The intruder didn’t look like a bugler. He was tall with neatly trimmed, graying hair, and a obviously expensive 3 piece suit. If his stride hadn’t been so confidant, Les would have thought he was lost. What reason could there be for a man like that wandering a shipping warehouse at 2:00 AM? As procedure demanded, Les had called the main security office upon first alarm. The controller kept him on the line. They had linked into the security cameras, and could see what he was seeing while they fed him status updates for the arrival of police and backup. While help was still 2 minutes away, the man on the screen reached into his satchel, and drew out a bottle. It was more than a handful, maybe a wine or liquor bottle. Perhaps the man was indeed just a vagabond looking for a dark place to lay his head while he drank himself into a coma.
Les’ idle speculation screeched to a halt as the image on the monitor paled in the light of a naked flame. A rag stuffed into the bottle’s neck was lit, and the intruder reared his arm back and threw. The bottle glanced off the concrete floor, and slid into a pallet of cardboard boxes. Any momentary relief Les felt when the bottle refused to shatter was snuffed when the fire wrapped around the boxes. Les grabbed an auxiliary phone and dialed 999.
The line rang only once before he got an answer. Quickly explained there was a fire and gave over the address. The operator asked, “Are you still in the building, sir?” And when he replied she calmly instructed, “There’s nothing more you can do there. Please evacuate.” The monitor showed only fire and shadow. He could smell the chemical laden smoke, and for a moment he wondered what his employer would do if he left his post, but quickly decided that it didn’t matter.
* * *
“There’s only one place in town that has any elixir left, and they’re demanding two-thousand euro a dose, or twenty-thousand for a contract.” Courtney Phearson took a deranged delight in watching her bosses’ jaw go slack. Generally her boss was unflappable, but over the past months the world had become an unbelievable place.
“That’s absurd,” Archibald replied, “the only reason the supply in London is so strained is because of the mob attacks and hijacking. Do they think people will pay that?”
“First,” Courtney explained, “I’d bet a pretty penny that the pharmacy is a mob operation, and they’re just culling they competition to drive prices, and second, people are paying those prices. Not many, sure, but every dollar they get will go to fighting other suppliers, and the longer this goes, the more people are going to decide to either pay their price or leave.”
Dr Mercer’s head slumped, but she knew him well enough to know that he couldn’t spare the strength to lift his head when his mind was working its hardest.
“Why don’t people mail-order elixir?”
“Some stupid law enacted last year that prohibits sending medicines to private residence through the mail. It was conceived to combat all those stupid untested diet supplements and internet frauds.”
His mouth twitched, but he continued thinking, “Well, we can’t do a lot about London, but we should consider keeping the same from happening here. We’ll need to make elixir a controlled substance, and ensure only licensed pharmacies sell it, and it’s sold only to persons with a prescription, and limit the amounts that can be sold per person to prevent hording.”
As two of the heads of The Department of Human Health and Continuation, they had the clout to do just that, but Courtney worried. “Will people accept it? I mean, Dr Rayne Osi meant for elixir to be freely available to anyone who wants it.”
“But it’s not available,” Archibald replied, “Not in London. And in this case, the mob is right. This stuff is valuable. It’s family, it’s the future, and the continuation of the species relies upon it. If they could control the supply of elixir, how much could they charge? What would cost too much to the people who wanted it?”
She spent several seconds coming to agree with him. If they didn’t control the elixir, who did? “It’ll be hard to get the Senate to pass these restrictions, it’ll upset the voters, and won’t make anyone rich; you know how politicians resist such things.” As soon as she said it, Courtney cringed. Archibald was no small part politician himself. He didn’t seem to notice the unintended slight however.
“No, it won’t, but it will be done anyway.”
27 December 2009
19 November 2009
Part 2: Control
Part 2: Control
Tuesday afternoons were always slow. In years past, Kevin worried about the post lunch lull in business, but that was when the lease had been new and creditors were dark figures in highrise offices plotting his demise. Now he just called his landlord “Bob” and couldn’t envision the man plotting anything more devious than sneaking off his diet. The quiet time had grown on him. It allowed Kevin time to clean his little pharmacy after the hubbub of the lunch run, but it was bit of a relief to hear the digital bong of someone entering.
Kevin propped his push-broom against an aisle of rubbing alcohol and cotton balls and took to straightening his white lab coat. He knew his halo of white hair was a ruckus, but he could only worry about things in his control.
He had to step quick to keep up with the young woman who’d entered. She passed the aisles of candies and second-rate movie disks to head straight back to the pharmacy counter. There she stood like like a cattail in a bog—straight and sure with only a slight rocking with the breeze. Kevin smiled awkwardly as he pushed through the counter door, “How can I help you today?”
She could have been no older than twenty, her skin chalky white and dark hair pulled up in sloppy pony-tail, and deep plum circled her eyes. She didn’t look him in the eye. “I need some elixir.” Her hand delved deep into a coat pocket and pulled a ungainly wad of small bills that wafted to the counter.
It all sat so wrong. Kevin sold dozens of viles of elixir daily. Some buyers were cheery, bashful, embarrassed, purposeful, or giddy. True, the elixir had been available for just over ninety days but he’d seen so many requests come though that he felt he knew it now, and this girl didn’t fit. She wasn’t a girl looking to invite a baby into the world. He knew that he wasn’t supposed to grill customers on what they asked for, and questioning a request for elixir was a very new yet potent taboo. Undeterred, he drew a quick breath, “Looking to get pregnant?”
Her glare was acid. For a moment Kevin feared she would combust, lash out, vomit a tirade about respect and stomp out, but then her features softened and she cast a glance back over her shoulder. He followed her gaze out the glass doors and up to the curb. An old 2010 model pickup was stopped in front of the store, the driver sat with an obviously impatient air about him.
The girl said only, “Please?”
And he understood. In a broken mote of a moment he knew what brought her to him, and what he had to do. Without knowing he meant to, Kevin said, “I can help you ...
... with lemonade.”
He may as well of started pantomiming trapped in a glass box for the look she gave him, but he didn’t let it stop him. As he moved out into the store he motioned for her to follow. She scrambled to followed him to the tall, glass-door refrigerators. Among the Mylar bags of Coca-cola products there rested an often neglected shelf of breakfasty beverages. Long-time tradition served the citrus drinks in 12 ounce plastic cups with a pullback foil lid. He swung the door open, his excitement fogging the door in the second it took to snatch one serving of lemonade from the shelf.
The girl was just caught up to him when he clapped the door closed, and reversed direction back to the pharmacy. Behind the counter there was the box that contained the elixir. It was white and green with impressionist leaves and doves all printed on high-gloss—therefore the 1 by 3 inch sticker that showed the contents peeled off easily. He placed the sticker on the lemonade lid, aligned it carefully, and smooshed in on.
It was a poor counterfeit, and it wouldn’t fool anyone for long. But it didn’t need to. He slid it down the counter like a gold-rush barkeep slinging whiskey. His sense of accomplishment took only a small dent when she asked, “What’s this?”
He composed himself and replied, “It’s lemonade, and it won’t do a damn thing but get him off your back. This is all I have right now, but if you come back in a few days I’ll have more.”
Her breath quickened, and a small panic infected her voice. “He knows what the stuff looks like.”
“No, don’t worry. This is a new, flavored product. And it’s all I have. That is what you want isn’t it?”
The cogs of her mind ground and groaned, but slowly peace came to her. “Yeah, that’s what I want.”
* * *
“You won’t believe this,” Courtney growled as she stomped up to his desk. She slammed a sheet of paper onto his desk like she wished it harm.
Doctor Archibald Mercer had to struggle away from what he’d been reading to turn his attention to his college’s paper. The Department of Human Health and Continuation had been created a year ago in order to coordinate hundreds of studies on the infertility plague, but it had taken a cure to make him really busy.
Archibald adjusted the spectacles on his nose. Her paper was an AP story, but she curtailed his reading by raging, “There’s a town in Utah that is trying to add elixir to the culinary water supply.”
He didn’t allow her to derail his concentration—by now he was accustomed to the younger Deputy Director’s passions. According to the article the city council had presented the idea at a public meeting, and the proposal was widely approved, but there was no firm plan to implement it yet. He couldn’t help a mild chuckle, “Maybe we should get them in touch with this company. I just got a report of a company in Georgia that has started production on a pseudo-elixir that looks just like the real thing with no affect at all.”
It was hard to believe that her face could get any more purple, but darken it did. “What? Why?”
“Exactly this. A pharmacist came up with the idea specifically to prevent women from being medicated against their wills. Now there’s court cases being filed. Some people want an injunction to assure that this won’t fool people seeking real elixir, and the opposition says if there’s a way to see the difference it won’t serve it’s purpose. There are counter-suits to stop in the injunction, and further suits saying that the creation of such a product is reckless.” He could only sigh, shake his head, and tsk quietly to himself.
Courtney was more outraged than ever. She stood with her teeth clenched and a hard set to her eyes. She was always good at thinking things through, then fervently fighting for the side she determined right. That was a good thing.
“Think about it tonight. We’re going to be getting calls from the Senate and the White House tomorrow, and we want to have these things thought through.”
Tuesday afternoons were always slow. In years past, Kevin worried about the post lunch lull in business, but that was when the lease had been new and creditors were dark figures in highrise offices plotting his demise. Now he just called his landlord “Bob” and couldn’t envision the man plotting anything more devious than sneaking off his diet. The quiet time had grown on him. It allowed Kevin time to clean his little pharmacy after the hubbub of the lunch run, but it was bit of a relief to hear the digital bong of someone entering.
Kevin propped his push-broom against an aisle of rubbing alcohol and cotton balls and took to straightening his white lab coat. He knew his halo of white hair was a ruckus, but he could only worry about things in his control.
He had to step quick to keep up with the young woman who’d entered. She passed the aisles of candies and second-rate movie disks to head straight back to the pharmacy counter. There she stood like like a cattail in a bog—straight and sure with only a slight rocking with the breeze. Kevin smiled awkwardly as he pushed through the counter door, “How can I help you today?”
She could have been no older than twenty, her skin chalky white and dark hair pulled up in sloppy pony-tail, and deep plum circled her eyes. She didn’t look him in the eye. “I need some elixir.” Her hand delved deep into a coat pocket and pulled a ungainly wad of small bills that wafted to the counter.
It all sat so wrong. Kevin sold dozens of viles of elixir daily. Some buyers were cheery, bashful, embarrassed, purposeful, or giddy. True, the elixir had been available for just over ninety days but he’d seen so many requests come though that he felt he knew it now, and this girl didn’t fit. She wasn’t a girl looking to invite a baby into the world. He knew that he wasn’t supposed to grill customers on what they asked for, and questioning a request for elixir was a very new yet potent taboo. Undeterred, he drew a quick breath, “Looking to get pregnant?”
Her glare was acid. For a moment Kevin feared she would combust, lash out, vomit a tirade about respect and stomp out, but then her features softened and she cast a glance back over her shoulder. He followed her gaze out the glass doors and up to the curb. An old 2010 model pickup was stopped in front of the store, the driver sat with an obviously impatient air about him.
The girl said only, “Please?”
And he understood. In a broken mote of a moment he knew what brought her to him, and what he had to do. Without knowing he meant to, Kevin said, “I can help you ...
... with lemonade.”
He may as well of started pantomiming trapped in a glass box for the look she gave him, but he didn’t let it stop him. As he moved out into the store he motioned for her to follow. She scrambled to followed him to the tall, glass-door refrigerators. Among the Mylar bags of Coca-cola products there rested an often neglected shelf of breakfasty beverages. Long-time tradition served the citrus drinks in 12 ounce plastic cups with a pullback foil lid. He swung the door open, his excitement fogging the door in the second it took to snatch one serving of lemonade from the shelf.
The girl was just caught up to him when he clapped the door closed, and reversed direction back to the pharmacy. Behind the counter there was the box that contained the elixir. It was white and green with impressionist leaves and doves all printed on high-gloss—therefore the 1 by 3 inch sticker that showed the contents peeled off easily. He placed the sticker on the lemonade lid, aligned it carefully, and smooshed in on.
It was a poor counterfeit, and it wouldn’t fool anyone for long. But it didn’t need to. He slid it down the counter like a gold-rush barkeep slinging whiskey. His sense of accomplishment took only a small dent when she asked, “What’s this?”
He composed himself and replied, “It’s lemonade, and it won’t do a damn thing but get him off your back. This is all I have right now, but if you come back in a few days I’ll have more.”
Her breath quickened, and a small panic infected her voice. “He knows what the stuff looks like.”
“No, don’t worry. This is a new, flavored product. And it’s all I have. That is what you want isn’t it?”
The cogs of her mind ground and groaned, but slowly peace came to her. “Yeah, that’s what I want.”
* * *
“You won’t believe this,” Courtney growled as she stomped up to his desk. She slammed a sheet of paper onto his desk like she wished it harm.
Doctor Archibald Mercer had to struggle away from what he’d been reading to turn his attention to his college’s paper. The Department of Human Health and Continuation had been created a year ago in order to coordinate hundreds of studies on the infertility plague, but it had taken a cure to make him really busy.
Archibald adjusted the spectacles on his nose. Her paper was an AP story, but she curtailed his reading by raging, “There’s a town in Utah that is trying to add elixir to the culinary water supply.”
He didn’t allow her to derail his concentration—by now he was accustomed to the younger Deputy Director’s passions. According to the article the city council had presented the idea at a public meeting, and the proposal was widely approved, but there was no firm plan to implement it yet. He couldn’t help a mild chuckle, “Maybe we should get them in touch with this company. I just got a report of a company in Georgia that has started production on a pseudo-elixir that looks just like the real thing with no affect at all.”
It was hard to believe that her face could get any more purple, but darken it did. “What? Why?”
“Exactly this. A pharmacist came up with the idea specifically to prevent women from being medicated against their wills. Now there’s court cases being filed. Some people want an injunction to assure that this won’t fool people seeking real elixir, and the opposition says if there’s a way to see the difference it won’t serve it’s purpose. There are counter-suits to stop in the injunction, and further suits saying that the creation of such a product is reckless.” He could only sigh, shake his head, and tsk quietly to himself.
Courtney was more outraged than ever. She stood with her teeth clenched and a hard set to her eyes. She was always good at thinking things through, then fervently fighting for the side she determined right. That was a good thing.
“Think about it tonight. We’re going to be getting calls from the Senate and the White House tomorrow, and we want to have these things thought through.”
06 October 2009
Part 1: Alteration
Her mother was in the next room, but Alexis had to watch her on television. She stood at a dark lectern, and said “Good evening” to the world. Though she was dressed in her usual sharp business suit, she seemed somehow decomposed. Her dark brown skin was cast with a gray pallor. Pearls of sweat on her brow glinted and danced for the cameras. The auditorium was several times larger than necessary for the fifty reporters who seemed more interested in hobnobbing than listening. Mother was still a moment too long—a stalled breath to gather herself. Alexis had seen her mother stand before dignitaries and world leaders with a frosty composure. Had it been Alexis at those microphones, there would be no end to critique and comment on her undisciplined expressions.
A gasp, like a swimmer sucking air, and then, “My corporation has a cure for the Human Infertility Plague, and in this press conference, I will outline our plans to make the cure available to everyone.”
Now the reporters were caught, every ear perked, every eye fixed. Without seeming to move, the press corps crept up on the stage, cameras and digital recorders extended to gobble up her words.
“But first ...”
“I must explain.”
Alexis turned the overstuffed chair to get a better look at the monitor. In her fourteen years, she’d not seen her mother—the scientist, inventor, industrialist and philanthropist—the least affected. Seeing it now was like a peek into an other world. Doctor Rayne Natasha Osi had worked for years in pharmaceuticals until she believed she could breed virus to deliver medicine, and that was before she started programming quantum gates to govern genetic mutations. Mother didn’t understand problems because solutions came so easily to her. And she stood before a mob of second-rate reporters, shaken and cowed when she held the salvation of humanity.
“The Plague that has prevented human conception is human-caused. I know, because I caused it.”
She stood still as stone while a wave of cacophony broke over her. On the unforgiving hi-def screen, Alexis saw her mother’s nostrils flare, and a quaver in her hand as she grasped the lectern’s edge.
“Please,” she whimpered. “Let me explain.
“First, if there be any backlash or blame, let it be aimed at me. Anyone who aided me did so unknowingly. I alone brought this upon us, and I make no apology.
“Time, I think, will illuminate my reasons. History will understand, but I don’t expect anyone to understand me now.
“I was the product of rape. My mother was brutally attacked by a group of men who said they were ‘curing her’ of her homosexuality.
“When my daughter was conceived, her father deserted us. It wasn’t his choice, he said, and therefore it wasn’t his responsibility.
“And as I languished in these very personal pains, I began to understand that the world is not cruel—the world is merely indifferent. Cruelty is a device of men. These things that I thought were pains that defined me are repeated throughout our race daily, and horrors I’d not imagined are visited upon people all around me.
“War, they say, is mankind’s way of thinning the herd. Children are trained to combat as soon as they can fire a weapon. Famine has driven once-civilized cities to into barbarianism. There are too many people fighting for too few resources, and as the world’s supply dwindles, we will fight harder for them. Unless the killing is stopped, our race will end.
“I devised, created, and released the plague that many have touted as the end of mankind. It will not, however, end us; it will save us from ourselves.”
Mother reached for a remote control, but as she lifted it, it wriggled from her fingers to clatter across the stage. She looked at it with dejected horror until a stooped aid scurried out and fetched it for her. She smiled quickly before thumbing the lights to dim. A screen behind her displayed a huge picture of a small, plastic medicine cup. Lines along the cup’s side marked 55 milliliters of clear liquid within. “Behold,” Rayne announced, “the elixir that will curb the plague. My companies around the world have already produced eighty-million doses, and they are being distributed as we speak. A single dose of this elixir will revert a woman to her ‘normal’ fertility for about six days.
“I do not want to control the world’s population, nor threaten humanity’s continued existence. I have published the procedure for creating the elixir, and published it so it will not be lost.”
“How?” Someone shouted from the front row, “How do we get it?”
She nodded with waning strength. “That is a good question. Starting this week, one will be able to acquire it at a corner pharmacy in South Africa, most of Europe, the United States, and Canada. Other regions are opening rapidly. A single dose costs about twenty-five US dollars, and that covers only our costs involved in manufacture and distribution—we seek no profit from this.”
“Why?” Rang out another shout. The screen changed to a jittery hand-held, and focused on a man among the reporters. His shirtsleeves were well-pressed, and his wool slacks had a crisp, expensive air about them, and all of the pretension of his wardrobe failed to cloak his shattered compose. His eyes were puffy and red. Spittle flew from his mouth as he yelled. “What gives you the right?!”
Rayne looked wounded. Her voice was all gone, leaving only hollow breath, “I cannot explain further but to say, by controlling the quantity of life, I hope we can better control the quality of life.”
“What a load of CRAP!” he screamed. “Can you reverse it?”
Her laugh was slurred like she was slipping into a doze. “I cannot. If I knew how, I would not tell it, and I will not be compelled to try. I have been dosed with a potent neuro-toxin that will leave my brain invulnerable to any persuasion of reason or technology. Nothing can be done now to alter this change in human evolution. I have made this mark on the world. Like surgery, it is painful now, but upon healing we will be a better race for it.”
But Alexis didn’t hear the last part. She drifted to her feet, cold and numb and moved without any action of her will. An aide stepped to block her, but Alexis ducked and weaved, slipping neatly though the half-hearted grab. In the drab hall, she ran the two dozen steps to a set of wide double doors. She pushed them, and the doors splayed out to crash on their hinges. Alexis drifted through the chaos in the auditorium. The stage where her mother stood was littered with people. At the center most were on their knees, and hunched farther back ... like a crater made of men.
She stepped nearer, closing the long empty space between herself and the spot where her mother had been. Slowly realization formed out of gossamer thoughts ... the web-feed was on a time delay. Her mother had spoken of poisoning herself several seconds before Alexis heard.
Hadn’t that always been the way with mother? When had anyone heard her when she spoke? Why did here ideas always need a thick dollop of time to be understood?
When the crowd saw Alexis there, blank faced and pale, they turned on her. Men and women all bobbed their heads like buzzards over a carcass, each calling out louder than the next and clawing their recorders toward her. She couldn’t understand them. Alexis wanted only to see her mother.
As she stepped they stuttered back as if they feared to be too near her. An arm’s length radius surrounded her and she advanced on the stage. The pressure of a hundred eyes felt like walking through the sea. She rose over the stage steps, and looked down. Rayne was there. She was laid on her side. Alexis needn’t have seen the gray pallor nor the glassy cast of her eyes to know that her mother was gone ... there was a smell of death, like lilacs drying on desert sand.
Half a dozen breaths later, a gentle hand rested on Alexis’ shoulder. The weight of it near bent her in half, but she remained upright. Her eyes turned to see a familiar face there. Her mother’s assistant and best friend, Bernice, usually wore a proud collection of laugh-lines, but now she was merely desiccated. She held out a hand, a folded noted delicately proffered. It bore her name in her mother’s hand. Alexis barely opened in enough to read: “I’m sorry” and “preparations have been made” before she folded it. Now was not the time. Later, she resolved, when the questions are quieter. When the world has peace.
A gasp, like a swimmer sucking air, and then, “My corporation has a cure for the Human Infertility Plague, and in this press conference, I will outline our plans to make the cure available to everyone.”
Now the reporters were caught, every ear perked, every eye fixed. Without seeming to move, the press corps crept up on the stage, cameras and digital recorders extended to gobble up her words.
“But first ...”
“I must explain.”
Alexis turned the overstuffed chair to get a better look at the monitor. In her fourteen years, she’d not seen her mother—the scientist, inventor, industrialist and philanthropist—the least affected. Seeing it now was like a peek into an other world. Doctor Rayne Natasha Osi had worked for years in pharmaceuticals until she believed she could breed virus to deliver medicine, and that was before she started programming quantum gates to govern genetic mutations. Mother didn’t understand problems because solutions came so easily to her. And she stood before a mob of second-rate reporters, shaken and cowed when she held the salvation of humanity.
“The Plague that has prevented human conception is human-caused. I know, because I caused it.”
She stood still as stone while a wave of cacophony broke over her. On the unforgiving hi-def screen, Alexis saw her mother’s nostrils flare, and a quaver in her hand as she grasped the lectern’s edge.
“Please,” she whimpered. “Let me explain.
“First, if there be any backlash or blame, let it be aimed at me. Anyone who aided me did so unknowingly. I alone brought this upon us, and I make no apology.
“Time, I think, will illuminate my reasons. History will understand, but I don’t expect anyone to understand me now.
“I was the product of rape. My mother was brutally attacked by a group of men who said they were ‘curing her’ of her homosexuality.
“When my daughter was conceived, her father deserted us. It wasn’t his choice, he said, and therefore it wasn’t his responsibility.
“And as I languished in these very personal pains, I began to understand that the world is not cruel—the world is merely indifferent. Cruelty is a device of men. These things that I thought were pains that defined me are repeated throughout our race daily, and horrors I’d not imagined are visited upon people all around me.
“War, they say, is mankind’s way of thinning the herd. Children are trained to combat as soon as they can fire a weapon. Famine has driven once-civilized cities to into barbarianism. There are too many people fighting for too few resources, and as the world’s supply dwindles, we will fight harder for them. Unless the killing is stopped, our race will end.
“I devised, created, and released the plague that many have touted as the end of mankind. It will not, however, end us; it will save us from ourselves.”
Mother reached for a remote control, but as she lifted it, it wriggled from her fingers to clatter across the stage. She looked at it with dejected horror until a stooped aid scurried out and fetched it for her. She smiled quickly before thumbing the lights to dim. A screen behind her displayed a huge picture of a small, plastic medicine cup. Lines along the cup’s side marked 55 milliliters of clear liquid within. “Behold,” Rayne announced, “the elixir that will curb the plague. My companies around the world have already produced eighty-million doses, and they are being distributed as we speak. A single dose of this elixir will revert a woman to her ‘normal’ fertility for about six days.
“I do not want to control the world’s population, nor threaten humanity’s continued existence. I have published the procedure for creating the elixir, and published it so it will not be lost.”
“How?” Someone shouted from the front row, “How do we get it?”
She nodded with waning strength. “That is a good question. Starting this week, one will be able to acquire it at a corner pharmacy in South Africa, most of Europe, the United States, and Canada. Other regions are opening rapidly. A single dose costs about twenty-five US dollars, and that covers only our costs involved in manufacture and distribution—we seek no profit from this.”
“Why?” Rang out another shout. The screen changed to a jittery hand-held, and focused on a man among the reporters. His shirtsleeves were well-pressed, and his wool slacks had a crisp, expensive air about them, and all of the pretension of his wardrobe failed to cloak his shattered compose. His eyes were puffy and red. Spittle flew from his mouth as he yelled. “What gives you the right?!”
Rayne looked wounded. Her voice was all gone, leaving only hollow breath, “I cannot explain further but to say, by controlling the quantity of life, I hope we can better control the quality of life.”
“What a load of CRAP!” he screamed. “Can you reverse it?”
Her laugh was slurred like she was slipping into a doze. “I cannot. If I knew how, I would not tell it, and I will not be compelled to try. I have been dosed with a potent neuro-toxin that will leave my brain invulnerable to any persuasion of reason or technology. Nothing can be done now to alter this change in human evolution. I have made this mark on the world. Like surgery, it is painful now, but upon healing we will be a better race for it.”
But Alexis didn’t hear the last part. She drifted to her feet, cold and numb and moved without any action of her will. An aide stepped to block her, but Alexis ducked and weaved, slipping neatly though the half-hearted grab. In the drab hall, she ran the two dozen steps to a set of wide double doors. She pushed them, and the doors splayed out to crash on their hinges. Alexis drifted through the chaos in the auditorium. The stage where her mother stood was littered with people. At the center most were on their knees, and hunched farther back ... like a crater made of men.
She stepped nearer, closing the long empty space between herself and the spot where her mother had been. Slowly realization formed out of gossamer thoughts ... the web-feed was on a time delay. Her mother had spoken of poisoning herself several seconds before Alexis heard.
Hadn’t that always been the way with mother? When had anyone heard her when she spoke? Why did here ideas always need a thick dollop of time to be understood?
When the crowd saw Alexis there, blank faced and pale, they turned on her. Men and women all bobbed their heads like buzzards over a carcass, each calling out louder than the next and clawing their recorders toward her. She couldn’t understand them. Alexis wanted only to see her mother.
As she stepped they stuttered back as if they feared to be too near her. An arm’s length radius surrounded her and she advanced on the stage. The pressure of a hundred eyes felt like walking through the sea. She rose over the stage steps, and looked down. Rayne was there. She was laid on her side. Alexis needn’t have seen the gray pallor nor the glassy cast of her eyes to know that her mother was gone ... there was a smell of death, like lilacs drying on desert sand.
Half a dozen breaths later, a gentle hand rested on Alexis’ shoulder. The weight of it near bent her in half, but she remained upright. Her eyes turned to see a familiar face there. Her mother’s assistant and best friend, Bernice, usually wore a proud collection of laugh-lines, but now she was merely desiccated. She held out a hand, a folded noted delicately proffered. It bore her name in her mother’s hand. Alexis barely opened in enough to read: “I’m sorry” and “preparations have been made” before she folded it. Now was not the time. Later, she resolved, when the questions are quieter. When the world has peace.
Re-creation
Re-creation is a serialized story after the style of Issac Assimov’s Foundation. Each part is only a few pages long, and each tie into the quandary created in part 1, but are otherwise independent.
Please enjoy my work. Comments are welcome, as is criticism so long as it’s constructive—comments meant to demean or insult will result in my most wilting glare aimed in your direction.
Part 1: Alteration
Part 2: Control
Part 3: Conservation
Part 4: Eugenisists
Part 5: Concentration
Please enjoy my work. Comments are welcome, as is criticism so long as it’s constructive—comments meant to demean or insult will result in my most wilting glare aimed in your direction.
Part 1: Alteration
Part 2: Control
Part 3: Conservation
Part 4: Eugenisists
Part 5: Concentration
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