and headed for my spot, but Neil followed me a few minutes later and perched at my shoulder to watch me work. I decided to ignore him again, as much as possible, in interest of getting my work done while the light was right. Thankfully he was quiet, and it was just his proximity that distracted me. I hoped he would get bored and go away soon, this was getting old fast.<br />I finished the page and flipped to the next, carefully taking visual measurements and blocking out the shape of the column and each of the decorative bands. Neil’s eyes traveled back and forth with mine, and I pressed my lips closed against the displeasure I felt at the intrusion. I was quite relieved when my watch said it was time to go and I gathered up my things quietly.<br />“Are you leaving already?” he asked in surprise. “You don’t need the light to be right for blocking, do you?”<br />“My parents will worry if I am late,” I said simply.<br />“Do you want a ride?” he offered.<br />“I prefer to walk, thank you,” I told him.<br />“Oh,” he said. “Then I’ll walk with you.”<br />“I wish you wouldn’t,” I said. “People will talk.”<br />“So let them talk,” he said with a shrug.<br />“No, Neil,” I said firmly. “You are going home at the end of the summer, this IS my home, and you are the intruder. I don’t want people thinking things about me that are not true.”<br />He looked at me sadly, “So that’s what I am to you, an intruder?”<br />“Well…” I said, regretting my choice of words. I hadn’t meant to sound so mean. “Perhaps intruder isn’t the right word, but this is my life, Neil, not some summer holiday halfway around the world with no consequences. I have to live here after you go, and I don’t want the people I have daily contact with mislead about… about… what we are to each other.”<br />“Well… what are we to each other then?” he asked.<br />“I don’t know… acquaintances, fellow art… students?” I had been about to say art lovers, but managed to change my choice of words at the last moment.<br />“Not friends?” he said looking a little hurt.<br />I sighed, “No Neil,” I said. “I know nothing about you, and you certainly don’t know me.”<br />“I’d like to know you,” he said.<br />I shook my head, “Why waste your time? You came to study Cheval’s Masterpiece, not me.” I said and I walked away. I didn’t look back at the gate, just kept my eyes and my feet pointed home, hoping all the way that he had gotten the message. Maybe he would let me draw in peace now.<br /><br />The next day I reached my tree only to find the spot already occupied. He looked up as I approached and then looked down at the ground. He scooted over just far enough for me to sit in my spot and then continued to hold up his pencil at arm’s length. He squinted at it and moved the tip of his thumb, bringing the pencil back several times to compare it to the paper and then make minute marks. I tried to peer over his shoulder at the page, but he made a big show out of not allowing me to see his work, and I gave up immediately. It wasn’t like I really cared how he was coming with his drawing.<br />A week passed like that, sitting and drawing the same object, from the same perspective, but not speaking a word. I may not have liked his little game, but I had become accustomed to it. I wondered how long he was going to make it, how long he could stand the silence. Then, as we sat and sketched, a young art student from Paris came and interrupted our silent war.<br />“I didn’t know there was a group that met here,” she said, swinging her long, impossibly straight hair over her shoulder. Neil had let his work tilt forward as he gawked at her and she looked at it with that studied, Art Student eye.<br />“Interesting composition,” she said turning to narrow down which column we were both drawing. I took the opportunity to take a rare peek at Neil’s drawing, and he took the opportunity to close his slack jaw. He looked to see if I had noticed the lapse, and I pretended to have been ignoring them all along.<br />“Well,” he said putting his work aside and getting up to approach her. “You can’t really go wrong when you are selecting a section of such a great work. Ideal Palace is one of the best examples of Naïve Art in Architecture in the world.”<br />I sniffed at the word “naïve,” never having approved of that particular term, and Neil seemed to take it as a challenge. He started spouting all kinds of things he must have memorized from some art textbook. It just showed what an art lemming he was, all about balance and proportion and never about what was in the artist’s heart.<br />I decided I couldn’t listen to him anymore and started to pack my things away. “Oh, are you leaving?” The Parisian Student asked in false innocence. “I hope I have not disturbed you.”<br />“It is not you I find disturbing,” I assured her with a sickly sweet smile and then I marched away. I was halfway across the lawn by the time he caught up with me.<br />“What is your problem?” he asked me, all of his suave pretenses and stumbling French gone.<br />“YOU! You are my problem,” I said angrily and I tried to march around him.<br />“Why?” He practically shouted moving to block me. “What have I done wrong?”<br />“It isn’t what you have DONE,” I said back. “It is who you are! You, you, smooth, cocky American with your Art degree and narrow minded terms, you make me sick. I wish you would just go away and leave Ideal Palace to the people who truly love it.”<br />“I do love Ideal Palace, and how is having a little knowledge of art terminology a bad thing? At least I have words to describe what I see, at least I speak the language of Art.”<br />“Describe it? You are so caught up in your pre-designed labels for art you don’t even see through them!” I said angrily.<br />“What? Because I called it Naïve Art? It IS Naïve Art! Everyone knows that! The simplicity…” he began, getting out his hand to tick of points he had memorized from some book.<br />“Simple?!” I shouted. “How can any sane person call THAT simple?!” I asked waving my hand at the enormity of the most complex work of art in all of France and therefore the world.<br />I stomped off around him, and he hurried after me, “Gabrielle, if you would just listen. You don’t understand, there is so much you don’t know!”<br />“Who says I want to know?!” I asked wheeling around to face him. “Have I ever ONCE asked you to burden me with your… your photocopied knowledge?”<br />“But… Gabrielle, Art builds upon the discoveries of others. You don’t have to learn it all on your own, you can learn from others,” he said in a voice just as soft as mine had been harsh.<br />“Well what if I don’t WANT to?” I asked pointedly.<br />“I can’t believe that the girl who spent her life studying someone else’s work can possibly NOT believe in learning from other artists.”<br />I wanted to retort, wanted to throw it all back in his face, he made me so ANGRY! The part that made me the angriest was… was that he was right, and I didn’t want him to be right. Being proven wrong like this hurt me, stung me deep in my soul, and the tears came bursting from my eyes before I could get far enough away from him to hide them. Then they were followed by tears of shame that he had seen the tears of pain, that I had not been strong enough to hide them.<br />I managed to stay away for a week, in spite of the many calls I refused, in spite of the confusion of my parents, in spite of my longing for the lead and the paper and the peace that came with them. After a week though I knew I had to return. I knew I was only hurting myself by staying away.<br />I snuck onto the grounds again, and was relieved to find the base of the tree empty, my solitude returned. Perhaps he had gone away, perhaps my life could return to normal now. I put the pencil to the paper, and with a sigh released the pent up creativity that had been bursting to get out of me.<br />The light was almost gone when he rounded the Palace, leading a bus load of Americans in garish visors and ill-fitting shorts. I pretended not to see him, and he me, but an old lady in the group was having none of that. “Who is that girl?” she asked pointing at me.<br />I let the curtain of my hair hide my blushing face and wondered how he would answer.<br />“That…” he said, “Is Cheval’s most dedicated student, and she values her solitude. If I can direct your attention to the columns at the top…” he began spouting more of that book knowledge, but I didn’t hate him for it so much today. Maybe his books knew something I didn’t… or at least knew how to put it in a way that others would understand it. I couldn’t say the same for myself, I didn’t think I could ever make anyone really understand Cheval.<br /><br />The summer was nearly over, and Neil was sitting at my side under a different tree, watching me draw with no pretense of drawing on his own. “Why do you only draw the Palace?” he asked me.<br />“Because it is beautiful,” I said, stopping my pursuit of details to look at and adore the whole sight. I loved this Palace.<br />He reached over into the flower bed at his side and picked a red flower. He held it up to me, “This is beautiful. Why don’t you draw this?”<br />“I am a bigger fan of the Palace,” I said with a little laugh.<br />He grinned and reached up to tuck the flower behind my ear. He looked at me, apparently enjoying the way the red blossom looked next to my eyes. “Do you ever draw your own stuff, things you make up?” he asked.<br />“No,” I said simply, not breaking his gaze as he studied my eyes.<br />“Why not?” he asked me, his eyes full of the question.<br />“Because nothing in me compares with this,” I said with a laugh as I waved my hand to indicate all of Ideal Palace.<br />“That’s not true, look at what you can do,” he said gesturing at my pad of paper.<br />“I am just a sketcher,” I said dropping my eyes now.<br />“No,” he said placing a finger under my chin to raise my eyes again. “You are good, and your skill is yours. Cheval did not give you that skill, I bet he couldn’t have done with a simple pencil and a finger what you do every day, the dimension, the perspective, the depth all comes from you. You are an artist Gabrielle.”<br />“So what if I am?” I said closing my pad and slipping it into my bag. The light wasn’t gone yet, but I was done.<br />“So?” he repeated after me in an exasperated tone. “Gabrielle, Cheval, a baker’s apprentice turned postman, took a simple rock and turned it into a palace. What if he had just thrown it aside? What if he had just said, ‘So I can see something beautiful in the shape of a rock, what does that matter?’ What if he had never built Ideal Palace? What would the world be without it? What would YOUR world be without it?” Neil reached for my hand, stroking the dark stain on the finger I used to smudge my drawings, “What is the world going to be missing if you don’t take that pencil, your eye, your talent and learn to use them?”<br />I let him hold my hand and turned my eyes to the Palace. It had been my Ideal for so long. Not the hodge-podge collection of representations of Ideologies that others saw when they looked at it. No, Ideal Palace represented MY ideal, the belief down deep inside of me that even a no-one had art inside. I believed that the baker’s apprentice, the postman, the school girl, the man on the street had something unique inside that no-one else had.<br />I had something that no-one else had, and I needed to let it out of me. Even if it meant memorizing some book so I could learn from other artists who came before me, like Cheval; even if it meant swallowing my pride, going to Art School, exposing my art to criticism, and myself to shame; even if it meant admitting to Neil that perhaps he was right about something; I had to do this. I had to do this so that when the day came for me to create my masterpiece, it would be a real contribution. I had to share my Ideal with the world. Just like Cheval did and still does, every day.Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070125802803155242.post-11125265906469407192011-10-25T10:01:00.000-07:002013-04-10T17:42:12.928-07:00The Pigkeeper's DaughterBuild-a-story 10/22/11<br />
Story Elements:<br />
Some kind of orphan “monster”<br />
A pet pig, that can talk!<br />
A red-haired, magic producing female (a good one)<br />
<br />
The flames crawled up the stack toward me, licking closer every moment with their hot tongues, the expression of the thirst for my blood that had been building in this tiny hamlet over the last week.<br />
The screams that ravaged my throat reverberated in my head as they bounced off the wad of cloth that had been tied into my mouth and escaped through my nose. The higher the flames climbed the harder I screamed. My throat was burning long before my skirt lit up. My legs were hot, my head was light, the sight of my sobbing family wavered before me like a reflection in the river.<br />
There was a searing pain along my calf, and all went black.<br />
The first thing I was sensible of was the cold, it chilled me to the bone and as I shivered I suddenly realized I wasn’t dead. My eyes flew open and I sat up with a splash. The sliver of moon danced upon the river and by it I could make out the outlines of my surroundings.<br />
I was in the shallows, where we watered the herd, not far at all from the home I had been ripped from this morning. How had I gotten here? How had I escaped the flames?<br />
I shivered again and crept towards the bank, keeping low to remain out of sight of the house. My family had been through enough the last week. If they thought I was dead it was better to leave it that way. My return would only cause them more trouble.<br />
I crawled into my secret place, a hollow under a bramble where I had often hidden from my chores as a child. It offered some small shelter from the night wind, and a slight sense of security against the suddenly cruel world. This place alone was unchanged, I just wished… I wished I was the same.<br />
I didn’t even know why I was different all of the sudden. Everything I thought I had known had changed. Now all that I knew for sure was that wild imaginations of my heart had started coming true, and that I had never imagined things would get this bad.<br />
There was a rustling in the bushes behind me and my heart froze in my chest. Surely no one would look for me here, but who would be out here this time of night if they weren’t looking for me? I tried to make myself smaller, praying that my violent shivering wouldn’t shake the bush too much and draw attention to my hiding place.<br />
“Mistress! Mistress Ivy are you here?” a familiar whining voice called softly but urgently. “Please don’t tell me the river swept you away,” my favorite pig added in a despairing one. We had become very close, the pig Chloe and I, in the week since I suddenly started understanding everything my herd was saying.<br />
“I am here, Chloe,” I whispered through my chattering teeth.<br />
There was a rustling of the branches as she rooted her way into my hiding place. “Oh Mistress Ivy,” she said. “I am so happy to see you awake. We have kept them away from here ever since you appeared, but your family will eventually come to the water. We must get out of here before morning dawns.”<br />
“But where can I go?” I asked in despair.<br />
“Where?” she asked me, the surprise apparent in her eyes as well as her voice, “Mistress, we can go anywhere.”<br />
“We?” I asked.<br />
“Of course,” she said. “You did not think I would turn on you like the humans did, did you?”<br />
“Of course not,” I assured her. “But I cannot care for you when I cannot even care for myself. Besides, how can you leave when your herd is here?”<br />
“We discussed it from one end of the pen to the other, and it was agreed that I should go with you, you will need a companion,” she said plopping down next to me and lending me some of her warmth.<br />
Having been raised with pigs I was not at all against curling up against her and soaking her warmth through my damp clothes. I had slept by her many times anyway, and she was a better bedmate than my sister any day of the week. Chloe never hogged the blanket.<br />
“Mistress Ivy, you will never get warm in those wet rags,” she told me.<br />
“I know, but they are all I have,” I told her. “I can’t go about without clothes.”<br />
“Then wish them dry,” she said simply.<br />
I screwed up my face in the dark. I hadn’t even thought of that, though I had certainly wished for less important things in the last week. The wishing had gotten me in a lot of trouble though, and part of me was afraid that if I wished for anything else I would just be proving I hadn’t learned my lesson and I’d end up in even more trouble. <br />
“Couldn’t you just go and pull a blanket off of the line for me?” I asked Chloe.<br />
“They took in all of the washing already,” she said. “Besides, you will need more than a blanket to survive, better start using that gift of yours.”<br />
I supposed she was right, and I really didn’t have much of a choice. I closed my eyes and imagined myself in warm dry clothes, my red curls dry and bouncing, my feet well shod. As the image formed in my mind I felt the changes against my skin. When I opened my eyes I found the charred and soaking rags had indeed changed into warm wool of a lovely deep blue.<br />
Chloe looked me over and nodded her approval. She got up on her hooves and pushed her way out of the bushes. I took one last look around my little hiding place and then followed her out into the wide and frightening world.<br />
When we reached the road I stopped and looked down it in the moonlight, uncertain of which way I should go in search of a different fate. To the north lay the forbidding Black Mountains, the setting place of every frightening tale I had ever heard. To the south lay the rolling fields and distant cities that the children of my village had grown up dreaming about escaping to one day.<br />
I was tempted to chase that dream now, go to the city and somehow build the kind of life that would make everyone I had ever known green with envy. Then I realized that if I ever again met anyone I had ever known then any life I built would be in danger. A new life needed new dreams, and a new world to craft them out of.<br />
With that thought I resolutely pointed my toes to the north, and Chloe pattered along behind me without a question or a complaint. Well… almost without a complaint. About dawn she started to babble on about how she wished it was easier going, and how she didn’t understand why the road had to be so steep in places.<br />
I let out a frustrated sigh and she quieted down. Honestly, did she expect me to just wish the whole world to change to suit me? I didn’t know much about my strange new power, how it worked or where it came from, but I was sure there was such a thing as an abuse of magical powers, and that was a journey I DIDN’T want to take.<br />
We stopped at mid-day and went off the path in search of food. Her excellent sniffing skills found lots of things for me to dig up, and a cold mountain stream in which to wash them. Looking down over the valley I was divided in my emotions. I was sad to leave everything behind, but also a little frightened of what I may find along this rocky path.<br />
I had never known whether I should believe half the tales I heard about the things that resided in these mountains. If even a quarter of them were true I was going to have to sharpen my wishing skills in order to make it to the other side alive. I had heard of trolls, and ogres, and fanged deer with wings. Any of these things would love a girl for lunch and a pig for desert.<br />
Still, the only way past it was through it, and my determination strengthened the weaker the light became. I wasn’t going to fail Chloe. We were going to make it, if only because it would be a waste of magical ability for us not to.<br />
As night fell we came upon a rocky overhang that seemed just the right place to spend the night. We ate the food I had tied up in my petticoat. We watched the sun sink behind the trees and fields, then curled together against the cold night air.<br />
I remembered groggily wishing for a blanket in the middle of the night, but wasn’t prepared for what I found with the morning light. Chloe’s nose peeked out from under a fine wool blanket, a steaming bowl of porridge sat on a rock nearby, and a spade and pack sat next to them. It seemed that now even my dreams were being fulfilled in the twinkling of an eye.<br />
Truth be told it frightened me a bit, though I didn’t tell Chloe as we divided the large bowl and gobbled up the porridge. I licked the bowl clean and then stuffed it in the pack along with the blanket and shovel. The weight of it was a constant reminder that I had to control my thoughts, and I spent the day deliberately avoiding any kind of imagination at all.<br />
That night, as we snuggled into a bed of pine needles under a grand evergreen tree I thought over and over about how blessed I was, and how I had everything I needed right there. The sound of Chloe’s snores eased the tension of the day. I drifted off to sleep.<br />
I felt, rather than heard the presence, and my eyes flew wide open. I scanned the trees around me, searching for the source of the disturbance. Then I saw it, peering around from behind a boulder uphill from me. It was covered in fur, standing erect, and moving slightly as it studied the shape of our forms under the blanket.<br />
I wished for a sword. I felt it blossom from my hand. I wished I knew how to use it.<br />
As the confidence flooded into my body I rose slowly from the ground, my blade extended. I let the blanket fall, glad to see that Chloe’s sleeping form was lost beneath it. I wished for her to remain still and asleep until it was safe.<br />
I stepped out into the moonlight and tossed my mess of curls over my shoulder confidently. My blade glistened in the moonlight. In answer a slim sliver line glinted from over by the boulder.<br />
As the misshapen form came out into the open I tried to figure out exactly what I was up against here. I supposed it was possible that a troll or an ogre could carry a sword. I really didn’t know anything about either though, so even with a close look I wouldn’t know one. It was also possible this was a highway robber or other human ruffian, in which case I had much more to guard against, especially as I had no gold to satisfy him.<br />
I flicked my blade around swiftly, inviting us both to discover the extent of my skills. The blade felt right in my hand, the tip an extension of my finger, ready to poke his eye out with lightening speed. A smile spread across my face, some crazy part of me thought this was going to be fun.<br />
The form was clear of the boulder, and we carefully approached one another across the clearing I studied it for clues as to a weakness. It seemed to favor its right leg and the lump on its left shoulder seemed to pain it as well. I still wasn’t entirely sure what kind of face was hidden under that hood, but human or not, I felt I had the upper hand.<br />
Suddenly there was a crashing from the forest down below us. Several forms came loping up from the shadows. There were no blades present, but the beasts were toothy, heavily muscled, and carried stout tree limbs like they knew how to use them.<br />
I repositioned myself, trying to think of a way to defeat this many opponents, and even my newly wished skills were coming up lacking. The largest of the beasts lifted its cudgel and bellowed in the most frightening way. It launched itself up the hill with a snarl.<br />
I braced myself for the attack and swung my blade menacingly around as the beasts followed their leader in the charge. The leader turned off to attack my other would-be opponent. Two of the followers were soon looming over me, barely kept at bay by the slices I was administering to any limb that got within my reach.<br />
As I fought I spared a glance for the other bladed fighter, who was somehow holding off the rest of the beasts with its sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. It looked more like a dance than a fight. I grudgingly respected the level of skill it displayed, whatever it was.<br />
I had gone from trying to deflect and discourage my opponents to attempting fatal blows when a strange sound echoed through the woods around me. It was long and low, and was followed by a mighty roar and the pounding of feet. The trees above us erupted with motion and all of the sudden a dozen armed figures rushed in to attack our opponents from behind. The large beasts could not withstand so many opponents, and with angry bellows retreated back down the slope.<br />
The other fighters pursued them, leaving me alone with my blade in the well trampled clearing. I squinted off through the trees, watching for any sign that I was to come under another attack. Then I heard the soft snorts of the waking Chloe and knew the danger was past.<br />
All the same I urged her silence and we gathered our few things and hurried up the road. I didn’t know what war we had inadvertently gotten in the middle of, but I wanted out of it right away. I thought if we hurried we could be well behind the battle lines before the break of day.<br />
We had gone nearly half a mile up the road when a sudden rustling in the trees alarmed me. I raised my sword, only to have it snatched from my hand and my body lifted swiftly into the branches. Chloe squealed loudly as she was also swept up off of her feet and buried among the branches. I tried to call her name but a foul smelling hand was clamped over my mouth. My struggles against it were in vain.<br />
My captor held me like that until after daybreak, my back pressed against a rock like chest, a hairy arm the only part of it that was visible. My muscles ached, my neck creaked at the slightest movement and the branch below me pressed painfully into my behind. What bothered me the most was that I neither heard nor saw Chloe in all that time. I despaired that I had led her to her death.<br />
As the sun rose up above the tips of the pine trees there came the sound of many feet from the road below. Just as a crowd of hooded figures rounded the bend I was unseated and swiftly lowered to the road, the smelly hand still clamped over my mouth.<br />
I breathed a sigh of relief to see Chloe also returned to the road, though the sight of the hairy beast that held her was unsettling. Its cloak had slipped from around it, revealing a hairy body and strange face. Whatever our captors were, they were not human.<br />
The party coming up the road halted, and a solitary figure approached from in their midst. It favored its right leg and had a large lump behind its left shoulder. It stopped and studied Chloe first, but then soon dismissed her and approached me. As it approached the face within the hood was revealed to me, and I stared in shock at the human face topped with the gold band of a crown.<br />
He spoke not a word as he studied me, then turned and grunted to the beast that held me. The rank hand was loosened on my face and I wrenched my head away to demand of the leader, “What do you want with me?”<br />
He grunted again, but this time kept his eyes on me, as if he expected me to understand his grunts like they were language. I stared at him in confusion until the whining voice of my pig rang out, “What does he say Mistress Ivy?” she asked.<br />
Suddenly, I remembered the wish that had started all of this trouble for me. I closed my eyes and wished I could communicate with these monsters and their human leader. Not a moment too soon his grunts changed to words and I heard his repeated demand.<br />
“Why have you come to Troll Mountain?” he said in irritation.<br />
“I am merely passing through,” I explained boldly. “How dare you detain me and remove my pig from my possession? Return her at once!”<br />
“I will return your animal when I see fit,” he said in a growl. “And you will address me with more respect, human.”<br />
“Respect is earned,” I said to him angrily. “To me you are nothing but a ruffian who has waylaid me on my journey.”<br />
“Ruffian? I? I am Ronfer, Leader of the Trolls, King of Troll Mountain. Who are you to address me with such disdain?”<br />
“I?” I said with mock pride as I cast around in my mind for a name to impress even a king. “I am Ivy, Witch of the Valley, Speaker of Tongues and Blade of the South. I have been patient enough with you Trolls, and if you do not unhand me immediately I will be forced to use my great power against you.”<br />
“Great power?” he scoffed at me. “I’ll grant that you are good with a blade, but if you had such great power why did you not use it last night to defend yourself against the Orges?”<br />
“That was your battle, not mine,” I said. “Why should I fight it for you?”<br />
“It wouldn’t have been a battle if you hadn’t gotten in the way,” he said angrily. “That was supposed to be a peaceful meeting.”<br />
“If you hadn’t interrupted my slumber I wouldn’t have been in the way,” I retorted. “Besides, who brings an army to a peace talk?”<br />
He looked a little abashed at that. I took the opportunity to yank my arm free of the smelly Troll that held me captive. It tried to regain the grip but Ronfer shook his head slightly and I was completely released.<br />
“I am bored with you, human,” he said turning away. “Take your animal and go.”<br />
I called to Chloe, and she came running over to me. I stroked her head comfortingly and told her not to worry, but when I straightened up Ronfer was blocking my way.<br />
“What language is this?” he asked his face a cloud of confusion. “Do you really speak the tongue of swine?”<br />
I glared at him, “Are you hard of hearing? I told you I am Ivy, Witch of the Valley…”<br />
“Speaker of Tongues, Blade of the South,” he finished with me. “But you speak more than Human and Troll?” he asked.<br />
“I do what I wish, understand what I wish, destroy what I wish,” I said giving him a glare with that last part. Just for emphasis I concentrated hard and imagined the branch of a nearby tree splintering into a million pieces and falling to the forest floor. My wish was granted in the next breath and the trolls watched in shock as I destroyed the limb. They moved away from me a little, all except Ronfer.<br />
“Forgive me Great Lady,” he said falling to a knee. “I beg you to forgive me. You have been sent in answer to my prayer and I did not recognize it.” He grabbed my hand and pressed his forehead to it, and all around me the Trolls fell to their knees.<br />
I looked around in shock for a moment and then recovered my senses. “Rise, Ronfer, King of the Trolls,” I said. “I will forgive you this once.”<br />
He rose to his feet, but kept bowing his head as he begged to be allowed to bring me to his castle and receive me properly. I debated it a moment and then decided it was as safe a course as any other, and allowed them to lead me to the castle on a nearby peak.<br />
A week later I stood alone in the moonlight on the road down the mountain. The Ogre King came out of the trees and I glowered at the ten Ogre warriors that slunk out behind him. He seemed surprised to see me, and even more surprised to see me alone and without a sword.<br />
“Where is the human who calls himself the Troll King?” the Ogre demanded of me.<br />
I, of course prepared to hear and speak in Ogre, glared at him and corrected him, “The orphan the Trolls have chosen as their King did not trust you to honor the agreement. I, Ivy, Witch of the Valley, Speaker of Tongues, Blade of the South, have come instead.” I looked pointedly at the club in his hand and then at the Ogres behind him.<br />
“I make no agreements with commoners,” the Ogre King said, “Especially humans pretending to have authority on the slopes of the Magic Mountains.”<br />
“His authority is given to him by the Trolls,” I said in a clear, crisp tone. “Mine however is given to me by a more direct source,” I added. I didn’t even have to concentrate as I caused a boulder to erupt from the ground under his toes.<br />
He stumbled back, looking at me in astonishment. I smiled at him serenely, flipping my freshly washed and perfumed red ringlets over my shoulder and wishing the boulder back into place. The boulder’s retreat seemed to have more effect upon him than its appearance and he sunk to his knees in the freshly disturbed ground.<br />
“This war will cease,” I told him. “Troll Mountain has stood as an independent kingdom for a thousand years. The Ogre King has no claim up on it and continued aggression will be dealt with swiftly, by me. Go back to your Mountain in peace, or face the consequences.”<br />
With that I turned and marched up the hill, not even looking back to see how my words had been received. I didn’t need to, the squirrels were already gossiping about it and the crickets were singing my praises.Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070125802803155242.post-65467909826966403572011-10-14T06:27:00.000-07:002011-10-17T12:01:04.351-07:00The Prince and the ThiefBuild-a-story Started 10/13/11 finished 10/17/11<br />Written so I could ignore my personal crisis for a few hours.<br /><br />Reader submitted story elements:<br />Asian Empress<br />Wedding gone horribly wrong in a humorous way<br />Something lurking in the shadows.<br /><br />I'm not so sure I can do humorous right now, but I'll give it a try.<br /><br /><em>The Prince and the Thief<br /></em><br />Part 1 <em>The Thief<br /><br /></em>He looked so smug, riding on his horse through the forest, as if he had any right to these roads. I sat high in my shadowy perch watching them pass, counting the gilded boxes that soon would change hands. The High Prince of Kaya had come to take the daughter of the Empress as his bride, and I had come to take his wedding gifts before he reached the palace.<br /><br />I felt the slightest bit of worry as I counted the blades, but we had never expected so much treasure to be wholly unguarded. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, the long standing good relations between China and Kaya had worked on our side. Had the prince come from Paekche or Silla the battle would have been a bit more intimidating.<br /><br />I heard my mother’s birdlike cry echoing through the bamboo, and readied myself for the next signal. Around me I heard the slight rustling as the others shifted in their seats and caused the trees to sway. A solitary guard looked up at the sound, but then like the others dismissed his only warning as a touch of wind.<br /><br />The call of the monkey rang out loud and clear and I reacted to it before the cry had faded on my mother’s lips. I leapt from my seat and slid down the length of the tree. As I slid down the leaves flew in every direction and we hit the ground like so much rain.<br /><br />The rustling and thuds had barely registered in the guard’s ears before the first of them was down, the victim of my brother’s club. I streaked past the confused guards and headed straight for the black hatted prince. Any load carried personally by the groom had to be worth the most, and I was going to be the one counting it by the fire tonight!<br /><br />He looked at me in bewilderment and fear as I approached him. A laugh escaped my lips as I drew near, and swung up on the horse behind him and batted the ceremonial hat that was slipping down around his ears. It flew off his head and while his eyes followed it in shock I snatched the lidded basket out of his hands.<br /><br />I had run several steps between the tightly spaced trees before I realized how unexpectedly light my load was. Another two steps though and I discovered I didn’t have time to worry about it, for the prince had recovered from his shock and was following me on foot into the forest.<br />I hadn’t known they bothered teaching those pampered pretties HOW to run. The noblemen had always just sat and squawked before.<br /><br />I quickened my pace and soon reached the part of the forest we liked to call the maze. I wove in and out of the bamboo stands with years of expertise while he yelled in his strange tongue and fell further and further behind. Soon I could no longer hear him and pulled my prize into a tight stand of trees to wait and watch.<br /><br />I could hear a lot of shouting in the distance, but none of it was a voice I knew, or even a language I understood, so I was hopeful that my friends and family had gotten away as neatly as I had. This would show that old hag of an Empress. You can’t keep a good band down by killing their leader, it only makes them strike a little closer to home.<br /><br />I smiled and turned the basket so that I could undo the latch on the lid. I lifted the lid expectantly, trusting the prize would be a delight to my eyes.<br /><br />There was a flurry of motion and my loot erupted from the basket in a storm of feathers and honks. I pressed myself against the bamboo to avoid the wild pecking and flapping wings as the gander struggled to escape its surprised captor. Feathers and bamboo leaves rained down around me as the gander found its way out of the tight copse.<br /><br />I took a moment to recover from my shock and then threw the basket to the side as I climbed out of the copse. Stupid foreigners, having princes carry geese in baskets! Who brought a live goose to a wedding?<br /><br />I was going to be the laughing stock of the thieves’ camp tonight. I was tempted to not even go home for a few days, but I knew my mother would worry, and then would be angry when I showed up late, whole, and empty handed. I hadn’t even the stupid bird to show for my trouble.<br />I was picking my way through the forest, keeping an eye out for stray guards when I heard a strange sobbing nearby. I crept towards the sound, alert for a trap, but was unprepared for what I saw. The prince knelt on the ground, tears running down his face, as he held a knife point to his chest. His hands trembled as he tried to summon the courage to plunge the blade into his heart.<br />I was across the grove to him before I had even thought of my reasons for doing it. The thief in me wanted nothing to do with the death of a nobleman, but it was the woman in me that snatched the blade from his hands.<br /><br />He fell backward in surprise and then cringed under the tongue lashing that flowed past my lips unbidden. What a fool he was. “Get up and go,” I told him. “Don’t lay your death at my door. Be a man!”<br /><br />The only word he seemed to catch was death and he nodded crawling towards me, motioning towards the blade and his throat repeating “kill” as he groveled at my feet.<br /><br />I placed my foot on his shoulder and kicked hard sending him sprawling on the ground. He just lay there, waiting with his eyes closed and his chest heaving with silent sobs.<br /><br />I was wasting my time, the guards would find him soon enough, if there were any left. I shoved his jeweled knife in my belt and slipped silently back amongst the trees. How on earth did someone that stupid get to be a nobleman anyway? The world was completely backward.<br />I got to camp later than the others, but the knife distracted my mother from her lecture. It was soon hanging from her belt and I pretended to be proud of my conquest while the others divided the spoil all around me. Taker always got first pick, leader got second, and the rest was divided evenly amongst the band, that was the way my father had always done it, and it was the way we carried on now that he was gone.<br /><br />“Is the dagger really all you got, Mei?” my friend Jun asked me later as he sat down beside me. Jun was one of the few foreigners in the band, and he spoke with a thick accent, though his vocabulary was improving.<br /><br />“Yeah, the goose got away,” I admitted with an embarrassed smile.<br /><br />“Goose?” he asked, then seemed to know the answer. “Oh, the gander! Ha, I’d forgotten about<br />that.”<br /><br />“Forgotten about what?” I asked him, not happy he was laughing at me.<br /><br />“Well… you know we just attacked the prince of my homeland, don’t you?” he asked.<br /><br />I pretended I had, though of course I hadn’t had a clue.<br /><br />“In my homeland the groom brings a wild gander to the mother of the bride,” he said looking thoughtful. He stared at the embers of the fire for a while, lost in thought, and then shook himself and asked, “I didn’t see you grab the dagger though, your hands must be getting faster.”<br />I tried to lie at first, but I could tell I wasn’t convincing him so I gave up and told him the truth. He wouldn’t tell on me anyway, he liked me more than the others.<br /><br />“Almost makes you feel sorry for him,” Jun said turning a coin over and over in his hands as I finished my tale.<br /><br />“Why would he kill himself over losing a goose?” I asked.<br /><br />“Gander,” Jun corrected me. “It’s the symbol of the groom’s devotion. Ganders mate for life.”<br />“Still doesn’t sound like a reason to kill yourself,” I said picking up some dirt and throwing it in the fire. It snapped and crackled angrily.<br /><br />“It wasn’t just the goose, Mei,” Jun said glowering at the fire.<br /><br />“You really are feeling sorry for him,” I said looking at him severely.<br /><br />Jun chuckled and shook his head. I had never seen him like this in the five years I had known him. Watchful, yes, he was smart, he was always thinking, but this odd mood was strange, even for my favorite foreigner.<br /><br />“You aren’t going soft on me are you?” I asked him jokingly.<br /><br />He smiled, “As soft as my blade,” he began.<br /><br />“And twice as sharp,” I finished for him. He was back to normal now, or at least I thought he was in that moment.<br /><br />Later that night I found I couldn’t sleep and went for a walk in the forest. The gentle swaying of the bamboo had always calmed me, but tonight it did little for my mind. The strange prince was in my thoughts, the tears on his face, the knife in his hand. Why would a person who had everything be so upset over the loss of a goose and a few gifts? Kings were rich, he could just explain to the Empress, and go home and get more.<br /><br />I hadn’t realized where my feet were taking me until I saw the form laying on the forest floor, just the way I had left him. I watched him sleep through the trees, his face still streaked from the dust and his tears. He looked as though he wouldn’t move if a horse was galloping his way. The man was broken.<br /><br />A single step behind me had me spinning and reaching for my knife, but Jun’s hand was over mine at my belt before I could draw it. He placed a finger to his lips and drew me back into the forest, away from the broken prince.<br /><br />“Do you want to help him?” Jun asked in a whisper at my ear.<br /><br />The hairs on my neck stood up to have him so close to me, but I pretended as always that he was just another brother to me. I nodded while I fought the tightness in my throat.<br /><br />“Good, because I can’t do this alone,” Jun said. “Go and find the basket and meet me here.”<br /><br />“Where are you going?” I whispered after him, but he was already slipping through the trees.<br /><br />I went and found the basket and returned to our meeting place. Jun was not there, so I left the basket and went to peek at the prone prince. He had rolled over in his sleep, and something about the change in position comforted me, though I didn’t know why.<br /><br />I went back to the meeting place and waited. I waited half the night before a wild flapping sounded through the trees. It was a few moments before Jun entered the clearing, a gander caught in his capable hands.<br /><br />It made a lot of noise as we shoved it in the basket. The thief in me jumped at every honk, but it went quiet once the basket was closed. Jun latched it shut and then handed the basket to me.<br /><br />“What are you giving this to me for?” I asked. “This is your plan.”<br /><br />“You are the one who stole it, you must return it,” he said giving me a little shove in the right direction.<br /><br />I crept through the forest and then sat on an old stump near the prince, waiting for him to wake up. I may have dozed off once or twice, but I was watching as the first rays of dawn struck his face and his eyes fluttered open. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized why this man’s sorrow tugged at my heart so.<br /><br />He looked just like Jun.<br /><br />The prince saw me within moments, and blinked in surprise. He sat up, but his expression wasn’t one of fear, or even of hatred. Instead he looked at me as if he thought I was a spirit. I stood and carried the basket towards him, placing it within his reach and then backing away. “Go marry your princess,” I told him, pointing the way towards the road. He reached for the basket with an expression of unbelief and picking it up looked the way I had pointed. He looked back at me and I shooed him away in irritation. Some people just couldn’t understand plain Chinese.<br /><br />He turned and looked again at the way to the road and I took that moment to slip away through the trees. From our vantage point Jun and I saw him look back, surprised to find me missing, and then carry the bird basket towards the road. It wasn’t long before he stumbled upon one of his guards and was conveyed safely to the summer palace.<br /><br />Two days later Jun and I slipped into the crowd of celebrating peasants that thronged the gates of the palace hoping to get a glimpse of the royal wedding taking place in the garden. The mounted prince was crossing the large pond on a footbridge that ended on a small island in the middle. He dismounted, leaving the horse with a groom as he carried his bird basket to the Empress. He placed it in her hands with a formal bow and she passed it off quickly to a servant.<br />Jun was shaking his head at the lack of regard for the Kaya tradition, but my eyes were on the basket. The servant didn’t seem to know that the basket should remain closed and set it on the ground to open it for his Lady.<br /><br />Laughter erupted from the crowd as the gander burst from the basket and flew at the Empress. She wheeled around in her efforts to get away, tripped over the still kneeling servant, and toppled into the pond. The entire party on the island rushed to help her, dredging their finery in the mucky water, and slipping and sliding themselves as they struggled to right the Empress.<br /><br />The Empress was enraged, the princess was weeping behind her veil, and Jun and I were swept away with the rest of hastily ejected crowd. We giggled the whole way home.<br /><br />A week later we were sitting in our shadowy perches over the road when the prince left the summer palace, accompanied only by his guards. When they reached the place on the road where we had attacked them on their first passing the prince reigned in his horse and looked around him. For a rejected groom he appeared quite content, even thankful.<br /><br />Within my heart I wished my victim well.<br /><br />Part 2 <em>The Prince<br /></em><br />The bamboo grew thick in this section of the forest, crowding in around the road to the summer palace as if it longed to reach out and touch the noblemen that passed this way. Over the sound of my horse’s hooves I heard a bird call out, somewhere close by but unseen in the treetops. The forest was restful, with its rustling in the wind and peaceful creatures, but I was not comforted by it.<br /><br />I clutched the basket that sat in front of me on the horse’s back. Within it lay the gander we had caught with some effort this morning. It was a present for my future mother-in-law, the symbol of my commitment to a life of devotion to her daughter, a union that would bind out families and lands together.<br /><br />This union was a long time coming. Diplomatic relations with China had been a bit tense since my brother had disappeared on the journey to this self-same palace four years ago. It had not come to war, but my father was most anxious to pacify the Empire and protect our people. The price of continued peace was the hand of a son, and so I had come to this place, this time, and this unavoidable task.<br /><br />Judging by the beauty of the Empress I had some hope that my bride would be pretty at least, but that was the end of my hopes for a pleasant marriage. I wasn’t looking forward to the months that it would take us to cross the language barrier, much less the cultural barriers, the religious barriers, and the barriers of the heart. However, I was a prince, and therefore crossing barriers was my duty, if not my joy.<br /><br />A monkey cried out most painfully in the trees and I thought perhaps it was being chased through the treetops because the trees swayed vigorously and leaves rained down upon us. Then in the blink of an eye a black specter had streaked up next to my horse and brought us to a halt. It laughed at me and swung with lightening movements up behind me upon the horse. I twisted in my seat and felt a light tug at my hair as the specter knocked the ceremonial hat off of my head. I had barely registered the fall of my father’s wedding hat before my basket was wrenched from my grip and the specter was whisking away with it in its grasp.<br /><br />I more or less fell off my horse in my instant instinct to reclaim the gift that was meant to purchase peace for my people. My soft silk shoes were not much protection against the ravages of the forest floor, but I kept up my pursuit with singular determination. I had to get that gander back.<br /><br />The pursuit of a specter is a fruitless endeavor though, even for a prince, and soon I was hopelessly lost without even a glimpse of specter or road to guide me. I called and called, begging the black spirit to return my gift, calling and calling for my guards to come to my aid, but I heard no response, saw no path out of my predicament.<br /><br />Strange sounds came from all around me, and they echoed through the woods. The sunlight slanted down on me, its sideways direction casting all around me in strange shadows and harsh contrast. The walls of bamboo twisted and turned, like a maze of bars hemming me in.<br />I followed one sharp turn after another until my bruised and throbbing feet protested with each step. I sank down in a clearing, overcome with confusion, the old and broken bamboo jabbing into my legs. It was hopeless.<br /><br />I thought about the black specter that had stolen my gift and lead me away from the safety of the road I was on. What was it? What did it want? Why had it chosen me as its victim? What had I ever done to anger the spirits of this forest? Was this the same spirit that has caused the disappearance of my brother? Was this spirit going to hold me captive forever? Was I ever going to see my family and homeland again? Was I doomed to wander this forest until I died?<br />What would happen to my kingdom? Would this lead to war? Would my people die because I had failed them as my brother had? Would our home and our culture be absorbed into the Empire like so many others? Would all that made Kaya great be lost forever?<br /><br />Tears for my homeland, for my family coursed down my face, and the dam I had built to hold back my emotions burst from this little breech. The hopelessness of my situation, the anger of the Empire, the enormity of the number of people I had let down pressed down on me until I could bear it no more. I was lost, with nothing to do but rot here day by day until death claimed me at last.<br /><br />I curled into a ball but a sharp jab in my side gave focus to my grief. The Dagger of Kaya, the gift of my father upon my departure pressed its jeweled head into my side. “Use me,” it seemed to whisper, “Death before dishonor, do not die like a helpless animal in the forest.”<br /><br />I sat up and drew it from its sheath. The silver length glimmered gold in the dying sun, the last sun I would see. I pressed the point to my chest. The point pierced my tunic easily, it would slide into my heart easily, the pain would be over soon, and with me would die the last hopes of my kingdom.<br /><br />I raised my arms and gathered the strength to make my final act. My hands shook, my heart ached, and then like a vapor the hilt was gone from my hands!<br /><br />I opened my eyes, not knowing what to expect, the spirit world or the forest, instead I saw the pale angry face of the black specter. It spoke to me in a strange tongue that only held a small resemblance to the Chinese I had been taught. I caught two words only, death and door. Yes death was the door, death was the only course left to me. I knew it and the specter knew it, but it did not seem to wish me an easy death. It wanted me to die slowly and painfully, as my people and culture would.<br /><br />“Please kill me,” I begged it, and I repeated the words in my halting Chinese. I begged it, kneeling before it, touching my head to the ground at its feet.<br /><br />With a shove of some unknown power it repelled me back and I hit the ground hard, waiting for the end to come, waiting for the power to strike again and finish me. The blow never came. I lay there waiting, empty, broken, praying for the end, but the end stretched further and further away from me.<br /><br />I was a disgrace, I couldn’t even die right.<br /><br />I woke to the sound of whispers in the trees and opened my eyes to see the moon’s eye looking down on me. The silver light was a balm to my soul, and I let it wash over me. The moon was like me, surrounded by darkness on every side.<br /><br />No, the moon was better than I, for though it battled the darkness every night and was over come again and again, it always came back, growing until its strength could light the path for all. I wished I was more like the moon. I rolled over on my side and curved my body like the crescent moon as I thought and thought. My people, my country, my family needed me. Without my brother and without me the kingdom would fall into civil war, and that would leave us exposed to attack from the outside.<br /><br />I had to fight the darkness, I had to come back from this dark moment like the moon did. I knew not how, or where I would get the strength, but only I could do it.<br /><br />When I opened my eyes again the sun was falling on me. A new day had dawned for me and for the world. My eyes immediately fell upon the black specter. It sat just out of reach, and in its lap lay my gift. It had not been lost at all, and now that I had learned my lesson the spirits of this forest were returning my life to me, so that I could make it better.<br /><br />The specter came towards me without a noise and placed the basket near my side. It moved away, then pointed opposite the rising sun and spoke again. “Marry” and “Princess” it said and then seemed to be angry at my lack of immediate response. The basket in my hand I looked away in the direction the spirit was sending me. I looked back to thank it, but it was gone, and I was left alone to make my way.<br /><br />I had not traveled far when my guard found me, and I was welcomed most warmly at the palace. The guards and Empress were all convinced that we had been beset by a band of thieves, and I kept silent about the spiritual message that had been the real intent behind the experience. I did not think I could explain it in a way they would ever understand. I wasn’t sure I would ever fully understand it either, but I respected it enough to keep quiet.<br /><br />In spite of the lack of treasures the Empress agreed to allow the wedding to proceed and after two days I mounted my horse again in order to take my bride. I moved forward with singular determination, and only realized something was amiss in my pursuit of my course when I heard the flapping of wings and screams behind me.<br /><br />I turned in time to see the Empress falling, the gander flying away above her. I rushed to the Empress’ side like all the others, but she refused the hand I offered.<br /><br />Each day for a week I appealed to the Empress and her daughter, and each day for a week they again rejected my hand. This situation was hopeless, but each night as I looked up at the moon, waxing stronger it its victory over the darkness, I found hope in the end of this situation. I found hope that Kaya could be strong without the Chinese Empire, that we could stand without a people so unlike ourselves. I dreamed of a Kaya that chose peace instead of trying to buy it.<br /><br />I left the Summer Palace and rode into the forest once again. My guards were anxious and kept their weapons ready, but I knew I had nothing to fear from the spirits of this wood. I stopped, in the place I will never forget, and lifted my face to the wind. I whispered a prayer of thanks to the black specter that had stolen my old self from me, and given me back so much more.<br /><br />Part 3 <em>The Prince of Thieves<br /></em><br />I wondered, as I did every time we did this, exactly what she was thinking as Mei watched our victims go by below us. Her face was bright in the shadows, pale like the moon, but sculpted like a gemstone. That face had been a source of fascination to me since I had first seen it, back when I was her victim not her comrade.<br /><br />I heard the birdcall from her mother’s lips and readied myself at the signal. My bamboo tree swung slightly with my movement. My clumsiness in the tree tops had been a source of amusement for some in our band of thieves, but Mei had never mocked me, only helped me. Now I was better than most of those that had mocked me.<br /><br />Mei’s stayed perfectly still, as if the tree was part of her, another leg from which she would spring into action. She had been born to this life, born to the freedom and also the prison of the life of a thief. She moved like the wind, climbed like a monkey, and had the fingers of a musician.<br />Of course these were things I could never say to her, or reveal that I felt. Not to her, not to her family, not to any of my new friends, could I speak the thoughts of my heart. For with the skills and profession came a strange mixture of pride and humility that refused compliment, and demanded respect.<br /><br />The sound of the monkey called us to action. I followed Mei down to the forest floor. I would follow her anywhere, truth be told; into death, into fire, and today, into battle against my own blood.<br /><br />No one would recognize me. When I had joined the band not even Mei had recognized me for the pampered Prince Jun of Kaya she had robbed on this very road four years ago. In her company, with her training, and in a thief’s clothes, not even my brother would know me, much less the guards.<br /><br />I watched her fly past the guards like a bird on the wind and confront my younger brother with that fearless laugh. I knocked out the closest guard and rushed the cart, trying to stay alive, earn my keep, and keep an eye on Mei at the same time. I saw her up on his horse, then sprinting through the trees, headed straight for the maze she had taught me turn by turn.<br /><br />I would have worried about his pursuit of her, if I hadn’t known exactly how hard it would be for him. All the military training that had been pounded into me had failed me four years ago, and his would too. Even if he had vastly improved his fighting skills since my departure, my brother’s studious and spiritual nature would not have prepared him for a force like Mei.<br /><br />I grabbed a share of the loot and faded back into the tree line with the others. The few guards who were still conscious were struggling to their feet far too late to take action. We had executed the plan perfectly, and our leader would be pleased. With my secret intention to marry Mei, I liked to keep our leader happy.<br /><br />As we lit the campfires the stragglers wandered into camp, their loads of treasure heavy in their arms and their hearts light within their chests. Mei was one of the last to return. When I saw her face I let out a silent sigh of relief. She was whole, not happy, but whole and home.<br /><br />Her mother was quite pleased with the gift of the dagger. I recognized it of course, had coveted it in another life, but somehow the fact that it was with Mei’s family just felt right to me. Mei had taken it as deftly has she had taken my heart. Perhaps the dagger would be strengthened and sharpened by them too.<br /><br />I sat beside her, trying as always to act like she was a sister to me, and not both the captor and liberator of my heart. Her hands were empty and her face downcast. “Is the dagger really all you got, Mei?” I asked her in surprise. She had a knack for picking the parcel with the best loot. I had never figured out how she did it either.<br /><br />“Yeah, the goose got away,” she said, her head ducked down and her cheeks coloring.<br /><br />“Goose?” I asked in confusion, then of course I knew the answer to my own question. “Oh, the gander! Ha, I’d forgotten about that.”<br /><br />“Forgotten about what?” she asked grumpily. She didn’t like to be laughed at, none of them did, not when it was something as serious as loot.<br /><br />“Well… you know we just attacked the prince of my homeland, don’t you?” I asked her. I wondered if any of them had made the connection between my accent and the target of our latest excursion.<br /><br />She nodded, but by the lost look in her eyes I knew she was faking it. I tried very hard not to laugh. I didn’t want to hurt her thieves’ pride any more than I already had.<br /><br />“In my homeland the groom brings a wild gander to the mother of the bride,” I told her. I had rarely spoken of my homeland with her, with anyone, since the day that had changed my life.<br /><br />The moment she had dropped from that tree and laughed at me my whole life had faded from my mind. I thought of it sometimes, but it was like trying to remember a dream, a strange night fancy with no substance or meaning. I had thought I was such a good Prince, would be such a good king, but if I could forget it all at the sight of Mei’s face, then it was better the kingdom rested in my brother’s thoughtful hands.<br /><br />Father had always preferred me, as the eldest, as the stronger son, but my mother had been the right one to prefer the younger son. She, and he, saw things I didn’t see, thought in ways I could never think. The world was changing. Leaders didn’t need action, they needed words, words that could cut and intimidate better than any dagger.<br /><br />I laughed inside again. She had taken the Dagger of Kaya. She had taken the dagger from Kaya, just as she had taken the Crown Prince of Kaya from Kaya, and Kaya would be the better for it.<br /><br />“I didn’t see you grab the dagger though,” I said to her. Then I veiled the compliment in an insult so that she would accept it, “Your hands must be getting faster.”<br /><br />Something in the set of her mouth told me she was lying, and as she told me about grabbing it and the basket at the same time I had to hold back a smile. She could see it in my eyes though, and rolled her own as she suddenly decided to tell me the truth.<br /><br />I would have preferred the lie. The truth made me sick inside. For the first time since I had wandered away from my unconscious guards I regretted leaving the country to my brother. When I flipped the coin of my life upside down I hadn’t thought, hadn’t realized I would be flipping his too. His advice had always been so good… I hadn’t thought about if he hadn’t wanted to be more than an advisor.<br /><br />“Almost makes you feel sorry for him,” I said, wishing I could share even a small part of what I was feeling with her.<br /><br />“Why would he kill himself over losing a goose?” she asked, and her lack of understanding clearly defined for me all the things I needed her to know, but couldn’t tell her. Now was not the time. I couldn’t have her thinking my loyalty was with him, not when I had worked this long to earn her regard. How could I fix this without giving myself away?<br /><br />“Gander,” I corrected her as gently as I could in my raw emotional state. “It’s the symbol of the groom’s devotion. Ganders mate for life.”<br /><br />“Still doesn’t sound like a reason to kill yourself,” she said picking up some dirt and throwing it in the fire. It snapped and crackled angrily at me, like the voices of my people, censuring me for deserting them and then failing my brother.<br /><br />“It wasn’t just the goose, Mei,” I said angry with myself.<br /><br />“You really are feeling sorry for him,” she said looking at me with furrowed brows.<br /><br />Oh if she knew, if she knew how sorry I felt. I laughed at the twisted way my fate had brought me back four years, to the same place, the same circumstance, and the other side.<br /><br />“You aren’t going soft on me are you?” she asked me in a tone that told me she wanted to believe the opposite.<br /><br />I smiled at the sign that she cared, that my state of mind meant something to her. “As soft as my blade,” I said, beginning the old thieves saying she had taught me.<br /><br />“And twice as sharp,” she finished for me comforted by the show of strength.<br /><br />I hoped she would always think of me as that strong, that sharp, because for her I was trying to be. I never wanted to lose that faith. I didn’t want to fail her like I had failed others when I reached for her.<br /><br />My conscience would not let me sleep that night, every lump in the mat beneath me was a sharp reminder of the things I couldn’t ignore anymore. I got up and went into the forest. I searched in and around the maze until at last I saw him.<br /><br />He lay so still in the moonlight that at first I thought he might be dead. Then he twitched in his sleep, a look of fear clouding his expression, and I felt both joy and pain. I wanted to wash his face, wipe away the mark of all I had done to him.<br /><br />Instead I watched, watched from a distance, not knowing what I should do.<br /><br />I could go to him, wake him, lead him to the road. He would know me at that distance though, without the others to distract him. Then I would have to explain, and I wasn’t sure I understood it all myself.<br /><br />I could walk away, leave him to find his own way as I had done, let his encounter with Mei change him as it would, like it had changed me. What would that do to him though? What would that do to my people? I had failed them, and if I failed him then he would fail them too and all would be lost.<br /><br />Off to the east I saw a movement and watched in awe as Mei moved like a dark fog through the trees. She had come to him too. Though she was a thief born of thieves, she was a woman of great compassion for those unable to help themselves. I should have known she would not leave him helpless.<br /><br />I crept up behind her, trying to be silent as not to alarm her, and not wake my brother at the same time. A testament to the training she had given me herself, she did not hear me until I was right behind her. I barely caught her hand before she drew her blade. Her eyes flashed in anger and fear, until she saw my face, and then something flashed within them that once again threatened to knock all else from my mind.<br /><br />As her arm relaxed in my grip I forced myself to release her, fighting instead the urge to hold her that was nearly overwhelming me. Pressing my finger to my lips, I drew her back so that we could speak without waking my brother from his fitful slumber. I leaned in close to her, breathing in her earthy scent as I whispered in her ear, “Do you want to help him?”<br /><br />She nodded once, her jaw set in determination. Her determination flowed into me, and suddenly I knew what I we must do.<br /><br />“Good, because I can’t do this alone,” I said. “Go and find the basket and meet me here.”<br /><br />“Where are you going?” she whispered to me, but I continued through the trees. I had no time to explain, I needed a lifetime for that.<br /><br />It took hours to find the gander, and I counted myself lucky when I captured it on the first try. Fate was back on my side it seemed. I carried it back through the forest, only attempting to walk silently when I was close to where I knew she would be waiting. The goose was not so concerned about stealth, but my own thieves’ pride could not abide my own false steps.<br /><br />She took in the gander and its meaning in a moment, and we hurried to put it in its basket. It protested to the very last, then went silent as the lid closet over it. Once the latch was secured I held it out to her and she took it with reluctant hands.<br /><br />“What are you giving this to me for?” she asked. “This is your plan.”<br /><br />“You are the one who stole it, you must return it,” I said, hoping someday she would understand, understand the request and also my every thought.<br /><br />She cast a nervous glance at my brother, and then walked with her characteristic certainly and silence down the pathless way.<br /><br />I waited, she waited, and the sun crept over the hills. The light landed on my brother’s face and I watched as he looked at her with the kind of wonder I knew all too well. I watched her give him the basket, the symbol of his future, and then shoo him on his way in her tough and loving way.<br /><br />Then she returned to me and I was back where I belonged. It was not long before I captured a wild gander of my own and became a different kind of Prince.<br /><br />People fear us thieves because they do not want to lose their things, but it is only after we come that they know what they have really lost, their security. Mei took that from me, she took that from my brother, and we will both love her for it endlessly.<br /><br />For in loosing what we thought we had, we found our devotions; we found what was worth living for, we found ourselves.Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070125802803155242.post-83478238211033260162011-09-13T16:17:00.000-07:002011-09-14T09:59:56.189-07:00Lightening GlassReader submitted story elements: Egypt, Thunderstorm, On the run.<br /><br />The sand burns my feet, grinds itself between my toes, and sucks the energy out of every step, but still I <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">struggle</span> on. I turn away from the orange disc hanging low on the horizon and squint back at the trail of footprints that might lead them to me as soon as I am missed. My legs ache and my mouth is full of the taste of the desert, but I have to keep going.<br />I reach the ridge at last, the few spare rocks sticking out of the loose and slippery mountain. I scramble around behind the closest rock and take a hard look back at the land that had held me captive since I opened my mother's womb.<br />It held <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">neither</span> of us captive any longer. She had gone on to the world of the dead. Without concern for her welfare to hold me back I sought my freedom at the very first opportunity. I glare at the glimmering <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Nile</span> and the lush fields spreading out from its course. I curse this land, curse the fields, curse the Egyptians. May the east wind bear down on them with my fury and tear them all to bits.<br />There is no movement on the edge of town, so I rest, and watch, ready to leave the moment someone nears the trail of my footprints. I take a measured sip from the jug around my neck and then stopper it again firmly. I will not be near water again for a day, and need to carefully ration my supplies. It will be a long hard journey, but once I find the village where my mother was born it will all be worth it.<br />I strike out along the ridge, jabbing my feet deep in the sand to keep from sliding down into the hollow below. I need to keep my eye on the river. If I venture into the desert I could be lost forever among the dust and dunes.<br />A little longer and it will be night. They won't come looking for me after it is dark. If I keep going through the night my lifelong dream could become a reality.<br />I poke my head over the ridge and look back along its length for the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">hundredth</span> time, but this time what I see worries me. A storm is brewing over the delta. The dark cloud looks angry, glaring like my Master had the time I tripped and dropped his diner tray.<br />I glare back at the storm, "Do your worst, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Reshep</span>," I tell the god of my cruel master. "I have survived much worse than your storm."<br />I turn my back on the clouds and return to my <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">southerly</span> march. The storm growls at me, and I grind my teeth against the ominous sound. I don't care if <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">Reshep</span> does strike me down with his lightening bolt. It would be better to die in the desert than to live under those grasping and cruel hands any longer. "What god rewards such a man as that?" I mutter to myself.<br />I stop to take another swig out of my water jug and glance back along the ridge as I do. The last rays of the sun highlight my greatest fear. He stands on the ridge, his white tunic and golden camel stark against the black of the storm. Master is coming after me himself.<br />I jam the stopper in the neck of the jug and run as fast as my feet can take me along the ridge. The sand clings to my feet with every step, fighting me, tripping me, sliding down the slope to make my trail all that much more apparent.<br />Every moment brings my Master closer. Every moment brings the storm closer. Every moment they win a little more, the Egyptians and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">their</span> gods.<br />I come to a rise where the ridge runs up a massive dune. I must climb it, the pits to either side are deep and rimmed by steep sides I could never climb. I tear up the ridge, straddling it and kicking sand down either side as I claw my way up. I focus on the climb, trying to block out the shouting carried to me on the winds of the storm. They beat against me. <em>Fool</em>, they say, <em>you cannot escape.</em> The sand stings my face and arms, a million reminders of the reed across my back.<br />The slope before me drops away and I pull myself up from my scrambling crawl and onto my feet. My feet slip on the high ridge and I struggle to remain upright. My attempts are brought to an end as I feel the cane slam into my back.<br />The sand is soft as I land, but slides away beneath me as I struggle for <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">purchase</span>. I look back to see that <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">furious</span> face, the swirling clouds, the cane raised to deliver a second blow. The camel behind him has knelt and watches, watches as he raises the cane high. The camel knows what is coming, I know what is coming, and I shrink away from the beating we both have learned to expect.<br />The air splits with a crack. For a moment I wonder where he has hit me. The worst blows are the ones you cannot feel right off. Surely something is broken.<br />I take a breath and wait for the pain, but cannot find it. Perhaps I am dead. I do not think being dead hurts, but there is a stench and the rolling of thunder. If I am dead, how can I smell, how can I hear?<br />I open my eyes and search the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">blackness</span> above me, but I don't see my Master's face. There is a great noise as the camel backs away from something on the ground and starts slipping down the mountainous dune. I look at the thing on the ground. It is black, disfigured, unmoving.<br /><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error">Reshep</span> has struck his own follower.<br />I am panting from my flight, my heart is pounding in my chest. I am unable to move, unable to speak, unable to flee. I stare at his form in shock as rain starts to fall. Rain falls on my hair, it falls on my shoulders, it falls on my master, it falls from my eyes.<br />Master is dead. I am free.Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070125802803155242.post-80040257084194400102011-09-02T07:38:00.000-07:002011-09-03T07:21:43.079-07:00Ina-saurusAfter my last story my friend Alex convinced me to start writing them here. Besides the lack of rights conflict there is one big benefit, spell check! This story stumped spell check several times, though.
<br />
<br />For this build-a-story I said I'd take a name from the first three people to post one. <a href="http://community.babycenter.com/post/a29231893/build-a-story">Here's the source thread</a>. One of the girls (she's my girl from way back, one of the few that knows me in-real-life) gave me options and I picked Ina. The other two names were Spencer and Theodore.
<br />
<br />I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it (but I doubt you will, this was a real depression cloud buster for me. Thanks girls, I love you!)
<br />
<br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Ina-saurus</span>
<br />
<br />The flick at the back of my ear wrenched me out of the book I had been living in since I had gotten on the activity bus. A second flick followed as I tried to dive back into the plot.
<br />"Stop it, Theo-dork," I said in irritation to my oh-so-annoying step-brother in the seat behind me.
<br />"Just making sure you are alive, Ina" he said. He thought he was so funny. His girlfriend did to. She giggled that air-head giggle of hers and I rolled my eyes at the sound of it.
<br />Rolling my eyes was a mistake. It took my eyes off the page and they passed over the person I was trying NOT to think about, Spencer Adams.
<br />Sweet, smart, sexy, Spencer Adams was incredibly hard to ignore. I was pretty sure I was the only female in a thirty mile radius that even tried. Even the guys worshiped him, and why wouldn't they? He was Captain of every team, smart, funny, and even had played the lead in the school musical last spring.
<br />I went to see it, because I was supporting my friends in the chorus, not because I wanted to hear Spencer sing. In fact I wish I hadn't heard him sing, because it made him that much harder to ignore.
<br />I tore my eyes off of the side of Spencer's happy face and forced myself to look at the page. I wasn't reading though, I was listening to Spencer talk to his friend about football. I wasn't much into sports, but Spencer could make anything interesting.
<br />You would think a guy like him would be completely full of himself, and in this case you'd be wrong. If he <em>had</em> been I would have been over him a long time ago. I think arrogance makes guys ugly. I have a whole list of stars I can't stand to watch because of it. It saves me a lot of money, because I never go to the movies.
<br />And no, I'm not the kind of girl guys ask to the movies. If I go, it's with a friend, and usually to the little theater downtown that shows <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">indi</span>-films. I'm not interested in cookie-cutter box office hits, and most teen boys don't get those.
<br />As I stared at the page and listened to Spencer encourage his team-mate I wondered if he likes <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">indi</span>-films. I decided to think that he doesn't. He would like happy endings and characters that lived idyllic lives like his own, where the biggest problem is winning State and getting a date.
<br />Not that either of those things were ever a problem for Spencer.
<br />Sometimes I secretly hated him... almost as much as I secretly loved him. Almost.
<br />Now incredibly angry with myself I put the book aside and turned to stare out the window. We were leaving the suburbs now. It wouldn't be long until we reached the paleontological dig that our Senior class was visiting today.
<br />I was looking forward to it. Sure you saw more bones in the museum, but seeing it in the ground was going to be a treat. How many people got to see that?
<br />The trip was wasted on people like Theo-dork and his girlfriend though. Theodore wasn't interested in anything but sports, and I don't think she had the IQ to be interested in anything but my step-brother. I just wished she was interest<em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">ing</span></em> enough to keep him from bugging me, but no... no girl had done that yet. She wouldn't last another month.
<br />I knew I was being too hard on Theodore, even if it was just in my head, and therefore didn't count. He wasn't a bad guy, and neither was his Dad. Ted Sr. had, after all, possessed the sense to know my mom was a gem, even though she wasn't at all like his vapid ex-wife. I wondered how long it would be before Theodore figured out he should be dating girls less like his mom and more like mine. I had a whole list for him when he did.
<br />The bus finally came to a stop and we all shuffled down the aisle and milled around the bus waiting for Mr. Freeman to finish talking to the Scientists. Spencer was right at his side, and I tried not to watch through the crowd as Spencer chatted with the Paleontologist like they were old friends.
<br />From behind me I heard some laughing and turned to find some of the class clowns gathered around Eric, who was normal enough to come on field trips, but delayed enough to be easy fodder for the... well I'd use the R word to describe them but that would be an insult to every Special Needs person I know.
<br />"Better watch out, the dinosaur might eat you," on of the boys was saying. The others backed him up with scary noises and looming clawed arm movements as they drew in tighter around Eric.
<br />"What are you, twelve?" I asked them walking over and doing some looming of my own. "Grow up and leave him alone," I said glaring them down.
<br />"Oh no, we've awakened the Ina-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">saurus</span>," one of them said with mock dread. I rolled my eyes again as they walked away. Honestly, there was no hope for them.
<br />"Ina-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">saurus</span>," Eric repeated, and I caught the laughter in his eyes. I had always loved how much emotion showed in his eyes. He may not have looked like everyone else and acted like everyone else, but you could never tell me he didn't understand as much as everyone else.
<br />"Don't you start calling me names," I said to him with a wink.
<br />"<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">Noooo</span>," he said with a smile. "You my friend, Ina."
<br />"You're my friend too, Eric," I said giving him a little hug around the waist, which made him laugh. That made me smile.
<br />"I didn't know you two were friends," an unmistakable voice said from behind me. I turned to find that Spencer had come towards us while the rest of the crowd had moved away.
<br />"Yeah," Eric said happily,but he was already bored with the subject. "Go see dinosaur," he said grabbing my hand and pulling me along.
<br />"Eric man," Spencer said turning and falling into step with us, though of course no one could match Eric's step-slide gait, "You can't just go grabbing girl's hands like that, Dr. Jones said..."
<br />"He's fine," I broke in, a little irritated with Spencer. Who made him the hand police? Why did he think he needed to boss Eric around anyway?
<br />He looked a little thrown by my response, "Sorry," he said quietly.
<br />We had reached the back of the group and Eric was straining to see over and around heads as the class listened to the Paleontologist talk about the find. He had a large trilobite in a box and was explaining how when it was found they knew this was a good area to start looking for other fossils. I held onto Eric's hand, occasionally soothing his arm with my other hand as we waited for the lecture to end. He was having a hard time containing his excitement, but he got this way over meatloaf sometimes too. I was really proud of him.
<br />"Just a few more minutes," Spencer said from Eric's other side. "Remember I told you we get special time with the fossil, but we have to wait our turn."
<br />"And Ina," Eric said swinging his arm up to display our still clasped hands. "Ina-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">saurus</span> and dinosaur," he added with a giggle.
<br />I laughed and shook my head at Spencer's confused look. Eric's excitement was rubbing off on me, and that coupled with my proximity to Spencer had me in a rare mood.
<br />"Hey man," Spencer said. "I arrange all this and you ditch me for a girl? Where's the love, bro?"
<br />Eric laughed again, which irritated some people in front of us. Their expressions changed when they saw who was hugging Eric back.
<br />The crowd started moving and the Paleontologist moved down the line to give Eric a good look at the trilobite. Eric's eyes were bright and he danced around a bit as he looked at the fossil. I placed my hand on his forearm to try and help him calm down.
<br />"Can he touch it?" Spencer asked hopefully.
<br />The Paleontologist moved his head around and caught Eric's eye, "Gently," he said. "You can touch this one very gently."
<br />Eric nodded furiously, and yanked his hand back nervously a few times as he reached for the precious piece of history. I could tell he was worried he wasn't going to be gentle enough. When his fingers finally did touch the surface it was too much for him. He yanked back and danced around, twisting my arm as he did, having forgotten he was still holding my hand.
<br />I couldn't help but let an, "Ow," slip out as I disentangled my arm.
<br />"Are you okay?" Spencer asked, the worry evident on his face. The Paleontologist had backed away with the box.
<br />"Of course I am," I said. "He's just excited," I said shaking out the lingering pain. I was more worried that we had freaked out the Scientist. I turned to look at the dusty man, "Thank you, you can't imagine what this means to him."
<br />The man smiled, "Oh, I think I can. I was just as excited the first time I touched something billions of years old."
<br />I turned to find that Spencer had helped Eric calm down, and Eric repeated "Thank you," several times as the Paleontologist took the fossil back to its storage building. Spencer's grin was almost as big as Eric's. I took Eric's hand and he turned to look at me, "Sorry, Ina," he said, and I was ready for the "Ina-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">saurus</span>" this time.
<br />I winked at him to let him know we were cool then tugged on his hand so we could go watch the volunteers in the pit with the skeleton. We walked up the rise then stood well back from the rope while Eric craned to see, bouncing on the balls of his feet. This was like Christmas for him.
<br />"Spencer Mom!" Eric cried out suddenly waving wildly.
<br />Everyone turned to stare at us, including a woman in the pit who waved back with a smile. Spencer waved to his mom and I figured out where he got his great hair from. She waved at others in the group, obviously a known face among Spencer's crowd. I thought she looked back at me though before she returned to brushing at the dirt along a rib.
<br />"Is that how you arranged this?" I asked Spencer around Eric. "Your mom works the dig?"
<br />"It pays to be connected," Spencer said with a wink. "I think it took her a weeks worth of lunches to butter them up, but she'd do anything for Eric."
<br />"Spencer Mom my friend," Eric said. "Ina-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">saurus</span>, Mom-a-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error">saurus</span>."
<br />I tried not to laugh at the comparison, I would never be anything like Dr. Adams. She taught science at the college, was completely gorgeous, and did all kinds of charity work. She was perfect, like Spencer was. If we were both dinosaurs she was an <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error">Apatosaurus</span> and I was the chicken sized one no one knew the name of.
<br />"Ina-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error">saurus</span>, Mom-a-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-error">saurus</span>," Eric kept repeating as we followed the class to the tent where other Scientists were working on sifting dirt. The <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_13" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">repetitive</span> words were like the beat of a song that played in the back of your head, over and over.
<br />"Ina-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_14" class="blsp-spelling-error">saurus</span>, Mom-a-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_15" class="blsp-spelling-error">saurus</span>," Spencer joined in. We were far enough from the others that no-one seemed to mind.
<br />"Ina-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_16" class="blsp-spelling-error">saurus</span>, Mom-a-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_17" class="blsp-spelling-error">saurus</span>, Er-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_18" class="blsp-spelling-error">ic</span>-a-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_19" class="blsp-spelling-error">saurus</span> REX!" I cut in.
<br />Eric loved that, and as we all laughed Spencer caught my eye. His hazel orbs were <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_20" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">glimmering</span> in a way I'd never seen them shine before, and our eyes stayed locked long after the laughter had left my lungs empty. I was unable to fill them for fear of re-starting time, so I stood there with a stupid grin on my face and let his gaze slowly kill me with pure pleasure.
<br />Eric yanked our arms to get closer to the tent and I was released from that gaze. For a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_21" class="blsp-spelling-error">mili</span>-second my heart screamed, destitute that the moment was over, but then Spencer looked right back over at me, a brilliant smile upon his face, and that smile was just for me.
<br />Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070125802803155242.post-27929216895561438692011-08-06T19:22:00.000-07:002011-08-06T19:37:43.795-07:00The CubeThis is another build-a-story that I wrote for the girls on Babycenter. You see, 15 days ago I was bored, and offered to write a story based on a picture of a house. The house they found, well let's just say it brought out my Sci-fi upbringing.<br /><br />See the inspiration house <a href="http://perezsolomon.com/2011/04/22/coolest-house-ever/">here.</a><br /><br />When I started writing I didn't expect all this to come out, and this had better be the longest post I ever put on here. It's 26,000 words, and therefore a Novella. If it were printed and bound it would be 90+ pages. True to the purposes of this blog I've left it in first draft state, with only minor corrections. See the original thread, complete with my emotional breakdown 6,000 words from the end, <a href="http://community.babycenter.com/post/a28650065/build_a_story">here</a>.<br /><br />So grab some popcorn, put the kids to bed, and get ready for <em>The Cube</em>.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><em>The Cube</em> Part I – The Cube</span><br /><br />"Here we are," she said in that monotone voice of hers as she shifted the hummer into park. As she snapped the engine off I stared in incredulity at the strange black concrete box in front of me. I wondered why the driveway led to this side of the building if there were no entrances. By the look of the militaristically groomed grass going around the sides NO ONE ever walked that way either. I half expected a sign stating that walking on the grass was punishable by death or incarceration according to statute blah blah blah point blah blah blah.<br />I decided in that moment I was going to kill my mother for sending me here for the summer.<br />My aunt was out of the door now and hauling my suitcase out of the back of the hummer. She still had that pinched look about her mouth, like she was sucking on a sour candy, or mulling over sour thoughts. Why had she agreed to take me for the summer if she was going to be this mad about it?<br />It wasn't like she and mother had ever been close, not since I had been around anyway. The only way I had been sure she was my aunt at the airport was that she looked so much like my mom. The same hair, the same eyes, the same toughness in the set of her chin. I had always thought working in corporate litigation had made my mother the human thunderstorm I knew so well, but now... now I was starting to wonder if it was a family trait I might end up being cursed with.<br />I ran my hand over my jaw thoughtfully as I wandered after my aunt. She marched my case towards the midnight cube that apparently was her house. I had barely been able to lift it off the luggage carousel at the airport, but she carried it like it was as light as a purse.<br />Speaking of which... she didn't have a purse. Where did she keep her... well she didn't seem to wear makeup. But even if she didn't need to carry a pad or anything she had to have credit cards and ID, right? She must keep all her stuff inside the pockets of that strange gray flight suit. Imagine having to transfer all that every day. It was worse than being a purse schitzo, at least changing purses all the time made you chic.<br />My aunt halted on the pavement and looked back over her shoulder at me in annoyance, so I clutched my purse to my side and scurried after her. She resumed her pace and when we were about ten feet from the blank wall it suddenly started moving.<br />I stumbled in surprise, but managed not to do one of my standard sidewalk-meet-face maneuvers. I tried to cover my clumsiness as I watched massive sections of the dark wall bulge outward and then start to slide to the side.<br />My aunt nodded her head at the corner of the building, and I realized that what I had taken for lights were really cameras mounted high on the wall, and tracking our progress. Now that I was stepping right up to the moving wall the camera was cocked at a funny angle, peering down at me like some electronic bird, or worse. I clutched my jacket closer to my chest and wished I hadn't chosen such an attractive neckline today.<br />The wall had now opened enough to allow us onto some kind of patio. I barely had time to take in the reinforced metal roll up door that seemed to extend the entire left hand side of the building before my aunt was impatiently motioning me through a set of glass doors.<br />The doors closed behind me with a strange kind of sucking sound and I spared a glance backward to see that a light above them flick from red to green. My aunt was leaving me no time for acquainting myself with my surroundings though, so I hurried past the Spartan furnishings to follow her through a set of metal doors.<br />They closed behind me with an ominous thud and a harsh click. Once again an indicator went from red to green. Green for good, green for secure, green for locked away from the world with an aunt I was now convinced was absolutely crazy.<br />~<br />My aunt stopped here, in this completely plain, white, boxy hallway and set my suitcase on the floor. She spun and faced me in a way that made me think of every Nazi movie I had ever seen. Her face was nearly as scary as she drilled into me with those pale blue eyes.<br />"Mathilda," she said, and I didn't have the guts to tell her everyone called me Tilly, "As a member of my family I expect that you have a higher intelligence level than those shoes would otherwise lead me to believe." She glowered at my zig-zag strappy wedges like they were an insult to austerity, which I guess they were. "You will," she said returning that ice cold star to my eyes, "have surmised that this is no ordinary house and that I live no ordinary life. I do not usually allow anyone to interfere with my work and I expect that you will respect me enough to keep your interference to a minimum. Reynolds will see to your needs, but I request that you not make yourself a burden upon him either. I will see you at dinner, 1900 hours sharp."<br />She did that pinpoint turn again and placed her hand on a doorknob. There was a click before she turned it, and then as she did turn it my fear of her was overtaken by my fear of being left in this suffocating box within a box all alone. "Wait!" I said in a panic. She cast a raised eyebrow in my direction. "Umm," I said with a gulp, then asked the only question I could manage to form under that icy stare, "Who's Reynolds?"<br />As if in answer to my question a door to my right opened. I was torn between watching it open and watching my aunt step without a word through the other door. As her door thudded and clicked green a young man in a black flight suit stepped out of the other.<br />The stitching on the name tag above his pocket said Reynolds, but a whole list of other names came to my mind as I focused on his face, Adonis, Brad Pit, Ryan Seacrest, Prince William, Justin Bieber, and Justin Timberlake, by Prada he was hotter than all of them rolled into one.<br />His face was impassive, but there was a glint of humor in his eye as he stepped across the room towards me. "Miss Moren," he said extending his hand. I stared at him like an idiot for another two heartbeats before I thought to shake it. The humor in his eyes faded into a look of concern. "I'm sure this is all a bit overwhelming, if you will just follow me I will explain what I can."<br />He dropped my hand, my heart dropped to the pit of my belly when he did, and he picked up my suitcase instead. As he reached for the door he had just come in through I heard that click and saw the little light flash to red. Red, enter at your own risk, I thought.<br />I was going to risk it. Whatever was on the other side of that door, I was going to face it. Whatever my crazy Aunt was up to, I was totally IN.<br />As long as Reynolds was the one explaining it all to me.<br />I thought differently when we got to the elevator. He pushed the button for down and my heart was right back up there in my throat. It was bad enough to live inside a cement cube, but to live under it? I think I'd rather brave the roof.<br />Assuming there was access to the roof. Which there probably wasn't. Because this place was bunker and impervious to anything normal.<br />The elevator dinged then and the doors slid open. We stepped onto the shiny black floor and he set my suitcase down with a thud. It closed completely and started moving, before he had pressed any buttons at all.<br />"How does it know where we are going?" I asked quietly.<br />Reynolds jerked his head up to the corner where yet another camera looked down on us. I gave the lens a nervous smile and then concentrated on keeping my hands away from my neckline. Who was on the other side of that camera?<br />The elevator plunged downward for what felt like forever, and I was beginning to wonder if my room was in China. At last the whirring sound above us slowed and the odd lightness in my legs changed to that heaviness that meant we were stopping. The elevator dinged and the doors sighed open.<br />Light poured into the elevator and I blinked against it as I followed Reynolds’ nearly indistinguishable form into it. At one point I lost sight of him completely and halted. I felt a hand on my elbow and allowed it to guide me until at last the light faded and the darkness rendered me a new kind of blind.<br />"Sorry," Reynolds said as I blinked and tried to adjust my eyes. "It's always like that this time of day."<br />"Day?" I asked. "I thought we were underground," I said.<br />"We are, but the crystal at the pinnacle lets the light in," he said.<br />My eyes were once again relaying information to me, but I wasn't sure I trusted it. I was in some kind of... hollow pyramid. The four walls slanted up above me with floor after floor of windows slanting down to look at me. I could see people walking past them, all in those strange flight suits, all looking very busy.<br />Where on earth had my mother sent me and how did the National Enquirer not know about something this big?<br />~<br />Reynolds led me along the wall until we reached one of the corners. Here there was another elevator, or something like an elevator. I could see it coming down towards us along the slant of the ceiling... wall.. ceiling... whatever. The people in it were looking out the glass back and towards the center of the pyramid's floor. I followed their eyes and gasped to see tree tops peeking above the wall.<br />A bird darted by and disappeared into the lush green leaves. The air was damp, warm, and tasted of earth. I could hear twittering and water babbling. I wanted to go and investigate this indoor forest, but Reynolds was there, leading me into the elevator.<br />We entered the conveyance from its side and I eagerly went to the window so I wouldn't miss a second of the sight as the ascent changed my point of view.<br />In the center there was a fountain of sorts that fed four waterfalls, which in turn fed four streams. The streams wound their way through a landscape of varied settings. Raised pathways crowded in among the fruit laden branches in one quarter and stretched gracefully over open sheep pastures in another. The other two quarters were well tended gardens and fields of grain.<br />The whole thing was massive and I stared in shock at it as we climbed higher and higher. "Is this place self-sustaining or something?" I asked Reynolds.<br />"Finally," he said.<br />I turned and looked at him, "Have you been here long?"<br />"Half my life," he said with a little grin. I couldn't decide which was more fascinating; the fact that people lived here for years on end, or the perfection of his dimples and teeth.<br />"What is this place?" I asked him, turning back to the view out the window.<br />"Well, the government calls it Retreat of Last Resort #9, but we just call it "Nine" or "The Resort."<br />"The American Government?" I asked looking over my shoulder at him.<br />He wobbled his head a bit, like answering that question would have taken a good deal of effort he didn't want to expend. The elevator doors opened and he escaped out them with my suitcase, but I was hot on his heels.<br />"What does that mean?" I asked.<br />"What does what mean?" He replied.<br />"That thing you just did with your head," I said in irritation.<br />"It means..." he sighed, "It means there's a whole lot of things going on with the governments in the world that they don't teach in High School and I don't have the time to explain it all right now. I've got to get you settled in General Moren's apartment and back to my duties."<br />"But my Aunt said you would see to my needs, and I need to know what is going on here," I protested as we moved down the short hallway to a door.<br />He reached for the handle, but I could have told him it wouldn't open, the light was green. After unsuccessfully trying the handle he stepped back, glared at a nearby camera and said, "Peters!"<br />The door clicked immediately and Reynolds rushed me through it.<br />I hadn't given up on getting some answers, but I took a moment to figure out why the room felt so weird to me. I finally realized that it was because the only windows were what I had thought were mirrors when we were in the hallway. The far wall was lined with storage cabinets.<br />The furnishings were Spartan again. All hard lines and sensible cloths. I could see through to a tiny kitchen with a table and three chairs below another window that looked out on the highest levels of the pyramid. If she was a General didn't she rate better digs than this?<br />"Your room is through there," Reynolds said pointing to the room off the kitchen. "Go ahead and unpack. Here's a little reading material," he said pulling a booklet out of his long thigh pocket and handing it to me. "I suggest you read it carefully before dinner."<br />He looked at his watch. "It's nearly 1400 hours, I've got to go, but I'll check back on you at 1730 and see how you are coming along," he was already backing out the door, and I watched him go with a dismay only slightly tempered by the booklet in my hand.<br />He paused just before the door closed and he poked his head in, "And... don't go wandering around, I don't have time to go looking for you today."<br />I glared at the door for a few minutes. It wasn't like it was my fault I was here. I hadn’t done anything that warranted being shipped off to the destination of last resort, or whatever it was called. My mother was completely over-reacting.<br />I threw my hands in the air in frustration and then exerted all my effort to move my suitcase to my room. When I got there I wished I hadn't bothered. It was like the cheap hotels on TV that they hid witnesses in. Bedspread from the stone-age, window with exactly the same view as the other room, a little desk, no TV, no iPod dock, no color, blah, blah, blah. What was this, a prison?<br />I kicked my suitcase over and then climbed over it to unlock it. Once I had it open I started putting things in the drawers and hanging stuff in the closet. At the least it had plenty of room for my shoes, the slanted back wall made sure of that. When I was done I shoved the empty suitcase under the bed and plopped down on the mattress.<br />It wasn't very comfortable. I rolled over and grabbed the booklet. This thing had better have a few answers.<br />I finished the twenty-seven pages in just as many minutes and then started over again, sure I had missed something. It didn't make much sense and kept referring to government organizations I had never heard of before, even in Sci-fi flicks.<br />When I was finished with it the second time I tossed it aside and went to raid the fridge.<br />That wasn't going to pan out, unless I wanted some weird smelling yogurt or eggs. She didn't even have ketchup! This was insane.<br />I walked to the front door of the apartment and was happy to find that I could get out of it without waiting for "Peters" to open it for me. I looked up and down the hall and decided to see just how far I could go. I went the opposite direction of the elevator I had taken, only to find myself at an almost identical elevator bay. I walked around it, now looking down on the cotton ball sheep in their lush green field. I watched them wader around for a bit. They looked as bored as I was, only they got to walk around on a bed of food while I was starving.<br />I walked further around the level, coming to the elevator opposite the one I had taken before. As I went to go around the door a man's tenor came from the speaker by the doors.<br />"Didn't Reynolds tell you to stay put?"<br />I looked at the speaker and then looked around for the camera. Finding it I looked it dead in the lens, "Reynolds was supposed to see to my needs, not give me orders. I need something to eat, Peters."<br />The elevator started whirring behind the doors and when the light above it popped on the speaker sounded again, "Get in, I'll take you to the Mess level."<br />"Thank you, Peters," I told the camera.<br />"Just don't get me in trouble," the voice said as the doors closed.<br />The doors opened and the indicator light above the door read "M." Peters' voice spoke to me again. "Just follow the arrows and give them your name."<br />I stepped out and was walking away when I heard a faint, "I'm sending Reynolds after you if you aren't back in this elevator in twenty minutes!"<br />I winked at the closest camera and then did my best "these shoes make you want me, don't they?" walk down the hall. I could imagine Peters' panic level rising the more I ignored the arrows on the wall.<br />My rebellion didn't pay off though, because like the floors above, this one brought you back to where you had started, it just took longer. I might have walked right by the Mess hall and made him worry through another loop, but the scents coming from the kitchens were far too lovely. What they had called "lunch" on the plane had been tiny and inedible.<br />I strode purposefully toward a long buffet where food was displayed and a middle aged, grumpy looking woman stood guard. She watched me the whole way, but then so did others, and I wasn't about to tone it down for her when so many of the other glances were appreciative.<br />"I'm Tilly Moren," I said.<br />She looked at me blandly and started tapping a screen. She looked from it, to me, and back again. "Okay, go ahead," she said.<br />I went down the line, wishing there were chips or something, but settled for a bunch of fruit and some fries. It was something anyway, I didn't think dinner was too far away.<br />Once I had my tray filled I turned to survey my table choices. There were a lot of empty tables, but one large one was nearly filled with cute, athletic looking guys.<br />I walked towards them, and didn't even bother asking if I could sit down, the welcome was in their eyes. There was a general shift in positions at the table, as each guy tried to get his good side towards me. This was going to be fun.<br />"I haven't seen you around here before," the one on my left said. I reached to shake Smith's hand, and introduced myself as Tilly to the group at large.<br />"What department are you in?" Jones asked from my right.<br />"I don't think I'm supposed to talk about that," I said with a grin as I popped a grape in my mouth. It tasted wonderful.<br />I got the laughs I was looking for.<br />"You can talk to anybody in the Resort," Smith said. "We're all one big happy family at Nine.”<br />"Big happy family, huh..." I said, hiding my amusement at the word family. I doubted any of them was chummy with my relative. "So all the departments intermingle?"<br />"Oh yeah, a girl from eco just married a guy from IT last month," Jones said.<br />"Those are two very different departments," I bluffed.<br />I had guessed right, judging by the nods. "So how about up and down the scale?" I said as casually as possible. They exchanged glances and I read them like a book. Class distinctions existed no matter where you went, even in hollow mountains that stood ready to see a select sampling of humans through a nuclear crisis.<br />"I guess it's a good thing pyramids are broader at the bottom," I said opening my sandwich box and taking a huge bite. Smith seemed to get a kick out of watching me eat, and I was getting a kick out of toying with him. I wiped a bit of mayo off my lip with my finger and then licked it off. It worked just like it had on my ex-boyfriend.<br />I tossed my hair over my shoulder and asked, "So what department are you guys in?"<br />The answers varied but matched the standard stereotypes. The overly buff ones were in security. The quiet one was in eco. The one with the ponytail was in operations, which basically meant he did everything from mopping to fixing things.<br />"What are you in?" Jones asked again. I guess his security instincts were telling him something was up.<br />"Trouble," I said with a grin, I put the last bite of my sandwich in my mouth. "I have to get back before I'm missed."<br />I grabbed my salad bowl and stood up. Some of them looked like they wanted to protest my leaving, but Jones and his security buddies were looking downright suspicious. "Maybe I'll see you guys around," I said as casually as I could under the scrutiny. "It was nice meeting you."<br />I carried my dishes to the window by the kitchen. The lady collecting the dishes said it was fine if I took my salad with me. I wondered what it was like washing dishes all day in a whole in the ground. It had to suck.<br />When I turned back around to leave the whole group of guys were crowded around Jones as he did something with his phone. His eyebrows were knit together in the middle and he didn't like what he was seeing. I smiled and waved, but the waves I got in return were less than enthusiastic. My social life was going to suck if this is the way people reacted when they found out I was General Moren's niece.<br />I approached the elevator with a few minutes to spare and waited for it to open for me.<br />"What level?" a female voice asked as I entered.<br />"I have no idea," I said. "Did Peters go on break or something?"<br />"I'm sorry, I'll connect you immediately," she said hastily.<br />The elevator started moving upward and Peters' voice came on the speaker. "You are on level 95," he informed me, "Apartment N-95-3."<br />"My aunt doesn't rank level 100?" I scoffed.<br />"Nothing up there but the crystal Miss Moren," Peters said.<br />"I guess she's pretty high on the ladder then?" I asked.<br />"The only ones who out-rank her are the ones that will only show up when it hits the fan," Peters said. I decided right then that I liked him.<br />"So are you like the head of the invisible people department?" I asked.<br />"Nope, just lucky enough to be assigned floors 90 and up, and special services to certain residents," he said.<br />"So it's your job to keep an eye on me?" I asked.<br />"More or less, hope you don't mind," he said.<br />"Only if you don't mind me making it difficult for you sometimes," I said with a wicked grin.<br />"Only fair I guess, but if you ever need me, just ask at any com," he said.<br />We lapsed into silence as I wondered how hard it would be to lose him. Plans for the summer: Pet the sheep, explore the forest, find a place to hide from my new friend, and find someone to make-out with when I got there.<br />"Here you are," Peters said as the elevator stopped and the doors open. "Short way to your right, long way to your left."<br />I took the short way, he'd rather taken the fun out of deliberately going the wrong way. I took my time though, watching the people on the eco section walkways move along like ants on a branch. The height didn't bother me, especially not with this thick pane of glass and bannister keeping me safe. A city girl like me was used to views where the floor drops away and it's just you, the air, and the city below. I rather liked the way the view felt from here, it was more like flying.<br />I resisted the urge to spread out my arms and let my imagination run free. Peters might be watching, or someone else. There were cameras everywhere.<br />"It's a good thing I'm photogenic," I said to myself and grinned at my thought.<br />~<br />I was stepping away from the glass when I realized something. I wasn't up high enough. Not to be on the 95th floor. I stepped back to the glass and counted the levels, keeping my finger on the glass on top of every tenth floor to keep track. I had been right. I counted only 70 floors from the ground to the ceiling. There were only two above me, that I could see anyway, so was the crystal on floor 100 or not? Where were the other floors? Could there really be dozens of levels beneath the forest floor?<br />I stepped back and picked a carrot out of my salad to nibble on while I walked. This was not only the strangest place I had ever been, it was also the strangest place I had ever imagined. Of course, now that I was imagining, I thought of all kinds of strange things. I didn't really believe any of them really went on in the sub-sub-terranian levels, but it was fun to think none-the-less.<br />By the time Reynolds showed up, precisely 1730 by the clock on the wall, I had exhausted my mental repertoire of monsters and myths and had taken to going through the cupboards in my aunt's living room, looking for either information or entertainment, I would have taken either.<br />I had skimmed the contents pages of a hundred books before settling on the one I was reading, "Psychological Effects of Closed Environment Living." I'd only gotten a few pages in before he knocked.<br />He noticed the book right away, and gave it an odd look. He gently grabbed my wrist and brought it up for a peek at the page I was on. It was a little insulting, but he was a little too close, and his touch was a little too welcome on my wrist to be really mad at him. After all, how many almost-18-year-olds would read such a book?<br />"I take it you finished the information pamphlet," he said.<br />"Not that it contained any real information," I said with a sniff.<br />"Peters tells me you took a field trip," he said, striding across the room and settling into one of the chairs with the air of a man who has been on his feet too long.<br />I shrugged and folded myself up on the couch. He watched me tuck my legs up under my skirt and casually adjust the way the gathered tiers fell across the cushion. I was sure he got exactly how little I cared that I had been "caught."<br />"I wouldn't recommend making it a habit to eat in the mess, your aunt won't like it."<br />I cast him a dark look. Behind his poker face I saw a glimmer of laughter in his eyes. That's right, I thought, I'm not going to be tamed easily, but I bet you'd like to try.<br />My pleasure at the thought must have come through on my face because he looked away quickly. He noticed where I had left one of the storage compartments open and he got up to close it. Then he stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked around the room for something to talk about.<br />"If this is the 95th floor where are all the others?" I asked him.<br />He blinked at me, surprised I had added it up. "The walls extend that far down below what everyone thinks of as the ground floor. The center isn't hollowed out though. It's mostly machinery and storage."<br />"How do you generate the power?" I asked. I was looking around for something to use as a bookmark, but my aunt's Spartan lifestyle was failing me.<br />"I doubt you'd follow the science of the advanced solar system," he said re-opening the cupboard and retrieving a bookmark I had not noticed before. He sure knew his way around my aunt's apartment.<br />"I'm not that stupid, I graduated in the top 5% of my class," I said with my eyebrow arched.<br />He looked a bit sheepish, which was terribly sexy, and admitted, "I don't think I could explain it very well. There’s a generator on the underground river too."<br />I let the wry grin lift the left corner of my mouth, but decided not to be mean. You catch more flies with sugar, after all. This was one I would dearly like to catch.<br />"Your brain is probably way too full of the things you need for your job," I said. "What department do you head?"<br />The compliment made him forget why he retreated from me. He settled into the chair again as he explained exactly what a top level HR person has to handle in a place like this. It was mildly interesting, but what made it fascinating was the amount of pride and energy he associated with his job. He was absolutely delicious looking when he was energized.<br />"So if you have an entire department to run, how come you are here instead of my aunt?" I asked when he had wound down.<br />"I do what I can for your aunt," he said.<br />I arched my eyebrow, my mind immediately leaping to the full extent to which that phrase could be taken.<br />He hastened to correct me, "No, no, not that. She has... well I'll let her tell you about that, but we're co-workers and friends, that's all."<br />I tried not to show my hand too much, but I was very relieved he wasn't attached to my aunt. I was tempted to ask if he had a girlfriend here, but decided to bide my time.<br />"I guess there isn't a lot to do here in the evening, when you are a high level officer," I said instead.<br />"Yeah, she doesn't socialize much down the chain, but it's not like she has a lot of free time," he said checking his watch.<br />I looked over his head at the wall. 1755, nearly six o-clock and my aunt was still at work. Would she be this late every night? My mom was, back home, where it was almost eight right now. I wondered if she had even gone home yet, or if my absence was freeing her to be the work-a-holic she really wanted to be.<br />Reynolds reached to the center of the coffee table, where there was a little wooden box. It was the room's sole gesture towards decor, but I should have known it would serve a functional purpose. He took out a remote and pushed a button. A screen raised up from inside a cabinet across the room. He pushed a few more buttons and a menu came up with a list of foods available for dinner.<br />An indicator at the bottom showed that my aunt had already placed her order. I bet myself that she had ordered it at the same time as she ordered breakfast. She seemed boring that way.<br />He asked me what I wanted and then showed me how to enter my selections. It was pretty easy, just like operating a DVD player or something. Then he entered a code and ordered his own meal to be delivered here also.<br />When the confirmation screen came up I noticed there were several people joining us for dinner. "Who are all those people?" I asked Reynolds.<br />"The other department heads," he said. "We do dinner a few times a week."<br />"Don't the wives and children resent that?" I asked.<br />He shrugged. "I haven't heard any complaints. They are all together for lunch every day anyway. How many surface jobs can you say that about?"<br />I agreed there probably weren't many.<br />My expectations for the evening had gone way down now. The conversation was likely to be incredibly boring. I probably wouldn't be able to ask any of the bazillion questions I had running around my head and my curiosity would have to go un-sated for another day. I hoped the dessert would be more satisfying.<br />"Well, that's done," he said getting up and handing me the remote. "I'm sure you can figure out how to get the TV to work. We've got every channel in the world. I'll be back in time for dinner."<br />"Okay," I said, choosing to sound surprised he was leaving instead of disappointed. I didn't really feel like watching TV. What could be more interesting than this place? It sure beat Hilarious Home Videos.<br />As the door clicked shut behind him I decided to see what else this thing could do. I backed out to the menu and then searched around until I found where I could access Nine's information database. A little more digging got me into the floor plans and I clicked through the levels for several minutes, acquainting myself with the major features. There was the mess hall, and the school was on the same level. I also found the gym, the pools, the bowling alley and the racket ball courts on the levels below the "ground" floor. I had counted correctly, the forested level was number twenty-seven.<br />There were three levels beyond the window at the top, all dedicated to power collection and conversion. It was reached by only one of the "inclinators" as they called them. Apparently there was only one elevator, the one I had first entered up in "The Cube." It only let out on four floors, three in "The Cube" above and the entrance to the 27th floor. In between was nothing but solid rock, all the way up..<br />Looking around some more I discovered that level 90 wasn't just some even number they picked to assign to Peters. It was the level that held all the administrative offices. Above it were apartments assigned only to the bigwigs. Levels 85 through 89 held more offices, but the majority of the work done in at Nine was done below that, where the lesser ranks spent their lives.<br />A notification popped up on the screen and told me that my meal was leaving the kitchens. I checked the time and was surprised to find that I only had five minutes until everyone converged in on me. I backed out of the menus before turning the TV off, then scurried to my room to touch up my make-up and re-arrange my travel worn curls. If I was going to be dining with important people several times a week all summer, I wanted to make a good first impression.<br />~<br />I heard the click of the door and poked my head around the door frame to see my aunt come through the front door. She looked tired, like all she wanted to do was climb in a hot bath and forget that the world existed for a while. I knew that look. I had seen it on my mother's face a hundred times, a thousand times. She only ever wore it for a few minutes though, because as soon as she saw me watching her she would marshal on.<br />My aunt leaned against the door as she closed it softly behind her. She looked at the ceiling then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She let it out slowly, and when she drew in her next breath that strong face was back in place.<br />I pulled my head back in my room, picked up and dropped my eyeliner and waited for her to come find me. My hair was extra fluffed by the time she appeared at my door. She leaned against the frame, a kind of fondness in her eyes.<br />"Welcome home," I said, pretending I wasn't done with my preening.<br />"Thank you, you too," she said. "I know I kind of dropped all of this on you, but things came unraveled right before I had to go meet your plane."<br />I looked at her in confusion, and her jaw tightened as she drew a breath. I didn't know much about what she did, or what this place was really for, but if there was an emergency that required her attention, it was an emergency on a grand scale.<br />"We aren't being attacked are we?" I asked her. I now regretted not watching the news.<br />"Not yet," she said. It came out in a level tone that spelled out the certainty of her knowledge.<br />"Is my mother coming?" I asked her, "Why didn't she come on the same flight as me?"<br />"She has a few days," Aunt Marsha said comfortingly. "She'll be here soon. She's helping get others notified and transported."<br />"Wait...she's... my mom works for you?"<br />"Madeline has been part of this since before you were born," Aunt Marsha explained.<br />"And no one ever told me? Is my father part of this too? Is that why she never talks about him?" I asked, a little spark of hope flying amidst the worries that filled my chest.<br />"Your father is not part of this," she said through slightly tightened lips. "I'm afraid I don't know much about him."<br />I nodded. My mother didn't either, but then... she had kept all this a secret, hadn't she? I was going to have to talk to her, when she was safely here.<br />"I have guests coming for dinner I'm afraid," my aunt told me. "I was going to delay it but..."<br />"Things unraveled," I finished for her. "It's no big deal. Should I eat my meal in here so you can talk freely?"<br />She looked at me with a little more respect and considered, "No, you may eat with us. You are a Moren. You may be young, willful, and disobedient, but I expect you will be a fine officer someday."<br />"Officer?" I asked in surprise, but just then there was knock at the door.<br />Aunt Marsha went to answer it, and I followed slowly. It was the food, stacked on trays inside an insulated cart. I followed my aunt's example and moved the trays to the coffee table. There wasn't an inch to spare around the little box.<br />As the Food Services girl was leaving Reynolds came in. He and Aunt Martha worked silently, moving the kitchen table into the room, raising the leaves, and then pressing unseen catches under the coffee table to make it rise up to regular table height.<br />Between the two tables there was plenty of room for the ten trays of food. Reynolds went around re-arranging them according to the names written on the lids. Aunt Marsha stepped into her room and re-appeared minutes later in casual clothes, shaking out the tight knot that had restrained her hair.<br />"We aren't going to fit at this table soon," Reynolds said taking his seat. I looked for my tray and found it by my aunt's, whose tray was at the end. I wondered if my mother's position was high enough that she would have otherwise rated a place at this table. I didn't know how to ask though, and someone was at the door anyway. They had barely knocked before my aunt opened it. On the other side of the door stood a burly man in his late forties who took a moment to take stock of me before turning to kiss my aunt fondly on the cheek.<br />They were being quite proper, but I noticed the way she clung to his arm, the way their cheeks lingered together, the way he took a deep breath before letting her go. So this was my aunt's boyfriend. Not bad. He obviously cared for her, and he was the right rank to boot.<br />He crossed the room to me and I met his firm handshake with one of my own. He didn't fail to recognize the "Moren grip" as my mother called it. "It's good to meet you Mathilda," he said.<br />"It's good to meet you too, General Heinz," I said with a quick glance at the name stitched onto his uniform.<br />The door chimed again and he released my hand with a nod and made his way towards my aunt's bedroom. He was unbuttoning his collar before the door closed behind him. I turned my eyes towards the front door to see all the rest of our party stream through it.<br />There were no name tags to cheat off of this time, so I went through a round of introductions I was sure to forget. They were Lyman from Eco, Harris of Operations, Packer from IT, Dr. Reed of Health, Foreman from Power, and Leeds from Services. Heinz was definitely security, going by his haircut and bulky shoulders. He was back now, standing next to my aunt in a comfortable way.<br />We all took our places at the table then, and I followed the others example in stacking my tray's lid in the middle of the table and then digging in. I was about a dozen bites in when Heinz looked at my plate with a grin. "Are you sure you are going to be able to finish all that after such a late lunch?"<br />I tweaked my mouth to the side. Of course he knew about my trip to the mess, he was security. That didn't explain the grins on everyone else's faces though.<br />"You guys must not get a lot of new people, if my eating habits are common knowledge already," I said.<br />Reynolds smiled, "We hear a lot more of the gossip in our departments than they think we do."<br />"Well I'm glad to have given everyone something to distract the masses while you dealt with bigger issues," I said taking a bite.<br />Several of them glanced at my aunt and she nodded. The tone in the room changed quite a bit then. I listened attentively as arrivals were outlined and plans were made for the next day.<br />I still hadn't figured out who was attacking us, but I got the feeling that it was an international us versus them thing by the way Packer talked about translators. My aunt kept mentioning names I was sure I should know; had I paid more attention to the news my mother was always watching. Whatever it was, it was big.<br />The phone on Packer's hip went off and he checked the screen. He nodded to himself and then passed it over to my aunt. A bit of the strain around her eyes eased and she passed it to me. I looked at the screen and breathed a sigh of relief. My mother was on a plane and would arrive in a few hours.<br />I passed the phone back to Packer and noticed the way Heinz gave Aunt Marsha's hand a squeeze. She smiled at him and then cocked an eyebrow. He grinned and nodded, and she cleared her throat to get everyone's attention.<br />"We've just received word that my sister, Madeline, will be arriving at 2300. As you know, it has been many years since Ambassador Moren has been with us, and I've been putting something off until she could be here. If it wouldn't be too much trouble I'd like to invite each of you, and your families, to join us in the courthouse at 0900."<br />Cheers were erupting around the table before I managed to catch what she was saying, but the grins filled me in. It seemed the Heinz-Moren wedding had been a long awaited event here in Nine. I double checked to make sure my mouth wasn't hanging open.<br />It was odd, to be celebrating amidst the preparations for an impeding disaster. I was having this odd glimpse of how this community was isolated from the rest of the world, both physically and emotionally. I wondered if I would ever come to grips with my providence in contrast to that of nearly everyone I had ever known. The guilt that I had been trying to ignore all day had built inside me until it threatened to overflow. I pushed it down, and plastered on a smile, but I doubted I was fooling my aunt.<br />As the boisterous congratulations ebbed away so did the urgency of my emotions, and I had them under control by the time conversation had returned to the logistics of the next day.<br />~<br />My aunt couldn't get away to go to the airport, so I rode over with Jones and Smith in a bus. My mother wasn't the only one coming in under the cloak of darkness. The local airport was going to get a lot of flights in the next few days.<br />I sighed in relief when she came around the corner. She was still in her suit, wearing those killer heels and pulling a wheeled carry on. It was a familiar sight, and it comforted me in a way I would never admit. Nothing could get the better of my mother.<br />When she reached my side she passed off her case to Jones, and folded me into a hug. I soaked in the feel of her, and vowed to myself I would never take her hugs for granted again. I tried not to think of all the last hugs that would be exchanged soon all over the world.<br />We didn't speak as we rode back to The Cube in the crowded bus. Everyone else was quiet too, except the exhausted children whose cries were muffled by the luggage packed in every spare inch. The adults look strained, the teens looked angry, and many eyes were red amid brave faces.<br />When The Cube opened up for us I saw the looks of confusion on the faces of the teens and children. They had not been told either. I felt bad for them, at least I had been able to say goodbye to my friends, even if I hadn't known it was permanent.<br />The elevator had to be taken in shifts, and Mom and I remained in the Cube until the last load with Smith and the last of the luggage. We arrived at floor 27 amid quite a bit of confusion over suitcases. When it was all sorted out I noticed mom had packed almost all the suitcases we owned. I didn't think there was room in Aunt Marsha's apartment for all of them.<br />Reynolds was approaching the group, but Mom didn't seem to think we needed to stay with the others and listen. She grabbed ahold of the cart with our bags on them and headed off to an inclinator. I followed behind, but hesitated when she turned towards E-95 instead of N-95.<br />She looked back over her shoulder at me, "Don't tell me you thought we were sharing a room for the rest of our lives," she said with a smirk. I smiled and shrugged, following her to E-95-1. The door unlocked as she approached and together we managed to get the cart through the door.<br />Our apartment was bigger than Aunt Marsha's, with a third bedroom down a hall, and a full dining room instead of an eat-in kitchen. The furnishings were better too, reflecting my mother's contemporary taste and favorite color palate. It made it feel more like home.<br />"I should go get my stuff from Aunt Marsha's," I said heading for the door.<br />"We can get it tomorrow," Mom said.<br />I scrunched my face at her, "Yeah but I don't want to get up at the crack of dawn to iron a dress for her wedding. I'd rather do it before bed."<br />Her jaw dropped open.<br />"Oh... she didn't tell you?" I said.<br />"Well...," she stammered. "She said she had a surprise for me for when I came to get you... but getting married, amid all of this?" She said waving her hand around in the air.<br />I grinned, "0900 hours," I said brightly as I opened the door.<br />She was on my heels, and passed me up as we rounded the bend from East to North. She knew just where to glare when the handle wouldn't turn, and Peters quickly complied.<br />The apartment was empty. After my mother peeked her head in the rooms she went right back out the front door. "Alright, where is she?" she asked the camera.<br />"General Moren is in the command center," Peters politely responded. "Welcome home Ambassador Moren," he added as Mom double timed it to the inclinators.<br />"Thank you, um..." she said.<br />"Peters, Andrew Peters, Access Specialist for 90 plus," he said from the speaker next to the inclinators.<br />My mother nodded, the distraction apparent on her face as she waited for the inclinator to return.<br />"Would you like me to order anything up to your room?" Peters asked, probably concerned by the tapping of my Mother's toe.<br />"Not at this time, thank you," Mom said.<br />"I'm going to need about a gallon of chocolate ice cream," I said. Peters was only too happy to assure me it would be in my freezer within half an hour. His position on my friends list jumped about five spaces.<br />The doors opened and we stepped on the inclinator. It was a short ride down to 90 and we were soon marching through the lobby towards a tired looking secretary. She jumped up and opened a door for us, saying, "General Moren is expecting you,” as we went right by her.<br />Aunt Marsha turned away from the wall of screens to receive the bear hug my mom had for her. General Heinz was close at hand to receive the congratulations and dire warnings of his soon-to-be-sister.<br />I turned to watch the screens, gathering what information I could from them. It didn't take long to discover I was looking at maps of all the communist countries in the world. I shook my head, saddened that mankind was still fighting this battle.<br />A row of people were bent over their computers at the end of the room, reading furiously and occasionally selecting blocks of text and copying it up to the big screens at the front.<br />My mother surveyed the information with a grave face, shaking her head. "You sure you can spare the time for the ceremony? Maybe you should have it in here."<br />~<br />They did spare time for the ceremony, but then the courthouse was only around the corner on level 90 and Lyman from Eco was some kind of justice of the peace. It took about five minutes for the bride, all dressed in blue, and the groom, in his dress uniform, to say I do and exchange rings. My grandfather Moren's ring was a little tight for Heinz's muscular finger, but the rings he had ordered online months ago for Aunt Marsha fit just right. Someone mentioned they were glad we had a jeweler in Nine, because online wouldn't be an option in the future. I prayed my aunt hadn't heard the comment. Let her have her five minutes, people, I thought.<br />I was filing out the door behind them when I noticed something at the side of the room that completely distracted me from being happy for my aunt. Reynolds was at the end of the bench, his arm around a cute blonde with a miniature nose and an impressive rack. His head was leaned in to hear what she was saying, and the glimmer in her eyes killed every hope I had of changing my last name to Reynolds. I didn't know who she was, but he was hers.<br />I shoved the disappointment aside and decided it was his loss. It just kind of made me sad to let go of the hope. I had spent more time with him than most of the other people in Nine, and now I didn't want to hang around with him if he wasn't going to find me as interesting as I had found him. I suddenly felt rather lonely.<br />After the ceremony they all went right back to work and I wandered into the room with the big screens along with the rest of my family. Judging by the screens that were showing news stations, it appeared that the rest of the world was starting to catch on to the tensions we already knew about. The President had a press conference scheduled, senators and representatives were unavailable for comment, people were out on the street with signs proclaiming the need to repent immediately. It was kind of sad to know how right they were.<br />"Hey," I whispered to my mom as a thought occurred to me, "The President isn't coming to live here, is he?"<br />She shook her head, "Politicians don't usually meet the criteria for admittance." She smiled a little, "Though once we are in lock down we have to elect The Council and we'll have them anyway."<br />"Won't the department heads just lead the resort?" I asked.<br />"No, we'll do our jobs, but we will answer to The Council," she said. "Your aunt's life will be a lot less busy then. She's been like an acting mayor and council all in one for far too long. It's about time she took a break."<br />"What exactly will she do then, and what about you?" I asked.<br />"I'll be working with Marsha in IRC-IDC, Inter-Resort Communications and Inter-Department Coordination, or Inter-net as we call it between ourselves."<br />"Inter-net?" I asked, not following the sisterly joke.<br />"Yeah, because we'll be the net catching all the crap that falls through the cracks," she said with a grin as she looked back at the screens. "It's designed to be a temporary department."<br />"Temporary? Why?" I asked.<br />"Because we are supposed to be sewing up the cracks and making the whole community work together better. If we do our jobs right we can retire in a few years."<br />I couldn't imagine my mother as a retired person. She'd go crazy in a week. Then I'd have to quit my job and take care of her. I wasn't sure what my job was going to be though.<br />I was about to ask my mom when a screen lit up and she had to go converse with some guy in Scotland. I wandered out at that point and decided to finish moving my stuff out of Aunt Marsha's place and into my new home.<br />"Don't look so bored," Peters teased me as I stepped into the inclinator.<br />"I'm not bored, I'm thoughtful," I said. "I'm headed back up to 95," I told him.<br />"Credit for your thoughts?" he asked.<br />"Credit?" I asked.<br />"Yeah, we don't have pennies, just credit for hours worked," he said.<br />"Oh," I said. "Well you can keep your credits; I was just wondering a bunch of stuff."<br />"Like what?" he asked as the doors opened at my level.<br />"Like a lot of stuff. I don't need to waste your time, you've got work to do," I said.<br />"It's not so bad right now, and I'm off in an hour, finally," he said from the next speaker as I walked down the hall. He did sound tired. "Feel free to look me up on the com if you need anything though," he said. "You know how to use it right?"<br />"I'm learning," I said. "You get some rest though, I'll be fine."<br />He let me in Aunt Marsha's apartment and I pulled the suitcase out from under the bed and started loading it. Once it was full I nearly yanked out my arm getting it to the hallway. I was glad no one seemed to be around on the floor because I was sure I looked like an idiot lugging it a few feet at a time down the hall.<br />I got nearly to the corner and a door opened. Reynolds came out and blinked at the sight of me. My face got warm.<br />"Hey," I said feeling highly awkward.<br />"Hey yourself," he said coming over and lifting the huge case easily. He started walking in the direction of my new apartment and I matched his stride.<br />"Everyone here must work out a lot," I said.<br />He shrugged his free shoulder, "I'm doing a tour in an hour for the new arrivals, we'll go right by the gym, if you want to start," he said. He looked about as tired as Peters had sounded. I was starting to wonder if I had been the only person sleeping on levels 90 plus last night.<br />We reached my door and it unlocked for us. He carried my case into my bedroom and left without saying much else. I was a little relieved that he, like everyone else, didn't have any time for me today.<br />Nearly an hour later I was in the inclinator headed to 27 to join the tour. I found a large crowd in the lobby by the elevator. There were people of every sort here, every color, and every social class (going by the clothes). The thing that seemed to unite them was the overwhelmed look in their eyes.<br />I made my way through to Reynolds, who had plastered on a happy face though his color was off. He was going over a list and counting heads, trying to match them to the list. What he really needed was a nap, but failing that at least I could help him.<br />I climbed up on a bench behind him and looked out over the milling and anxious crowed. No wonder he couldn't get the list matched up, half of them were pacing. I could fix that.<br />"Ladies and gentlemen," I called out, and the hubbub died down. "Thank you everyone. We'd like to get started, but we need to make sure we have everyone accounted for. If you could stand with your families and then send forward one family member to report to Reynolds here that would be great."<br />Reynolds flashed me a thankful grin as the crowd complied quickly. Soon the list was all checked off and Reynolds was ready to lead us out. I walked behind him a few steps but then noticed out of the corner of my eye that a young couple was having trouble with their three kids, so I took the oldest one by the hand and walked with them.<br />Reynolds mostly showed the group the features I had noticed yesterday on the maps I had discovered on the com. When we got to the 90th floor he had everyone check in with the harried workers in his department so they could be given ID badges, and the adults could be assigned a mobile communication device.<br />Reynolds brought one to me, too. "Technically you don't rate one of these for another two weeks," he said. I was surprised he knew when my birthday was. "I figure you might as well have it now."<br />"Thanks," I said. Looking up at the screen overhead and following the directions to place my right thumb on it and speak my name. "Tilly Morden," I said. It remained silent in my hand.<br />He smiled, "You have to use your real name, Mathilda," he said.<br />I scrunched my face at him, and for a second it felt like we were friends, but someone pulled him away and the conversation was over.<br />I tried again, successfully claiming the phone. Then I listened as Reynolds told everyone they could return to their apartments and their supervisors would be contacting them shortly. I debated on what to do, then I decided to pop in on my mom before going back home.<br />She was at Aunt Marsha's side, looking like she was going to fall over. I didn't distract her from the screens, but found a com and ordered her favorite caffeine to be sent up immediately. I went out to wait for it in the lobby, and when the cart arrived I pressed it into her hand. She looked down at it in surprise, and then shot me a thankful smile before returning her eyes to the screens.<br />I did that a lot over the next few weeks, popping in and out of the Communications Room, making sure my mom ate and slept enough to function. The days started to blend together. I slept when I felt like it, poured over every bit of information I could get my hands on, ordered meals when my belly said to, and added everyone I had met to the chat list on my phone, just so I wouldn't look as friendless as I felt.<br />I was a little surprised one day when I waked into the Communications Room and saw a familiar set of numbers up on the wall. It was my birthday. I had been an adult for hours and hadn't even known it.<br />My mother was still in her zombie state though, so I decided to live up to my age and not pout. The world was falling apart, I was lucky to be alive today and not a shadow on a wall, like millions of others on the surface had become. It would be selfish to demand attention at a time like this.<br />I was coming out of the Communications Room when the phone in my hip pocket vibrated. The screen said A. Peters and I looked up at the camera in the corner as I answered it.<br />"Peters?"<br />"Did I hear your Mom call you Tilly in the inclinator this morning?"<br />"Yeah... I said wandering out to the hall and leaning against the glass. "Everyone calls me Tilly... or at least... well you know.... Hey how come you never called me before?"<br />"I wasn't sure you would want me too," he said. There was a slight uncertainty in his voice, and I felt bad. He had always been so helpful, and I had been a snobbish 90 plus to him for weeks.<br />"Of course I would," I said. "You're like the only friend I've got in this place."<br />"Well, I'm glad to hear that, because I have a little surprise for you," he said.<br />"You do?" I asked in surprise. "What is it?"<br />"A SURPRISE. You'll have to come get it though, my break is almost over," he said.<br />"Umm..." I said spinning around and trying to think which direction to go. I didn't have a clue where to find him.<br />He chuckled, and the sound of it made me smile. I didn't think I had smiled a real smile in over a week. It felt good.<br />"North-West inclinator," he instructed me and I turned and walked towards it, my step light and my completely un-sensible shoes kicking at the front of my tie-dyed skirt. The inclinator was open and waiting for me when I reached it, and then closed in the faces of others approaching it. It zipped down to level 50 and then Peter's voice in my ear instructed me to turn left. I walked quickly along the hall, anticipation building in my belly.<br />"Stop," he said. The door on my right clicked to unlock and I reached over to push it open.<br />Inside the room was pretty dark, and I squinted to make out the pictures on the screens on the walls. A million little pictures of halls and inclinators were being watched by a dozen dark forms at keyboards. Their pale fingers flew over the keys, moving inclinators, opening doors. Their voices were a low babble as they communicated with people all over Nine.<br />"I'm over here," I heard from my left, and it echoed in the phone at my ear. I lowered the phone to see the flicker of flame as a lighter brought a row of candles to life.<br />"Better come blow them out before they set off the sprinklers," said the friend I still couldn't see.<br />I leaned over the warm orange glow, grinning at the words "Happy 18th Tilly!" carved into the icing on the cake. He must have written it while I was walking here.<br />Now that I was faced with the candles though I found I was unable to make a wish. My life had changed so much in the last few days; the world had changed so much. I had changed so much. I would have wished for so many things, before... but now...<br />"That must be some wish," Peters said with a chuckle.<br />I grinned and shrugged, "I'm alive, what more is there?” I gulped in a breath and blew out the candles while something inside me begged for the wish I would not allow my mind to form. I would not wish for love, I would never again cheapen the gift I had been given by wishing for more.<br />In the darkness I saw a pair of hands fanning the smoke with me, but he stepped away before I could see his face. As he stood in the light of the refrigerator across the room I studied his form. He was built well, like he belonged in security instead of up here with the headset zombies. There was one obvious difference though, where his right foot should have been there was a black piece of metal instead. I was still staring at it when he turned around.<br />My eyes traveled up his body, but he ducked his head and lifted the unorthodox prosthetic to give me a better look. "This isn't going to weird you out, is it?" he asked, that uncertainty in his voice again. "I wasn't sure if I should warn you..."<br />I wasn't paying attention to his prosthesis though, because I couldn't take my eyes off his face.<br />He took a step towards me, his eyes locked on mine, his emotions flickering across his face faster than the racing of my heart. He kept looking back and forth between my eyes like he was trying to read my thoughts.<br />I didn't care if he could read them, in fact I wished he could, because all I was thinking was I had just found the thing I hadn't dared to wish for.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;">The Cube Part II – The Pyramid<br /></span>His brown eyes were twinkling under those wild and thick brows. I don't know how long I stood there smiling into them before someone approaching us made him look away. I could have looked in Andrew Peters' eyes all day.<br />"We'd better get this cut," he said putting down the juice I hadn't even noticed in his hand and picking up a butter knife.<br />"You going to eat all of that yourselves?" the other Access Specialist asked coming into the break area.<br />"Of course not," I said. "Do you want some?" I offered him the piece that Peters had just cut for me.<br />"Thanks," he said, taking the plate and sitting down at the table. He dug in while Peters shook his head and cut me another piece.<br />"You eat this one, Tilly," he said handing me the plate.<br />"No, no, you eat it, your break is over soon," I said pushing the plate back at him and taking the knife. His grin twitched a bit and my heart skipped a beat, he had such a sexy smile.<br />"I didn't know you had a girlfriend, Peters," the other guy said around his last mouthful of cake.<br />Andrew's face colored a bit in the soft glow of the screens and I worried he was going to choke on his first bite.<br />"Imagine that, an Access Specialist who doesn't know everything about everyone," I said sitting down next to Andrew with a swish of my skirt.<br />Andrew got control of the food in his mouth, "We're not... um..." he started but I cut in.<br />"We don't want to start a bunch of rumors right now, not with everything that's going on," I said. "I'm sure you can understand that..." I squinted at his name tag, "Henderson."<br />He clearly didn't understand why anyone would care if Peters had a girlfriend. He cast his eyes over at the cake which now read Happy Till and then looked back at me, trying to place my face as I happily ate my cake.<br />I doubted he was having much luck. I didn't look much like my mother's side of the family. I assumed I looked like my father, but I didn't really know because I had never met him. My mother knew him very briefly. Very very briefly knew him, if you get what I mean.<br />"How long have you got left?" I asked Andrew.<br />He glanced at the clock, "About five minutes."<br />"Walk me to the inclinator?" I asked standing up and carrying my empty plate to the sink.<br />He stood up without a word and placed his barely touched cake on the counter. I looped my arm through his and we strode from the room. As the door closed behind us I heard the rattle of a chair being hastily stood up from.<br />"You're still blushing," I whispered to him as we strolled along.<br />"Do you realize that you just started a rumor about us?" he whispered back.<br />"Uh-huh," I said with a grin.<br />"And you realize they are all probably watching us right now?" he whispered.<br />"There's always someone watching," I said. "You should know that better than anyone."<br />"Yeah, but what I don't know is why you just did that," he said stopping and pulling me over to the window side of the hallway.<br />I had been a lot braver in the half light of the Access Room. Now, in the full light shining down from the pinnacle I realized how rash my actions had been. I looked around nervously for the closest camera, anything but meeting his eyes right now.<br />"Don't worry, this is the dead zone on the hall," he said in a low voice through tight lips. "As long as we keep it down they can't hear us."<br />"Well that's good," I said ducking my head. "I'm sorry, I don't know what got into me," I told him. "You can go back and tell him it was just a joke. It won't be long until everyone knows I'm a bit of a wild card."<br />He grinned and glanced at my tie-dyed skirt. I laughed. It was such a contrast against his crisp, navy-blue uniform.<br />I glanced up at him and my heart skipped a beat. He had an unmistakable tenderness in his eye, and that sexy smile was on his lips. It curled as perfectly as his eyelashes did. I could spend a whole day with an eyelash curler and never get lashes like that.<br />He was studying my eyes again, trying to read my mind. If he had been able to he would have known how desperately I wanted to kiss him right then, find out if his lips were as soft as they looked. I kept looking from his lips to his eyes, wishing I had the guts.<br />"What would you do," he asked with a mischievous glint in his eye, "if I didn't go back in there and bail you out of your little joke?"<br />"I don't think you want to know," I said arching my eyebrow evilly.<br />"Oh I think I do," he said.<br />I grinned and looked out the window for a moment, getting my words straight before I said them. "Well, I see it like this," I said, my belly twisted in knots. "You've got two options. One: You can go in there and tell them your friend Tilly was just having a little fun with them," I paused and his eyes twinkled in expectation of the threat. "Or, Two: you can go in there and say nothing, and let them watch you come up for dinner at my place, whenever they let you out of that dark little hole."<br />I didn't stay to watch his reaction, but spun around and flounced off down the hall to the inclinators, certain I had left him befuddled and bemused in the dead zone. I was battling down a many headed monster that had erupted inside my belly, knowing full well that I may have just alienated my only friend.<br />I tried to tell myself I didn't care, that I wouldn't have been able to hide my feelings for him every time I looked at the camera anyway, but I did care. I wanted him to be a real part of my life, not just a casual friend. I had known that the moment I saw his eyes.<br />I stopped at the door to the inclinators and folded my arms around me to try and calm the beast in my belly. I clutched my shirt and took a deep breath. I was letting it out slowly when I felt a hand on mine.<br />I looked back over my shoulder and he was there, right behind me and looking down with the most perplexing expression on his face. I arched my eyebrow and he leaned into my ear to whisper, "I choose option number three. I felt his arms snake around my waist and he placed a kiss on top of my head. It burned through to my scalp and sent shivers down my spine. He hugged me to him and said clearly, "I'll see you at 1830?"<br />"If you know what's good for you, you'll be there at 1815," I said tilting my face up to look at him.<br />At first there was laughter in those brown eyes, but then they became clouded with heat. His eyes slid down my face to my lips and I prayed, prayed harder than I had ever prayed, but then he winked and released me.<br />I watched him walk away. So natural and strong on that simple yet efficient curved metal prosthetic. He was incredible. He disappeared through the door to Access, and I nearly missed the inclinator behind me.<br />~<br />As I stepped out of the inclinator on my floor I was unable to contain my grin. I had a spring in my step as I walked to my apartment door and winked at the camera. It opened for me and I went directly to the com.<br />I pulled up the meal menu and selected a meal to be delivered at 1830. At the end of the process I noticed A. Peters had already ordered his delivered at 1810. I clasped my hand to my mouth in excitement.<br />I decided to make sure my date was un-interrupted and after moving my delivery time to 1810 I ordered my mother's meal to be delivered to the Communications Room at 1800. I hoped she wouldn't notice that it wasn't me that brought it in the room tonight.<br />With hours to wait I decided to tidy up the apartment. Then I changed clothes about twenty times. Finally satisfied with my appearance I tried to read for a while but I simply couldn't concentrate.<br />I turned to the com for entertainment, but most of the stations were off the air now, so it was depressing news or Resort information. I flicked through the information menus and then noticed that one was labeled "Personnel Files."<br />I doubted I would get far without some kind of password, so I opened it up just to see. The Resorts were listed, one through twelve, with their country of location around the world. There were four in North America, two in South America, one in Scotland, two others in Europe, one in Africa, one in Australia, and one in India.<br />I clicked on Nine and it brought up a list of departments. Clicking through I found I could access a short bio on each person, but of course was asked for a password to pull up the full file. Back on the main Nine screen I found a list marked "Dependent Personnel."<br />Sure enough I found my own file, complete with a picture of me that seemed to have been taken as I approached The Cube on my arrival. It wasn't too bad I supposed, I looked strong and defiant. I bet my aunt had picked it out, though I had no idea when she had found the time.<br />It listed my full name and, thankfully, listed my preferred name after that. My age had been updated to eighteen already, so I supposed it was electronically generated. Under "Career Status" it listed me as an Adult Dependent. I wondered how many other Adult Dependents there were. It kind of irritated me. I didn't want to hang around with nothing productive to do all day, but as long as my family stayed shut-up in the Communication Room I was stuck being a no-body.<br />I started reading the bio,<br />Daughter of Ambassador Madeline Moren, niece of General Marsha Moren, and grand-daughter of Lead Architect Miles Moren, Tilly Moren was raised in Washington D.C. while her mother conducted recruitment and fundraising missions. Tilly exhibited a hereditary pre-disposition for intelligence when she taught herself to read at the age of four. She was enrolled a year early in Private School and Graduated in the top 5% of her class.<br />Not a word about my father there either, which shouldn't have surprised me. By this you'd think I was born by way of immaculate conception and therefore, doomed to greatness.<br />What did surprise me was that my grandfather was listed, and not just listed, given what was obviously a Resort title, Lead Architect. I only remembered meeting him once, when I was very little. He was very sick and in the hospital. I wasn't sure but I thought he may have died shortly afterwards.<br />I looked everywhere I could think in the com but couldn't find a file on him. I was just about to throw the remote at the screen in frustration when there was a knock at the door.<br />I looked at the clock in a panic. It was 1805. Was that Andrew or the dinner cart? I was so flustered I wasn't ready for either.<br />The knock came again. I ran to my room and checked myself over then deciding I wouldn't get any better in the next thirty seconds I ran back to the door. I stopped with my hand on the handle and took a deep breath. I let it out slowly and then opened the door.<br />The attendant with the cart was raising her hand to knock again, and looked flustered when the door moved from under her hand. She had barely pushed the cart through the door when Andrew appeared in the doorway, looking melt-your-butter delicious. How was it he was wearing the same outfit as earlier that day, the same navy blue the entire Security Department wore, and he still made my knees weak? I'd spent a good deal of time getting ready for him and he looked entirely un-phased by my beauty.<br />The attendant left, not doing well at hiding her interest in what two people from such different levels were having a private dinner together for. I didn't care what she thought though. Apparently Andrew didn't either.<br />He closed the door behind her as I opened up the trays on the dining room table. "You weren't trying to hack into my profile were you?" I heard from the other room.<br />Now why hadn't I thought of that? I hadn't even opened the Security Department personnel files.<br />He seemed to have taken my silence wrong. "Tilly, they take hacking very seriously here," he said.<br />"I wasn’t hacking, Peters," I said. He looked doubtful. Maybe he had read that ridiculous bio on me. "I didn't even try to guess my mom's password, Andrew." I said defensively. This date wasn't getting off to a good start.<br />It only took a second for him to decide he believed me, and I was very relieved to see his shoulders shrug a bit as he said, "Okay, so did you find what you were looking for?"<br />"No, but I'll look later," I said dismissively. "Have a seat."<br />"After you," he said going around to pull out my chair.<br />I couldn't help but grin as I took my seat. I'd been out with a lot of guys from school. Youthful heirs of political dynasties, home-state transplant sons of grass-root congressmen, the occasional dot-com brat, but not one of them had possessed the humble self-assurance that Andrew had.<br />He sat down across from me and fixed those brown eyes on me, then he smiled. "This is the first first-date I've been on where we didn't have menus to hide behind for the first ten minutes,' he said.<br />"I know!" I said with a laugh. "It's very weird, isn't it?"<br />He smiled and took the lid off his salad.<br />"So... you haven't been on many dates here at Nine?" I asked as I poured my raspberry vinaigrette over my strawberry salad.<br />"None, actually," he said.<br />"How long have you been here?" I asked him.<br />He looked at me oddly, "You really didn't read my bio?"<br />I flushed, "Should I have?"<br />He shrugged, but with his eyebrows and not with his shoulders, like he was surprised, like it was something everyone did. He poked at his food before answering, "I've been here about a year," he said.<br />"And before that?" I asked.<br />"The Army, training, deployment, hospitals, rehabilitation," he said.<br />"You must have started pretty young," I said. I wasn't sure how old he was, but he had to be less than 25.<br />"Enlisted on my 18th birthday," he said proudly. "It was only a week before I was at Fort Jackson."<br />"Did you like it?" I asked, because his eyes seemed a little sad.<br />"I did, I really did," he said.<br />"But then you got deployed..." I said.<br />He nodded, "I didn't get to stay long though." I heard a scrape as he moved his prosthetic on the floor.<br />We were silent for a while; he lost in his thoughts and me wishing I could read them. "You miss it don't you?" I asked.<br />He looked at me in surprise, "Yeah, I do."<br />He kept his eyes on mine then, and I tried not to cry, I didn't want him to think I pitied him. Because he was anything but pitiful, he was remarkable. I was terribly proud of him, though I really had no right to be.<br />I felt like I did though. I felt like he was mine.<br />"It must be hard, being down here when the fight is out there," I said.<br />He shrugged his shoulders this time, and then said, "I'm still serving. I'm here to protect..." and I knew he almost said "I'm here to protect you."<br />I ducked my head down, because tears were threatening again, and I didn't even know why.<br />"This is probably the worst conversation to be having on your birthday," he said apologetically.<br />I laughed. "No it's fine. I want to know about you." I said.<br />"I want to know about you, too," he said. "Let's talk about you for a while."<br />"There isn't much to tell," I said. "You read my bio."<br />"Yeah, that'll be great for our grandchildren to read, but it doesn't say much about you." He went on to talk about how I got up on that bench my second day and acted like I owned the place, but I was still stuck on the word "our" and how completely right it had sounded falling from his lips.<br />"It kind of reminded me of the way your Grandfather was in that video," he was saying, and my mind went into overdrive catching up.<br />"There's a video of my Grandfather?" I said in shock.<br />He knitted his eyebrows together, "Well yeah... didn't anyone sit you down and make you watch the founding videos?"<br />I rolled my eyes, "No one tells me anything."<br />He chuckled, "You want to go watch them now?"<br />"No," I replied. "I'll watch them tomorrow when you're at work and I'm doing nothing but being a useless 'adult dependent'."<br />"You're not useless," he said reaching his hand over and putting it on my arm. "You take care of your mom all the time, I've seen you. Besides, you'll pick a career path soon. You only turned 18 today."<br />"Maybe I'll become an Access Specialist and hang out with you all day," I said.<br />He shook his head, "We Cyborgs only see each other on breaks," he said. I'd rather you got a job on 90."<br />"Yeah but then I'd only see you on breaks," I whined. In the back of my mind it occurred to me that some people might find it creepy for your boyfriend to watch you through a camera all day, but I found it comforting, because he would be watching out for me, like he had all along.<br />"Yeah but you're the one who's nice to look at," he said running his finger up and down my left forearm in the most tantalizing way. The simple touch was making it harder for me to breathe.<br />"I like looking at you," I said letting my eyes wander all over his face.<br />He slid his hand down to my hand and picked it up. He brought it to his face and placed a kiss on my fingers. The thrill of it ran down my arm and straight into my heart. His eyes twinkled beneath those curly lashes and I completely forgot about my food for the longest time.<br />A ringing on his belt broke the spell and he took the phone quickly from its pocket. He answered it, and nodded at the information being relayed to him. "Thanks man," he said and hung up.<br />"Are you on call?" I asked.<br />"No, that was Henderson," he said. "He thought we should know your mom is on her way up." He looked down at his unfinished meal. "How do you want to handle this?"<br />"She'll be cool," I said.<br />"You sure?" he said. "I'm mid-level at best. She might have something better in mind for you."<br />"Don't say that about yourself," I said sternly, but I tempered it by moving my foot over by his so our ankles touched.<br />He was still a little nervous when she came through the front door, rising respectfully as she turned into the room.<br />She blinked at him in surprise, "Oh, I'm sorry Tilly, I didn't know you had company."<br />"It's alright, Mom," I said rising also. "Mom, this is Andrew Peters. Andrew, well you know my mother."<br />"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ambassador Moren." He said shaking the hand she extended with more confidence than I had expected a few moments ago. I was so proud of him.<br />"Peters," she said thinking, then glanced at his prosthetic and seemed to recall, "Oh yes, the Access Specialist. I hear good things about you from my Brother-in-law. He recruited you personally I understand."<br />"He did, Mam," Peters said, that adorable blush coloring his ears. "He came the day I was discharged."<br />"A discharge you were fighting, as I recall," Mom said pulling out a chair and sitting, because we both knew he wouldn't sit back down until she did.<br />"Yes, Mam," he said as he stepped around the table to help me into my seat.<br />"Well, their loss is our gain," Mom said with a pointed look at me as he took his seat. I grinned slightly. He had her stamp of approval. "I hope you'll stay for cake," she continued. "It's Tilly's birthday."<br />"Yes, Mam," he said again, a smile playing across his lips. I wasn't going to tell her either. It would only make her feel bad.<br />"The others will be here in a few minutes," Mom told me. "Reynolds might be a little late; he forgot to put your brief together."<br />"Brief?" I asked taking a bite of my stone cold pasta.<br />"Your Career Options Brief," she said. "You don't have to decide tonight, but it's time to get you started."<br />I glanced at Andrew and he flashed an I-told-you-so grin at me. I stuck my tongue out at him. I hoped my mother didn't notice the gleam that came to his eye at that. It was intriguingly indecent. We both pretended to be very interested in finishing our meals at that point.<br />As we polished off the last of our meals she spoke again, "Well, I'm going to go get changed out of this thing," my mother motioned to her gray uniform. I was glad she was changing; she looked like an Aunt Marsha clone in that thing.<br />She got up to leave and I stared after her, a horrible thought coming to my mind, "Oh no," I said, letting my fork drop to my plate with a clatter.<br />"What?" Andrew asked looking around for the problem.<br />"Are there any departments that don't have to wear those things?" I asked. My life flashed before my eyes, a life in drab, shapeless, horrible jumpsuits with great big pockets everywhere.<br />He tried to look sympathetic, and his attempt was pathetic. I threw my napkin at him. He caught it easily. I picked up the little salt shaker to throw at him but he half-stood and caught my hand before I could fling it.<br />I struggled against him for a moment, but there was no breaking his grip, gentle as it was. So I lowered my hand, and his followed it. His other hand was on the table between us, his face above me, his smile still mocking my little tantrum.<br />I licked my lips and his lips were mocking no more, instead his face became very serious, and very hungry. He lowered his head. Only inches separated our faces, I could feel his Salisbury steak breath on my face. It flowed around my lips, caressing, teasing. I reached up for his face, sliding my fingers along his strong cheekbone and up into his close cropped, curly brown hair. I raised myself to close those last few inches.<br />As soon as I brushed my mouth against his he sucked in air, like waiting for my kiss had rendered him un-able to breathe and my lips had at last set him free. He sought my lips then, gently, carefully, like he worried I would evaporate if he pressed too hard. I pulled down on his head increasing the pressure, showing him I wasn't going anywhere.<br />The slightest moan escaped him and I smiled against his hungry lips. He spread his mouth wider to reclaim mine. I clung to his neck for support, and he clung to my hand around the salt shaker like a life-line. I'd lost track of my feet, my legs, where we were, all that I could think of was those soft, nimble lips.<br />The knock on the door had not permeated my haze, but my mother's voice calling from the other room certainly did. Can, you, get, that, I'll, be, out, in, a, and minute, were now the most hated words in the English language.<br />I was the one sucking in breath now as Andrew pulled away and cleared his throat. I shook the fog out of my head as I walked around the table and made my way to the front door, which was being knocked on again. I could hear Peters stacking the dishes behind me as I opened the door.<br />It was just my cake, and the same attendant that had brought our dinner. "Sorry about the double trip," I told her.<br />"Oh it's fine, Happy Birthday, by the way," she said wheeling the cart into the dining room. She took the two dirty trays from Peters and then wiped down the table for good measure before moving my cake and the plates to the surface. She was just about to leave when she looked up at Peters and the color went from her face.<br />"Um," she said looking flustered, "Sir, you've got... um," and she made a wiping motion at her mouth. His fingers reached his own lip about the same time my eyes did and I think we both blushed.<br />The attendant quickly handed him the napkin from his tray and as he wiped the mark away he grinned and said, "Caught red lipped, I suppose."<br />She and I giggled and I asked her, "Am I okay?" I motioned to my own lips.<br />"Just a little uneven," she whispered. I rubbed my lips together and she nodded her approval, then retrieved the napkin from Andrew.<br />"Thanks so much," I told her. "I don't even know your name..."<br />"I'm Celia," she said quietly ducking out of the room with her cart. "Happy Birthday, Miss Moren," she said again.<br />"Please, call me Tilly," I said following her to hold open the front door for her.<br />She started to protest, but my friendly smile stopped her, "Um, okay, Tilly, Goodnight."<br />Andrew came and stood at the door with me, watching Celia retreat down the hall with the cart. As she walked away my birthday party guests disembark from the inclinator. We waved to them and they called greetings back to me.<br />Peters snapped to attention and saluted General Heinz, who went smoothly from a return salute to a handshake. "Peters, good to see you," he said, though of course he was a bit puzzled as to why he was seeing Andrew.<br />I decided to fix that. I claimed the hand the General released and turned to my Aunt, "Thanks for taking time out to celebrate with us, Aunt Marsha," I said. When I leaned over to give her a quick hug I was sure not an eye in the crowd missed the fact that I was still holding onto Andrew's hand. "Come in, come in," I said, stepping out in the hall with my captive so they could pass through the door.<br />Several of them exchanged glances with my mother as she came out of her room. She was cool enough to play it off like it was no big deal that I was dating the guy who let them into their apartments and offices. I was so proud of her.<br />Of course... she didn't know we had only met officially today. I wasn't planning on telling her either. Let them all think I had been seeing him for the whole two weeks they had spent in the Communications Room.<br />Everyone milled around talking until Reynolds and his blonde plus one showed up. "Sorry we are late," Reynolds said coming through the open door. "This time it's not Lynn's fault though," he said holding up a memory stick, and then tucking it in his pocket.<br />I watched the memory stick slide to the bottom of his pocket and felt an unexpected excitement. My life's work started with something on that stick. I couldn't wait to see what was on it.<br />Mom lit the candles on the cake and everyone gathered around us as for the second time that day I faced the candles. I looked up from them and into all the faces around me. My eyes rested on Andrew and he winked at me. I smiled, drew in my breath, and blew the candles out without making a wish at all. Maybe if I never made another wish I would end up as happy as I was in this moment.<br />~<br />With the cake cut and the slices passed around it was time for my presents. My mom went in her room and came back out with a strange looking trunk I had never seen before. She placed it gently on the table before me and her eyes sparkled with anticipation.<br />"I guess I'm pretty lucky," she said. "Most kids would have hated me for keeping all this from them their whole lives." I grabbed her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze, I didn't hate her. She squeezed my hand back. "Your Aunt and I have been working on this since you were born, making copies of pictures, documenting the side of your life you never got to see."<br />My jaw was hanging open, and I opened the clasp on the trunk with trembling fingers, inside the trunk stood a row of scrap books. The ones on the left were bulging, straining at their binding, while the ones at the very right were untouched in their plastic wrap, history to be made. A box between them held pens, scissors, and packages of mounting corners.<br />I pulled out the first book on the left and opened it to the first page. It held an old picture of a young family. I studied the faces of my grandfather, the grandmother I had never known, and the little girls that would grow up to be my aunt and mother. All these years I thought my mother had been running from her past, from her family, and she had been keeping it safe here all along.<br />I looked up at my aunt and mother, blinking back tears, "Thank you," I whispered through my choked up throat.<br />They would have responded, but were having similar problems with their throats, so Aunt Marsha gave Reynolds a nudge. He reached in his pocket and pulled out the memory stick and passed it over to me.<br />"When I turned eighteen they gave me a paper file about an inch thick, but I'm sure you've noticed we don't really do paper anymore. On there you will find all the entry level positions available and examples of the career paths possible from them. I've also included a review of your aptitude tests which point out your strengths, which should help you identify which positions would be best suited to you. When you have a short list let me know and I'll arrange interviews with the appropriate supervisors."<br />My belly twisted at the thought of interviews, I'd never applied for a job before. My nerves must have shown on my face because Reynolds answered, "The interviews aren't bad, just a chance for everyone to make sure we get you in the position that is the best fit."<br />I nodded, a little relieved but still nervous. I put the memory stick in my pocket and thanked him. He shrugged and smiled. It was his job.<br />"Well, not to break up the festivities," Foreman said, "but I haven't read a goodnight story to my kid all week." Mrs. Foreman looked relieved, and then cast me a guilty glance.<br />"No, don't feel bad," I said. "Of course you should go home to your families. It was so lovely of all of you to come, really, thank you."<br />It wasn't long before we had bid the bigwigs farewell. When it was just my family, Andrew, and I, I re-opened the trunk full of treasure and pulled out the first book. I opened it up to that first picture.<br />"He looks much older in the videos," Peters remarked.<br />"That was taken just a few months before our mother died," my mom said. "He changed a lot after that."<br />I flipped the page over and the back was filled with my mother's handwriting, explaining the picture of the house where they had lived. I had never seen this picture either. There was so much I didn't know.<br />My Aunt and Uncle stayed a few hours, but eventually they all went to bed and left Andrew and I alone to slowly uncover my past. He was there with me though it all. We read about my grandmother's cancer, about the way Grandpa became obsessed with protecting his little girls from all the bad in the world. He wasn't a soldier though, he was an architect, and a fine one. He worked on the plans for the resort at night, crumbling more and more until a good friend came by to try and yank him out of it.<br />That was when those with means got connected to the vision. That was how my grandfather's dream became a secret world-wide project. Someone believed in him, even in his worst moment.<br />I felt a slight jerk in the arm behind me and looked up for the first time in hours. "You okay?" I asked Andrew who was rapidly blinking his eyes.<br />"Yeah, sorry, I just kind of drifted off there," he said. I looked up at the clock and was shocked to find that it was 0300.<br />"Oh, sweetie," I said apologetically. "I had no idea how late it was. You need to get to bed. You've got to work in a few hours."<br />"It wouldn’t normally be a problem," he said sounding even more apologetic than I had. "But I've pulled a lot of 24 hour shifts in the last two weeks, and it's starting to take its toll."<br />I tried to convince him to sleep on our couch, but he insisted on going back to his apartment. I walked him as far as the inclinator, soaking in the feeling of his arm around my shoulders. I fit just right in the muscle padded crook, and I didn't want to let go when we reached the doors. He pulled me around in front of him as the inclinator whirred towards us. I snuggled into his chest and he rocked me back and forth gently. As the doors opened behind him he bent to place a kiss on my forehead. He was long gone before the warmth of his lips left my skin, and it didn't leave my mind for the rest of the night.<br />~<br />I wasn't sure what woke me, but I wasn't happy to be awake. I lifted my head and squinted in the bright light of the room. The clock offended-ly informed me that it was almost 1500 hours.<br />I placed the long ribbon between the pages of the scrapbook that was open on my bed and then carefully closed it before I headed for the bathroom. I had a bit of a headache and couldn't recall in the slightest how late I had been up. I found a bit of pain reliever in the cabinet and took if before turning on the shower.<br />Clean and dripping I made my way back to my room to rummage through my closet on a quest for something that suited my mood. What exactly should I wear while digging through the history of my family and this place? Tan cargo pants and a white t-shirt seemed to fit the bill, so I slipped them on before going back to the bathroom to throw some product in my mess of curls. I had just washed the remnants off my hands when I heard a buzzing in the living room.<br />I found my phone on the coffee table and pressed my thumb to it. It opened my message center and there were a string of messages from Andrew.<br />Good morning.<br />Lunch time, and still no sight of you. You get too far into those books and I'm never going to catch up.<br />I'm starting to feel like a stalker, but I went ahead and sent lunch in to your mom for you, she hadn't ordered it yet. The last one said, it was time stamped 1457. That must have been what woke me up.<br />You are an angel. I sent back.<br />I took the phone with me on a quest for food. I found what was left of my birthday cake in a container in the fridge and decided that would hold me over until dinner. I was just placing a massive piece on my plate when he messaged me back.<br />I thought about not telling you, just so I could wake you up personally in a few hours. Henderson wouldn't agree to let me in your apartment though.<br />I could always go back to bed, ;) I replied. Then added, My mom would come home right after that though.<br />She doesn't scare me, he said.<br />LOL, liar.<br />Okay a little, he replied just as I was finishing off my cake. Is it crazy to say I miss you?<br />You working 90 plus right now?<br />Yes<br />I walked outside my apartment and blew a kiss at the closest camera.<br />When I got back to my phone it said, Right back at you, see you in a bit.<br />I bit my lip in anticipation, and then decided I had better distract myself. The next few hours could be long ones.<br />I went to the bathroom and rummaged through the dirty clothes until I found the memory stick in my pocket. I dropped the laundry in the basket and took the stick back out the living room.<br />I brought up the screen then pushed the button that opened the drawer where the keyboard and mouse lay. I had found it the other day when I tried every button on the remote, just to see what they would do. I plugged the memory stick into the slot on the end of the keyboard and it opened the folder for me.<br />I opened the document labeled "Aptitude review," and started to read what Reynolds thought of me.<br />It wasn't too bad. At least all the years of doing my homework had paid off, one of the strengths listed was Highly Intelligent. The others looked more like the way any girl my age could be described though, Persuasive, Creative, Ambitious, and Socially Motivated. I was going to have to find out Reynolds exact definition of Socially Motivated before I took that one as a compliment.<br />I didn't see how this was supposed to be helpful. I exited out of the document and opened the list of available positions. Food Service, Health Clerk, Education Assistant, Textile Handler, Supplies Clerk, Agricultural Helper, and Sanitation Worker, were the only ones on the list. I frowned. "Okay, Tilly," I said. "Look at where they can take you."<br />I opened each up and looked at the management structure above it. Well if I worked really really hard in twenty years I could be the person who took complaints about stains not getting out. Joy of joys. This sucked.<br />I glared at the screen a while and decided the only one that sounded remotely interesting was the Education Assistant one. I opened it up again and read the packet. I would assist in the classroom 5 hours a day and study three or more in order to qualify to be a teacher in 6 years or so.<br />Well, it was better than nothing I supposed. I exited out and looked at the clock. It wasn't even 1630 yet. 1800 was ages away.<br />I grabbed my sandals and decided to go for a walk. I went down the inclinator to level 26 and took the path into the center so I could look at the fountain and enjoy the sunlight.<br />The fountain shot up quite high above me, then the water splashed back down through the circular walkway in the center to play on the rocks and feed the four rivers. The mist flowed around me and the slanting light from the pinnacle made it sparkle.<br />It was a shame no one else was here to enjoy this. They should set up tables here so people could have lunch. The path was wide enough. Maybe it wasn't the most practical way to spend your lunch break, but it would be a whole lot nicer than eating in a break room.<br />I wandered up a few levels to the mess hall, wondering how much of a bother it would be for Food Services to deliver meals to the fountain from here. Even if I couldn't find the right person to take my idea too, I could probably talk them into letting me borrow a table and chairs so I could get Peters out of that dark hole for lunch tomorrow.<br />The only person I saw there was the grumpy looking lady at the cart, so I pretended that I was after an apple and wandered back out while I munched on the sweet fruit. I had just turned into the hall when I accidentally ran into someone.<br />"Oh, I'm so sorry," I said turning to see who I had maimed with my typical Tilly-the-klutz act. It was Reynolds’ plus one, Lynn.<br />"Oh you’re okay," she said with a smile. "I wasn't watching where I was going. There isn't usually anyone up here this time of day."<br />"You like the mess when it's empty?" I asked with a dubious look at the lonesome tables. She didn't seem the introverted type to me.<br />"Oh no, I just need some crackers," she said with a pat at her lower belly. It took me a minute to catch her meaning, but then I realized that her curvy figure curved a bit more in that area.<br />I think I might have been a little too surprised, "Oh Wow! Seriously?! Lynn, I'm so happy for you," I said pulling her into quick hug.<br />"Well thank you," she said with a grin as I released her. "I thought everyone knew."<br />"I'm afraid I don't know much about you," I said apologetically. "Everyone's a little too busy for gossip it seems."<br />"Well that's probably a good thing," she said. "Usually the problem around here is that everyone knows everything you do before you are done doing it. My dad knew about Brian and I before Brian asked me out on our first date. I don't know how you kept thing so quiet about you and Peters."<br />She tipped that pretty head of hers to the side and looked at me like she was debating something, "You know I've got an hour or so before Brian's off of work. I should be writing my lesson plan, but would you take a walk with me instead?"<br />"I'd love to," I said and turned back into the mess hall with her so she could get her crackers.<br />We strolled and talked, it was half an hour before we ended up back on the circular walk around the fountain. "This is my favorite spot," she told me, "ever since I was a kid."<br />"So you grew up here too?" I asked.<br />"Oh yeah," she said. "My dad was recruited when I was really little. My little sister doesn't even remember what the sky looks like," she said.<br />I looked up and tried to imagine what that would be like. "They should have painted the hallways blue," I said.<br />She grinned, "That would make my students happy," she said. "It's hard to help them adjust to all this, they miss the sky a lot." She shrugged, "It'll never happen. It's not a practical use of our resources."<br />"I'm sure that's what my Aunt would say," I said. "My mom might go for it though, and help us convince Harris."<br />She looked at me funny. "Tilly... Harris is my dad..."<br />I laughed. Man I didn't know anything about anybody here. "So you can help us slide it past him."<br />She rolled her eyes and shook her head, "You don't know him like I do. He's all about making it through the next 300 years. There is NO WAY."<br />We exchanged identical unhappy looks, but I didn't want to give up that easily. Then I thought of something. "Did your teacher's courses go into psychology much?" I asked.<br />"A little, why?" she asked.<br />"Well if we can convince them of the benefits of a blue sky they'll have to let us paint it. What do you think, 50 and up?" I said.<br />She laughed and shook her head. "Brian said you were a force to be reckoned with," she said. I blushed, hoping he hadn't told her how he had formed that opinion. If I'd had the slightest clue he was taken, and by such a lovely person, I really wouldn't have flirted with him.<br />"It's almost time for him to get off work," she said. "Thanks for walking with me, you're really fun."<br />"You too," I said sincerely. "I'll see you later?"<br />"Definitely," she said, waving the last cracker at me and walking off to the inclinator.<br />I stood there a minute longer, letting the mist wreak havoc on my curls and coat my face. I squinted upward again, picturing the walls a lovely azure blue. We would have to do the ceilings of each hallway too, for the right effect, We could leave the inclinator housings the way they were though. I wondered if they let me have the supplies how many years it would take me to paint 50 and up all by myself.<br />Andrew was leaning on the wall outside my door when I got there.<br />"Have a nice walk?" he asked opening his arms. I stepped into them, sliding my arms in the space between his lower back and the wall. He breathed in deeply then let it out in a long happy sigh. I listened to his heart thumping steadily in his chest. It was such a comforting sound.<br />He kissed my hair again and I turned my face up to him to get one on the lips too, but then the door clicked beside us and I was denied my kiss while Peters cast a look at the camera.<br />"Is that your way of saying 'get a room,' Henderson?" he asked.<br />"Just a friendly suggestion," Henderson replied. "Larson's actually looking at the monitors today."<br />"Who's Larson?" I asked as Andrew lead me through the door.<br />"My supervisor," he said closing the door and leaning on it, then pulling me up against him again.<br />"Has he got a problem with inter-level fraternization? I asked.<br />"He's got a problem with me," he said.<br />"Why has he got a problem with you?" I asked, surprised that anyone in the world wouldn't adore Peters on sight.<br />"He didn't like it that they gave me 90 plus. He thinks I've been here too short of a time," he shrugged. "It doesn't really matter, he'll be stuck in that office long after I've moved up the chain. Lazy, entitled people get what's coming to them."<br />"Well if that's the case I'd better take that job in the laundry right away," I said with a grin. "I wouldn't want to be a lazy, entitled, 90 plus, Adult Dependent too long, you might break up with me."<br />"Hey," he said running his hands up my back and into my mess of curls. "Don't talk like that about my girlfriend."<br />I sucked in air happily, the word girlfriend ringing in my ears. It sounded so lovely. "Mmm," I said kissing him gently, "Say that again."<br />"What? Girlfriend?" he said a twinkle in his eye. He pulled my head closer and kissed me again. I gently explored the taste of the word on his lips. It was better than chocolate.<br />He pulled his head back for breath a few moments later, and I took the cue to step away. I didn't want to be leaning up against the door still when my mom came home. Besides I was starved.<br />I looked over at the clock, dinner would be there soon. I went to the kitchen to load the day's dirty dishes onto a tray. Andrew looked in the fridge.<br />"Hey, where did the caked go?" he asked.<br />"Cake?" I asked in an innocent voice.<br />He grinned and closed the door, "Man that was good cake, I was hoping for some more."<br />"I liked the first one better," I said.<br />He grinned and moved in for another kiss, but there was a knock at the door and he went over to let Celia in.<br />As we exchanged greetings I had a thought. "Celia," I said, "How hard would it be to get a bunch of trays down to the walk by the fountain around lunch time every day?"<br />She blinked at me, "Are you planning a picnic?" she asked.<br />"No," I said with a laugh. "I was thinking I might try and talk someone into putting a bunch of tables on the walk. Don't you think that would be a nice place to have lunch, or dinner?"<br />She grinned and gave me the same doubtful look that Lynn had given me. "Sure it would be nice," she said. "But good luck getting the tables requisitioned."<br />"But it wouldn't be a problem taking the trays there, instead of people eating in the mess?"<br />She shook her head, "Not a lot of people eat in the mess," she said. "It's kind of wasted space now that they staggered the shifts so not everyone is eating meals at the same time. Most everyone eats in their department or at home."<br />That meant not a lot of people made friends outside their department too, I bet. I didn't like the sound of that. Nine shouldn't be operating like a bunch of different entities stuffed in the same hole in the ground.<br />I had a lot to talk to my mom about.<br />~<br />I wasn't quite ready to talk to her about all of it though, I wanted my ducks in a row and my arguments refined so I could gauge how effective they were when I presented them to her. My year on debate team was coming in handy, just needed to do the research.<br />Speaking of research, I realized I had forgotten to look up Andrew's bio again. As he let Celia out the door I grabbed the remote and sat down on the couch facing the com. He came and sat next to me and I snuggled into his side as I started down the electronic path to his bio.<br />"Are you looking up Celia's bio?" he asked as I entered the file menu.<br />"Nope," I said.<br />When we got to the security department and I scrolled way down the list he started chuckling. "You're going to look this up with me here?" he said.<br />"Of course, this way I get to know your life story, and I can ask you questions right away," I said. I thought I was doing a good job covering that I had forgotten I had this resource available. I just hoped we could get through some of it before my Mom came home.<br />Andrew John Peters Age: 22<br />Career Status: Security, Access Specialist Level 3<br />Andrew Peters was the only child of Sargent John Simeon Peters and Ruth Wright Peters of Evans, Wyoming. After Sgt. Peters was killed in the line of duty Ruth and Andrew moved back to Evans to her family's farm.<br />Peters determined at a young age to follow in his father's footsteps, a decision that saw him through the loss of his grandfather, the farm, and then his mother.<br />He spent a year as a ward of the State and then enlisted in the Marines on his 18th birthday. During his first tour in the Middle East he rescued a young boy from a mine field, but was injured himself. Though capable of performing every duty on his prosthetic, the military gave him a medical discharge.<br />He was recruited the next day by General Heinz and has been an invaluable asset to the Access team ever since.<br />I sat there with my mouth hanging open as I read it.<br />I regretted not doing this sooner. There was a lot more in his past than I had expected. It all added up though, Peters was a survivor. I didn't know what to say, so I just wrapped my arms around him and held on as tightly as I could.<br />He picked up the remote and turned the com off. He sat there stroking my hair while the revelations soaked into me.<br />"It's killing me, wondering what you are thinking," he murmured.<br />"I think... I think I see now why you are so amazing," I said lifting my head to look at him.<br />He started blushing again, "Well if you think I'm amazing you should..." then he stopped and thought again. "Never mind, you aren't allowed to read any more bios." He took the remote and tossed it on to the couch on the other side of the room. "I'm starved, should we call your mom and remind her she ordered dinner for 1810?"<br />"Who's bio don't you want me to read?" I said starting to untangle myself from his arms. He thwarted my attempts and a wrestling match ensued, which of course lead to some kissing amid the scattered couch cushions on the floor. While I had him distracted I carefully reached for the remote and then leapt away with it in my hand, yelling in my delight. I spun around to avoid his wild grab, only to find my mother coming through the door.<br />"Oh, hi, Mom," I said with a giggle, and he used my distraction to snatch the remote from my hand.<br />Mom surveyed the mess we had made and shook her head. "I've heard of fighting over a remote..." she muttered making her way towards the dining room table as I tried to reach the remote held high over Andrew's head. "Are you two going to clean that up before we eat?" she asked, the spoil sport.<br />Dinner was a serious affair. Andrew asked Mom about the state of the world, and her answer was more than depressing. There seemed to be no hope of peace at this point. Major cities had been decimated, rural areas suffered greatly from the fallout. No matter how emotionally prepared my mother had been for this, it was still hard for her to watch.<br />"Thus far there has been no damage to any of the Resorts. The main concern at this point is how badly this is going to effect the atmosphere. There is little hope for anyone on the surface now," she said. She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.<br />Andrew reached over and placed his hand over hers. She looked up at him, a little surprised that he would be so bold. "It's not your fault," he told her. "It's not your fault they are dead when we are alive."<br />She drew in her breath sharply and shakily then and worked her jaw muscles while blinking. My mother had always been so strong, so sure. Watching her struggle to keep it together like this was like watching the earth split and lurch beneath my feet. I reached out and clasped her other hand. She looked at me, and for a minute it looked like I had made it worse, but then she pursed her lips and gave one decisive nod of her head and she was in control.<br />She speared a bite of her food and asked Andrew how his day had been before shoving the bite in her mouth. The way she chewed you would have thought it was all the enemy tyrants being ground to death between her teeth.<br />~<br />Later that night I sat on the floor and read the lovingly created pages of my scrapbook. The only sound was that of Andrew's deep slumber on the couch behind me. All was peaceful in Nine.<br />Battles raged around the world, people were dying in the streets, children drew in death with every breath, but here the warrior slept watched over by his young maid.<br />His leg twitched and a pained moan escaped his mouth. My heart sank. No, the warrior wasn't sleeping, he was battling in his mind, re-living. I reached up and held on to the hand that rested on my shoulder. Slowly the pained expression on his face faded away, and I prayed he was in another dream.<br />I almost felt like I was in a dream, perhaps the last dream that humanity would ever conjure, a dream of hope in a hopeless world.<br />I turned back to the page before me where my grandfather stood, an arm around each daughter, on the day the first families moved into Resort One. This was his dream, the dream that no matter what, humanity would survive.<br />His daughters carried on that dream, had given everything to it their whole lives, and now it was my turn.<br />What could I bring to this dream? What would I protect, what would I make survive?<br />Then I realized, I would never be content to just help something survive. No, Tilly Moren was made to help the human race THRIVE.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;">The Cube, Part III – The Whole<br /></span>My alarm went off at 0530 and I rolled out of bed with a groan. I stumbled to the living room to wake Andrew up, but when I got there he was on his feet... or foot anyway, and folding the blanket I had tucked around him a few hours ago. I walked right into it and he folded it, and his arms, around me.<br />"I keep falling asleep on you," he said.<br />"I keep staying up most of the night," I replied.<br />"What's all this?" he said reaching down and picking up the sheet of paper I had torn from the back of my diary last night to make notes on.<br />"Ah, ah, ah!" I said snatching it from his hand. "No peeking."<br />"You can't keep secrets from your boyfriend," he said reaching for it again.<br />"It's not finished," I said in a serious tone, and he immediately stopped fighting me to reach it.<br />Having won I stepped back into the arms he offered, and he wrapped them around me once more. We stood there cuddling for a minute before he whispered, "You really aren't going to tell me what it is?"<br />I chuckled, "It's my nefarious plan for getting out of having to wear a uniform for the rest of my life."<br />He chuckled and shook his head, then kissed my forehead. I pulled him down to give him a real kiss before letting him go and get ready for work. As soon as he left I headed for the shower. I had to get to work myself.<br />At 0615 I knocked on my Aunt's door. General Heinz answered it, his uniform half off. The scent of shaving cream filled the air.<br />"Oh, good morning, Tilly," he said in confusion.<br />"Good morning," I said. "I hope I didn't come too early, but I wanted to borrow a few books from Aunt Marsha."<br />"Come on in!" she called from the bedroom. "Borrow anything you like."<br />"Thanks," I said crossing the living room to the cabinets at the back. The first one I pulled out was the one I had started a few weeks back, "Psychological Effects of Closed Environment Living." I scanned the rest of the spines, making a stack of likely titles on top of the first book. By the time I had finished my aunt and uncle were standing by the door watching me with puzzled expressions.<br />"I don't think anyone has touched these since my father died," Aunt Marsha said scanning the titles in the stack that reached from my fingertips to my shoulders.<br />"Do you want some help getting those back home?" my uncle asked me.<br />"No, no," I said stepping out the open door. "I'll manage. Thanks again!"<br />~<br />A buzzing in my pocket woke me up, and I squinted against the bright light that filled the living room. I fumbled around and got the phone out of my pocket. It was 1000 and Andrew had sent me a message.<br />I go on lunch in half an hour<br />You want to have it up here?<br />Depends, is your nefarious plan going to get me in trouble?<br />Which nefarious plan? The one to avoid the uniform or the other one?<br />What's the other one?<br />I'm not saying, but it involves you and me and a store room.<br />It was a while before he responded, and all he said was, See you at 1032.<br />I laughed and then woke the com back up. I saved the document I had been creating, then switched over to order my meal. I switched back and reviewed the notes that I had made this morning, wishing I had not fallen asleep while skimming the psychological study. It wasn't that I found it un-interesting, just... dry. I had begun to wonder if the researchers had been more entertaining if the subjects would have fared better.<br />As it was, the facts were lining up on my side. My grandfather had marked in the margins and incorporated the findings into his design, but his focus on survival and sensibility was evidenced in the things he left out. What was the point of saving the human race if we lost all appreciation for the things that made us human?<br />I was still expanding on my notes when Celia came to the door. I saved and closed out my work before I let her in. I was stacking the books out of the way as she knocked the second time.<br />She wore a grin when she came through the door. "Guess what I found," she said. She reached in the cart and pulled out a tablecloth, a vase, and a fake flower. "These were in the storage room behind the kitchen," she said excitedly. "After we talked yesterday I remembered seeing the boxes. I think they were from the grand opening or something."<br />"Celia, you are BRILLIANT!" I said, taking the table cloth and holding it up in the light. "You really caught my vision, didn't you?"<br />She nodded excitedly, "There are a lot of them. I'm sure they were meant for special occasions but..."<br />"But special occasions happen every day!" I said. "Birthdays, Anniversaries, first dates, proposals, romantic lunches, it's a waste to be alive and not LIVE."<br />We were both grinning from ear to ear when Andrew walked in the room. He looked back and forth between the two of us and said, "Oh wow, a tablecloth," in a typically male mocking tone.<br />I sent him the look of death. "It's not a just a tablecloth," I said. "It's a sign, an omen." I swirled it around and let it drift into place over the table. Celia followed my lead and placed the vase and flower on top of it. Then we took the plates off the trays, set the silverware and glasses in place and looked with awed reverence at what the dining room had become.<br />"So... which nefarious plan is this part of?" Andrew asked.<br />I'm proud to say I didn't throw a single thing at him.<br />~<br />I kept putting my mom off when she asked how I was coming on selecting a job. "I'm putting a lot of thought into it mom," I'd tell her, or "I want to make sure my contribution counts," or "I can't rush a decision like this, Mom, this is my LIFE you know." She had noticed the tower of books in my room and the way I had become chummy with Celia. What she didn't know was exactly how much I was getting done while she was at work every day.<br />Andrew knew of course, after all, I needed his help. He was uniquely situated to help me gather information on who I could enlist in my cause, and if the resources existed for each of my strategically planned battles. He had even agreed to help me with a little reconnaissance.<br />That's why Tuesday, instead of getting the table cloth out of my closet and having lunch at home, we had snagged some snacks from the mess and headed for the north-east inclinator. "One," he said as we entered the box and soon we were sliding past solid walls of concrete instead of the pleasant panorama we saw on an assent.<br />"Who's?" I said with a slight jerk of my head towards the camera.<br />"Moua," he said with a nod at the camera, pronouncing the Asian name with ease. "He's cool."<br />"Thanks, Moua," I said with a smile.<br />"No problem," he said. "I really hope your plan works, Miss Moren."<br />"It's Tilly," I told him with another smile, wondering exactly how many people Andrew and Celia had taken into confidence. I told myself that whatever the number was, it wasn't nearly as many as I would be letting down if I crashed and burned.<br />The inclinator ground to a halt and opened to darkness. The air was cool and damp, and there was a strange humming in the air. We stepped out of the inclinator and Moua turned on the lights, illuminating a passage about a third of a mile long.<br />"Explain to me again why you come and run down here," I said as we walked along the suffocating gray tunnel, "and not on the power generating treadmills like everyone else?"<br />"I put in my miles per week on those things," he said in an offended tone. I had recently been informed I had to start logging miles on them, too. I had refused to run at the same time as Andrew though; I was having a hard enough time keeping up with Celia.<br />"So the quota isn't enough for you?" I asked as we reached a door and waited for Moua to unlock it.<br />He shook his head and opened the door just after it clicked unlocked. "Running is..." he hesitated.”It's how I think, how I deal with stress, how I burn off the dreams," he added that last part in a murmur I was sure Moua wouldn't have heard.<br />"And you don't want to be on the treadmill," I said feeling I understood a little.<br />"The treadmills remind me of therapy too much," he murmured, then said "Lights" out loud.<br />"Don't take too long," Moua said. "Remember that Larson comes on shift in an hour."<br />Peters started walking as soon as the lights came on, and I scurried behind him down the aisles between the towering shelves. The shelves were bolted to the ceiling about 10 feet up, and there was a lot more room between the hall and the outside wall here than on any of the other levels I'd been too.<br />We went all the way to the back wall then turned left and I saw what Andrew had been talking about. There was an archway that allowed access out further than the back wall. When we reached it Andrew grabbed a corded light and plugged it in. It dimly lit a large, rough blasted room full of shelves that were different from the organized and indexed storage behind us.<br />Andrew handed me the light and then plugged in another for himself, "You see what I mean?" he asked as he lead me into the room. "This stuff isn't on the inventories. I bet Harris has forgotten it all exists, if he has even bothered to check out what's in here."<br />"There's no way we're going to look in all these boxes in an hour," I said.<br />"Well, let's look in as many as we can," he said. "Remember, you just have to know about a few things he doesn't that you can use from in here. Then when we get all this approved you can spend as much time as you want treasure hunting."<br />We were sweaty and dusty 45 minutes later when Andrew called a halt to the search. I couldn't believe the things we had found, and was thrilled with the possibilities that had opened up to us.<br />"I just wish we had found some blue paint though," I said as we wound up the light cords and put them away.<br />"Blue paint?" Andrew asked in confusion. "What you need with blue paint?"<br />He didn't stop chuckling until we were back out in the hall and headed for the inclinator. He just laughed harder when I punched him in the arm. "I'll hand it to you Morens," he said. "When you dream, you dream big."<br />"I see how you are," I said. "I tell you I'm going to get us the sky back and you laugh."<br />He put his arm around me and kissed my temple. It was hard not to forgive him when he used tactics like that.<br />~<br />"Are you planning on telling me what you are up to any time soon?" My mother asked me over coffee the next morning.<br />"Who says I'm up to anything?" I said, doing my best confused look.<br />"My intuition, that's who," she said putting her cup down and giving me that level look that always meant I was in trouble. "It's been nearly two weeks since your birthday, you haven't picked a job yet, you aren't meeting with any supervisors, you're pouring over books that haven't been opened in decades; something is up."<br />"You're right mom," I said. "But I can't tell you about it yet, it's a surprise."<br />"A surprise?" she said. "A surprise for whom?"<br />"For everybody, well except the people I've got in on it, of course," I said.<br />She scrunched her eyes and studied me as she took another sip. I kept my face completely calm and took a sip with her. My calm did not reassure her.<br />"Don't worry mom," I said. "I'll tell you all about it Friday night."<br />"Friday night we are all having dinner at your Aunt's, remember?" she said.<br />"I remember," I said calmly.<br />That tightness was in her jaw again, the very place she always got tense when she wanted to say something but was holding it back. I tried not to stare at it while I took another sip. I had originally planned on presenting all of this to her first, but the more I had thought about it, and the bigger it had gotten, I decided that it was best if everyone could tell I had blindsided her too. This was my plan, my presentation, my success, or my failure. I was a big girl now, and if I was going to play ball I couldn't drag my mom and my aunt to the mound with me.<br />She wasn't in the best of moods when she left for work, so sent a message to Celia that my mom's secretary might need some chocolate in an hour or so. Then I fired up the com and went back to my careful review of the bios of every adult that lived in Nine.<br />I had just finished yet another list when Celia brought my lunch. She passed along the thanks for the chocolate, and let me know she had talked her friend into re-routing the meals I needed miss-directed. "Has Andrew worked out his side of things?" she asked.<br />"We've got the man power, and the electronics," I told her. "It's just a matter of pulling it off now."<br />"Man I hope this works," she said, excitement lighting her eyes. I hoped it did too. I hadn't told her this yet, because I didn't want to get her hopes up, but this would be a big thing for her too. If all went well she wouldn't be pushing a cart all over nine anymore.<br />~<br />The evening sun was casting a warm peach light through the crystal, and it bounced around the glass encased atrium, not content to leave the sunset in the unseen western sky. I stepped out into the hallway, and pressed my face to the glass, peering down on where the fountain gurgled alone far below.<br />I turned and walked down the hallway, battling down the feeling in my belly that had absolutely nothing to do with being ready for the evening meal. Ahead of me I could see the bigwigs flowing by twos into my Aunt's Apartment. I had been having dinner with them twice a week for a month now, but I had never really fit in.<br />Next time would be different. Next time I would either be unwelcome, or I would be one of them. I tightened my jaw and prayed. Please, please let this go right.<br />My aunt greeted me at the door, looking lovely in a blue satin shirt and pinstripe suit pants that I knew for sure my mother had forced upon her sister. General Heinz was still in his uniform but everyone else had changed for the evening. I was relieved to find the power suit I had so carefully selected from my closet was not out of place.<br />"The trays seem to be a bit late," my aunt was telling me. "But Reynolds is late again anyway so it's probably for the best."<br />"Poor Lynn," I told her. "Her closet isn't serving her very well these days is it?"<br />They arrived in minutes, and as I greeted them at the door I cast a glance and a nod at the camera. Now we could get started.<br />Within five minutes the bigwigs were starting to get restless. These dinners were late enough in the evening without the food being delayed. When the knock came at the door Celia had the room's undivided attention.<br />She wasn't wearing her uniform, but instead wore a white shirt and black slacks with a white half apron tied around the front. Her hair was up in an elegant bun, and I was happy to see she had taken my advice about the makeup. I had known she would need confidence for her part in this, and the change in appearance seemed to have done the trick.<br />"Ladies and Gentlemen," she said. "I apologize for the delay in your meal time. If you will just follow me," she stepped back out of the doorway and gracefully raised her arm in invitation.<br />I was so proud of her I could have screamed, but of course I did not. I just stepped forward, and prayed that Lynn was ready to do her small part too.<br />She was at my side as I reached the door, Reynolds trailing behind her in confusion. The others fell into place behind us, like a herd of fat sheep behind the shepherd.<br />They might have demanded an explanation inside the inclinator, but Lynn saved me from that too by gasping and pointing out at the atrium below us. I carefully stepped to the side as the others gathered at the window of the inclinator and then I moved over to give Celia a congratulatory squeeze of the hand. She returned the gesture and then we separated before anyone was the wiser.<br />As the inclinator came to a stop the tone of the group had gone from confusion to anticipation, and you could hardly blame them. Andrew's friend in Power had worked a miracle. He had spent the last several nights rigging lights below the walkways to make the fountain glow. The reflected light on the mist shrouded circular walk was perfectly romantic.<br />Harris, Leeds, and Foreman were exchanging glances, and my belly twisted inside of me. We were to the tables now, and Celia directed each couple to their table, where they were surprised to find their meals under fine metal domes instead of inside the usual trays. As my mother sat down across from me she cast me a suspicious look and I couldn't help but smile.<br />Celia walked over to the bridge and a light mounted in a nearby tree came on. It was show time. I rose from my seat on shaky knees and walked into the light. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.<br />"Ladies and Gentlemen," I said. "Since the dawn of time men and women, like yourselves, have struggled to survive."<br />Right on cue the lights below the bridge went out and the projector turned on. I could hear indistinct whispering from the tables, but with the light in my eyes I was not able to see their faces. It was a blessing, and a curse. They couldn't frighten me, but I couldn’t gauge their reactions either.<br />I gestured to the slowly changing pictures that played on the glass of the incline behind me. "Even the earliest of peoples, while living under primitive conditions, were not content to just survive.<br />"They played music, created art, changed everyday necessities into treasures that represented their cultures. They passed these skills, this knowledge, these treasures down to their children." The scene behind me changed, to show a world map with green spots all over it. Andrew's friend in IT was pushing the buttons for me, keeping the visuals on track as I recited the script I had committed to memory. "In Nine alone we have representatives of 60 distinct cultures. We have 42 residents with Art Education, and 29 residents who can play at least one instrument. We represent every major religion. Fifteen languages are spoken by two or more residents.<br />"You and the founders have saved the intangible essence of all that is beautiful about the human race. We have bottled it up, labeled it, and stored it on the shelves so it will survive until the surface is safe again," I said.<br />The picture went black, "But humanity is not something you can keep in a bottle. It is not something we can store. It is not something we can chemically preserve. That's because humans were not meant to survive, they were meant to thrive."<br />The projection came alive again and my audience was subjected to rapidly changing pictures of landscapes, some real, some imagined, some lush, and some desolate.<br />"We don't know what we, or our children, or our great-great-great grandchildren will find when we once again set foot on the surface. But I promise you this, the most precious thing we will have, no matter what we find, will be the humanity that we bring back with us.<br />"But without use, without nourishment, without the necessary attention that humanity will stagnate, deplete, and eventually be lost. We cannot allow that to happen. We cannot allow all the good of human history to be lost to our children. We cannot allow them to grow up not knowing their destiny. We cannot raise them under a tan sky and expect them to reach for the blue.<br />"Ladies and Gentlemen, tonight I propose the creation of a new department, a department devoted to the preservation and, more importantly, the development of the human culture. If you will agree to create the Community Activities Department, then a portion of our physical and human resources can be devoted to this valuable endeavor. We can ensure that whatever generation reaches the surface doesn't do it without knowing who they are and all they represent."<br />"Thank you for your time," I concluded. "In the morning each department director will have a proposal brief in his or her inbox so you can make an informed decision. Either way, I hope you enjoy your meal." The light on my face faded and the lights below the bridge came back on. I walked bravely back to my seat through the pale mist, terrified I would trip, and terrified of what my mother might be thinking when I sat down.<br />I was still a little blind as I sat down, for which I was very thankful, and I focused on what was in my visual range, my dinner. I went to uncover the plate, but a hand was on top of mine.<br />I looked up, struggling to get my eyes to focus, and as they did I noticed a glimmering streak going down my mother's face. I bit my lip, searching for the words to apologize for embarrassing her, for getting up there and saying that all she had done wasn't enough, that all her father had done was not enough.<br />She cleared her throat and looked down at her plate. Then she looked up at me and smiled. Another tear spilled from her eye. "I am so proud of you," she said.<br />~<br />The band was in full swing by the time I made it to the mess hall after work. I wasn't really in the mood for the crowd and noise, but by the time I had a spare moment to order my dinner Andrew had already done it for me.<br />I stood in the doorway scanning the room, not having any luck finding him. I decided to try for another angle and went around the back of the room. He wasn't with the dancing children, he wasn't at the bachelor's table, he wasn't at any of the small tables in the back either. I was taking out my phone to call him when it went off in my hand.<br />"Where are you?" I shouted into the phone, scanning the room to see if I could see him waving or something.<br />"The next cart is ours," he said. "Grab it and bring it to the south-west inclinator."<br />"What?" I asked plugging my ear and trying to make heads or tails of what he was saying.<br />I felt a tap on my shoulder and one of the Food Service girls was smiling and passing me a food cart. I put my hand on the push bar in confusion and she pointed out the door to the hallway.<br />"What's going on?" I asked Andrew as I pushed the cart out into the hallway.<br />"Going the long way?" he asked me as I turned into the hallway.<br />"What do you mean?" I asked stopping to look at the closest camera.<br />"I'm not there," he said after a moment. "South-west inclinator."<br />"Where are you?" I asked struggling to turn the cart around with one hand while I held the phone with the other.<br />"You'll see," he said with a chuckle. "I've got a surprise for you," he said.<br />"A surprise?" I said, "but my birthday isn't for another couple of weeks."<br />"I know," he said. "It's not a birthday surprise." His tone was a strange mix between cryptic and excited.<br />I hoped there was a cake in the cart I was pushing, a big chocolate one. I needed it after today. I'd lost another round with Harris over the paint, and wasn't in a very good mood.<br />As I approached the inclinator it opened for me, and I pushed the cart right into it. I glanced up at the camera, wondering who was behind it. I could never keep track of who worked what shifts. It started moving upward and I stepped to the glass to watch the happy couples around the fountain grow smaller and smaller. I was thinking about having the artists' guild paint the waist high walls along the walkway. Maybe the children could do a section too. Harris would hate that, but as he wasn't budging on my sky project I rather liked the idea of irritating him. He had sure irritated me.<br />I was picturing the shade of purple that his face would turn when a large block of concrete obstructed my view and the inclinator slowed to a stop. I looked around to get my bearings, having not realized this was the inclinator that went all the way to the top. The doors opened behind me to display a wall of solar panels so black it was like looking in a dark mirror. I pushed the cart out of the inclinator and it closed behind me.<br />"How did you get permission to have dinner up here?" I asked. The question echoed around me and then Andrew was there at my side.<br />"I know a few people," he said with a smile, extending a hand to me.<br />I put the phone in the pocket of my slacks and took the hand he was offering. He grabbed the cart and pushed it down the narrow passage. Once we were past the inclinator bay we stepped into an open room so bright that I had to narrow my eyes to the tiniest of slits. He led me to a table and passed me the wraparound sunglasses that sat next to a vase of real flowers. He must really have called in a lot of favors to get real flowers. He then led me over to a spiral staircase that went right up to level 100. The floor here was all glass, and I stepped carefully on it, irrationally concerned that my high heels might damage our precious light.<br />We had to climb now, to get between the steel support beams that held the car sized crystal in place. It was hot as hades up here and my hands kept slipping on the beams. When we reached the slanting slab that was the corner of the south and western walls and climbed up it I decided it had been worth it all.<br />The vista before us was so breath taking that all I could do was stare with my mouth wide open. The sun was setting behind a jagged ridge of mountains in the distance. They cradled it as carefully as the bars behind me cradled the crystal.<br />I took off the glasses and peered down in the valleys between, my heart racing with joy at how green and lush they were. The climate must have changed a great deal for this formerly desert place to be so full of life. I knew that this was one of the possible outcomes that scientists had postulated, but hadn't even dared to hope. It was too much to hope that such beauty could come after so much destruction.<br />I breathed a sigh of relief and felt tears of joy fall down my face, "Oh Andrew, we didn't destroy the world. Just look at it!"<br />"It's still very dangerous out there," he said. "But I thought you'd like to see nature thrive."<br />I smiled at the use of the word I had painted across my office wall. I turned to kiss him but found that he had backed away from me and was holding a little box between us. My breath caught in my throat.<br />I nearly choked when he opened it. The rock on the ring was almost obscenely massive. It glittered against the velvet.<br />"Now I have to explain," he said, he was blushing. "This isn't a diamond. The jeweler had plenty of those, but I found this when we were going through the boxes in the extra storage room. I thought, maybe, a crystal would mean more to you than any diamond, because it would remind you that you are the light of my life."<br />More tears spilled down my face as he carefully took the ring out of the box and tucked the box back into the pocket of his uniform. He looked around, like he wanted to get on his knees, but it was impossible among the bars and concrete slope. So he blushed some more and then looked at me with terrified eyes.<br />"Tilly, one year ago today I opened the doors of The Cube for you, and you stepped right into my heart. You are the most incredible woman in the whole world, and I want to spend every second of the rest of my life helping you achieve your 'nefarious plans.' Will you marry me?" he asked.<br />The yes that overlapped the word me made his eyes sparkle brighter than either of the crystals in the room. I eagerly extended my left hand and he slipped the ring on my hand with shaking fingers.<br />I carefully climbed over the space between us until I was perched, holding on to two bars above me and balanced on the same beam as he was. I leaned back against the wall and he raised himself up and grasped the bars above my head. He leaned in, his body pressing firmly against mine as his mouth lowered and lit a fire in me brighter than the sun that set behind me in the pure blue sky.Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070125802803155242.post-2340581817153682932011-07-03T19:14:00.000-07:002011-07-03T19:18:27.449-07:00Image inspiredI was mid-way through multiple threads and trying to explain how picking an image can launch me into a story and wrote this little snippet. It was for <a href="http://www.mysanantonio.com/mediaManager/?controllerName=image&action=get&id=835323&width=628&height=471">this image</a>.<br /><br /><br />The strange old Butler lead me to a circular chamber in the center of the house that held naught but a spiraling stair case.<br />The wrought iron handrail was designed for beauty as well as safety, and as I placed my hand upon it I registered the irony of how much my heart filled with trepidation as I grasped it.<br />My destiny awaited me at the top of those stairs, and I didn't want to face it.<br />I placed one heavy, satin slippered foot on the mahogany and gathered the will to lift myself up. The toe of my slipper was too-soon veiled by the hem of my gown and I searched for the next ledge with its twin. My knuckles were white against the deep blue satin. I must look as scared as I felt.<br />That would never do. I couldn't afford to look afraid.<br />I raised my chin and looked upward, putting as much resolution into my climb as I could muster. As I ascended my eyes were treated to an ever expanding view of the paiting within the dome at the top of the stairs.<br />It was no romantic scene, no patstural bliss to ease my mind. No, it was war, conflict, mighty battle, like the one I waged with myself inside my breast. My heart played along with the silent beat of the war drums, my belly felt the lurch of the war horse, the twist of the steel.<br />I felt my innocence was bleeding away from me the closer I drew to that battle scene. Perhaps by the time I reached the lone door upon the landing my childhood would have drained out of me, and a woman would knock on the door.Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070125802803155242.post-11744926912211444282011-05-23T10:01:00.000-07:002011-05-23T10:35:49.078-07:00MagicianCaution: this one is a little... action movie.<br /><br />Audience chosen story elements: Set in the rainforest, a magician, amputation or an amputee, and a run down shack.<br /><br />Magician<br /><br />"Pick a card, any card," Omar says as he lays the deck out before me. It sounds funny in his thick Gabonese-French accent. I only understand what he's saying because I spent so much time in the Congo, of course that's not something I talk about. I wasn't really there. None of us were. There's no evidence that we ever were, except the one thing I will never forget.<br /><br />I reach over and tap a card somewhere to the left with my prosthesis. The metal thuds against the table, but Omar doesn't blink. My gizmo doesn't bother him.<br /><br />I wish it didn't bother me. I rest the metal in my lap and rub my upper arm distractedly as I watch the cards in Omar's hands. His fingers are so nimble. Mine hadn't been that good even when I had too hands. I suppose that's why he's an explosives man and I'm just a door kicker.<br /><br />He's found my card again, and I spit, and readjust my chew while I give him one of my grumpy looks. "Again," I demand. I am determined to figure out how he does it, even if I'd never be able to duplicate it myself.<br /><br />"You know," Omar says as he shuffles the cards like they are air and not paper, "I usually don't repeat a performance without something on the table to make it worth my while."<br /><br />I glare at Omar. He knows as well as any of the others that I drink away my pay the minute I get it. That's why the boss holds back part of it, so he don't have to pay for my meals between jobs out of his own money.<br /><br />Omar found that out months ago, when the boss took him on to replace Shifty, who decided some girl was worth living on a farm for. Idiot. I envied him. ^(& I envied him. I shoulda got out a long time ago, 'for it was too late.<br /><br />Omar stares blankly back at my glare, and I had to admire his grit, not many men could handle my glares.<br /><br />"Tell you what, my friend," he says to me. "I will do it three more times, and if you don't figure it out by then you tell me the story of how that happened."<br /><br />I spit again, and use my tongue to tuck away a few loose strands of chew. "^()&)&* you," I tell him, but when he shrugs and starts to put away the cards I change my mind, "#$&%. Fine."<br /><br />After all there's nothing else to do in the middle of this )&*)*%*&$ jungle, and were lucky we got a roof over our heads in all this rain, though what we're in is nothing more than a run-down old shack with vines climbing all over it.<br /><br />Omar doesn't go so far as to smile but there is triumph behind his eyes as he pulls back out the cards and begins the trick again. I watch carefully, but I'm distracted by the phantom pain in my left arm. It does that when it rains, the arm I don't have no more just seizes up and I've got to fight the pain to concentrate on the job at hand.<br /><br />The docs had all this technical mumbo jumbo to throw at me when I went to them about it. They threw some pills at me, then the boss took them away a few months later.<br /><br />That man has saved my life more times, in more ways, than I can count.<br /><br />Course... I've saved his at least as much. That's what this job was about, having each other's backs, no matter what @#$@ you get into. Getting in, getting the job done, and getting back out again alive, that's how we live, that's how we pay for that %*^* they pass off as a drink in these parts.<br /><br />What I wouldn't do for a nice bottle of whiskey.<br /><br />Before I know it my three shots are up and Omar's got his eyebrow arched at me from across the 'munition crate we're using as a table. I glare at him and spit. Then Storm breaks the silence that surrounded our exchange of glares.<br /><br />"He lost it saving me," he said. I look over at him and wait 'till he looks my way again. The unspoken exchange between us brings back my memory of that night, how I was pulling him up, and just as soon as his weight transferred off my arm and to his feet there was a rat-tat-tat and he was holding my hand as the pain leapt up my arm and punched me in the gut.<br /><br />That was when me saving him turned into him saving me. By the time we got me to a backwoods doctor it was to the point they had to take it off just below the elbow.<br /><br />Storm and me aint been the same ever since, tight as a tourniquet, that's us. Sometimes I think he's tryin to get himself killed for me, but I ain't gonna let that happen.<br /><br />"It was raining," Boss said. "They was right behind us. Storm was the last one up the embankment, but all the footholds were gone from the rest of us climbing up it. Guns pulled him up, but they got in a lucky shot."<br /><br />I spit again, and the others fell into silence as Omar shuffled the cards and spread them out before me.<br /><br />"What'cha want this time?" I asked Omar. "You wanna see my old hand?"<br /><br />The others laughed. They knew I threw it to the crocs the next day. $@# thing wasn't any use to me, and better no one ever got a chance to print it. %^*&^ fine of Boss to carry it in his shirt for me though, %^*&^ fine.<br /><br />"This time Guns, if you lose, you will do something for me," Omar said.The suggestions that the others shouted out were the kind you could expect from this kind of crowd.<br /><br />"Or maybe I'll kill you for suggesting it," I said in a challenging voice.<br /><br />"I doubt that very much," Omar said with a slight grin as he gestured to the cards.<br /><br />Three more times he played his trick, and three more times I was unable to catch him at it.<br /><br />By now no one was even bothering to pretend not to be following Omar's every move. He tucked away the cards, then told me, "Take that thing off your arm."<br /><br />I took it off, it was uncomfortable anyway.<br /><br />He reached over and grabbed a section of sheet metal we had propped up to reflect some light through the window and into the shack. Then he moved our crate over near the window.<br /><br />"Come, sit," he said, and I knelt down where he motioned me too. He had me put my arms on the crate top and put the metal between them.<br /><br />"Tell me when you can see your arm," he said angling the metal around. It was stupid, but I played along, stopping him when the reflection of my arm was placed so it looked like my stub was whole again. I wiggled my fingers, but didn't tell anyone how it felt to see that hand move again.<br /><br />"I am going to perform an ancient magic known only to the Bantu, which my grandfather passed down to me before he died."<br /><br />I laughed with the others, but he waited for us to quiet again, then told me. "I am going to chant the ancient words to drive away the pain, but you must hold onto it with both hands." He raised his clenched fist to show me how tight I must hold. "Very important, both hands, as tight as you can."<br /><br />I nodded, and he began to chant. Every once in a while he would slip in some English, "tighter" or "harder" as he chanted. His chant rose in pitch from a murmur to the crazed warbling that one expects around a campfire on the Sahara. The more insane the chanting, the harder I clenched, both fists, my arms, my eyes, my whole body, clenched and fighting, the pain in my left arm screamed. The rain pounded on the roof, like a thousand drummers beating the rhythm to his crazed chanting. Fire ran up my arm, it was as if the pain was punishing me for holding onto it when the force of the magic was ripping it away. Still I struggled, fought to punish the pain that I have lived with so long.<br /><br />"LET GO!" Omar shouted, and the soldier in me obeyed the order. I opened my hands and let the pain fall away, just slide to the floor like a dead snake.<br /><br />"Holy *&%%*!" I shouted. "It's gone!" I yanked my arm out from behind the sheet of metal to stare at the stub in shock. "It doesn't hurt anymore!"<br /><br />I looked around in joy at my comrades, who looked on in a state of shock.<br /><br />Then emotions that men like us weren't supposed to have anymore broke through our hard earned shells, and we let the tears fall as we shouted our joy over the victory. Omar was slapped on the back and hugged off his feet, and the noise nearly brought down the roof.<br /><br />Once we had calmed down Omar moved the sheet metal back to it's place on the floor and he took out his cards again. I strapped back on my prosthesis while he shuffled the cards again and laid them out before me.<br /><br />From that day on Omar was one of us. We didn't call him that though, we called him <em>Magician</em>.Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070125802803155242.post-8401976579519988862011-05-21T17:05:00.000-07:002011-05-21T17:14:11.506-07:00Witch IslandAudience chosen story elements: a volcano; a blind woman with some sort of psychic power... perhaps by touch; a talking elephant; a magical world with things like elves, gnomes, and such.<br /><br />Witch Island<br /><br /><br />They come to my island to steal all my treasure, they float and they fly, they slip up my shores. For up on my mountain is wealth beyond measure, the founding of kindgoms, the booty of wars.<br /><br />I feel thier feet as they land on the beach, it tickles my hands the earth's mummuring speech.<br /><br />They come in the cool of night, thinking the darkness will render me blind, thinking my treasure they will find,<br /><br />But all they find is me.<br /><br />For I am the island, the island is me, they'll not overcome me with any weapon they bring. None shall rob me of the stones that doth sing.<br /><br />"Hush, Layla," I say, "Lend thy fan like ear. Dost thou hear the beating of wings? The elves come on grifyns, over the seas, to seek out my treasure, rob me of my things."<br /><br />"Nay!" she trumpets through her long curly snout. She charges the shores to have a look about.<br /><br />So I sit in the darkness, my hands on the floor and count as they alight, twenty, fifty, and more.<br /><br />So many feet, so many sounds, so much trembling in the ground.<br /><br />Layla returns, her footsteps like thunder, "They swarm through the forest, both over and under."<br /><br />"Orc and elf, dwarf and gnome, each with his weapon the island doth roam."<br /><br />"Swift come," I beseech her and I climb on her back, swiftly she takes me up the steep mountain track.<br /><br />Safely in the cave where no one can see she beats out a rhythm to accompany me,<br /><br />While I plead with the earth with my fingers ten, and the earth hears my pleading and opens again.<br /><br />Then up shoots the fire and out shoots the heat, and with fiery tongues the enemy competes.<br /><br />I laugh as the ground convulses and screams, bleeds out hot and red the rock in great streams.<br /><br />Then gnomes, dwarves, and orcs are drowned in the fire, and the elves fly away without thier desire.<br /><br />And Layla and I in the cave fall asleep, our protective vigil yet we shall keep.<br /><br />With my hands on the ground and the wind in her ears, the treasures may rest, forget all thier fears.Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6070125802803155242.post-43062988380706628612011-05-21T09:31:00.000-07:002011-05-21T09:37:59.278-07:00GuinivereAudience chosen story elements: A Knight, a mom with depression or psychosis, time travel/changes, and boarding school.<br /><br />Guinivere<br /><br />I knocked on the door to my mother's room before I entered. I don't know why, it wasn't like she wasn't expecting me. Everyone says she is crazy, and I suppose they should know, they are the Shrinks, but to me my mom is just that, Mom.<br />"Come in," she said in that soft musical voice of hers. I pushed on the handle and scanned the room to find her. She was standing by the window, the bars casting vertical stripes down her face, the wind blowing her long dark hair like the curtains she would never be allowed in this place.<br />She turned to look at me, and the joy was evident behind her eyes. "Guinivere," she said like my name was a song. "Come hither, my child," she said holding out a hand to me, "Behold the lark in yonder tree, and hearest thou his sweet song."<br />I crossed the room and took her hand, holding it tight as I looked out the window with her. It took a moment to locate the little bird, but that was my mother, finding joy in the smallest things. She had always been like that, as long as I could remember.<br />She had also insisted, as long as I could remember, that she had been born in the third century AD as Aranthe, the daughter of a lowly blacksmith, and that I am the daughter of the White Knight of Calamore.<br />My father, who is many things, but not a Knight, finally gave up trying to rid her of the notion and had my mother shipped off to this asylum when I was five. My father is good at shipping things, cargo containers, antiquities, cheaply made products from China, electronics from Japan, and people too, like Mom, and me. He shipped me off to boarding school when I was ten.<br />I don't mind though. I never much liked him. I like mom better with her soft ancient dialect and her flowing grace. So what if her world isn't real? Real life sucks gangrenous toes, and I hate it.<br />I was mentally cursing the world like that when my mother tugged on my hand, "I asked thee a question, my child. Art thou not present in this time?"<br />I smiled, she always asked me that when I was zoned out. I'd say it was ironic, but I think my English teacher would correct me. Maybe...I dunno. Still, it was funny.<br />"I was just thinking, Mom," I said with a smile as she lead me across the room. She sat with infinite grace on the bed and I sat next to her. She wrapped her willowy arms around me and I buried my head in her tresses.<br />"Do they not treat thee well at that fortress he has sent thee to? In truth thou lookest more despondent each time thou comst here."<br />"They treat me well, I just miss you. I hate being away from you, Mom," I mumbled into her hair.<br />"My child, thou art the light of my life, but surely there is something thou holdest dear in the wide world. Is there yet no young squire to delight thine eye and stir thine heart?"<br />"Boys suck," I sighed.<br />She chuckled and said, "I am sure they do, at times. How be thy friends, the beautiful Selma and the clever Elaine?"<br />"They're fine," I sighed. "Selma has another boyfriend, and Elaine's been helping me with my calculus. I hate math."<br />"I shall never fault thee for that, Guinevere," Mom said stroking my back. "Master Hill doth set great store by it though, so we must strive to please him."<br />She always called my father Master Hill, with that detached and grateful air as if he really were some mysterious benefactor who had locked her away for her own protection. She never called him my father, never called him her husband, no matter how many times he had angrily waved the marriage certificate before her face.<br />Sometimes I wanted her fantasy to be real, for us to have really time-traveled her just before I was born. It didn't make any sense, but it was certainly a happier thought than the pain of my birth having pushed her over the edge of reason.<br />When I was a kid I believed her, that someday the White Knight of Calamore would overcome the evil enchantress who had brought us here. That one day I would be ripped from my bland existence of math exams and itchy plaid skirts, and somehow find myself in my REAL home.<br />That's probably why my father sent her away, to save me from the fantasy.<br />I left her late that evening, soaking up every drop of her company I could before the orderlies started getting grumpy at the door. It was very late by the time I got back to school.<br /><br /><br />"How was your visit?" Selma asked me from her bed as she texted her latest boyfriend.<br />"Just fine," I said crossing to my dresser and pulling out my pajamas.<br />"Did she tell you any more stories?" Elaine asked. "I could use a good story tonight."<br />"Just the same old things, about Calamore and the day she met The White Knight," I said with a yawn.<br />"Well at least you got a good name out of it, Guin," Selma said distractedly. She had always coveted my name. I had always coveted her looks. Sure my hair was just as long and dark, but my eyes and skin were pasty-pale while her eyes were dark and lovely and her skin an olive gold. Her accent was lovely too, Castilian, straight from Spain.<br />Elaine rolled her eyes. "Did the Doctors have anything to say?"<br />I shook my head, "I didn't even bother talking to them this time. They'll just say the same old things. I'm just glad they finally took her off all the drugs, all they did was make her a vegetable."<br />Elaine nodded sympathetically, and I finished getting ready for bed. I pulled the covers up over my head to block the light out so Elaine could finish her homework and Selma could continue sending naughty messages to the guy she met at the embassy a month ago.<br />I wished I had her luck with guys. She was going to marry a prince someday, I could just tell. If I was lucky I'd end up in the nutt house with my mother and would never have to remember any of the tips on flirting Selma had given me over the years.<br />I drifted off into an uneasy sleepy, big toothed calculus dragons chased me until Elaine beat them off with a giant pencil. Selma paraded around in a crown, walking on the backs of her besotted boyfriends who all wore blue tunics and swords.<br />Light fell across my face and I opened them, only to decide I was still dreaming. I wasn't in my dorm room, but in a curtained bed beneath a canopy woven with a scene of unicorns and lions. I sat up and pulled back the curtains to find the room was even brighter than I had expected. I blinked at the light, and then managed to focus on the face of a servant girl who slept in a chair by the door.<br />I climbed carefully out of the bed, and crept to the window. I loosened the catch and swung it outward. Below me lay the most beautiful scene I could have imagined.<br />I was up high in a castle surrounded by a city of white plaster and wood. The guards wore helmets and mail shirts under their blue and white tunics; the people passing by wore rough linens and drove carts.<br />I hoped I never woke up from this dream, it was lovely. I stepped back in the room and twirled around, letting my nightgown float around me and my slippers whisper against the stone beneath them. I crossed to a large trunk in the corner and lifted the heavy lid.<br />The embroidery on the gowns before my eyes fairly took my breath away and I reached to stroke the fine linen with reverent hands.<br />"My Lady!" came a startled cry from behind me, and I nearly dropped the lid. The servant girl rushed to my side, worriedly placing her hands on the lid as if to prevent me from hurting myself by dropping it.<br />"Thou shouldst not be lifting so heavy a load so soon after a spell!" she said with some anxiety. She slowly lowered the lid, then hurried over to hover at my side, as if I would fall.<br />I stared at her in confusion. "A spell?" I stammered out.<br />"Yea, my Lady. Thou tookst ill almost as soon as thou rose this morning and hast been abed. Good Sir Lancelot has been inquiring after thee every hour. Too much longer and he would have sent for the King."<br />"No need to bother the King," I said as she shepherded me back towards the bed.<br />"Yea, my Lady, not now that thou art risen. We had feared Morgana had cast a spell across the miles to smite thee." She gasped, "Mayhaps she did, and now you are risen and it tides the fall of Morgana at last. Oh happiest of days!"<br />Just then a knock came at the door and another servant woman entered through it. "Sir Lancelot enquires after Queen Guinevere's health. Mayhaps we could dress her so his mind will be set at ease."<br />I looked down at the nightgown I was wearing, and found it to be more modest than even my school uniform. The maids were already selecting a gown from the trunk though so I didn't protest as they pulled it over my head.<br />They gently lead me to a chair and pulled the curtains on my bed, as if even seeing the place where I slept was some breach of decorum. I waited patiently in the chair, wondering if I my alarm would go off before they would let the legendary man through the door.<br />It seemed that time was on my side because they finally opened the door and ushered him through it.<br />I'm not sure what I expected, but he certainly exceeded any expectation I had ever had of any man. His honey blonde hair was long and wavy. His eyes were blue and sparkled with energy, but my favorite thing about him were his lips, full and berry toned, and stretched wide in a genuine smile.<br />He knelt before me and took my hand, he placed those delicious lips against it for the briefest moment, and an electric thrill ran up my arm and straight into my heart. That man could have powered a city with those lips. "My Lady, I am so relieved to find thee so recovered, and looking so much thyself."<br />Well that was a relief, I had half expected him to exclaim how bad I looked in comparison to the real Guinivere. He raised those joyful blue orbs to look at me and my heart just melted. Wow. No wonder the real Guinevere fell for the guy. He was simply edible in that blue and gold tunic with his mail shirt outlining the impressive muscles on his arms. The thought of those arms, and the chest they were attached to left me speechless, or I should say I kept my mouth shut so I didn't babble incoherently and drool all over myself.<br />Confusion crossed his lovely face, "but, My Lady, art thou yet not well?" he cast a censuring glance at the servants.<br />"Nay," I added in a hurry. "I am well, good Sir. I pray thee, be not concerned for my welfare."<br />"I have naught but thy welfare and the welfare of the kingdom to concern myself with while his Highness is away to battle the dread Morgana. Truth, I thought I had failed my task when thou didst take so suddenly ill," he said.<br />"Then take no more thought for my welfare, but tend to the kingdom," I told him.<br />When he released my hand I regretted comforting him. I should have kept him there, holding my hand in his until my alarm went off, just so I could enjoy the look and feel of him the rest of the night.<br />Instead I watched him walk out the door and resigned myself to looking out the window at the city below.<br /><br /><br />Some hours later the hovering servant girl asked if I wanted to eat in the hall or in my room. I was quite hungry, and though I wasn't sure how I should act while eating in a hall, I was eager to see what my dream came up with for me to eat, until I woke up. Surely my alarm would go off soon, or Elaine would wake me.<br />She opened the door for me and stepped aside and as I crossed the threshold I realized she intended to remain behind, and I had no idea how to navigate the castle. After a moment of thought I re-entered the room and my confused servant accompanied me.<br />"Thou art my true and faithful servant?" I asked "Canst I trust you to lend me aid without causing undo concern to he who has been entrusted with my safety?"<br />"Yea, my Lady," she said with a little dip and a concerned look.<br />"Good." I said, "Be not afraid that I shall feint, but while my body is whole my mind is still clouded... that which I dreamed while sleeping weighs heavily on me."<br />"It must have been a frightful thing thou dreamst, to haunt thee for so many hours," she said with pity in her face.<br />"It twas in truth, and I find myself lost in remembrance at times and not aware of where I am. I pray thee, walk with me this even, and mayhaps I become lost in the dream again, touch thou my elbow and direct me the way. Mayhaps if thou assist me in this way we can ease the mind of the good Knight that he may better care for the Kingdom, for that is what matters in truth."<br />My little speech brought a glimmer of tears to her eyes, and I thought she was repressing an urge to hug me soundly. Instead she beamed and dipped again before leading me out of my chambers.<br />We were near the end of a long corridor, so there was only one way to go at the moment. I walked slowly, enraptured with the textures around me and the sound of our feet on the broad boards. We were coming to a crossing though, and my servant walked three steps behind me, so I put on my best distracted look and gradually came to as stop a good five feet from the junction.<br />After a few moments she touched my elbow and slid off to the right into the hallway. I blinked rapidly and cast her a thankful smile as I again took the lead. This hallway was lined with those ancient tapestries, and I couldn't help but stop to look at them. This caused the poor girl some concern, and she bobbed back and forth, unsure of the nature of my distraction. I took to slowly walking by them and letting my pleasure at their beauty show on my face so she wouldn't be so concerned.<br />We eventually reached a set of doors so wide they could have accommodated a car. Two guards hastened to open them for me and I nodded to them, hoping I was being regal enough. By their looks of joy I guessed the real Guinivere didn't acknowledge them much.<br />I crossed the threshold and the hall fell into silence as I walked down the center of the room, my little servant girl shadowing me all the time. Lancelot was sitting at the table at the front of the room to the side of the King's chair, opposite the one obviously intended for me. As I reached the center of the floor Lancelot stood and raised his glass. He was quickly joined by the others assembled and they all toasted my quick return to health. I nodded my thanks and then allowed my servant girl to help me into my seat.<br />As the conversation returned to its former pitch and food was placed before me I noticed several curious looks being cast at me by Lancelot. I tried to act as normal and still as regal as possible while I ate, but he seemed to be catching a thousand mistakes I didn't know I was making. After several minutes of this torture, in which I failed to enjoy the roast a single bit, a jester was ushered into the room. I prayed he would capture the attention of the watchful Knight as well as he captured the rest of the room, but my hopes were in vain.<br />"Thou seemest less thyself than thou appearedest before," Lancelot said to me as the crowd roared with laughter. "I have been neglecting thy care, I fear."<br />"In truth, kind Sir, there is naught you can do. What ails me is but the shadows of a dream, and of no great concern to one entrusted with the King's kingdom."<br />"He will be most concerned to learn of your spell, and I'm afraid I will be unable to satisfy his inquiries," Lancelot said.<br />"I wouldst not have his displeasure frown upon thee, I shall tell him all, ere he returns," I told him. "Spare not another moment of concern for my behalf, it is the Kingdom that needst thy attention."<br />He seemed surprised, and it was only then I realized my error. The real Guinivere would not have spoken so. Apparently she was some kind of drama Queen.<br /><br /><br />I was saved in the next moment by the opening of the great doors to admit a couple. The evening light was such that I could not make out their faces until they had crossed half of the floor and approached my table.<br />Then two things happened at once, I recognized her face, and I accidentally chewed on my tongue.<br />The pain that accompanied this second thing, instead of detracting from the recognition, instead served to sharpen my realization. "This is not a dream," I said in a voice so low only those nearest me heard it.<br />My mother was one of those, and a gentle smile creased her lips and she shook her head just before she and her companion bowed to me.<br />"The Knight and Lady of Calamore are most welcome," Lancelot said rising, and I followed him to my feet. "I trust thou receivest both of my messages this day?" he asked them.<br />"Indeed we have, Sir Lancelot," the White Knight of Calamore replied to the other Knight, though his eyes were constant upon me. "We have been most anxious about the welfare of our daughter, and our only solace was that she was under your care in the absence of the King.<br />"If the court would be so kind, pray, allow us to commune with the Queen in privally that we may gain full confidence in her return to health," Mom said.<br />Sir Lancelot was only to happy to allow us to return to my chambers, but I felt I could not get there fast enough and the questions might explode out of me before the door was closed.<br />My mind was asking them though my mouth was not, and as my thoughts churned a fear rose inside me. What if this woman was not my real mother? I looked like the real Guinivere, but what if my mother also looked like her mother, but it was not my mother inside but hers? How was I going to figure it out? How was I going to keep it hidden? Surely they would know I was not their daughter in a moment if Lancelot was already suspecting. I was very much regretting being alone with them by the time The White Knight of Calamore closed my chamber door.<br />He looked at his wife with wariness and said, "Ask her."<br />My mother, or not mother, I knew not which, but she who looked like my mother turned to look at me with some trepidation in her eyes.<br />"Guinivere, can you tell me, have I ever spoken to you of the day I met your father, the White Knight of Calamore?"<br />"There is no story I know better," I replied, relieved I knew the answer. "Thou drawst him water from thy father's well as thy father repaired The White Knight's mail. He spoke of his love ere the rim touched his lips."<br />My mother's face lit like the sun had come out from behind a cloud, and I ached to run to her and burry myself in her arms, but fear held me back. Was it truly her?<br />"Now you must ask me a question my child," she encouraged me. "Something only the mother who gave you suck would know, and no other."<br />I thought for a moment before asking "What spied thee out the window yesterday whenst I came to thy door?"<br />"A lark in a tree, spied I through the bars, but his song was never as sweet as thy hand within mine," she replied, holding her hand out to me.<br />I rushed straight past her hand and into her arms. Then larger arms encompassed us both and I could just feel that they belonged to my true father, for their warmth was as a summer's day.<br />Tears of joy stained all of our cheeks before we thought to let go and I used the inside of my sleeve to dry them from those beloved faces. I didn't know how I hadn't known my father on sight, for as I dried his eyes it was like looking into my own eyes.<br />"But how? How did this happen?" I asked my mom, dropping all pretense of ancient speech. "I was asleep in my dorm, and you were locked away in the asylum."<br />My accent seemed to bother my father, and my mother placed a quieting hand on his arm, "Remember, she was raised among them whilst I was away from thee. The speech that was natural to the other Aranthe who was really Rachel, is the speech OUR Guinivere was raised with."<br />He nodded and then looked to me in apology, "You must see what it has been like for me, husband whilst not husband to the woman that emerged in my wife's body after she gave birth. Her strange speech was foreign to me, but her lack of memory of our courtship confirmed to me that some magic had come betwixt myself and my love." He turned hungry eyes on my mother, and she placed her hand on his cheek, as tenderly as a feather lights upon the grass.<br />"Then this is magic?" I asked though as the words left my mouth I realized how stupid they were. Of course it was magic, what else could it be?<br />"King Aurthur didst attack the mountain fortress of the dread Morgana last even. The battle lasted the length of the night," my father told me. "His goal was to destroy her and her implements of magic in order to free thy mother for me."<br />"Whatever magic Morgana used to curse me and thee out of our time has been broken!" my mother rejoiced.<br />"But did he expect to be changing me too?" I asked.<br />The glance they exchanged told me the King did not.<br />"It's not that I'm not happy to be out of that life Mom, I hated it. Besides, I would do anything to have you free of your prison, but do you know what you have done? Did you ever read the tales of Camelot in that other life?"<br />"In truth I have read them, and it grieves me that such things would be written about my land and people. So much was wrong in those tales; you need not take them as a sign of the true path of your life. The bards who bore the tales did not so much as agree with one another, much less rightly portray those I know. Fear not my child," she said comfortingly.<br />"Of what speakest thou?" my father asked. "What legends vilify our people to cause unrest in my daughter's soul?"<br />"They are but rumors that capture the fancy of poets yet unborn," she assured him. "Our Guinivere is noble in heart, for she is of thy blood. We have no need to fear."<br />My father's heart may have rested with those words, but mine did not. I prayed that when Aurthur showed up all thought of Lancelot would fly from my mind and history could be changed, but I had little faith in my prayers.<br /><br /><br />Lancelot was only too happy to put my parents up in quarters in the castle, I suspected he was happy to have the back-up in case I had another spell. My maid brought me a tray of food, and I nibbled on it as I sat beside the fire and thought, late into the night. I wondered about the other Guinivere, what she was doing in the other body, if they had already carted her off to an asylum, or if she was wiley enough to have found a way to adapt.<br />I felt bad for her, in spite of all the little hints I had gotten that she hadn't been the nicest person. She had gone from being the seventeen year old Queen of Camelot to being a boarding school student in a day.<br />Some might not see the difference, but I did. I wasn't allowed to do anything for myself here, but I suspected there were no friends to help me through the adjustment.<br />I wondered what Selma and Elaine had done when they woke up to Queen Guinivere instead of me. Elaine would try to help, I was sure of it, but Selma... Selma might have been threatened by the presence of another drama Queen.<br />Well, it wasn't like I could do anything about it, even if I wanted to. Morgana was likely dead. I was here, the other Guinivere was there, and from what my parents told me this is where we all belonged.<br />I just hoped her mother had prepared her, like mine had prepared me, then maybe there was hope for her.<br />There was a rattle as my door opened and I pulled my robe around me protectively as I stood to face it. The firelight danced off the crown on his head before it lit his face, so I knew what name to put to the man I was now seeing.<br />The Legendary King Aurthur.<br />He was old. Not feeble old, but probably twice my age, and tired. He was bone weary.<br />I flew to his side in concern, "Thou are weary, my Lord, come sit, by the fire." I lead him to a fur lined chair and he sank into it gratefully. I hovered over him, not knowing what to do really. There was a basin of water and a cloth, so I went and dipped it and then began to wash the road off his hands. He took the cloth and pressed it to his face. I wondered if he was trying to wipe away the dust on his face or the stain of the battle on his soul.<br />Finally he removed it and I hurried to soak it again, but he caught my hand, "I am told thy parents have come to our roof. I pray thee, how fares thy Mother?"<br />I knelt before him, unable to meet his eyes, afraid of his reaction to what he might see in them.<br />"In truth, my Mother is not the woman she was ere you last met her. I can never thank you enough for restoring her," I said.<br />He sighed, as if he had carried great fears his efforts had been in vain.<br />"Didst thou doubt the task thou so bravely undertook to perform?" I asked him softly.<br />"I had not but the word of a beaten servant and the beliefs of thy father to support it, but it needed to be done. More lives than hers have been torn by Morgana's Un-Godly powers," he said.<br />"I am comforted that much good will come of it then," I said. "Did we lose many men in the battle?"<br />"Some," he said and his hand tightened on the arm of the chair.<br />Tears pricked at my eyes, what had been the cost of our return?<br />I tried to hold the tears back but they came anyway and I raised my sleeve to wipe one away from my eye.<br />Then his hand was at my chin and he forced me to look in his eyes. He fixed me with such a gaze that I knew he was seeing right through me.<br />"Who art thou?" he asked, his lips tightening.<br />"Please, my Lord, I have no desire to deceive you. I do not know what understanding you have of the curse placed upon my mother, but please allow me to explain," I plead.<br />He stood and crossed to the fire, placing his elbow on the mantle and staring into the flames, "Thou mayest speak," he said.<br />It took a deep breath and began the tale, my use of the ancient tongue slipping more and more until it was just me explaining things to a man I couldn't help but want to trust.<br />I told him about my earliest memories, of the stories my mother would tell, of the way she resisted all attempts to persuade her otherwise. I told him of the fights I witnessed, and of the sad day when he sent her away. I told him of how I would search my other father's family pictures, never finding my features in any of them. I told him of my efforts to fit in, fit into a world that I didn't understand, of the way my mother's stories always stayed with me.<br />Then I told him of how I woke here, of how I thought it a dream, and how confused I was. "Part of me wishes I could take it back, for I ache to think of the lives that may have been harmed. Yet part of me will never regret meeting my true father and seeing the joy in my mother's face."<br />I sighed deeply and fell quiet.<br />He stared in the flames a while longer before he spoke. "Thou are so unlike her, I shouldst have known at the first touch."<br />"I'm so sorry. You must be so upset to have lost her."<br />He sighed and looked up at the ceiling, "In truth... it wouldst be a lie to say that I was."<br />I tilted my head in confusion, but kept my tongue still. It wasn't really my marriage after all, was it?<br />He turned and saw that I was still seated on the floor. With a shake of his head he reached to take my hands and place me in a chair. Then he studied me.<br />"So thou art the Guinivere that Morgana sought to take from me. Gentle, thoughtful, honest, and humble," he chuckle, "I don't know if I deserve such a wife."<br />The term wife, as applied to me, made me uncomfortable, and I looked down. It was one thing to admire the man before me, and another to desire him in that way, the way I had desired Lancelot in a moment. I had thought I had known the difference between love and lust, but now I was not so sure.<br />"I take it thou art a maid then?" he asked gently.<br />I nodded my head, still not meeting his eyes.<br />"Then a maid thou shalt remain, until thou decidest otherwise," he said putting a hand on my head.<br />"That is very kind of you, Sir," I said.<br />"If your father could do it for seventeen years, I think I can survive until you learn to love me," he said with a chuckle.<br />"He told you that?" I asked in surprise.<br />"I used my very best wine upon him," the King admitted. "I needed to know the truth before I acted, and such secrets are not easily obtained from noble men such as your father."<br />I smiled softly, thinking of each of them saving themselves until they saw the one the loved return. I wondered if the other... Rachel had made it hard for my father, or if she had avoided him like Aranthe had avoided Master Hill. I supposed I would never know.<br />I wondered then if my marriage to Aurthur was intact, since I had not entered into it, but the body I was in apparently had. It seemed unfair in a way, to force us two strangers together, but the way he talked about the other Guinivere... perhaps they have lived as strangers all along anyway.<br />"Thou must be weary, I shall retire to my chambers," Aurthur said, patting my shoulder before he walked away.<br />"My Lord," I called as he reached the door. He turned to look at me, his face so vulnerable it nearly broke my heart. "I don't feel I will ever be able to express my gratitude for what you have done for my mother."<br />"My Queen," he said softly, "thou hast spoken the words, and they have reached my heart. Goodnight."<br /><br /><br />I woke the next morning to the incredible aroma of freshly baked bread. I pulled back the curtains to discover my servant quietly setting my breakfast tray on the table. She bowed her way out of the room, and I was happy to be left alone to devour the food as uncouthly as I wished.<br />I was licking the butter off my fingers when a whisper of paper drew my attention to the door.<br />I crossed the room and picked up the tightly rolled note that had one letter scrawled on it's exterior, G. I broke the wax seal with my thumb nail and crossed the room to my bed as I unrolled it.<br />What I read made my insides writhe in the most unsettling way.<br />I longed for thee all even. Pray come tonight, lest my longing for thy touch drive me to madness.<br />I did my best to hold down my breakfast. There was no doubt from whom Queen Guinivere would receive such a note, Lancelot. So the affair had already started. The other me had already betrayed the most noble man in history.<br />My first instinct was to burn the note, and with it all evidence against the skin I wore. Aurthur may have accepted my tale in the dead of the night, but if he found out, would he still believe me another soul in this body? Would I be able to escape his wrath? Would my secret eventually be told and would I face the hangman's noose as the bards in the time in between my lives had depicted me facing?<br />As I crossed to the fire my eyes fell on a smudge on the white marble mantle, where Aurthur had rested his battle weary hand. I saw in my mind the image of him there, and knew on some level that to hide the actions of the other Guinivere was to betray him anew.<br />I couldn't do that. Aurthur had been my hero since I was a child, I had cursed Lancelot and Guinivere for destroying him and all he had hoped to build in his Kingdom. I wanted to be part of the good in this Kingdom, and no good could start with a lie.<br />I heard a step at my door and quickly tucked the note into my bodice. My servant entered at my bidding and informed me that my parents wished to visit me.<br />We managed to get me dressed fairly quickly, and I told her my mother could help me with my hair. She let them in and bowed her way out, closing the door on us.<br />I was once again pulled into the warm embrace of both of my parents, and was sad when they released me. I had said so many goodbyes in my life, I hated to think that eventually they would return to Calamore without me. I would have to enjoy every moment I had them.<br />My moments were numbered though, because the first thing they did was explain that they had to return today. Apparently Knights did not get much time off for family emergencies.<br />I had hoped to privately consult with my mother about the letter, and how best to tell Aurthur, but now I knew I could not burden her with it. She deserved every instant of happiness she could fit in, she had lost so many years already.<br />So I spent our little time together clinging to my father's hands as Mom brushed and braided my hair, and promising them that I would be fine, "Aurthur knows all now, and... well he really is the most noble and fine man in the world."<br />It was that nobility I was counting on as I went to find him in his library later that day.<br />He was staring out the window when I entered the room. As I walked softly towards him I scanned the room, in awe of the carefully wrapped scrolls and the unfamiliar scent of ancient texts. We were alone in the room, which was a relief. I didn't want to cause a stir among the servants by having too many closed door conversations. I also figured a servant ejected from a room was more likely to listen at the door.<br />"My Lord," I said softly dipping into a courtesy I was sure he found inferior to the others he received all day.<br />He didn't look disapproving though, he looked hopeful, and the spark of joy in his eyes stirred my heart. Such a good man deserved to be happy.<br />I wished very much I didn't need to make him unhappy, but my mother had always taught me that the truth was the paramount concern. She should know. I needed to be brave like her now.<br />I returned his smile, though my nerves were showing.<br />Concern filled his eyes and he reached a hand out and rested on my shoulder. "The uncertainty in thy eyes pains me. Knowest thou not that I am a man of my word and sworn to love and cherish thee?"<br />"The legend of thy noble character has been more a part of my life than you... thou...couldst know, my Lord," I said softly, looking him earnestly in the eyes. "In that time all children are taught of the principles of equity and nobility that graced thy courts. However, I feared since my coming, and have had confirmed this day, that that which is long spoken of as your undoing I am too late to prevent."<br />"Of what speakest thou?" Aurthur asked his eyes now mingling confusion with his concern.<br />"I... I thought to burn the proof, to protect thee from the pain it must surely cause thee, but I have decided it wouldst be wrong to hide this from thee."<br />I pulled the now flattened scroll from my bodice and passed it to him, the letter G plainly showing on the outside. "This was slipped under my door this morning, after my servant had left for the kitchens."<br />He unrolled it, his brow furrowed, and he read the damning evidence several times before closing his eyes and bowing his head in grief.<br />I ached to reach out, comfort him with my touch, but I greatly feared that if he saw my face, her face, he might lash out in a way he would regret. So I stood there, hands clasped tight, and barely breathing while Aurthur, the Great Aurthur suffered in silence before me.<br /><br /><br />He opened his mouth, and I held my breath, trying to be ready for any of the myriad of responses he might have to this revelation.<br />When he finally spoke I found myself speechless.<br />"Thou must think very little of me indeed, with such evidence of my inadequacy presented to thee within a day of thy miraculous return," he said. Unable to look at me he crossed the room and sank into a chair, his fingers shoved into his long but thinning hair. I wondered how often he sat like that, the worries in his head so great that he must crush them in with his hands.<br />We remained that way for some time, my knees creaking beneath me, and his knuckles white amidst his hair, until I found my tongue and quietly asked, "Art thou angry with me?"<br />"Angry?" he asked in surprise turning to look at me with red rimmed eyes. "Why wouldst I be angry with thou? It is no sin of thine."<br />I sighed with relief and then he nodded, "Thou fearedst I would hold her body responsible for her error." He shook his head no, and held out a hand to me.<br />I found myself rushing to take it, but though we were practically strangers offering that comfort was not enough for me. I placed my hand upon his face, running my thumb over the well smeared tears that dampened his cheek.<br />He half laughed and ducked his head again, though he still clung to my hand. "Thou must think me the greatest of fools," he shook his head. "All of future history must think of me as such."<br />"No!" I said firmly, then corrected myself, "Nay, they do not!" His head was still facing the floor so to the floor I sank and forced him to look in my eyes. "I do not now, nor have I ever thought thee a fool."<br />He blinked at my sincerity.<br />"My Lord," I said, trying to frame in a moment why millions upon millions call him a hero. "Thou are legendary for... for seeing the greatness in others, when they sometimes did not see it themselves. That is not a weakness, that is a gift. Thy pain, thy loss is not a blemish in the story of thy life, nay, the world grieves with you that those you trusted were not strong enough to help thee achieve thy vision. Thou art FOREVER the greatest King and the most noble of mortal men."<br />He searched my eyes, and I clung to his hand, willing him to feel my belief in him, willing him to see in my eyes what he truly was.<br />"Thou believest in me more than any hast before," he said in wonder. "Nay, not even Merlin held such hope for me ere he died." His eyes glazed over with thought, "It was he who bade me marry Guinivere, with his last breath. I can only but hope thou are the Guinivere he spiedest through the mists of time. I believe he wouldst have loved thee dearly."<br />His eyes fell on the note, laying mangled on the rug beside me. "Me thinks thou knowest from thy youth the man in whom I didst falsely trust."<br />I sighed, "Indeed the stories of my time suppliedest a name, but ere I speak it, I beg thee consider: In all else save the love of thy wife this man hast been thy faithful servant. His choice was wrong, her choice was wrong, and justice demands that they pay for their wrongs, but justice has placed her out of his reach. Thy heart may safely confide that he shall never come to me. If thou hast any fear of this I will sleep at thy feet every night of my life, I will ride with thee to every battle, I will walk behind thee in every step thou takest. Only I pray thee, expose thou not this man, and thyself to public censure. I fear the people will indeed lose faith, and thy power for good will be diminished."<br />He looked at me for the longest time, the expressions in his eyes a mixture of many thoughts and emotions. Then at last he spoke, "Such great wisdom to proceed out of the mouth of one so young. I wouldst I had had thee at my side instead of the vain and selfish woman whom I wed."<br />"Well," I said with a blush. "It doth help to know the end from the beginning... Though, in truth," I added suddenly realizing something, "If thou takest the course I have prescribed, I fear my foresight there ends. History will have changed."<br />"We will make the change for the better then, thou and I. Nay, not for the better but for the best!" he said the spark of hope and vision lighting his eyes. He rose from the chair, pulling me up with him. "Come, we must be started, call thou the mislead lover to meet with me and thee."<br />I cast him a concerned look and he grinned, "I swear to thee, my fated bride, I wish only for him to look into thy eyes and see, and to hear thy story and to understand. I shall not make thee face thy fears of a dark future."<br />I grinned and pressed my hands to his cheeks, and finding them still wet used my sleeve to wipe them dry. The tender gesture brought more tears to his eyes and while I smiled and wiped them away I also silently cursed the other Guinivere for neglecting him so that such a simple act would be unexpected.<br />He raised his hand to still my wiping sleeve and with the other cautiously reached for my waist. When I did not resist he turned my arm and gently kissed the inside of my wrist.<br />The warmth that spread through me from that kiss was so unlike my reaction to Lancelot's kiss upon my hand that I marveled I had ever let the Knight's touch affect me. The comfort, the safety, the trust that filled me as I stood wrapped in Aurthur's arms was such bliss that I knew, this was what love was. This is where I belonged, in this time, in these arms, as King Aurthur's true Queen Guinivere.<br /><br />The EndThorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com3