ROOM 2C THE PONTIBUS JOURNAL 4

LUZ-BETHEL CONTINUES

Chapter Sixty-Three

Mab obtained the details on the restaurant and departed. The General returned to his table after the call. Her sky vehicle was a Cartesian jumper, and she was there within minutes. Getting acquainted wasn’t easy. Time dragged. Mab wanted to condescend, while he wanted to control the conversation.

Overzealous to impress, forgetting the objective to gain his collaboration, she said. “This just isn’t working. I don’t know what I’m doing here. You’re not making any effort to communicate.”

“My job isn’t to give you a warm and cozy feeling. My job is to investigate your friends and…”

“My friends?!”

“Yes, they’ve caused all the trouble.”

“Why…I…”

“…and give Mr. Otorp my best analysis as to how to destroy them. It’s a judgment call. If you want to help in that, we can work together.”

Furious, forgetting her mission, she said. “I’ve heard about your judgment.”

“What do you mean by that?” He said, coloring.

“Just that you haven’t always been the coolest of heads under pressure.”

“I don’t know to what you’re referring, or who told you what. I’ve paid for my mistakes. Losing my head under pressure was never one of them.”

“Sixteen years for serial killing millions?” She said, now on the offensive. Pushing her advantage, she continued. “That’s more than just an incorrigible crime. Crime is not an acceptable response to pressure at any time. You consider prison payment in full?”

“What do you know about my life & crimes?”

She knew very little but now developed a slight desire to know more, saying. “What’s to know? You went crazy and started killing people, right?”

“No! That’s not right. I’ve killed. I don’t deny it. But not as you portray.”

“No?”

“No. My crimes were in self-defense, many occurred in war.”

“Oh, right. That’s why you went to the penitentiary.”

“We live in an arbitrary world, princess, making decisions while the water is swirling around us, sucking us down. Who has the right to judge? Certainly not you, a person of ordinary selfishness. As an analytical, you can’t understand nobility and are quick to condemn high-minded fellows who break the rules. Life very seldom rewards or punishes one in this world for one’s actual deeds. Such treatment comes because of other’s perception of those deeds. The one exception being perhaps our health. The jury is still out on who will ultimately rule the planet. The subhumans, microbes, & insects seem to be the front-runners. You haven’t a clue as to how to combat them.”

“Certainly not via crime!”

“Committing a crime that helps the planet and our place in it is but ½ the job. To make the work elegant, you must also survive, well enough, to be a role model.”

“So that’s your excuse. You went to prison to be an example.”

“You’re not making this easy.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Why did you come here? Otorp said he wanted you to work with us. You’re as difficult as he is. I’m wasting my time with you amateurs.”

“Amateurs!” She shouted. “I suppose we all need to go to prison to be accepted as professionals!?”

“It’s the nature of man to put wild, free, and beautiful things in cages. Except for an accident, history would be referring to me now as a great conqueror. Perhaps they’d even consider me a better hero. If my crimes fit my capacity, they never would have apprehended me. I would have become very very rich. If my judgment was ever off, it was in wanting sufficient ruthlessness. I’ll make you a deal, woman. You don’t judge me. I’ll not judge you. On second thought, you are on your own. Otorp’s a clown, having truck with such a babe-in-the-woods!” He said, getting up to leave.

Thinking she would have to go back to Mr. Otorp as a failure now, she awakened. The mission, originally thought uncomplicated, wasn’t. She needed to undo the damage and quick. If not, Mr. Otorp would never let her assist him, as she wished.

“Bingo!” She said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He said, picking up the check.

“Right on the money. As upset as you are, I hit the truth. Nobody gets so upset, unless the truth hurts too much to handle, right? Your classic response to pressure.” She threw out her line and waited to see if he was back on it.

“Lady. You could never upset me, and if you think you know the truth, you’re a sorry bitch indeed. Unimaginative cunt!”

“Ah. Now we’re real smooth, aren’t we?”

“I don’t know about your fixation on truth, unless it’s something you’ve never been able to fathom. I’ve seen the truth destroy people with the most holy of aspirations. I’ve seen the most horrible of people enriched by it. There’s no crime or bad act that the truth can’t accomplish. I could give a fuck less about the goddamn “truth”. It doesn’t matter, except as a bogus word like justice, goodness, or evil. All I care about are the ultimate results, my own or those affecting me. I wouldn’t expect an analytical to understand.”

“You don’t believe in good or evil?”

“No.

“Then you could still be considered crazy. You don’t believe in God either?”

“God? God!? Are you a child?” He riposted. “I suppose you believe in Santa too?”

“Of course not, but…”

“God! A self-serving concept sprung from a fertile but jaded Semitic imagination to justify the brutality of their wars of conquest & occupation. Belief now is prima facie evidence of dementia. Buffon shot, Diderot killed, Darwin nailed the coffin shut, and Nietzsche buried …God.”

“The Bible has been proven to be…”

“An original Mein Kampf, a Rise & Fall of the Third Reich. The New Testament is a frustrated apologia for Homosexuality, adulterated to sell to commies & cannibals. The most intolerant & bloody of religions are those believing in one Supreme Being – God. Whenever I hear the word “God” bandied about, I know there’s a swindle in the making, and I look for a toilet.”

“Do I detect a little anti-Semitism there?”

“Oh, we do have a ripe one here!”

“A wha…”

“The Jews went from fratricidal cannibals to frightened shepherds to bloodthirsty savages to cowardly sheep and back to aggressive bloody killers again. The Bible says the pattern is repetitive. Churchill accused the Germans of the same behavior. Time has proven Japs & niggers to be the same. Look at the cruelty the dolichocephalic causes with his money and his socialism. Is any specie of man any different? My grandmother was a black Arab.”

“So?”

“You feel just Jews are Semitic, you racist slut!?” The General asked, getting up and walking over to the cash register. He paid the check and was almost out the door, before she realized the meeting was over. The woman disgusted General Aloirav, and he was relieved the ordeal was over. He stopped, however, when he heard her calling to him.

Mab ran up to him and said. “Please come back, General. I’ll try to be nice. Please try to understand. We’re coming from two different worlds. Give me a chance to know yours. We need each other.”

“I don’t need you. That motor-mouthed buffoon thinks he does.”

“That’s true. He seems to think he also needs you. Please let’s talk. I’ll be good.”

The General wavered some, and she said. “I’ll try not to bring religion into our conversation again. It seems to be a major sore point.”

“That would be nice,” he replied, “and your uncontrolled judging needs to stop. You have no right. You have never, nor will you ever, walk in my shoes.”

“I agree.” Mab said, returning him to the table. She ordered some more coffee, saying. “No more judging.”

The General sat down, saying. “And cut your superstition out of our conversation.”

“My superstition?!”

“Yes. Your bestial mysticism will keep us at odds, wasting time, forever.”

“I never thought of myself as that way.”

“You believe in God. It’s obvious from your earlier conversation.”

“Yes. I believe in God.”

“OK. I rest my case.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

“I fail to see how my believing in God makes me superstitious.”

“There is not one shred of proof in either a god or intelligent design. Not all men can be intimidated, duped, persuaded, ridiculed, gossiped about, or ostracized into obeying the ochlocracy. That’s why the mob created “God”. Like witchcraft, it scares the shit out of some recalcitrants. “God” connotes supernatural. There is no supernatural. Super conscious means quasi-manifested natural phenomenon. “God” is, and always has been, the means whereby the pack coerces renegades. It forces free peace-loving individuals, and those wishing to retain certain eclectic liberties, into conformity. The rabble built “God” to scare even the best minds into procrustean molds.”

“You obviously don’t believe in an afterlife.”

“You would be more astute to ask if I believe in existence after death.”

“Aren’t they similar?”

“No. Whether or not the presence of an ultimate mystic deity exists is not in my power to determine. It just doesn’t matter. It’s a non-issue. As a product of Nature, I’m incapable of manifesting the un-manifest without using the manifest as a tool. Perhaps there is some mystic deity. A kind of presence involved with electromagnetism, of near infinite power, light being an indication. It’s not for anyone to know. My money is on Entropy as the Supreme power in the universe.”

“But you are not ruling out a Supreme power?” Mab Roth asked.

“Of course not.” He answered. “If it was ever found to exist it should be executed for crimes against the Planet Earth and all her inhabitants. My mother was a French Jew, grandmother a Muslim, father a Christian. You don’t easily lose early indoctrination. I can’t believe in a Semitic “God”.”

“Jehovah?” Mab Roth added.

“Or Allah.” General Aloirav said. “There is no such being, or if there is, he doesn’t give a shit about us, nor ever will. As far as an absolute goes, following Nature’s law is all that is necessary. That will satisfy any definition of powers that may have brought us forth. God is a metaphor for Nature.”

“You can’t conceive of divine love?”

“It’s a con job. An economic-deterministic “God”, is just a euphemism for mass reality, manic and sadistic. After many years, the crowd has distorted their initial idea of a scary “God”. It’s now become a more benign and stupid “God”. That’s your divine love. From what my ex-cons tell me, the same First-Surface God-money-society situation even occurs here now on the Pontibus. More under the table on the First-Surface more subdued here because things are more natural. Nevertheless, Society is still the horde.”

“A bit simplified, but I’m listening.”

“The Pontibus can’t survive and grow without oceans and rocks. Planetary life can’t survive without the Sky Communities. Some morality nonsense diffuses both ways.”

“I know what you’re going to say.”

“Oh, you do?”

“Yes. Pontibus society sanctions homicide to justify its existence, as does the First-Surface.”

“No. I wasn’t. I was going to say the two societies are interdependent. Accepted ethics diffuse along with other commodities. Contamination they call it. But now that you mention it, it’s true.”

“It is not!”

“Okay. It’s not, and you do not buy humeal. The First-Surface does not kill our residents to steal organs.”

“Touché”

“You feel that I want… no, need to justify my killings to you. Don’t you?”

“It would help.”

“It doesn’t begin and end there, Ma’am. You’re looking for a simple solution to your dilemma.”

“What’s my dilemma?”

“You see no way of working with an incorrigible. You want to be a schoolgirl, getting points for scores. You see me either as a monster or a Sir Galahad. Someone you feel comfortable eschewing or dominating.”

“I do not!”

“Bullshit! I want to explain something to you.”

“Go ahead.”

“There has been no planetary discipline or workable values for so long, a hedonistic society has resulted. Force & violence keep us all, pretty much, in line in all areas. Homicide is the basis of all social engineering. What we have here on the bridges is as close to a Utopia as our modern technology will allow. Yet, we still have crime and unsatisfied desires. Prisons are just a halfway killing to avoid bloodier homicide. It’s still murder.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been there.”

“You elitist creatures have a great fault.”

“What’s that?”

“You need people to worship you.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Nature produced humankind. Nature’s universality, and apparent omnipotence, has created in Man an obsession for gregariousness. Some, like you, have it in metric tons. You crave veneration. Unable to force me into your mold, or on my knees, you can neither accept nor reject me.”

“Untrue. I’m just looking for common ground.”

“Suppose I was the opposite of what I am? A meditative sage or holy man – the other exceptions to Nature’s rule. They aren’t usual, and you couldn’t accept me then either. Most men are not “Man – Homo”, nor are they “wise – sapiens”. Ergo, “Homo sapiens” is a misnomer. Attributing a nature to such creatures is speculative and dubious.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“I’m saying, no matter what you think of me, you will always find me unacceptable.”

“Why?”

“Because of my past. I don’t fit your paradigm or even any of Nature’s common products, the patterns you know about. You think you understand human nature, and I don’t fit the spot you’ve imagined for me.”

“I don’t agree with you that the Pontibus sanctions murder like the First-Surface, humeal and contraband organs excepted.”

“Socially sanctioned murder excuses & justifies human constraints. It substantiates our existence. It’s our point of reference. Politics is just the private manipulation of homicide harmonics. As products of Nature, we are subject to the laws of Nature. There are no facts “a priori” to validate any other theory. We must assume our existence to be such. Besides. We trade with the First-Surface. Do we not?”

“Yes.” She answered. “We supply food, drinking water, air, and energy in return for soil and ocean water. We supply them with many goods that are healthy and life giving. We do not sanction murder!”

“Doesn’t the First-Surface protect biological misfits, socialists, and pols?”

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t it cost hundreds of trillions for their upkeep and support?”

“Yes.”

“Upkeep & support of virtual trash, right?”

“Right.”

“Time spent acquiring money. Can’t you compare it to selling increments of one’s life?”

“The Pontibus doesn’t allow the handicapped or pols access.”

“Are you from a poor or low class background?”

“No!”

“Then try to pay attention.”

“Sorry.”

“Selling a person’s time, for trash, as payment, waste’s that person’s life. Doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“The Pontibus pays for worthless First-Surface minerals (dirt & seawater) in the form of goods (taxes). Those taxes (Pontibus resident’s blood) go to support those First-Surface “things”. Am I not right?”

“Yes, but…”

“Ergo, the Company condones and sacrifices residents’ lives to maintain the garbage below, does it not?”

“I suppose so.”

“You know so. The Company is a society. Up here is better than down there. You’ll get no argument out of me on that point. But, both are still societies that must deal with the constraints of Nature. Nature substantiates homicide. I proved it, and you agreed.”

“Perhaps.”

“No perhaps. Homicide is just a natural social need.”

“What were you saying about Man? I can understand that he does not always do the wise thing, but what do you mean men aren’t true men?”

“Our existence proves we can be far more, and far less, than other Homo “ape-animals”.”

“How?”

“In some lives, there are episodes of “tapping in” to eddy currents in the ether of a super consciousness. Inspiration. I don’t understand it, but I do know it’s out there. Lester had it. I have it. Otorp may have it. It intrigues me. It gives me a mission and makes me more than just “Homo” an ape. Nevertheless, I can’t forget about the other end.”

“What other end?”

“Man can indeed be more, but is often less, much less.”

“You don’t mind being depressing, do you?”

“Comes from my education. Lock someone up. Deprive them of basic needs. They resort to almost any kind of perversion to satisfy them.”

“Including conversation.”

“Yes. Small talk does nothing for me. As I was saying before you brought up the subject of homicide, First-Surface morality still pollutes citizens here.”

“How is that?”

“First-Surface government is rule by hysteria, an ochlocracy. They facetiously call it democracy. The lower people accept it. At times, a delayed hysteria affects us on the bridges. Along with other customs and sanctions, it congeals into a hard law or moral code with which we must deal.”

“To which you do not subscribe?” asked Mab Roth.

“Buy into the validity of dead men’s reactions to their time? Of course not. When I hear the words, God, morality, and democracy I think of shit, in shades of ice cream colors, floating in a sewer. “Morality” demands no clarification or justification. The herd just accepts it, as they accepted it when it was a weak cohesive influence. If you’re seeking tranquility and peace of mind, don’t settle on mass morality as the means of achieving the state. If you should do so, you’re destined to find naught but disappointment and disillusionment. Living a “good” life never brings peace. Tranquility and inner harmonization are synthesized through solitary self-taught and self-created virtue and wisdom.”

“Brooding alone?”

“Yes. Alone in the jungle and on the savanna I found enlightenment. Space and time become, while meditating, almost surrealistic. Introspection is the one source of valid morality. “

“Your morality works for you, but not for me. How do you explain that one?” Mab Roth queried.

General Aloirav answered, “You are a corpse of confusion and can’t accept life as it is. Earlier you were throwing the whole thing at me. I can’t accept that.”

“I disagree.”

“Of course. We all judge from our own front yard, as individuals. Inner peace varies as to inner situation. All roads to peace point inside and upward. An inner congruity with Nature is a prerequisite for harmony. You’re a long way from Nature.”

“You think harmony is possible on earth?” She asked.

“Absolute harmony, no. Only rigor mortis, perfect democracy, brings harmony, maximum possible disorder, entropy. It’s achieved after ones demise, or sometimes prior to parturition. Manifestation is the absence of absolute harmonization within and between organisms. The reason for the incapacity of man or any organism to achieve absolute harmony while living is the world’s less than chaotic state. Random never rules 100%. Our chemistry is matter subjected to mass action. Life attempts to foist order into the universe. It achieves a moderate amount, but in its own small sphere alone. This moderate amount of success for order, within infinite chaos, gives life its characteristic sense of futility and failure. Our lives are as tranquil as lack of harmony will allow. The constant inner battle man has with the forces of disorder drives him. Impels him to great ends and destroys even the best of warriors.”

“And characters.”

General Aloirav must not have heard Mab Roth’s attempted disparagement. He didn’t let on that he did, because he continued. “Man’s greatest accomplishments and largest defeats came from his attempt to disseminate order into the universe. It keeps him from enjoying peace enjoyed by even the weakest of organisms. Other organisms accept much more disorder than Man does.”

“But they pay a terrible price for their acceptance of things as they are.” said Mab Roth.

“How true.”

“How do you reconcile your brand of inner harmony with conflicting social morality?” Mab Roth asked.

General Aloirav replied, “Inner harmonization has nothing to do with gang morality or the creation of social order. Although there is a vague commensalism, the two are largely independent of each other. Inner harmony comes from within the organism. Rabble social “order” proceeds from without. The dichotomy in separation of church from state became manifest because of this. Peace, per se, and the absolutes of right and wrong are non-sequitur for the short run of morality.”

I’m not entirely impressed by the concept of right and wrong either.” She replied. “But there must be some standard from which to choose alternatives.”

General Aloirav said, “Herd morality does not, indeed cannot give any basis for rules of absolute right or wrong, good or evil. Morality is just a group of archaic rules for conduct, not some divine extension.”

“So where do you find direction?” Mab Roth asked.

“Nature’s my standard. In this manifestation there is no good or evil. Society is just the pack that went psychotic. To find any concrete basis for a code, you’d find it in Nature’s basic requirements of survival and creature comforts. You can’t postulate an authority beyond it, nor is it necessary, except of course to the mob.”

“All religion is superstition?” Mab Roth questioned.

“Certainly.” He replied.

‘You should go to church.’

‘Churches, synagogues, mosques, temples, etc., houses of worship are clubhouses for fools & swindlers, pavilions for the purposeless.’

‘And moral people.’

“Morality has no authoritative basis. That in itself is enough to warrant man’s non-compliance.”

“Anarchy.”

“Unfortunately, no. Becoming more aware of his natural freedoms, Man also got more sophisticated as to his powers. Impasses to anarchy.”

“Is that all there is then?”

“Yes.” He replied. “The crowd could not compete with that sophistication. Noncompliance with moral law is dangerous to the entire superstructure of society. Without coercion of some type the gaggle cannot exist.”

“Cops & pols?”

“Homicide & priests.”

“How empty and vain it all is to think that way. No wonder some people don’t want to stay.”

“Why?” he asked. “Why need it be vain? To the individual, the battle engages between the mob’s coercion and a personal desire for peace. Although the two are not diametric opposites, the ends are not equal and they conflict. Individual harmony and flock security will always diverge. Today’s prisons give ample evidence. Discord and its resulting strength make life worth living, not vain emptiness.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong.” Mab Roth summarized. “According to the Gospel according to General Aloirav, the mob is “God”, morality is rule by rabble. Virtually everything man has, is, or was has been from the herd or produced in conformity to it. Even his identity is mob made, not self-made.”

“Virtually mob-made. The polls do not create moral issues. They clarify them. Pols follow the social debris; they formulate nothing. Social institutions are scoria of an unforgettable phylogeny; all depend on violence-God-morality, i.e. law, government, prison, churches, schools, and a host of other instruments of reality engineering. These institutions of slavery are all vestigial remains. Meditating on such, one knows these associations want eradication or changing beyond all recognition. Truth, beauty, tranquility, virtue, wisdom, and character can’t control mans’ destiny or evolution. He must forever wallow in the slough of mob unreality and bump into a harlequin “God”. Where the mob is, slavery happens, and it precludes progress. It gives way to technology.”

“Oh, you’re against technology too?”

“Why do you think I’m against it?”

“You are against the mob, no?”

“Of course not. It’s part of me and I it. I must understand it, or it’ll swallow me. Ochlocracy and technocracy are two sides of the same coin. A life free of social engineering flaws serves to enlighten. When the individual is supreme and society penultimate, Man has a future. He can then conform to truth and his birthright.”

“I guess we can never agree on the facts of the situation.”

“Why?”

“Your personal conception of how much identity is “mob-made”, for one. Your arrogation of power because you have the capacity, for another. They will never conform to my own ideas.”

General Aloirav said, “Those are some pretty big differences.”

“Yes, they are. I also can’t be as cavalier as you with human life.”

“It’s all a matter of perspective.” The General said. Lifting and turning his hands up & out, raising his eyebrows, shrugging his shoulders, he indicated. “I didn’t make it that way, it just is. In war, the numbers of enemy killed are just so many ciphers, dominoes. You don’t know ‘em… you don’t care. Simple as that. Are you bothered by it?”

“Yes. In war, you have the capacity or the power to do what you will with human life. That does not confer upon you the right to exercise it. Nor does it mean I have to like it or approve of it!”

“Well, that’s not all true. I do so wish you could understand.”

“Understand! I’m glad I can’t.” She said. “And I hope that maybe in time you too will be able to see how wrong you were. Maybe you’ll stop trying to justify it with what you were attempting to accomplish.”

“Perhaps. I doubt it. In time I think you will see how right I am.”

“I would rather die myself.” She said.

“You’ve no choice there. You will.”

He didn’t continue but looked out of the window of the restaurant. There was a bird on the platform, just then. It was arguing with a worm for supremacy of that particular space in time. She said nothing but followed his eyes to the now successful bird. When he looked back at her he asked, “What has a burning thirst for revenge in common with a desire to do something for planetary problems?”

“I don’t know.”

“Me.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t… I’m gonna’ tell you a story. One day, in Viet Nam, I took a break from jungle fun. Near Dong Ha, an officer grabbed me, AWOL. He put me to work in Grave’s Registration. I picked up body parts, stuffed them in plastic body bags, and stacked the result in big freezers. The one consolation to the job’s boredom was hiding from officers amongst the frozen corpses. I could steal milk from the mess hall and cool it between dinged remains. I spent a good deal of time in those freezers, drinking ice-cold milk and thinking hard. I thought about the population, pollution, resource exhaustion, and nuclear terror problems. I thought about what to do with the cancer of humans threatening the planet. I supposed, hypothetically, that man might cease to exist. The planet could then go back to being as perfect a place as it was before we arrived.”

“So you were going to try and wipe out the world?!” She exclaimed.

Other people in the restaurant looked over at their table, and he said. “Of course not! Don’t play the fool with me. And please try to keep your voice down.” After admonishing her, he continued explaining. “We were the one species that didn’t put back something for that which we took. All other species are useful to the planet in one way or another. Not us.”

“Until the Founder and his Pontibus came along.” Mab interjected.

“Yes. Even the other carnivores, unlike us, take out only the weak and unfit. They leave the strong to carry on the evolutionary battle for perfection. Am I not right?”

“Yes, but…”

“Not us. Depraved predatory carnivorous habits extend into even more convoluted pathways. Of all man’s perversities, the one that shames the most is senseless cruelty. Legal hunting. The law allows the murder of the dominant male but not females. A corollary to the moral law. Insane. Destroy the best and leave the weak to survive. Beyond mere predation, ignorance and cruelty mark Man’s every deed.”

“In your last statement, I can agree.” Said Mab Roth, wanting to get a word in edgewise. “Even after they’re dead, animal and plant bodies should nourish the planet. Their flesh can go to the vultures, vermin, and manure. The bones and wood can return minerals to the soil. What, on the other hand, does the First-Surface do? They box each other up in steel coffins and concrete crypts so that they can’t even give their corpses back to the planet. What incorrigible takers they are!”

“It’s rare for a swarm-ruled denizen of the First-Surface to show even a modicum of courage. The crowd soon discovers the brave and destroys them. Some they turn into tools, as you may know. When the instrument can no longer hold its head up, it stops fighting and accepts ruin.”

“You proposed to do to people what the First-Surface at present does to them. So, how were your plans any different?” She asked.

“How do you know what I proposed to do?”

“I have an idea.”

“We would not have raised them like cattle, if that’s what you think. Ever since the 20^th century, democratic governments have treated people as livestock. They overfeed ‘em and butcher their lives as recompense in the form of taxes. We would have used power to destroy our enemies and make the subhumans our slaves.”

“The USA made cattle of people. You would have made slaves of them. Where’s the difference?”

“Direction. The cattle were without hope. The subhuman is already born a slave to his needs. Insecurity so enveloped the herd, there was no time to devote to collective hatred. Taxes, paid to police, screws, and judges, were supposed to protect the subs from secure-in-themselves criminal minds. Such hired guns did their hating for them, as much as the gladiator-slaves did the Romans’ living and hating for them.”

“Again. How were you to be any different?” She reiterated.

“In this way. He replied. “We had one great psychological advantage over the sheep. We knew there was no good, no bad, no right, and no wrong. The sheep did not. They believed in their laws and were terrified of breaking them. They still are. We, who are strong, know better. Conquer and destroy, that was our credo. And, to the victor belongs the spoil. Sheep of civilization, be damned.”

“You were godless, but no different.”

“There is no moral imperative, do what you will. The one essential is to reproduce, and that right well, or die. In dying, if there is any corollary to your obligation, take as many others, with you, as you can.”

“A true child of the Devil, without direction.”

“You continue to fixate on superstition. I’m trying to show you that we were to be different.”

“I don’t see how.”

“What most people mistake for God, if they even approach such esoterica, is the greater picture. For the devil, they blame overlooked details on their flanks. You see. It’s not just conceptualization, nor lack of instinctual motivation, separating humans from the animal or religionist. The distinction between the lower and the higher evolved human is more arcane. It’s our capacity, sentence, to need to evaluate conduct and act accordingly. We are condemned into it. God is a scapegoat, created by the religionists, to escape responsibility for making the world a positive force for life.”

“The First-Surface was god fearing. That was your difference?”

“Are you always this dense or are you just being so for my benefit?”

“All I see is your atheism.”

“The Bible says, “God is love.” Right?”

“Parts.”

“Whatever. The New Testament does.”

“I believe you.”

“Thanks. The USA gave that word lip service, but, like Jehovah, they wrecked the planet, just the opposite of their propaganda. We were driving in the opposite direction. That’s how we were different. We would not have blamed our lethargy on “God”.”

“I see. God exists, but he’s the enemy.”

“I’ll give you a short history. A history you do not know. Let me take you back a few years to 1966. Having just arrived in country, it must have been around September.”

“In country?”

“Vietnam. There was a dust trap “vill” called Ky Ha in South Vietnam. The CO (Commanding Officer) ordered (permitted) Corporal Perez and I to go there. Our “job” was rat patrol. Ostensibly, we were to shoot rats and dogs, because people were dying from plague.”

“Ostensibly?”

“I think the real reason was as a legal outlet for sexual tension relief.”

“I see. Your CO was that understanding?”

“I like to think so. Anyway, I dropped off into a hooch to rent a woman. After finishing my business, I stepped out into the street. I saw an old mama-san squatting in the dirt. They were always squatting to urinate with one ao dai pant leg pulled up. Functional, it presented the necessary anatomy close to the dirt. Natural, timeless, the old ones seemed as old as the continent itself.”

His graphic language didn’t seem to offend Mab, and he continued. “Past her ass, on the same level, my eyes stopped. I saw a mother suckling her child. The two were near the doorway of a nondescript little hooch. It looked similar, perhaps a bit smaller, than the siklo girl’s place I’d just left. The baby appeared to have the most beautiful head of hair I’d ever seen. It was so black; it shown an iridescent blue in the sunlight.”

The waiter brought coffee that Mab ordered earlier, and the General continued. “I just had to see it better, to touch it. I walked over to them, raising my hand, as I neared. The mother became frightened. I smiled at her, indicating but a desire to touch the child. I demonstrated my wish by moving my hand back and forth.” He demonstrated the motion, and continued. “Seeing I meant no harm, (despite my rifle, bayonet, grenades, etc.), she seemed less frightened. Like all their people, the woman was very polite to authority and nodded her consent.”

“What choice had she, right?”

“Right. I lowered my hand to pat the little thing’s hair, and my eyes closed involuntarily. That beautiful “hair”, I wanted so much to touch, wasn’t hair. It was blue-black flies. They ate the baby’s scalp almost down to bone. It was, ear to ear, a viscous red bloody mass. The flies returned in a second to re-cover the child’s bare skull.”

“Oh, my God!” Mab exclaimed.

“Recoiling in horror at the incongruity, I didn’t conceal my traumatization. Mama-san just smiled up at me with a typical red & black betel nut grin. The shock was complete. I felt barren and helpless. Could it be real? Would any loving God allow such a thing? Hell no!”

He looked at her, sipping at her coffee, just listening, and he continued. “Stumbling away from the dissonant fraud, my thoughts and feelings interchanged in Cartesian shades. “Can even I be real? Now, as an old man, I know it was very real. I was real. That mental torment proved, there is “real” and just “too real”. I also learned there was no God. There couldn’t be, or he would of necessity be but a titular deity, a mani-sadist.”

“You must realize, your experience doesn’t prove anything.”

“It does to me.” He riposted. “But I’m not finished. A few days later, I was on rat patrol again, near Ky Ha. A child about 10 years old accosted me to buy a pineapple. The Vietnamese kids were irresistible. I dickered with him for a minute but gave in. I was reaching into my pocket to pay, when the pineapple’s bottom fell out. A grenade hit the ground and started rolling right toward me.”

“What did you do?”

“Without even thinking, I cut the boy in half with my M-16. It was reflex, but it happened nonetheless. The grenade didn’t go off, but I hit the deck anyway. Minutes later, seeing the dead kid I produced, I got sick. I vomited and continued to do so, until I returned to my Chu Lai bunker. I never knew before what killing another human being was like. Something inside me fell into a big deep hole. My world changed from that moment. I never saw things the same way again.”

“So you needed to negate God’s existence to exculpate your precipitous action?”

“Charitable. I’m almost finished.”

“I hope so. Your explanation and excuses haven’t convinced me yet.”

“And I’m beginning to understand why.”

“You are?”

“Yes. But that’s a side issue, and you haven’t stopped your judging.”

“Sorry.”

“Killing the kid made me forget all about women for a time. Coming back from a patrol a few months later, I realized I was getting horny. I went into a hooch to use a woman. It was a strange sensation, almost a surprise. I felt for an instant as if I’d never before seen a naked woman. Not that I’d seen that many. I was but eighteen. She took off her ao dai and stood there in all her Oriental feminine perfection. In my distant memory, she somehow now doesn’t appear more than 12 years old. It was hard to tell Vietnamese’ ages. They were so small. I don’t know why I was surprised and uncomfortable at not seeing any male organs. The feeling left immediately. Her breasts were about walnut size. Her mons hair was sparse. She was somehow different from other women. Her beauty was so delicate and exotic. I don’t know what I expected to see. It wasn’t that. The beauty before me, amid the filth, death, men, and guns was surreal. Naked with her on a rice mat, I relieved the tension. I spent more than a few moments with her and returned AWOL (Absent Without Leave). I soon began seeing her on a regular basis. I even married her, sort of.”

“Why?”

“I learned to love her.”

“What happened to her?”

“She died.”

“Really?”

‘Yes. VC killed her and my unborn son. They cut the baby outta’ her for fraternizing with the enemy, me.”

“Oh.”

“You see, now?”

“No.”

“Why not? Are your preconceptions so rigid, you cannot even reason?! Your bigotry is phenomenal! If God exists, Ms. Legree, He’s a sadistic maniac. He puts people in impossible situations. Then He forces them to judge themselves and Him. He makes creatures, He supposedly created, judge Him. That’s insane! God cannot be insane or He would not be God. He does not exist!”

“In your definition. Furthermore, I might point out. Man, not God, causes war and other evils.”

“Taken from Jew catechism 101. But true. Man, Semites, created God to justify his aggressive wars.”

“Bullshit!”

“If there ever were a god, why did he create us with a natural propensity to enjoy killing his creatures?”

“He didn’t!”

“Of course he didn’t, because there is no God! If Man, not God, causes wars and other evils, God cannot or will not stop them. Man is obviously greater than God is. If God created a creature greater than himself, God doesn’t exist or shouldn’t. He’s just a slave, a glorified excuse. God supposedly created Man’s “free” will, no? He can’t or won’t stop what Man does with it! Once more, either way, Man is greater than God is. God can’t change the past; he can’t build a rock so big he can’t lift it. If, as the fuckin’ Bible says, He’s Love, then He destroyed himself.”

“How?”

“He made the commies kill Mai just for loving me. He killed our love. He committed suicide. Ergo, He doesn’t exist.”

She laughed and said. “For such minor events…”

“Mai was not a minor event to me!”

“For the events you mentioned, you disallow the greatest power in the universe! How small do you think God is?”

“Ï told you. Very small. So small in fact, he doesn’t exist. Your believing he does exist makes you subhuman, superstitious in the extreme, and smaller than nothing. You are a negative, a vacuum. You don’t know me or anything about me. You know very little, period. You’re a fishing bean counter and don’t care to learn anything. You judge me, from a sick moral standpoint that lost its relevancy centuries ago. Go rot in your fucking hell!” Saying that last, he started walking out the hatch.

Nothing great will ever be achieved without great men, and men are great only if they are determined to be so.                                  Charles de Gaulle

 

                                                       Chapter Sixty-Four

 

After Mab left, Mr. Otorp went back to work on the uncomfortable information. He felt there must be an explanation for the suspect Directors’ political misdirection. Where, and how, was he to find it? The question was moot, however. The man knew he possessed no real proof against any of them.

Time constraints were excruciating. They were why he did not like positions of responsibility. You needed to act without having either sufficient data or repose to deliberate. It was all so frustrating. How could anyone enjoy such work?

General Aloirav told him contract prisons were way stations. Guns and other misappropriated war material stopped there before moving elsewhere. Mab said the same thing. Somebody was acquiring & stockpiling them. The bigger question was why were they so desirous of all that military hardware? A war of sorts must be in the making. If so, General Aloirav was right, it involved more than just minor political differences.

In his view, the Company did not want Directors with political inclinations inducing them to frequent such places. More than one visit was damning. He needed an audit to determine the total misappropriations from the Twenty-Seventh Level.

The organizations involved should possess an accurate accounting of the entire stored inventory. Lacking that brought the desperate Directors to Mr. Otorp’s door. General Aloirav delivered sound advice on where to begin developing the entire picture. He counseled finding out the parent organization’s excuses for the discrepancies.

Calling attention to inter-organizational accounting discrepancies was paramount. It should tell a great deal. Incongruities would also show where security breaches occurred. Mr. Otorp tried contacting the name Mab gave him in the parent organization. That person, Mr. Jober, was aware of the situation.

Mr. Otorp queried a number of different people before Mr. Jober came on the holograph. Mr. Otorp explained who he was and mentioned his concerns. They did not discuss discrepancies or security problems, but Mr. Jober became quiet anyway and said.

“I can’t talk to you over the holophone, Mr. Otorp. I’m sure you are aware that electronic communication is not secure, but I’m very sorry to behave so cloak & dagger-ish, nevertheless. I have other concerns and can’t be too sure your hologram is who you say you are. Would it be possible for us to meet somewhere to talk further?”

After General Aloirav’s conditioning, Mr. Otorp was unsurprised and somewhat relieved. He said. “Where would you like to meet, Mr. Jober?”

“Can you be at the Boston foot magnelev station in half an hour?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll pick you up.” Mr. Jober said.

“But, how’ll you know who I am? There will be many people at the magnelev. Where should I wait for you?”

Just a laugh ended the conversation. Mr. Otorp still didn’t know the extent of his fame. A tendency to modesty over the years made him avoid media self-observation. The news frequently showed his picture and hologram over the air. Almost anyone would recognize him.

Strangers, stopping short on the street, gave him second looks. They made him feel very self-conscious. He always thought something about his dress caused the double takes. Even if unrecognized, many thought they did, feeling they just couldn’t place the face. His son’s friend, the Whitehead scientist he criticized, must have never watched the news. Mr. Jober picked Mr. Otorp out with ease.

At the restaurant, where they went to talk, Mr. Jober’s apprehensiveness was palpable. He acted as uncomfortable as a preacher in heaven. The man wouldn’t allow his back to the establishment’s public door for an instant. He soon made Mr. Otorp understand the reasons for that trepidation.

Mr. Jober finished relaying everything he knew about the irregularities and got up, saying. “I haven’t felt well, all afternoon. I would have gone home, if we hadn’t made the appointment too late to postpone. Please excuse me. I must use the restroom.”

Mr. Otorp became aware of how bad the man did, indeed, look. Concern for him turned to self-concern. Anxiety grew regarding past misplaced trust in his neighbor, Mr. Leion. Former events, appearing as just a series of disconnected events, made much more sense now. Of course, Mr. Otorp didn’t know all the details of his neighbor’s involvement. Perhaps, given his tendency to obsess over matters, it was just as well.

The corporation for which Mr. Leion worked was a minor subsidiary of Mr. Jober’s organization. The parent organization was responsible for the entire Twenty-Seventh Level’s inventory. Facts about the two organizations were now becoming available to him. He could access Company records or read the information General Aloirav acquired. It was just a matter of time, and he would know much more about Mr. Leion.

Mr. Otorp wanted to give General Aloirav and Mab Roth the new information. Going to a public compuphone, he called the coffee shop, thinking about a chance of reaching the two. They were, indeed, still there. General Aloirav was walking away from Mab Roth after telling her to rot in hell. The restaurant called out to him just as he passed through the hatch, the 2^nd time.

The manager waved the holophone receiver, indicating to the General why they shouted to him. At the holophone, General Aloirav listened to Mr. Otorp’s information, remaining very quiet during the entire recital. It confirmed his suspicion. The prison enclaves knew about him and his intimate association with Mr. Otorp. General Aloirav mentioned the possible implications.

Promising to relay the facts to Mab Roth, the General said. “Be careful. The situational conflict is escalating, and they appear to know a great deal, Mr. Otorp. Your life may be in as great a danger as my own. You took a hell of a chance going down there. You are under tax indictment, you know.”

“Yes? So what? I’m on our side of the border.”

“So near the First-Surface, the old-government could kidnap you on sight. Borders are fragile areas. They would hand you over to their people on the other side and call it “apprehended as a fugitive”. That means “under a lien”. Imagine what kind of publicity your arrest would give the Company.”

Mab sat unmoving as the General took the phone. She realized now just how distorted her narrow little world was. How she alienated him with every sentence. She hadn’t a clue on how to talk to the man. Thinking about how she blew it made it worse.

“Why can’t I just accept his past? Whatever he is, if the Founder and Mr. Otorp trusted him, he must be competent.”

General Aloirav returned to her table, after signing off with Mr. Otorp. The somber look on his face made Mab ask. “What’s the matter? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“I promised Mr. Otorp I’d relay this information. It’s bad news. He just discovered that his neighbor works for the corporation responsible for the Level Twenty-Seven munitions repository. That neighbor’s been acting very strange. Some time ago, he and an accountant began an arms audit there. The accountant disappeared. Mr. Otorp’s neighbor was the last person to’ve seen her alive. He’s seen you and I going in and out of Mr. Otorp’s house. What does that tell ya’?”

“Big trouble?” She said.

“You betcha.”

The two sat and stared at each other without speaking. In and of itself the surveillance of Mr. Otorp’s domicile meant nothing. The gravity of its implication was another matter. They spoke little after the news’ initial impact dissipated.

General Aloirav said. “Don’t go home just yet, princess. Do your regular duties, whatever they are. Give me a contact number where I can reach you. I’ll get in touch.”

“When?”

“As soon as I get people to watch your module. I have to get more security to Mr. Otorp’s place too. I’ll put together some plans for you to look over. I need to think a bit before doing anything that might prove precipitous.” General Aloirav said, dismissing her to make holophone calls.

After disconnecting with the General, Mr. Otorp stepped out of the holograph aura. Returning to his table, he discovered Mr. Jober still not back from the restroom. Waiting fifteen minutes more, Mr. Otorp thought the man might have left; Mr. Otorp too started to leave. Not believing Mr. Jober so rude but considering the man’s state, he was willing to accept it. It seemed prudent, though, to give the restroom a quick look first.

Entering the bathroom, Mr. Otorp felt uneasy. Walking past each stall, he pushed the doors open to check for occupancy. All were empty except the last one. It opened a few inches when he pushed on it. That was sufficient to see Mr. Jober on the floor next to the commode.

Entering the stall, Mr. Otorp checked for breathing and a pulse. Finding neither, he grabbed some toilet paper. Wiping areas his fingers might have touched, Mr. Otorp closed the door again. He wiped each door he touched, contacting nothing afterward with bare fingers, before leaving the rest room. Not knowing if Mr. Jober was murdered, Mr. Otorp wasn’t taking any chances.

From bitter experience with First-Surface media, he knew the inevitable slant publicity would take. His Company position demanded it. People believing in him would lose respect, and the Company would suffer. In the face of it, maintaining sufficient esteem to save the Pontibus from shame would be difficult. Mr. Otorp contacted General Aloirav again at the restaurant.

After informing him of the news about the man’s death, Mr. Otorp said. “While waiting to get a line to you, I called the Company Police Chief. He’s coming down to get me back home without an adverse publicity threat.”

The first call’s trauma still burning, the second compounding it, General Aloirav responded. “Good. There’s not much chance the Police Chief is bought. The Company pays him too well. I’m also sure the other side has no illusions about what you now know. Nevertheless, if the Chief can keep it quiet…”

“Yes?”

“There’s a chance you may make it home alive. Why do you think Jober told you things? He had to be part of the cartel to survive so long. What made him decide to snitch?”

Mr. Otorp said. “I don’t have a clue. I’m concerned for my granddaughter. I’m going right home when the Chief gets here. Do you know anyone, trustworthy, to stay at my home in my absence.”

“I’ve already sent a man. He should be there now. I want you to ask the Chief something for me.”

“Yes, what is it?”

“Ask him to tell the coroner to give me the exact cause of the guy’s death. I need that information today. If a delay is unavoidable, I want him to get me access to the body. O.K.?”

“Right. Anything else?” Mr. Otorp asked.

“Not that I can think of at the moment. I talked to your Mab Roth, and I don’t like her. She’s a twit, a princess. Keep her away from me.”

“I disagree, she…”

“The person I sent to your house should not need an introduction. He won’t frighten your granddaughter by even entering the domicile. When you arrive, he’ll mention an old acquaintance. You’ll have no worries about him being an enemy.”

“I’ll wait to hear from you.” Mr. Otorp said.

The General contacted Company Police. The dispatcher, seeing the General’s holograph, put the Chief through on an encrypted line. When he came on the holophone, the General explained the situation’s delicate implications. He left out the part about Otorp’s wiping the place clean of fingerprints. Perhaps Mr. Otorp already informed him. He instructed the Chief in what was necessary.

The Chief did not suspect a murder. No one even mentioned thinking it might be so. The General just wanted him to insure Mr. Otorp’s name and person remained secure. The Chief understood his responsibility and within minutes was next to the Chairman. The expert Police Chief saw to the removal of Mr. Jober’s remains without much notice. He also spirited the Chairman, without incident, back home. The Chief then went to the Boston foot morgue to learn more.

Arriving at his domicile, Mr. Otorp met General Aloirav’s man coming toward him. They exchanged a few words, and Mr. Otorp rushed upstairs to check on his granddaughter. Seeing her safe, he enveloped her in a very strong embrace. Not adverse to it, nevertheless, she did think her grandfather a little strange at times. Mr. Otorp looked over at his neighbor’s module. Too late, he pulled down the solar window blinds.

General Aloirav noticed Mab’s escalating concern after finishing his instructions to the Chief. Her fear and femininity did not work in her favor. General Aloirav would not assume a typical masculine protective role, when she said.

“It’s getting awfully real. I’m not afraid to admit I’m scared.”

“I can’t set your mind at ease. You got yourself into it. Now you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

“You’re a big help.”

“I think so.”

General Aloirav parted from Mab Roth and left the restaurant. He made a quick trip to the Boston foot morgue. The police were unloading Mr. Jober’s corpse. The General took a quick look and left. He then went to Mab Roth’s domicile and met Bacon. They insured the place was safe for her return later that evening. An unlimited expense account helped much to serve the interests of those concerned.

General Aloirav wanted to know how much the other side would risk to reduce their Company exposure. How anxious were they to eliminate himself and Mr. Otorp? Was Mr. Jober just a warning? He died because of an apparent heart attack.

A number of chemical and biological agents could do that. To remain prepared, the General must discover which of them it was and soon. Feeling they should have the autopsy results completed by now, he went back to the morgue. The Chief delivered General Aloirav’s message earlier, and the coroner was prepared.

“General Aloirav, Doctor.”

“Oh. Hello, General.”

“What’ve we got with the guy, Jober?”

“Bacterial endocarditis, acute.”

“You got the bug nailed down yet?”

“No. Soon.”

“How much more time?”

“Interesting that you should ask that.”

“It is?”

“Yes. I asked the same question. The lab said 24 hours. I told them you were coming down to get the autopsy results. You seem to have some real pull with them.” The coroner answered. “They rushed it right through.”

“In the old days it took days to get causative agent information. Now it’s hours, sometimes minutes. Was meningitis involved?” The General asked.

“Yes. In fact, it was. How’d you know?”

“From the appearance of the stiff, it looked like pneumococcus.”

“It did?” The coroner asked. “I didn’t know you were a pathologist, General. You could tell that from a visual?”

“Yes.” He answered, as the coroner went to the gurney and bent over the body. Looking closer at the corpse, the doctor said. “Where did you train, General? I can’t see anything indicative of pneumococcus.”

“Seen similar before is all.” The General replied, wishing he hadn’t said anything now.

An old lab tech came in just then with the microbiological diagnostic work results, saying. “Sorry it took so long, Rav. We don’t have the chemical here that I needed.”

“You know each other?” The coroner asked.

“Yes, a long time ago, we worked together.” General Aloirav answered.

“In what capacity?”

“We were…”

“We were studying a cancer and its eradication.” General Aloirav interrupted the old lab tech to say. “What have you got?”

“It was tough to decide on this one. It’s a unique pneumococcus, Boss. Really strange. Unusual biochemical capacities. There were strange serological differences too. The peptidoglycan was amino acylated? The Gram stain was indeterminate. I’ve never seen anything like it. We almost picked another bacterium first based on nutritional characteristics, antibiotic sensitivity, and serology. We only decided now from the blood culture. I had to borrow some solution from a photo lab.”

“Could you show me how you knew it was going to be pneumococcus from the visual, General Aloirav?” The coroner asked, as the tech showed the specimen to General Aloirav.

“Wow?” Another technician exclaimed. “You knew it was pneumococcus by the sight of the stiff?”

To evade further scrutiny, he looked at the old lab tech and said. “It was a guess. I’d seen another case once, long ago. I can’t explain it. Just an overall look it has. Sorry. Can I get a culture of it?”

“Sure. Keep that one, Rav. I kept a Petrie dish duplicate in the incubator.”

“Thanks.” He said, putting the culture in his briefcase. “Box the case up tight, Charlie.”

“Right, Boss.”

“I’ll send Bacon by to get everything in a few days.”

“Is there something I should know about?” The coroner asked.

“Just keep a very tight lid on the box. And that includes the news box.”

“The Chief already made that clear.”

“Okay.”

Shaking hands with the techs and the coroner, the General made his exit. To avoid answering more questions, he left the morgue fast. The pneumococcus indicated a very interesting development. He was sure he knew the bug in his briefcase.

Amino acylations were his original bacterial signatures. It was a small vanity. Like an artist, the hotelier liked to sign his creations. General Aloirav built it himself, many years ago. He knew its provenance.

The records of all his biological agents still existed. They were in his journal. Where, who, how, why, and when they used them. Most of the journal copies were on the First-Surface in his hotel office in Andirobal, Brazil. The General needed that information. He couldn’t access it on-line. For security reasons, that information was on his computer in personal access mode. It began looking like a return to the First-Surface was in order. Taking the time now to do so was inconvenient, but there was no choice.

“Where all did copies of that bug go? Who had access?”

He needed to know the names of the people who accessed the culture. From those, he’d discover who could have misappropriated a copy of it and extrapolate from there. General Aloirav remembered when he built the pneumococcus and the months subsequent. The report, prepared on it, would give additional clues. The General tried recollecting what he could.

It was too long ago. Hundred-year-old memories tend to obscure & transpose. General Aloirav went back to where he tied down his airplane. While checking the plane over, the man’s impure ideas made him worry.

“Could Gloria have betrayed me? She accessed the pneumococcus. The broad accessed most of them. Carl accessed the pneumococcus. Carl’s dead. Who else? Who else?”

By the time the General was ready in his aircraft he was suspicious of all his old loyalties. Suspecting people’s disloyalty was easy. Accepting it was another matter. Unless power has you corrupted, it ends there. He was out of circulation for much of the last seventeen years. How many lost faith in him? Who could have given copies of his bugs to the other side?

From painful experience, he knew people betray for the least significant of reasons. Most do so out of human weakness. Prison also does strange things to people. Some deceived just out of perversity. Most people who betray friends for money are just too stupid to feel pain for another’s loss. Something is missing in their humanity.

General Aloirav thought. “Does every man have a price? All men without purpose do indeed have a price. One must set one’s course upon a distant point. A dream, a mission, keeps you straight. When my compass went bad over the Gulf of Yucatan, I fixed my point on the distant horizon. If I hadn’t each gust of wind would have turned my bow. The strongest turns the most, and the weakest the least. Without aspirations, Nature has her way with one.

Many people in the New Society were mission-less. He was their direction. He pondered. “Has Gloria become bitter or desperate, sold me out? No, she knows I’d spring her. It was somebody else. Gloria’d never get so weak. The woman knows I love our sons, as much as she does. We’re her mission. There’s no choice in the matter. I need to get back to the First-Surface and look at those reports. Reading them again will tell me all to whom I gave it. I just can’t remember.”

A report existed, out of thousands commissioned, which would give him the answer he sought. Getting the aircraft in the air, he adjusted the trim. Cutting manifold pressure, the General remembered people and times from his mad idealistic youth. He knew spending mental energy on the past was a sign of old age. His mind was stubborn. Back then, it was going to be him, of all of them, who would succeed.

Rav Aloirav, the main one, would make the world a better place. He remembered Gloria tendering the introduction reports she made for him. It was a long time since they were an effective force. General Aloirav said. “If you wish to woo Wisdom you must also court her handmaiden Time. To snub her is to lose all. Yet, how Time does dishonor a man to death.”

He leaned the mixture. Readjusting his posterior on the seat made him feel his age. Still fit at well over a century, he held a second-class commercial license. How much longer could his body pass a legitimate flight physical? When would he have to bribe his way to wings? The ears & eyes are the first traitors, he felt.

Until petty terrorism increased, as the 20^th century closed, governments could have devoted themselves just to the hotelier. World bureaucracies needed petty terrorists to remain looking useful to constituencies. False flag events were prevalent all over the world. After narcotics, they were the politicians’ excuse for destroying the last freedoms of the USA. By the mid-21^st century, Rav Aloirav was strong. Yet, the world did not discover the New Society, until Aloirav was ready.

That epoch contained great incentive to either discover or invent someone like him. The two greatest narco-terrorist organizations, USA and Israel, needed petty terrorist scapegoats. The situation was analogous to a pervert judge’s sentence-passing characteristics. The depraved jurist gives cruel, hard, and excessive sentences to pervert perpetrators. It conceals (so he feels) his own predilection.

Terrorist countries like the USA & Israel found immense compelling necessity to obfuscate their weapons and narcotics incomes. Chasing petty terrorists and drug peddlers filled the position. Bureaucracies, self-perpetuating, take on a life of their own, especially if unnecessary or illogical. They hoodwinked the entire world for decades. It was only when they merged publically with the world’s top bankers did the political gangsters encounter human resistance.

Aware that government agencies might be tailing him for Rothschild, Rav Aloirav practiced close circumspection. He trusted just close accomplices with his vectors. Even then, most received but one or two of the biological agents. Every possessing operative received a vector with different genetics. That guaranteed Rav Aloirav could hold firm.

He told Gloria. “We choose the time and place of our attacks. Even if the civil serpents score, grab an operative, not all is lost. We can hold the global community hostage, at bay, insuring ultimate victory & freedom. And, if they never achieve a hit…one day, the New Society will fall on them from a position of invincibility.”

Instrumentalities intent upon appearing to govern life’s contingencies never possessed effective vaccines against his vectors. After his fall, they still possessed few vectors and even fewer vaccines. It appeared that no one knew where to look. Their proven experience countering his creations was far from admirable.

Even his juvenile attempts in the 1960s (HTLV-III or HIV-1 homolog) confounded them. For years, they considered it a “contrabandista” (smuggler’s) disease. The virus traveled from one bar or illicit buttsex-for-sale joint to another, leaving isolated populations safe. He designed it to wipe out all the homosexuals and intravenous drug-users in the world. For a time it appeared poised to do just that.

To Mr. Aloirav’s chagrin, however, it never became his great-envisioned simian virus. It weakened and never achieved the accolades for which he had such high expectations. The microbe’s sister clones did indeed make obscene profits (blood money) for some of Lester’s former Biology Department colleagues at MIT. Even so, AIDS was Rav Aloirav’s greatest hidden discomfiture. Even the purported HIV retrovirus, the world thought was the causative agent of AIDS, was just an adventitious exfoliating artifact of the main intron-exon unfolding gene that causes homosexuality in males. Antibodies to it were the medical establishment’s excuse to fleece hundreds of millions of people out of billions of dollars.

The General was drowsy. He’d been working since early that morning. Long flights are a bad idea after little sleep. Years ago, leaving La Ceiba, Mr. Aloirav almost flew into the Atlantic Ocean swells because of exhaustion. He became a believer in regular sleep.

Miles from the New England Pontibus, General Aloirav saw a grass strip. It was somewhat to the South of his position. Pulling the throttle, with full right rudder, he skidded his plane down to it. Landing flare and two bumpy minutes later, he curled up in the cargo bay.

It was still dark, when the General awoke in 5 hours. He taxied over to the fuel tanks and got the FBO (Fixed Base Operator) to fill the tank. With fossil petroleum so expensive now, the FBO was using treated Pontibus microbial alcohol for fuel. After taking off and a slow climb, General Aloirav saw Washington, D.C. coming up before him. The sun rose in his eyes.

He continued musing on his past glories and humiliations. The man assessed well, years ago, in assuming the medical establishment would misjudge his creations. Society would have imprisoned any other serial killer many times over. Testing on small populations around the world, he found his constructs effective. Trustworthy associates took responsibility for unique and ever more exciting vectors.

His first controlled mega-introduction shocked the human race with a fatal infection of millions. Gloria helped Rav Aloirav depopulate three entire countries. He proved that just a percentage of an area’s population needed to contract his disease creations. Most others died corollary deaths. The remaining few, unable to hold meaningful employment under disintegrating infrastructures, couldn’t survive either. Ghost countries appeared, as industry will not invest in areas where weak work forces exist. The New Society indirectly initiated mass migrations cum stampedes, after the dying stopped.

The General tried again to remember who, besides Gloria, used the pneumococcus. At first, the man refused to believe in her infidelity. Then the time alone in the sky weakened him. Had she failed to believe his promises? Getting her out of that First-Surface prison wasn’t easy. It took some time. Could she perhaps have betrayed him while waiting? Unwilling to waste time on such masochism, his mind refused to countenance it any longer. He concentrated on the beauty of some near stratus clouds and moved on to the more successful of his memories.

The New Society elected not to do large scale experimenting on US nationals. Bringing top anti-criminal technology down on their heads didn’t seem prudent. Except for small-scale experiments on derelicts, tests occurred in 2^nd & 3^rd World countries. Within those countries, those died whom Mr. Aloirav considered of negative planetary value. People he felt compromised survival met his “knife”.

Fiduciaries, effete rich, beggars, abortionists, organ-transplant surgeons, politicians, and attorneys died. Drug dealers, junkies, derelicts, eco-thugs, wealthy Christians, swindlers, etc. got fatally sick. Affluent big bankers and others living off interest income also qualified as defensive targets. Scions of government-subsidized commodity swindles like drugs, sugar, arms, peanuts, tobacco, etc. went too. Executives of nuclear power (arms and energy-generating facilities) were high on his “preferred hit-list”. The “boss” executed many perceived dangerous people for personal ethical reasons. There were ample from which to choose.

Desire to castigate must never motivate the primary precipitating cause for death, he felt. It was never his intention to emulate a sick punishing society. Visible previous reasons existed indicating a need for planetary protection from these offenders. He created the HIV homolog virus to eliminate what he saw as a great imperfection in the human species. The only profit he ever expected was the knowledge that humanity might survive to evolve because of it. He told his people, some of whom were bisexual; it was not because he disliked fags and junkies. He knew some biologicals that were upstanding individuals, meeting all his criteria except one. No, it was simply a question of priorities.

One could build a case against him, sometimes, if one dared speculate on his principles. On rare occasions, precipitating causes seemed abstruse. One might even say there was but a thinly-veiled economic reason. Gloria denied and Rav dissembled, but it made one wonder.

In such cases, target intimates hid the deaths. Survivor’s reasons for the reporting delays included, among others, tax and probate considerations. Heirs obscured deaths from public scrutiny for many months, at times. People put Dad in the basement freezer or suborned coroners. Rav Aloirav welcomed such time. It was respite to get the memory of his operatives out of the working area before investigations began. Minimal public exposure fit well into his initial plans.

Certain of his compatriots, buccaneer-like, waxed wealthy on his “experiments”. Selected vectors in these “trials” carried an immediate lethal effect. The victim could expect to expire upon their introduction. Special use vectors took two to four weeks to effect the desired result. Actual length of time to effect death depended on the target’s immune system. After insuring vector protection, the secret to effective biological weapons’ creation is exploiting a victim’s immune system’s inadequacies. A countering vaccine comes from eliminating or counteracting that flaw.

He learned to control, to a one or two day tolerance, longer-acting vectors. Rav Aloirav became an immune system guru. Assassination weapon control fit into a 3 to 5 percent time-span window. New Society members plundered individuals who gave their lives to his brand of science. Pillage occurred at or prior to demise. Deaths always appeared to come from natural causes.

Authorities seldom suspected foul play. Those that didn’t get suspicious intimidated those that did. Mr. Aloirav took a generous share of the booty. Victim’s legacies financed his lavish laboratory. Not all was distress-free. Ever-present paranoia comes with a criminal lifestyle. It requires incessant back watching.

One never knew what or who lurked. Living on the nether side of the law requires a desperate ruthlessness. Possible detection and consequent punishment brings ubiquitous concomitant psychological strain. Compounding the possible apprehending issue is the ever-present risk of treachery. Those unprepared can find the experience quite enervating. Rav Aloirav thrived on it. It was his alternate tonic.

The normal outlaw pays for his or her crime with an omnipresent hell. Never secure, each always reckoned at the mercy of chance. The law & competition from other criminals’ envy threatens. Heinz was a perfect example of such spite. Mr. Aloirav knew there would be but one type of retirement. There was no pleasant alternative to eventual success. He could never quit. Failure meant revenge, reminiscent of the Nuremberg Trials.

Most of his people were not Heinz and were devoted to him. Things went well. As Mr. Aloirav acquired men and weapons, he faced the necessity of educating. The art of disseminating his vectors required responsibility. Disappearing into the ether if something went wrong was imperative. That latter exigency meant vulnerability to global facilitators, such as the late Dr. Cinza.

The “boss’s” major extortion plans required epidemic implementation. Of equal or far greater importance than the creation of a biological weapon was deployment. There, his enemies were most vulnerable to him. Pneumonic assaults with fan and airplane were essential training for New Society members. He developed sophisticated machines for introducing vectors through polyacrylamide gel aerosols.

Creating an assortment of food-borne infections proceeded with contaminated wells and water tanks. Mr. Aloirav needed to show his people how to produce such intoxications. They required knowing how to pump toxins into community water supplies from hotel rooms. Agents learned how to determine possibilities for pumping through water-faucet taps. Knowing that he might introduce very fast was fundamental.

There could be no slip-ups here. There were none. If his plan called for one victim’s sacrifice, they took one. If a half-dozen must die, 6 left, not 5 or 7. The boss wanted pinpoint accuracy. Collateral damage must be restricted. Demanding, he expected precise surgical control and nothing less. Without such meticulousness, Mr. Aloirav’s arms couldn’t compete with conventional weapons.

He felt their group was the world’s future elite. As such, they must be able to manage themselves. If not, how could he hope to rule others? The New Society conducted regular research on the designated objective. Before every introduction, they performed repetitive rehearsals. The “boss” recorded all that information.

He collated it with subsequent debriefing reports. If the vector coatings were not correct, the “bug” would desiccate before victim entry. What went wrong? Was there insufficient agarose or carrageenan in the polyacrylamide aerosol? Was the jet engine’s temperature too hot?

Computer data included names of those controlling information gathering. If a bug’s possessor remained unknown now, many lives could be forfeit. He already knew, from Andrew Wilk’s information, of four compromised bugs. By this time, they must presume the vaccines for those four also lost.

The blond man pulled back on the throttle and the plane dropped another thousand feet. His flare took a little time as late afternoon heat waves, cooling the runway, wafted him higher. There was still enough light to land without having to judge the distance to the ground. The tires squeaked, and he switched to ground control. They told him to taxi to parking.

He rented a car and was soon speeding down the highway toward Brownsville. He got off at her exit and made the same right turn he’d made so many times. Knocking brought her to the window. Seeing him there made her run to throw open the door, and shout.

“Heinz, where have you been? It’s been so long. How’s our son?”

“Hernan’s fine. I just left him a few hours ago.”

“What brings you here?”

“I have a favor to ask. It will pay well, if you’re interested.”

“What is it?”

“I need you to take care of a little girl for a while. I don’t know for how long, but it may be years.”

“Years?”

“Yes. You must approach it as a job. It will be compensated for like one.”

“Will it mean I’ll see you more often?”

“It could. There is a module prepared to accept you and her on the Pontibus.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Fine. We’ll leave in the morning. Take off your clothes.”

First say to yourself what you would be; and then do what you have to do. No thing great is created suddenly, there must be time. Let it first blossom, then bear fruit, then ripen.                                              Epictetus

Chapter Sixty-Five

 

Most of the energy expended, pursuing the illusion of power, is negative. Aficionados must maintain constant vigilance to prevent betrayal and make thrusts to appropriate the illusion. Rav Aloirav was successful once because he balanced negative and positive. Even more successful, Lester Frye used a preponderance of positive over negative energy. General Aloirav thought about how much Lester Frye meant to him.

“I provided Lester’s sole negative energy. That was why he could devote everything to his success. Yet, he died with little hope. Could it be because he snubbed the negative? How much of my life I devoted to him and his dream. My star still rises. How strange life is. Outliving him brings me no pleasure. I miss him so.”

General Aloirav reflected on his devotion to the god of power and aspiration to greatness. “I was what the subhumans call an evil man. “The wages of sin…” What a price I paid! Sometimes, the price seems excessively high. Where would the wherewithal have accumulated to pay the exacting due without realizing that aspiration? The quest for nobility brought courage. I wouldn’t have acquired the peace of mind necessary any other way. It is so ironic! For years, I worked and risked for an illusion of power. Once found, it disappeared. Now I have it again. I didn’t even need to work or risk for it. Perhaps, it’s a residual of past pursuit. I don’t know. Will it remain?”

Tranquility of spirit rendered the capacity for the required denial. He would never confuse nobility with altruistic misconceptions. He knew the shock subsequent to performing altruistic acts. Exposure to derelicts near his hotel taught the man caution. Beneficial effects emanating from “good” deeds are long in manifesting.

They did sometimes seem to come. Nevertheless, Nature’s punishment was inexorable. Jungle experiences taught him that one could find a cynical wisdom but never truth. Wisdom without knowledge is effete, docile, and ineffectual. Knowledge without wisdom is a mad dog.

At the other end of the spectrum stood homicide, sending out a player. The boss felt there was but negative vindication for it. Neglecting its performance might inhibit or preclude further advance of man’s spirit, life, or aspiration. Each pleasurable homicide brought a resulting temporary blow to his total well-being. It was inexorable, insidious, and it bothered.

J.F. Christ and Rav Aloirav both felt the hoi polloi drain on their personal power. At each introduction, Rav Aloirav lost energy. Spiritual forces returned sooner than did physical or mental vitality. The “boss” remembered being uncomfortable for days after a large introduction. Corollary destruction, such as children’s’ deaths and those who loved intended targets caused him malaise.

He tried hard to avoid making the judgment that certain people deserved to die. Except for the Rosario family, punishment was seldom his personal motive. He did not take the responsibility for making homicidal judgment calls lightly. Each exit must be accountable to the goal. The man considered killing anything a matter of degree. Each contrived death must result in planetary betterment. He planned each with care, allowing it only if it satisfied his criteria for enemy dissolution

Mr. Aloirav thought a lot about death and immortality. That’s why he was working with Amanita muscaria “soma” that fateful day. Homicide to him was more than just killing the sub-human. All past, present, and future conception ceased in the victim. It removed another creature’s ability to ever again receive or create an idea, form an image.

It was not an activity of which to take small note. The alternative benefit must be substantial. Yet, with so many subhumans destroying the planet, it was not the opposite situation either. The option didn’t warrant feeling ponderous amounts of definition were necessary.

One must never forget. Unlike non-subhumans (fauna), Homo has an insatiable need to consume just for the sake of consuming. He has a hole in him, an abyss, which he cannot fill. There may be a genetic gap in him, caused by an extra-terrestrial father and simian mother. Intron DNA may be a result in large part from the mismatch.

Homo is a menace to all forms of life, even his own. Other than fear of retribution, Rav Aloirav felt, there is no justifiable reason to refrain from homicide. Mr. Aloirav allowed homicide, because to him it was the lesser of two evils, an ultimatum. At stake was either the planet’s incremental demise or the death of the unnatural existence. The man tried drawing a sharp distinction between his reasoning, rationalizing, and his death warrants.

At times, his rationalization was transparent. The line between defensive vengeance and punishment became very thin. Gloria found his need for resources too weighed heavily on some of his justifications. He believed his capacity to kill conferred the right to do so. The boss felt arrogating the capacity to judge another’s good or evil was illegitimate.

“No one has a right to place value on another’s morals,” he maintained. “Life stamps you with such boundaries as if you were a player piano ribbon. The kind of music it plays is like a life without a mission, a dissonant bestiality. The life it springs from is expendable. The conditioned illogical limits found in morality are just responses to fear. The music of our apotheosis is in our dreams.”

The hotelier shaped the most evil system ever conceived. He challenged all moral precepts, smelting every value in the crucible of biosustainability. Every groundless decency Man’s lucubration aspired to since history’s sunrise, each baseless god humanity cherishes, he crushed under foot. To him, his system was a vision of pure beauty, a paradigm of virgin definition. He would return to it when he fulfilled the promise to Lester.

There were too many subhumans on the planet, he felt. Lost habitat was pushing humans and other species over the cliff to destruction. Humans had a responsibility, to themselves and every other life form, to destroy their defectives. The only excuse to continue wallowing in compassion was mystical nonsense. It appeared that Man would never give up religious insanity.

The General attenuated his musings to call the tower and receive permission to land. He taxied to general aviation parking and tied down his ship. He next bought a commercial electric airplane ticket to San Luis, Brazil. Electric planes were all supersonic now, controlled by Earth’s electromagnetism. Departure and destination wasted time, not the actual flight. He arrived in Brazil two hours later. From there the General piloted a small Cessna 150 to Andirobal. His was the one plane that went near the small town.

He landed on property belonging to the village’s former wealthy neighbor, Marata coffee-cattle ranch. Ames was vacationing at Hotel Aloirav. He saw the “boss” make the final approach. Going out to the grass strip, he collected the General and his baggage.

“Hi, Boss. How’d it go?”

“Fine, Ames. How are things here?”

“Just great! I’m beginning to like this vill.”

“Really?”

“Yah. A 16 oz. beer is just a buck and any 15 year-old girl in town is a bargain.”

“A bottle of pop’s just another buck, right?”

“Yup.”

“Hope you’ve got a good supply of rubbers, Ames. A buck is too cheap to be reliable.”

“Right, Boss.”

“Just because you’ve been vaccinated for AIDS & hepatitis is no reason to chance syph, clap, or the others. Antibiotics aren’t what they used to be.”

“Right, Boss.”

Later, in the Andirobal hotel office, General Aloirav took his computer from the safe. He opened the cache holding his private papers, journal, records, and old vector lists. The man soon immersed himself in work, indistinguishable from the Rav Aloirav of old.

His military position now was better than ever. Company Police were powerless against him. He was their boss too. As major stockholder, they worked for his interests on another level. He was virtual leader of the Company.

The New Society “boss” of notoriety no longer existed. His homicides now were nearly as legitimized as any politician’s. It was not a safe position, however, and he knew it. He was without friends in high places.

The compuphone announced Mr. Otorp, and he answered the hologram confirmation. “Hello, Mr. Otorp.”

“Where do we go from here?” Mr. Otorp asked.

“Well, before we talk further, from where are you calling?”

“A public compuphone in a restaurant down the Avenue from my module. Your man’s with me.”

“Good! Don’t ever call me here from your home. They may know all about us but no sense making it easy for them by being lax. I should know in about two minutes why I came here. Then we can form a plan of action.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to tell you over the phone. We’ve enough security problems without making our own.”

“You’re right. I should be more careful. I talked with the Chief. He said you’d been to the morgue.”

“Yes. Please. We can’t say any more over the phone. I’ll meet with you soon. Now let me go back to work. I want to have something to report to you.”

“Before I go, can I send you some Company transportation to expedite matters? That little plane of yours is very slow, isn’t it?”

“120 knots, max. But, no, thanks. I’d like to get there on my own. Even if it is slower than modern transportation, I know it. I trust it. I’ve lost engines before. I always manage to set down somewhere. Any landing’s a good one if you walk away from it. It’s more secure travel than commercial for my needs. I can behave as erratically as I wish.”

“O.K. Suit yourself.” Mr. Otorp replied, laughing. ‘Any more thoughts on your meeting with Mab Roth?”

‘We shared some lies and misconceptions.’

“She feels you hate her.”

“Not enough. Be careful who you talk to.”

“I am.”

‘Your “friend” is risky.’

“She’s very upset.”

‘She doesn’t understand the gravity of our situation.”

‘Do you hate her?”

“I don’t feel enough for her to hate. The woman’s not useful to me. I find her Weltanschauung too estranged from my own. She’s in deep water without knowing how to swim and will never be a help to me.”

Mr. Otorp said. “Feels you have no desire to cooperate with her.”

“I don’t. She’s too inflexible, hung up on moral issues and race-religion. She’s hopelessly stuck in politically-correctville.”

“I disagree. When you return I think you two should try again. We all want to save the Company. It should be possible to cooperate.”

“Yes. It should be. I don’t think it’s wise to continue a conversation. I’ll see you soon.”

“Right.” Mr. Otorp said.

They disconnected. The General understood the other’s naiveté´, but it rankled nonetheless. Mr. Otorp never suffered for breaking the law, as others did. He was seriously deficient in street smarts. General Aloirav did not have the patience to explain everything to the man.

The General also did not want faster transportation, because it came with too much scrutiny. He needed secrecy. Commercial flights were a plethora of OG red tape. There was always the chance too that one of his false IDs might show up on an OG computer somewhere. That would complicate things. His cantilever-prison release situation might not prove all that sound on the First-Surface. Testing the Law in such an area, while in OG custody, was not a scenario he wanted to consider.

Staring at the reports before him, he stopped. There it was. The answer he sought. It was as he suspected. While Gloria “made her bones” in Guatemala with it, the bug was also in the blond man, Heinz’s possession. He worked France and Cairo at the same time. Well-trusted by the group, Heinz got four vectors.

The hotelier himself invested him with them. Gloria gave him two others. That meant he “legitimately” accessed six. Heinz could have also picked up a few from other former members or stole some. Having now placed the pneumococcus’ provenance, The General wanted to go to Michigan City.

The 4 in Cinza’s estate were Heinz’ original four issues. The pneumococcus was the least militarily effective of them all. With its assorted serotypes, it was a choice assassination vector but not a biological weapon of epidemic significance. Not very contagious, it almost needed serial introduction. Gloria’s introductions made that obvious.

The General looked up Gloria’s vectors. He gave her over a dozen, but she accessed many more over the years. He thought. “After Francis, I was in shock. I never expected my ignorance of human nature was as profound, as sublime, as it was. Took me by surprise. For whatever reason, when we trust, we conspire in our own betrayal. It isn’t necessary to be intelligent to betray, or stupid to be deceived. You just need to be human, experiencing a weak moment. I still can’t believe Gloria would betray me. If she’s turned on me, the Company and the whole world are in big trouble.”

General Aloirav printed a copy of Heinz’ dossier’. He also copied some other information to share with Mr. Otorp. The original information went back in its hidden cabinet. Locking the office door, the General left the hotel with Ames. The evening was still young. The two men went to a local praza bar and drank a few beers.

“Boss.”

“Yah, Ames”

“You know they prosecute people here for physical discipline of their children!”

“I know, Ames. It’s the province of Consuelao Tutular, but it isn’t really prosecution. Few people here refrain from anything out of fear of prosecution. Brazil has no law. It’s just glorified extortion. Graft gravy for the judges, lawyers, and Federal Police. Gringos serve full-prescribed sentences for infractions in Brazil. Locals slide.”

“Oh.”

“It’s like alleging child molestation in the old USA. Women didn’t need proof of it to punish recalcitrant husbands. Judges were corrupted or out to lunch, and they all sucked-up to the female vote. If a woman alleged it, the judge would take away the father’s visitation rights & up the support. Here and back there, it’s just another extortion gambit, a cynical move in making everyone someone else’s slave. Along with drug interdiction, gun control, and public education, it wrecks the family. The pols want a monopoly on physical discipline, drugs, education and guns.”

“You really believe that?”

“Of course, Ames.”

“Isn’t it a farce though?”

“Ain’t it grand! Everyone benefits in a democracy!”

“What about sex abuse and damaging a child with your anger?”

“Of course, we must protect children from such conditions. But, the state carries it too far. Swatting a child’s butt, when he runs into the street, is a parent’s prerogative to save the child he loves from a worse fate. I physically punished my children, when I was angry at their behavior. I’m sure you did too. It’s quicker and more effective than the alternatives and prepares the child for what it will face from society as an adult.”

“Yah, I did.”

“The kid knows you care, risking his love for his well-being. Just look at this town. Open sewers, lazy useless alcoholic brutes, and women without any other desire than to fuck. Nobody knows anything but how to sit on their front porch and bullshit each other. Most live on the dole, murder, steal, screw, or cheat to survive. It’s all because they don’t punish kids for disruptive behavior in the schools. How are they ever going to learn to listen? They will never learn to help themselves without non-governmental education. They can’t mature because they don’t know their history. You know why their sewers are open?”

“Too lazy to bury the pipe?

“That’s part of it. It’s also because of beans & rice.”

“The staple? Really?”

“Yup. These monkeys are all poor. They know it and think that if they don’t leave food on their plates, others will discover it. They’re terrified someone will ridicule them, behind their backs, for being poor. Cleaning their plates might indicate to some that they don’t get enough to eat.”

“So what? They’re all poor. What difference does it make?”

“None, but they’re so ignorant they don’t realize that.”

“It’s an obsession with them, leaving some food on the plate. I’ve noticed it. They always leave some beer too.”

“So, too lazy to clean the remains off for the animals, a portion of the beans & rice gets dumped in the sink. The monkeys let it clog the drains. Too lazy to unplug the drains, it’s easier just to not use pipes. So, they let it roll downhill into holes and open sewers. The vermin & varmint eat it from the open sewers, making disease a fact. Pigs, chickens, etc. are always eating out of the sewers.”

“Yah, that’s true. I see it every day.”

“Great disease-incubation policy. Ames, a parent that neglects to discipline his wards out of fear of losing their love doesn’t deserve children. If a parent fears a child’s hatred, the parent deserves that hatred, and has no business being a parent. Likewise, most people that can’t have kids shouldn’t have kids. They will use permissive education because they can’t parent instinctively or love the kids as their own. Illegitimate parents can’t raise children with confidence. They need to listen to the mob. They don’t have a personal genetic stake in the children. Illegitimate parents take a few hours off their busy bedroom schedule to audit a few soc or psych classes. Then they spout Spaak-ism’s permissive education. It’s bullshit!! We must reevaluate all our cultural mores in the light of evolutionary imperatives or we will not survive. Permissively educated children bully their parents; that’s why most people don’t want kids nowadays. They see the results of the Spaak-Piaget theories thrown in their faces every day. It’s where this year’s crop of good little team-players comes from.”

“That’s probably why only the Pontibus is not experiencing zero population growth.”

“And the 3^rd world, here.”

“Right. The OG-controlled First-Surface is almost sterile.”

“It’s a good thing, what with all the “biologicals” and all.” Ames added.

“For sure. Life justifies disciplining children, Ames, as a means of using the fear of recurring pain to protect them. We help them avoid accidents and a punishing brutal society. There’s no justification for such a practice on moral or any other grounds. The value in the practice is debatable for there is no real excuse for punishment. No authority, not even some “God”, has a right to punish anyone in the human condition. We arrogate the practice of castigation out of desperation. Permissive education of children is an obvious swindle. Pols criticize physical discipline just to destroy the father.”

“Why would they want to do that?”

“Destroy the family. Make the sheep-mentality ubiquitous. The family’s health is the last mainstay against slavery & creeping democracy.”

“The pols want us all to be insects in pheromone-controlled nests.”

“Exactly! If they destroy the father, they destroy the family. It’s easier to deal with a discredited man in prison. Children & women are easy to control without spirit in the shape of a man. The state uses physical discipline in prisons and the military. Why not allow it in the home? Blatant inconsistency! Why people buy such contradiction is beyond me. Society feels it’s a proven method for inculcating some sense into their enslaved monkeys but wants to prohibit it in the home. I don’t agree.”

“Sometimes I feel people are like cattle, Boss. They go wherever the grass looks greener.”

“Bread & Circuses.”

“Yah.”

“Ames. You’re too young to remember Viet Nam.”

“My father was just a baby.”

“When I returned to normal society. There was no triumph and no parade. There was only shame and a low-profile semi-escape. All the media were anti-vet. The natural ingratitude of the cattle was always present. They filled the movies with it. I didn’t understand it at the time. Now I do. It was monstrous! They wanted us dead or discredited.”

“Why?”

“We were the last bastions of anti-slavery mentality in the country. The world was fast becoming a great big slave state. The pols were dismantling the US Constitution and the Bill of Rights. They wanted us, and memories of us, destroyed. The USA was feeding the world’s monkeys slave values and turning them into cattle. They sold compassion, rule of written law & order, gun control, drug interdiction, and permissive education. People believed lies like justice, right, and truth. The Popes were all commies, phony bunko artists. People bought into religious meekness, trusting the pretty pols, fearing everything, etc. Taxes, arms & drugs financed it all. Remember those democracies of the last century?”

“Yah…”

“A few sick pols dictating and lying to quasi literate macaques. I never could understand how the bastards could sell anyone on the value of voting when nothing exists for which to vote. All voting does is recycle the garbage, legitimizes the scum! Pols are the true child molesters! People are mental babies, grist for media mendacity. Pols con the ruminants into working 11months of the year to pay the tax ticket. First, the monkeys colluded with the vermin to rob the third world. It raised their living standard. By their 60s, citizens managed to save a few bucks. Next day, decrepit old age arrives, and in the following years, it all goes to keep a near vegetable alive. They never question the ethics or who’s dying. The media calls it politically correct! The vegetable dies. Six months later, no one remembers he ever existed. The people who control the pols want subjects like that. Monkeys! Cattle! Slaves! Take your pick, whatever you want to call them. In the early 21^st century, Rothschild turned the screws on the US monkeys. The 666 family (and their banker pawns) ripped the voter-trash off to the tune of trillions of fiat dollars, just the way they ripped off the 3^rd world in the previous century. Talk about poetic justice!”

“Boss?”

“Yah, Ames.”

“What made you decide on biological weapons, instead of chemical or nuclear warheads to achieve your objective?”

“World domination, Ames.” He replied. “The main reason for my active pursuit of power was survival. I wanted to rid the world of nuclear weapons and chemical toxins, twin threats to planetary life. Why would I want to increase the amount of those substances by using them myself? It could get to be a habit. I’d be no better than Rothschild and the political trash in charge of those weapons on the First-Surface now.”

“Couldn’t they use the same argument against you?”

“Augmenting world disease?”

“Well, yah.”

“They could. But, Nature will win. We and other species will survive.”

“Mr. Frye was right.”

“He sure was. People need dreams & goals that benefit the planet & humankind. The caedere definition of meaning has to go. The slave mentality in democracy and the tyranny of the military-industrial insanity must stop.”

“Weren’t you in the military boss?”

“Yes, but I was a non-com.”

“What’s that?”

“A non-commissioned officer. A slave. Non-coms and privates do the fighting in wars.”

“What’s a commissioned officer?”

“A fraud, mainly. A politician with a crush on the military.”

The General and Ames later sampled some indigenous affection and turned in for the night. In the morning, the General told Ames. “We’ll be leaving Andirobal today, Ames. Remember your earplugs. Never go anywhere in South America without them. Always take a lighter, knife, and toilet paper too.”

Ames accepted the advice quietly. He seemed preoccupied. General Aloirav noticed it and asked the reason. Ames mentioned something about his last evening’s tryst. He asked if his “boss” knew anything about the misery of unrequited love.

“A bit.” The General replied. “Back in the early Pontibus days, we built a prototype sky house in the jungle. There were large monkeys there that the indigenas called guaribas. These monkeys have a call that sounds like a capybara clicking, until they get going. Within minutes, their roar becomes so loud it seems like a locomotive is about to come crashing through the trees. The entire jungle reverberates with the echoes. Guariba monkeys are notoriously horny. Some say it’s just a territorial thing. Whatever. Upon seeing dogs, they come down from the trees to “converse” or “know” them. The practice often results in monkey demise. I think, Ames, you might term that a “misery of unrequited love”.”

“Yah. I would, Boss.” He laughed.

“Upon further reflection.” The General continued. “One might expect that, over the centuries, a high frequency of those unnatural liaison attempts might come to fruition. Some may have resulted in a few monkey-dog unions.”

“You think so?”

He replied, (with tongue in cheek). “It could have originated the defective sub specie of sub-humanity known as “Homo politicianus”.”

“Really?”

“No. Just funnin’ ya’. Deletion mutations, lethal genes, in the offspring would undoubtedly arise in such events and kill all possible offspring.”

“You spend much time in the jungle, Boss?”

“Enough.” General Aloirav replied. “Not much in the line of non-meat type food there. Death is swift and unexpected in the jungle, Ames. It usually occurs antecedent to a stomach. I spent more of my time on the edge of the forests. Frontiers mainly. There are more options there. Unlike the old Wild West stories, many more women inhabit frontier towns than men. I think Nature produces women and frontiers in direct proportions. Women congregate there to acquire money for their previous children, left with relatives in more civilized areas.”

In the morning, the General preflighted the plane and started the engine. He did the run-up check, runway approach, and take-off in seconds. Leaving the runway behind him, the General flew straight to San Luis. All he could think of now was getting to Michigan City.

Commercial tickets back to Washington, D.C. brought them to his small plane. Ames left for the Pontibus to rejoin Mr. Harcourt’s spy crew. Thanks to a tail wind, the General soon arrived in Michigan City. He needed to talk with one of the inmates.

His prisoner contact wanted a transfer to a Pontibus contract prison and eventual work release quid pro quo. General Aloirav could manage that. The convict didn’t share any betrayal, sold secrets, or pilfered bug facts. He did, however, update Heinz’ dossier.

It was something to show Mr. Otorp. The inmate also knew some of Heinz cohorts no longer in the General’s corner. Leaving Michigan City, back in the air, going east, the tailwind was now a headwind. Bucking it lasted the entire first half of the flight. Fighting the wind for 3 hours exhausted him.

There were hours of flight ahead to Plymouth. General Aloirav landed and napped awhile. Awakening at midnight, he discovered the weather changed in his favor. Soon, the General was looking down in the distance at Boston’s fantasy-lights. Ground still invisible, everything seemed sky.

Over Boston, night was moving into dawn, as the sun seared the ocean horizon behind the Pontibus. Luz seemed poised like an eagle before the sun and over the horizon. The General turned south, putting the sun to his left and out of his eyes. Kingston Bay below rose before him. Plymouth’s radio towers and Clark’s Island lay just ahead. The island was but a small lot now after the glaciers dropped. The Pontibus appeared as a large cirrus cloud to his distant left.

A few minutes more, and the plane was secure on Plymouth tie-downs. General Aloirav contacted Mr. Otorp and let him know of his return. Mr. Otorp attempted to re-market Mab Roth. The General would hear nothing of the sort. As he caught the shuttle to the Pontibus Boston foot, he thought.

“Let him continue trying to push her onto me. I’ll just keep retreating from the concept until he loses interest. Maybe she’ll go away.”

He agreed to wait for Mr. Otorp at the airport restaurant. Mab, instead, came bursting through the door. Seeing her, he immediately got up to leave. Running to intercept him, she said. “Maybe my delivery last time was wrong, but…”

“Maybe!?”

“OK, it was wrong, but I need your help. We need your help. Please forgive me?”

“Who’s we?”

“Myself and Mr… the Company. I would like to know your true story.” Mab genuflected.

He surmised it was disingenuous but said nothing, and she continued. “Really. I would, and I’m sorry.”

Her mouth was a serious detriment to any future collaboration. General Aloirav knew it. He didn’t know how to exhibit patience with strident females. The man could see Mab was ready to try anything to get into a calm conversation with him. The General surmised he was too important to her & Mr. Otorp to lose, and it made him feel generous.

He weakened and let her desperate attempt succeed. As busy as the woman was, she made her time his. Their conversation began again. The old man talked about his past. She humored him, saying.

“So you moonlighted as a slumlord while doing your own research?”

“Yes. I worked alone in my own small laboratory for years.”

“How’d you meet Lester Frye?”

“We became friends at the RNA Tumor Virus convention in May 1983. It was at Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory in New York. I presented my abstract on retroviral DNA topology. That was a poster session and my only publication, ever. I used it just as a pretense to meet some of the other molecular biologists. It appeared I knew much more than did any other scientist there, except Lester Frye. I became concerned that they might suspect my research’s provenance and discover my purpose. They would have tried to stop me.”

“And what was that purpose?”

“I thought you knew.” He said, surprised, feeling she was pumping him. “Are you trying to put me on the moral defensive again?”

“No.”

“I hope not. You can’t. My morality is fresh, unfeminine.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“My code of conduct is relevant to today, unlike your own.”

“No. That’s not what you meant. You don’t like women, do you?”

“Very few.”

“Do I dare ask why?”

“The vast majority present with but 2 goals: children and making men suffer.”

“How do we make you suffer?”

“We love and need you. All the women I know walk the Sapphic swamp shore. Most sport an assortment of camouflage dyes, stink of commercialized aromatic hydrocarbons, and swindle men.”

“If we make you bleed, why have anything to do with us?”

“Your masochism, albeit offensive, is intriguing.”

“It is?”

“Yes.”

“Like your violence intrigues us?”

“Perhaps.”

Not willing to pursue a never-ending argument, she said. “I’d like to get back to your story. I don’t understand how the crimes, they punished you for, are connected to your biochemistry.”

Mab was leading him on to speak about an indelicate topic. She knew it was dangerous. The General was not sure how much the woman knew, and they experienced a few uncomfortable seconds. He wasn’t comfortable talking to a pumper, but replied. “They were connected. And it concerned me that someone might suspect it.”

“You really thought so?” She asked, anxious to know more. Unwilling to display further ignorance, fearing it might seem prying, she played for time. Acting content with just accepting what he said, Mab pretended to believe him. She didn’t want him thinking it possible her suspecting him of prevaricating.

“At the time, yes. I was still incapable of providing expensive security. I also wanted precautions to protect my people from my own agents.”

“Agents?”

“Bacteria, viruses, prions, etc. Later, I protected them much more. I was just not ready yet.”

“Ah, now I understand. You were building biological weapons?”

“Yes.

“People worked for you by that time?”

“Yes. People interested in my research provided me with sufficient funds to hire technicians.”

“How did you become so close with Lester Frye?”

“Desire for similar ends brought us together.”

“Power?”

“No. Lester wasn’t interested in that. Our mutual interests lay with biological sustainability, the tragedy of species exhaustion, etc. Neither of us was after money or research glory. Those others, in the glamour areas, just pushed us closer.”

“What do you mean “glamour areas”?

“High profile genetic diseases like cancer, Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s, cystic fibrosis, diabetes, etc., you know, vanity stuff. Well-funded, high priority research. Possibilities for huge drug windfalls.”

“I see. You’re right. From what I’ve known & heard of him, he was like that. So that’s what you were trying to accomplish?”

“Yes. It came to me, even before the military discharged me. The answer to all the problems of the human race.”

“Really?”

“Yes. When I was born, there were only 2 billion sub-humans on the planet. By the end of the 20^th century there were six billion. Sub-human numbers tripled in fifty years! Human population needed culling. We were becoming a perfect analogy to the dinosaurs. There were too many of us seeking too much of the planet’s limited bounty.”

“Eugenics?”

“Oh, no.” He said. “Much more than that. What was necessary was repetitive decimation.”

“You can’t be serious?!”

“Oh, yes. Examine the facts. Too many plants, using the same nourishment, get root rot. Without culling some, they’ll all die. The 21^st century human garden was without natural culling. I saw I was going to have to do it. Man postponed & perverted evolution with his obscene compassion, morality, technologies, and superstition. He was wreaking havoc with religion, democracy, and other planetary depredations like socialism, Law & Medicine. He continued his merry destructive ways oblivious to the distress. I needed to force the human race to return the planet to Nature’s aegis, as soon as possible.”

“That was crazy!”

“So they tell me. Whatever. I failed. Now 12 billion sub-humans inhabit the planet. If it weren’t for the Pontibus, we’d have died out and gone the dinosaur way – long ago.”

“That is so severe. Raw Nature is such a hard autocrat, if you’ll pardon the anthropomorphism.”

“Pardoned. Severe or not. If we did it, we might save ourselves from Nature’s inevitable wrath. If you’ll pardon the anthropomorphism.”

“Pardoned.”

“No matter what we do. Whether we destroy planetary life, (as we know it), or not, Nature will win. The facts are… Nature can do without us.”

“So you decided you’d play “GOD”.”

His visage darkened, before he said. “THERE is the reason you WILL not work with me! Your head is stuck way up “God’s” ass, lady! Get it out, and you can play. If not, leave me alone! Now go back to Otorp and tell him that I did not decide to play “God” with you!”

“I’m sorry, sorry, sorry! It was just an expression! I didn’t mean it. I didn’t.”

“Yes. You did! You’re a “God” freak! A sick superstitious, irresponsible coward. You need to blame your fear of life & death on something, so you blame it on some imaginary sadistic, control-freak, maniac. Playing “God” began for me, sister, in Viet Nam. Your great grandparents and the rest of the fuckin’ U.S. A. gave me that mandate. They sent me to kill for “God, Mother, and Country”. Kill and kill and kill. The people of the U.S. couldn’t be concerned about losing their precious living standard. It mustn’t diminish one iota. Starving the rest of the world meant nothing to the drug-addicted obese average American. Americans shouldn’t slow their spending on narcotics, expensive diets and weight reduction programs.”

“That was so long ago.”

“The First-Surface is still accommodating ever-greater numbers of weaklings, misfits, pols and Christians. Everything! Everything! Everything serves the wastes!”

“Sorry.” She said, sensing a pattern of first angering him and then apologizing.

“We had a bargain!?”

“We did. I broke it. I’m too encultured to other values to see your point of view.”

“As far as playing “GOD” is concerned… why don’t you just think? Every time any scientist builds a clone, multiplies DNA, in vitro… he does so. Eating, drinking, and even your immune responses are all matters of interpretation and degree of playing with other lives. I assume that is what you mean by playing “God”. Judging me according to your extinct morality every time I try to explain something will get us nowhere. You’ll never overcome your ignorance.”

“I’m sorry. The way you think, or thought, is so unusual… Yet, you’re so forthright; I find it difficult to respond. Integrating what you’re saying with everything else we accept by conditioning isn’t easy. You’re an unusual person. Can’t you understand my predicament?”

He didn’t answer, so she continued. “I suppose you’re right. It was very judgmental of me, and I was out of line.”

General Aloirav seemed pensive before he replied. “Sometimes it does seem somewhat presumptuous of me, now that I look back on it. It was right for me at the time. I saw no other alternative except to accept the status quo. That meant allowing the mega-extinctions to be the last.”

“You do have some regrets then?”

“Yes. I’m human. I regret Nature gave me a conscience so profound.”

“You?! A conscience?”

“Yes, my little witch. I find some things difficult to accept. Why did my first families have to die? Why did people consider me so monstrous? All I was trying to do was make the world acceptable for our species survival. I was making a better place to live for all concerned. The people I killed were in the way, taking up too much space. They would have died someday, anyway.”

“Were your “technicians” aware of what you were attempting?”

Mab wanted to change the subject. She did not care for the man. Having such an aversion to his philosophy made sympathy impossible. Nevertheless, it bothered her how conflicting sentiments could race around her head concomitantly.

“Yes. Other people were around, still are, that feel animosity for the subhuman race. Our disparate motivations connected. They needed a leader. I saw it and needed them to handle my agents. We became a team, or “club”.”

“Where did you find such people?”

“In prisons or leaving same. Ex-cons are never out of the “box” for long. The state also transports them around the country quite a bit. It gave me a means of communication.”

“What did you call your “club”?”

“The New Society.”

“What do you say to people who believe you were crazy?”

“Nothing. Crazy? What is that? “Crazy”. It means the mob’s sheep-mentality doesn’t possess you. It means your own terror hasn’t yet dehumanized you. You may still be able to hold the banner of your humanity higher than others. Whether you live or die, my little witch, why not do it with style? The average member of society can never do that. Selfish petty insecurity and vice force them to squander their lives searching for wealth of an obscene definition. Day by day, they deny life, as much as Christians do. The tax collector and the grave get it all in the end. Some feel it can stave off the terror. Riches are inversely proportional to safety. Inner security is inversely proportional to the means for physical security. It’s also easy and dangerous to confuse wealth with personal power.”

“Most desire wealth for the status it affords, to gain others’ respect.”

““Others”!? The word usually means sub-humans – trash, shit at best. Having lots of money means the shit respect you! If you need the respect of shit, what are you? What does such an exigency make you? Except as a tool, money means nothing! Aspirations are everything!”

“But you needed money. In fact you were wealthy, engineering all you did?”

“We financed our struggle in any manner possible. We were powerful, but our wealth was always our means. It was never our objective. At least, not the objective of most of us. There were casualties. It was an uphill fight all the way. Strong people do not by inclination enjoy joining groups. They’re not team players. We talked, advised, and convinced strong ones to come into our group. Wherever we found them, in or out of prison, it didn’t matter. In the US or elsewhere, we got them to join. Our financial position got ever stronger, and we were able to move forward. Groups inside and outside of prison organized and communicated. A force emerged with which the degenerated mob needed to reckon.”

“What about women?” She asked. “Did you have them in your group?”

“If women were strong enough, we included them. Males and females mediated the strength issue. We created a private government of the strong, by the strong, and for the strong. We were like the Lacedemonians. The earth belongs to those strong enough to take and hold it. Those cowards banding together to cry for its blessings merit nothing but slavery. That type is endemic on the First-Surface. We permitted no weaklings in our midst. A First-Surface prison sentence, for man or woman, was no longer a living burial. It was a stepping-stone to final victory over weaklings. We fought with words, money, fists, guns, and special weapons.”

“I’d like to know more about those “special weapons”?”

“Another time.” He sidestepped the question.

“Why? You don’t feel comfortable talking about your use of biological weapons?”

The General wanted to talk about science he felt would be less repugnant to her. She was proving unyielding. General Aloirav felt uncomfortable talking about such things with a “square”. It was not from any misdirected sense of guilt. He replied.

“I’m not looking for absolution from you. Perhaps a little understanding would be nice. Walter Reed used human volunteers for his work on yellow fever. Many died. Eastern, Western Europe, and U.S. imperialists killed millions, generations – lost to cash crops and industry. No one lifted a finger to restrain them. Most were ignorant. They considered it duty or white man’s burden. What about legalized abortion? The First-Surface still practices it. I needn’t go on. Society sometimes punishes murder, but it happily sanctions mass homicides. Examples, excuses, and justifications are always manifold. Most any action, human need, whim, or constraint will do. It was my own cross to bear, my own burden, my own duty. I took the burden of defining myself onto my own shoulders. If wrong, I’d pay the price with my life. I was prepared and accepted that. The human race and planetary life were my chosen responsibility. They meant more to me than the lies and the trite morality of a few bipedal macaques of lower-level consciousness.”

“As we began our conversation, you mentioned a desire to relieve world suffering. How did you rationalize a desire to make the world a better place with a decision that would increase world suffering?”

“We killed. True. Until our collapse, we used no weapons like Sclerotium rolfsii or Phytophtera infestans or Piricularia oryzae. I didn’t allow my biological weapons to ruin enemy food supplies. I could have but did no purposeful destruction of non-subhuman animals. We minimized suffering. I caused just enough to insure a greater long-term benefit.”

“What is a non-subhuman animal?”

“What you would call an animal, a creature.”

“What is a sub-human animal?”

“A Homo without a mission.”

“Then a Homo with a mission is also a non-subhuman animal?”

“Yes. We must draw the line.”

“You dissemble so easily.”

“Don’t I though? It’s practice, my dear, practice. You’ll learn. Give it time.” He replied.

“Why would I want to? I’m sure I wouldn’t be as proud of it as you seem to be.”

“Your smug egoism is showing.”

“Is that what it is?”

“Yes. I find character to have more value. A person of character has a special responsibility. It’s paramount to maintain that character until death. However, one must also maintain existence in a characterless world. Society, especially capitalistic society, selects against it. Consistent with integrity means preventing a sick society from destroying you. There is no easy way out of that conundrum. Character means responsibility. Even the coward Socrates abdicated his responsibility. He showed bad faith by accepting the hemlock. It’s now necessary to use the social weapons of hypocrisy and deceit to survive. Sometimes the jungle weapons of hiding and camouflage are necessary. One must defeat the sub-human offal’s attempts to deny quality’s continued existence.”
”One is tempted to say that it then is no longer character but charlatanism.”

“True, but, my skeptical little co-Director, o contraire. It’s an enlightened character, with an added dimension, perhaps heretofore undefined. Character is personal. Its possessor need not search for its mob endorsement. It knows if it has abdicated its responsibility to posterity or risen above trite morality.”

Shaking her head, Mab said. “I’ll never accept that.”

“I figured as much, Ms. Hecuba.”

“Why do you persist in calling me a witch?!”

“Are there not those who believe that witches worship the Devil?”

“I suppose…”

“You worship that Devil you call God.”

“Oh. I see.”

Keep to moderation, keep the end in view, follow nature. (Servare modum, finemque tenere, Naturamque sequi.)                   Lucan

 

Chapter Sixty-Six

Heinz arrived at the neighborhood mentioned in the report. The condensers were functioning, but there was still enough fog to obscure his nefarious objective. It took him a few minutes to find the right module. When he discovered it, the domicile was easy. He opened the hatch and entered the kitchen.

After checking for possible surprises, he entered the bedroom. Two rounds were sufficient, and the two people were dead. He went into the next room and put a chloroform mask on the girl’s mouth. When she was unconscious, he taped her mouth and put her in the bag. Out the door and into his strato took but minutes.

Within an hour, the child was sleeping peacefully in another part of the Pontibus. She would awaken to Heinz’ woman friend, Hernan’s half-sister. The domicile was in a module MMIM owned through numerous innocuous fronts. Other soldiers of the multinational corporation lived in the same area. The enclave was secure from prying eyes.

Later that same day, Mr. Harcourt became aware that his little girl was once again in danger. There were no lesbians to protect her now. His little hostage to fortune was now a pawn in MMIM’s play for control of the Company. What to do? Should he inform General Aloirav or do as Heinz’ minions directed?

 

Ames popped his head into Mr. Harcourt’s office and said. “I’m back, Mr. Harcourt. What’s on the agenda?”

Mr. Harcourt didn’t respond, so Ames rephrased his question. “Where do we go today, Mr. Harcourt? . . . Mr. Harcourt!”

“Oh. Sorry, Mr. Ames. I was just thinking about something. I guess I didn’t hear you. We have a job to do on the Third-Level. Get the rest of the crew and meet me at the freight airport at 3 PM. Have your painting clothes on.”

“Painting clothes?”

“Yah. We’re gonna’ paint all the Company planes a misty blue.”

 

Heinz was talking to Mr. Hodges and some other MMIM executives. He said. “I don’t know what for, man. Our new source inside said he was managing a crew of people. They’re painting all the Company transports blue.”

“Blue?” Mr. Hodges asked.

“T’swhat he said.”

“Okay. It doesn’t seem too dangerous. At least he’s informing for us, and he didn’t go to Aloirav.”

“Perhaps not…yet.”

“If he did or does, Aloirav’s got to take some action … or he’ll lose the guy’s loyalty anyway.”

“Yah.” Heinz replied. “That’s what I thought.”

“We win either way. Smart move Heinz.”

“If Aloirav moves to assault, we’re ready for him.”

“If he doesn’t, we’ve got a mole.”

 

Bacon arrived at the General’s Headquarters Security Office and said. “Boss.”

“Yah, Bacon?”

“We got some activity at one of our houses.”

“Members’ families’ houses?”

“Yah. Company Police reported. Mr. Harcourt’s ex-wife and her new husband. Both dead. Child missing.”

“His?”

“Yah.”

“When?”

“Last night.”

“That means a crisis for him and us, Bacon.”

“Yes, Boss.”

“It presents both opportunity and danger.”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll give him some time. He may not be aware yet.”

“Right.”

“How was it done?”

“Real clean.”

“MMIM. How sure are we of Ames?”

“Been with us since the New Society. He’s true.”

“Tell him to continue as step n’ fetch. He’s to report all new developments, as before.”

“Your police contact knows about keeping notice to us silent?”

“Yah. This isn’t the first time she’s given us information.”

“She?”

“Yah.”

“I’m impressed. You’re making friends…with a woman.”

“Knock it off, Boss.”

“Touchy too. I am really impressed.”

Bacon looked even more uncomfortable, and the General asked. “Ames was a smuggler, right?”

“Money. They sent him up for money laundering.”

“I thought so. He’s not gonna’ like painting.”

“What’s he painting?”

“Transports. I’m painting all Company transports blue, as invisible as possible for the jobs they’re gonna’ do.”

“Anything else?”

“Get the propaganda machine going. We want nursing candidates, thousands of ‘em. Get some old nurses too. I want the girls to learn how to apply vaccines.”

“What else?”

“Get me Pontibus Demographics. That’s all for now, Bacon.”

The secretary in the Headquarters module asked the General if he could see someone from Demographics.

“Yes.” General Aloirav said. “Send him in, Sally.”

 

“General Aloirav, Sir?”

“Yes.”

“I’m from Demographics. You wanted to speak with someone from the department?”

“Yes. I want you to get me the names of all module residents. I want the number of people living in each domicile and their names. How long will that take?”

“The owners are on the computer. Family members & tenants are not. That is a census, and it will take a great deal of work. I don’t think the department has enough people to handle it.”

“Have your chief call me.”

“Yes, Sir.”

 

A few minutes later, General Aloirav received another visitor.

“General Aloirav.”

“What can I do for you, Mr. Otorp?”

“You said you were going to inform me as to some details of my luncheon date’s demise. What happened?”

“I felt a delay was in order. You ambushed me with that harpy.”

“Mab’s no harpy. She is a competent administrator.”

“She‘s a goddam pain in the ass!”

“I want her to work with us.”

“I don’t!”

“I can’t give, what you want me to give, without her. I can’t work all alone any more than can you.”

“The bitch can’t keep her mouth shut! She’s a fuckin’ religionist… tries to judge me with every breath! Plus, she lives in a dream world.”

“I didn’t come over here just to remind you about the information you promised me.”

“No?”

“No. I wanted to inform you of something.”

“What’s that?”

“There’s some scuttlebutt going around.”

“Which is?”

“The OG is planning to publicize your prison release and new position in the Company. Some First-Surface media were here, Company Headquarters, yesterday, asking for you. The receptionists kept them at bay, but it won’t be long I fear…and.”

“And what?”

“We may have to make a statement. There are people who remember what you did.”

“With dehistorization, there can’t be that many. Most of the others are dead.”

“It could result in blackmail by MMIM.”

“How?”

“They could demand your return to prison or at least resignation.”

“Or?”

“Or the Company does no more business with the First-Surface.”

“They’d be more stressed than the Company.”

“Not for long. You’re a biologist.”

“That I am.”

“So. What happens when an organism stops growing?”

“It dies.”

“That’s what will happen if they put the brakes to rocks & humeal.”

“A point.”

“Mab has some ideas. Why don’t you talk to her? Give her one more chance.”

“What kind of ideas?”

“You’ll just have to talk to her to hear them.”

“Extortion! Everywhere!”

“Welcome to corporate life. I told her to be at your office by 9 AM tomorrow.”

 

Mab was there as promised. General Aloirav accepted her. She entered the inner sanctum and sat down at a window seat. The General was as uncomfortable as she was. Neither wanted to begin the conversation, but the General did, saying. “The last we spoke you were telling me…”

“That I could never accept your definition of character.”

“Yes. And I said that’s not important.” General Aloirav said.

“No. You called me a witch.”

“Ah, yes. Ms. Hecuba. We both had had enough of each other for that day. Showing weakness is not good policy.” The General said. “The fear of showing it is worse. I deserve some censure.”

“I agree.”

“Well. We agree on something.” General Aloirav said. “Maybe we should continue discussing posturing and forget other dialogue. We seem able to broach that subject without too much rancor.”

“Maybe we should just posture.” Mab said, laughing.

“Yes.” The General agreed. “We could get Otorp off our backs.”

“Is he forcing you too?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me more about your weapons.”

“Why are you so interested?”

“It keeps me thinking on subjects somewhat removed from yourself.”

“I see. All right. The most powerful weapon at our disposal was hate. Biological weapons were secondary. They’re technical items. Without money, guns, or a group you can still hate. Hate is a healthy emotion, a product of fear it is a forerunner of violence. It protects the defenseless. Without hate, there is no accomplishment. Love brings overpopulation and aberrant civilization in its wake. One should indulge in it as a respite from hate work. Hate will not set off a nuclear winter. Insecurity of weakling’s who’ve lost their ability to hate will destroy us.

“Who do you feel are the “weak”?”

“”Biologicals”, socialists, big bankers and money pigs, beggars, the ignorant, the spineless, and the indolent. Those who put needles in their arm, homosexuals, church goers, followers of illegitimate authority, etc.”

“Who are followers of illegitimate authority?”

“Pols, voters, democrats, republicans, etc.”

“I don’t see any congruence between them. You’re inconsistent.” Mab said.

“Destroying the weak was not my answer to the suffering question.” General Aloirav said. “It is, and always has been, Nature’s answer. To imagine rising above Natural Law, not genuflecting to it, will not stop suffering. You’ll but defer & increase it. The more you indulge suffering, the more it multiplies. There is a consistency in Natural law. Nature combats suffering. She makes the strong stronger and the weak weaker. Nature leaves no creature untested. We never took the easy way out of trouble. We knew we would either succeed or gain an honorable death. The path of ease is the path of the coward. It causes weakness. We were not weak. Society is weak. Abortion, state government, capital punishment, neonatal units, most medicine, homelessness, democracy, prison, most wars, etc. – easy ways.”

“Eradicating suffering must come through strength. I agree. But, you would rid the world of it by killing the victim?”

“That’s not entirely correct. Kill the weakness. It sounds harsh, Draconian, but spiritual strength is the one way to combat life’s pain. Strong sages, poets, and like criminals are the highest human achievements shown to date. They must be our cynosures.”

“Weak bodies can have strong spirits.”

“Strong bodies can have stronger ones.”

“Perhaps.”

“An example from Nature is a propos. Immune cells can’t kill virions without killing the cells infected with that virus. There isn’t any other way. Does the body hesitate to kill one of its own? Of course it doesn’t. It sacrifices virally infected cells to rid itself of greater suffering or death. There exists an entire set of programmed genetic cascades, which come into play. The body goes to war. The virus attempts to avoid its demise by taking hostages – with host destruction. Submitting to suffering victims is the ultimate surrender to suffering’s effects.”

“I think that the mind is more important than the body or the spirit.”

“Typical analytical sophistry!”

“Why!?”

“You can’t do it. It’s a non-issue, pissing contest. The strong body and powerful spirit are fit counterparts to the mighty mind. Beauty exists in harmonizing the three. Magnificence like that of a wild stallion, a Royal Bengal tiger, or a noble criminal ensues. You would cut the tree down and say the top half was less important.”

“No, I wouldn’t. I disagree.”

“Of course you do. You can’t reason. Moral refuse clogs your mind.”

“My reason is as good as yours, maybe better.”

“Perhaps, but that argument is also a non-issue.”

“How come?”

“Computers reason better than us, but we control them. Neanderthal man was more intelligent than we were, but he failed to evolve, because our spirit, as represented by imagination, conquered his reason. The submissive mob sought, in every way they knew, to mitigate our strength. They were subjugation-minded and could not expect to succeed. One gets what one expects. The mob’s spirit is very weak. Even more than our destruction, they expected, wanted, to follow. It made my human guinea pigs easy to acquire, without much secrecy. They tried to band together to kill, imprison, ostracize, fine, ridicule, or gossip about us. They failed. We always returned to plague them. Uniting individual strengths, our nobility could squash and enslave the entire soft worm of subhuman Society.”

“You consider yourself noble?”

“The only true nobility is thinking, feeling, and acting more intensely and longer than others do. We did that, so we were noble.”

“You were so confident of victory. How is it they stopped you?”

He recollected that day it all fell apart. The General remembered scoring one victory after another, until then. He was approaching that point all men come to who are at peace with themselves. It is not a smug compassionate condescension but a simple benevolent feeling towards all. Disappearing negative feelings toward others is a characteristic of the state of mind. General Aloirav was almost there once, and it came close to destroying him. He was near to answering an ages old question in his lab that day.

Thomas A. Edison was also working on that same question in his own lab, when he died. It did not kill Emperor Aloirav. It may likewise not have killed Edison. Rumor was that Edison left strict instructions in his will. They were not to open that lab section for one hundred years. A terrible knowledge, supposedly, rested there. The man felt no one should possess it until the race matured more.

The impatient woman across the table waited. She wanted an answer to her question. His mind, however, was still thinking about his work on that fateful day, near decades ago. He dreamed about the intricate thread of life, veiled communication, bridging billions of years. Her impatience became voluble, however, and Mab said.

“Well? Why did they stop you?”

“Excuse me! I was spacing.”

“Afraid to answer or waiting for a plausible lie to surface?”

“Neither, my dear Hecuba.” He replied. ”I assumed I had found a measure of peace, before I merited it, and lost sight of my goal. I forgot who I was. I lost myself.”

“Really. It sounded, from the way you described your past, like you never made any mistakes.”

“I’m sorry to have given you that impression. We…I made many.”

“I expected a scapegoat to surface.”

“No, it was my mistake. It won’t happen again.”

“You still expect to prevail?”

“Perhaps. If the anticipation is still there, it’s a residual emotion.”

“After 16 years?”

“Maybe it’s just foolish nostalgia. Contrasting what might have been vis a vis with what is. Life is bestiality, Hec, just a sick dream. It smacks of reality, however.”

“Perhaps.”

“A temporary setback does not make a rout. It may be an enlightening glimpse of the consequences due from possible ultimate failure. There is still a soft decadent society on the First-Surface, and it’s ripe for plucking. Someone could yet take that fruit, cut out the rot, and enjoy its succulence. If they don’t change their ways, down there, the fruit will decompose on the tree. It’ll take all associated with it, even the Pontibus, like the apple barrel lesson.”

“Even if someone succeeds in gaining hegemony, what will they gain? Problems. What guarantees can they give that they will be any better than the crew running it now? ”

“Listen to what you’re saying!. We proved there could be improvement. I myself failed, but our New Society was a better one. Courageous souls ran it. The Pontibus and Company are infinitely better than the First-Surface. My “Group”, likewise, were not afraid to step out into the night. We did not hide in the lagoon nor cower and quake in darkened ideological hovels like pols. We dared the powers that were to make us kneel. Kneeling to a majority is worse than death. Obedience to a coward, or group of cowards, makes of you an automaton. We breached the dominion of the soul.”

“And you did all that with biological weapons?”

“And a liberal aliquot of hate.”

“Oh, yes. I forgot.”

“Your condescension is noted and not welcomed. Obedience to Nature’s laws makes you invincible. To rule, it’s the kind of obedience one must learn. To control others, one must have self-discipline and restraint. The country was rife with abused veterans, prisoners, and ex-convicts. The wise and strong united their strength.”

“Prisoners are wise?!”

“Who could stand up to them? Look what Leonidas did with 300 real men. Xerxes’ enslaved millions were no match for them. How do you think Sparta built such men? With compassion?!”

“They were damn cruel!”

“Yes! No weak mob has the courage to face such a group for long. Pols, spineless democratic sheep, and the world’s frail always capitulate in the face of ruthlessness.”

“You failed. Didn’t you say you would be invincible?”

“I failed. My “Group” prevailed. I used inadequate restraint.”

“How so?”

“I broke Nature’s rule against individual immortality. I wanted a “clear day” to know forever. I acted on that desire.”

“Sounds to me like hubris stopped you.” Mab said, smiling.

“Perhaps. I think not.” The General denied in somewhat too forceful a manner.

“Aha. I was right.”

Smiling, as to a child trying to gain father’s favor, he said. “No. You were not. You could never be “right”. Granted ours was a big dream, a huge task. Undertaking such great effort is not hubris, however. You need to go back to Greek Mythology 101 or read some Keats and Plutarch.”

“I don’t think so.”

“In the past, Ms. Roth, a person could always count on certain things. Even when death came, children would carry on the line. There was always hope that tomorrow would be better for them. By the turn of the last century, people no longer lived with that nonsense. Rothschild owned their bodies, minds and souls and those of their descendants. They knew they had no guarantees. Such hopes no longer existed. Two great malefic problems, war and resource exhaustion, threatened the human experience. A third, disease, no one was prepared to fathom. Multicellular life’s existence, itself, was in the balance. I needed to do something. Doing nothing or the wrong thing, at that stage, even if life for us could have continued a short time, our existence would have been sterile. Without associated life forms to give our lives meaning, why live? I could not allow such a state to continue.”

“Weren’t you being just a tad arrogant?”

“Somewhat presumptuous, I suppose.”

“Hubris.”

“What alternative did we have? We were a crew of ne’er-do-wells, brigands, and veterans of a lost war. What standing had we? Wanting to solve the world’s greatest problems, we were already losers. The weak had ganged up on the strong, long ago, turning human evolution upside down. We thought we alone had a chance to reverse that.”

“Why?”

“Bourgeoisie morality didn’t dupe or bind us. All democratic authority is illegitimate, and we were the few strong enough to crush the dementocrats, controlling the bomb. We were the ones with the strength & desperation, to accept Nature’s dictum.”

“Which was?”

“Hide or eliminate weak, present strong. Alternatively, fail, allow weaklings to eliminate us, and all disappear. Apparent weakness may be its very opposite, just camouflage. It was our mission to determine.”

“What did you hope to accomplish in the long run?”

“After we gained control we’d put the bomb into the vast garbage can of space. We would encapsulate it & its relatives on the Pontibus’ outer reaches. Our children would carry on a new evolution. An evolution made possible by the strong and beautiful.”

“A chapter right out of Mein Kampf.”

“We were about to organize an elite group, not just select for a master race. Our group contained Jews, Arabs, blacks, whites, and yellows, males & females. We became powerful and dreamed. Never again would we allow bourgeoisie prisons. Nor would there ever be a stagnant, irresponsible, plebeian-praising democratic governmental process. Marxist plagues, like Christian spite and envy, would cease to exist. It was all happening too. . . . until I broke.”

“I studied Marxism in school as a child. They said it worked for a while in Israel.”

“An artifice. I remember those kibbutz experiments. Khazar capitalist dollars & resources stolen from the US taxpayer were its life-support. To keep morale up, Israel & the USA peddled narco-terrorism, murdering and robbing Arab scapegoats. When the Arabs fought back, the pols got scared. They turned up anti-terrorism heat, wrecking all freedom around the world. Upside down dogmas will never work without outside help – stolen or borrowed money. In the kibbutzim swindle, they tossed the repayment responsibility on gentile posterity.”

“I don’t know.”

“I do. Nature abhors such swindles. In my “Group”, I let evolution work as Nature intended. We insured her impregnable distance from those who would disavow Her most basic laws. You don’t mock Nature. Doing so is like believing in human justice, one of the last childhood madnesses to leave.”

‘You don’t believe in justice?’

‘I don’t believe in human justice. Natural justice is another matter.’

‘In what way?’

‘Natural Justice presents us with death. All are equal in the end, no matter how they start. Arms give everyone an equal chance to send another out. Food – all who over consume pay a heavy price. Drugs allow no one to escape their own hell. Suicide – anyone can escape their own hell.’

“Don’t you think that we should change the subject?”

“To what? I’ve just been answering and explaining. You’ve been controlling the conversation’s direction. I needed to disconnect your misimpressions if we are to work together. It looks as though I have not succeeded.”

“Partially, but we can return to that later. I have time constraints, as I’m sure do you.”

“Good point. Why don’t you tell me something about your job and its responsibilities?”

She talked about that and the Company, its vulnerabilities and strengths. Mab told him recondite things about it and her job. Mentioning some of her personal history, she included some of the Frye visit. Everything except an ultimatum by Hernan, sex or work trouble, she left out. Later, the woman berated herself for even mentioning the truncated version. It didn’t make much sense.

Changing the tone of the conversation and its subject, she said. “I think we should talk about what we’re going to do about the Company’s problems. Problems like Mr. Otorp’s neighbor and the coming media barrage against you.”

“Time to move into more proactive matters?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know that anything I might propose won’t be “crazy”?”

“I guess I’ll just have to take that chance.”

“How can you be sure it won’t show arrogance or over-confidence in my ability?”

“Same answer.”

“How can I be sure what you propose won’t be hopelessly moral, naïve, or squeamish?”

“That’s just a chance you’ll have to take, isn’t it?” She said, refusing to genuflect.

“No. It’s not, and I believe our conversation’s over for today.”

“Not again!?”

“Yes. We’ll have to arrange for our proactive discussions to take place at a later date.”

“That’s it?”

“No. Keep out of my way. Follow my orders, and you’ll do fine. ”

“I follow your orders?”

“Yes. If you want to live. You have no alternative.”

“Says who? Is that a threat?”

“Suit yourself. You’re too ignorant to survive long on your own with the enemies you have. We’re all dancing on a precipice. You & Otorp are leaning too far over the edge.”

Mab felt his ego wouldn’t let him abandon her now. He extended himself too far to let her walk away. She was also still very interested in his help. Rendering her own assistance, whatever shape it might take, was also her objective.

“Have you thought about what will happen if the First-Surface reacts adversely to your prison release?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Not much. The Council and the Company approved it.”

“Not willingly. It was Mr. Frye’s charisma, or what was left of it, that approved your new fate.”

“Right.”

“He’s no longer here to protect you.”

“Still. They can’t very well negate their approval. It would make them look indecisive.”

“What if the OG embargos us?”

“We cross that border…”

“Yes. That border is war. Can we win one with them?”

“I don’t know. Not without biological weapons, we can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I think you know the answer to that as well as I do.”

“Why?”

“The Twenty-Seventh Level problems have exhausted all possibility of the Company gaining access to conventional weaponry.”

“There’s nothing left there?!”

“Precious little. Certainly not enough to prevent our enslavement!”

 

General Aloirav was packing his briefcase to leave the office when he received a visitor.

“General Aloirav.”

“Yes.”

“I’m Walcott, Chief of Demographics. You talked to one of my people. I got the message you wanted to talk to me.”

“Yes. How long and how many bodies will it take to get me the information for which I asked?”

“It all depends on what your personnel needs are, Sir. I can get you that answer in a month if I have the questioners.”

“Three billion residents?!”

“One month.”

“Can you train raw people in what is necessary and still get it to me in a month?”

“Yes. I think so. Know so.”

“Fine. I trust men so sure of themselves. Get on it. Drop everything else.”

“Sir. I’m doing a job for the Logistics Command now. If I have authorization I can switch people from it to your needs.”

“Do it.”

“Pardon me, Sir. Logistics is Ms. Roth’s bailiwick. As Security, you do not have the authority General Mab does. At least not according to the Company chain of command.”

“Just do it. If she gives you a problem, tell her to call me. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Do not stop until you finish the job.”

“Even with the Logistics people, I’ll still need more people to do it in a month. From where should I take them?”

“Take all you need from calein production, Level Twelve. OK?”

“Yes, Sir.”

General Aloirav was still in his office when he got the news. Problems were fast developing with his clandestine vaccine production. Amounts were excessively small. They were producing it on a spare floor of a small hospital on Level Twenty-Five. There was very little there in the way of functional laboratory equipment and serum.

He now also learned that his future supplies of fetal calf serum would soon be carrying an exorbitant price tag. Cattle were a First-Surface luxury, few could afford, and feedlots were becoming passé even down there. They needed million liter quantities. What to do?

Leaving immediately, General Aloirav entered the hospital’s destination coordinates (40deg47minN, 73deg58minW, 25) into the sky vehicle’s computer. The vehicle’s “brain” took just a few seconds to contemplate the fastest route through the tetrahedrons. Then, the General watched, from the porthole, as it negotiated the platforms. The vehicle escaped inner tetrahedron traffic and saved time by ascending the outer edge (periphery). It then jumped from platform to platform to get to the top.

General Aloirav could control any necessary abrupt turns or stops with his thoughts. The sky vehicle would do the rest. It required manual assistance just with rare emergencies and programming glitches. Normal emergencies were the car’s business. General Aloirav was soon on the top, passing by a workgroup. They were curing a new calein road, built over new factory-constructed tetrahedrons.

These cold, barren, silent, and organized Pontibus frontiers were nothing like their lower level counterparts. First-Surface frontiers, like 21^st century Andirobal, were violent & muddy in rainy seasons, violent & dusty in dry. Ignorance, superstition, cruelty, government sanctioned crime, disease & quacks, cheap women, high infant mortality, noise, and drunkenness marked them. Decent “marriages” were well-known farces. Law and order didn’t exist. Irresponsibility was the common virtue. No one would dream of investigating a homicide. Police would never apprehend a murderer. Senor Real was King, omnipotent.

The General thought about how he would soon be wreaking havoc on calein production. It might be the last new road for a while, and he wondered. “How long before they could return to business as usual?”

His commandeering workers for the demographics job would stifle production in other areas too. There would be a domino effect even with a calein reserve. How long it would last was conjecture. He would have to prepare for the negative reaction. There would be many angry people.

He watched from his porthole. The process seemed timeless. It was a pattern, well established. A tetrahedron would appear, then another, using one of the triangles of the first as its base. An octahedron appeared as the center of a larger tetrahedron with four of the octahedrons’ sides acting as bases for four more tetrahedrons. The top side of the inner octahedron underpinned a smaller tetrahedron, and it acted as the top of the larger tetrahedron, also a side, and the base of a 20-sided icosahedron, ad infinitum.

The only deviation from the pattern occurred when the engineers calculated that compression was overwhelming tension. At that point went, up & out, reinforcing cylindrical piers “ossos”. They & helium balloons augmented the tetrahedrons giving the most counter-gravity support. If compression were to continue without a counterbalancing tension, the lower tetrahedrons would buckle. Others further out would follow in turn. The Pontibus would eventually collapse. Ultimately, therefore, gravity in the West must counterbalance gravity in the East and around the globe. The ossos interior, much later, housed the spiral staircases.

The rudimentary stratospheric task of curing was similar to paving First-Surface turnpikes with asphalt. These tetrahedrons were far out in space, where stratosphere met mesosphere. Ambient temperatures were much cooler here than on the primary surface. They were less than 25 miles from the chemical reactions producing the beautiful surrounding aurora. Stratosphere workers needed supplemental oxygen and cold-weather clothing to function.

These were the banished ones, young incorrigibles. They were responsible for the basic tetrahedral connections and calein curing (fixing). The most asocial and solitude-worshiping cons took such work. It was like another world. Life here was different from life in the troposphere. It was as different as outer tropospheric life was from primary surface life.

Here were the species members whose value lay in rare environments and milieus. Within the incorrigible group were the murderers, child molesters, supplemented robbers, organ transplant surgeons, abortionists, etc. In more tranquil times, society can afford to make the first three criminals. During unique hard times in our species past, they might have been useful. Perhaps, at one time, like child-molesters, all three served our specie’s survival.

Such miscreants may be defenses to continued-existence diseases no longer extant. As an example, one might consider a criminally beleaguered society analogous to an allergic person. Immunoglobulins ordinarily save the host from rare invaders. When rare invaders no longer exist, their corresponding IgEs are superfluous. IgEs cause allergies and serve but as immunological criminals.

The latter two types of incorrigible criminals mentioned were those guilty of crimes against the planet. Because a great deal of preparation was necessary for such crimes, they could never be free. In freedom, they would be definite recidivists. Lester once expounded. “Free them?! If we rehabilitate & re-dignify them, as we do other incorrigibles, they’ll become biology teachers. What First-Surface resident would choose to teach biology over a career in medicine? Zero! They’ll return to the First-Surface at the first opportunity to practice their horrendous professions.”

In addition to anti-gravity use, balloons served other purposes on the Pontibus. Large phallus-like models, from Level Twelve’s periphery, brought cured calein columns to the interface levels. The Company pumped uncured calein and seawater out to where needed. Incorrigibles put units in place and added uncured liquid calein adhesive gel to vertex joints. While holding girders in position, they applied seawater. It was like two epoxy resins brought together. Once the calein adhesive gel cured, it established the semi-rigid tetrahedron.

A calein tetrahedron held another identical tetrahedron in almost perfect balance between tension and compression.   The principle mimicked every carbon molecule, in every living creature, ever existing. It was almost a living art form, imitating other life, providing life. The bridges grew out of the troposphere, into the stratosphere, one hundred feet per day. Winter temperatures and winds reduced that rate somewhat. Summer work went faster.

Calein curing removed silicates & carbonates from imported & elevated seawater. That extraction meant rejuvenating the resulting hypotonic water before using it again. It also needed to be re-calcified prior to returning to the ocean. Corals and other calcium-carbonate-using organisms depended on a saturated solution. Seawater calcium is 400gms/ton. It meant much grinding of imported limestone.

Pre-curing at lower levels saved energy. Large artificial oceans, dissolving ground rocks, sprinkled about the sky. Waterfowl and other animals capitalized on their picturesque beauty. Convicts invented systems for rapid deployment of seawater to outer levels. The Company rewarded them.

Just because a man was a criminal didn’t mean he was always better than others were. “Like gold, they’re rare, beautiful, and almost useless.” Rav Aloirav said. “If they can’t learn to be useful to themselves or the planet, they’re missionless. Better to throw them off the bridges and onto the First-Surface. They can rot there in peace. Up here, meanwhile, they’re infinitely more useful than those non-convicts, hiding in the churches with the other subhuman waste!”

Incorrigibles were unable to rejoin First-Surface society or the tropospheric Pontibus communities. These wild ones existed apart, pristine reservoirs of Nature’s experiment with humankind. The ignorant continued to blame the antisocial for their antisociability – demanding punishment, refusing rewards. The Company’s criminology was state-of-the-art. Rav knew that criminals were not simply “a” and “anti” social creatures like some variant of an autistic beast.

He knew they were usually super-social or frustrated at super-sociality, respectively. People became criminal because they needed too much social acceptance or were frustrated at getting heavy social approval. Criminals needed appreciation in quantities much more than non-criminals. On the Pontibus, it was easier for these types of people to gain social endorsement than on the First-Surface. The First-Surface made most criminals. The Pontibus unmade them.

Rav Aloirav felt these natural criminals were repositories of wild type (feral) DNA. Their pure, untamed, and virgin spirit represented to him the full embodiment of human hope. They were his carnal manifestation of glory in life. He called them symbolic caretakers of our limitless potential evolution. He said. “If the herd feels you’re not one of them, by definition, you must possess true value.” Former maximum-security problems, these outcasts appeared the most frightening of the human race. They were also essential to penetrating space.

Each day, the Company read one incorrigible’s biography to the world. They feted the Warholian individual before parading him along the Pontibus paths and roads. The high point of the special “return” was accepting the world’s symbolic gratitude. The person got a Roman conqueror’s “Day of Triumph”. Praise equaled that received by famous old-government pols and genocidal First-Surface generals.

The day ended with the incorrigible handed yet one more chance at coexistence with Society. The proceeding was a Pontibus Council fiat, the highest legal authority in the world. It could not change without the Council or Chairman’s ex cathedra directive.

20^th Century psychologists, like Maslow, forgot vengeance in their deliberations. They never could understand that revenge too is a basic human need. Lester Frye believed the worst antisocial behavior was simply a twisted reprisal for acceptance withheld. He felt it was the reason for much of the period’s recidivism.

Starving people need food. Thirsty people need drink. Sex-starved people need intimate affection. Stable people need self-actualization. Socially abused people need apologies & retribution.”

The Pontibus Council’s difficulty, (after showing pre-criminals super-social-acceptance when young), was finding innocuous ways to deliver that last basic need and remove its causes.   The vast majority of criminals still came from the First-Surface. There, people felt diminished Company influences. For these miscreants, after a Pontibus contract prison’s release, recidivism was slight. Crime was not all the fault of the corrupt First-Surface society however. Certain human beings, from both regions, manifested such a super-sanction need, while others did not. The triggers for such requirements were of varying sensitivity.

“If we remove all the social causes for the cry-for-approval and subsequent call to revenge, where are the others coming from?” Rav Aloirav asked. He believed it was all biochemical and in the DNA. Perhaps there was a genetic memory of past needs for revenge located in intron DNA. Evolutionary reprisal. Lester felt they might come from an aberrant imagination. Causes for the need may develop in response to a deficiency in energy, education, or vitamins. The human spirit may have preempted coping energy to produce wildness and excellence.

Nevertheless, the General felt truncating the human spirit was wrong. Forcing everyone, procrustean-like, into the same relative mold would never work. Like Lester Frye, the man wanted to give the wayward wild spirit free rein. Freedom to penetrate to the far reaches of their humanity and the universe.

Lester told Council members. “The incorrigible program protects reservoirs of pristine spirit, as Christian churches accommodate the mindless & spiritless. The past human race, designating their heretics inhuman, destroyed them. Once good and dead, they made the heretic a god. As a god, the heretic’s words became gospel, and his forgotten humanity could remain in abeyance. The heretic became trite morality or frozen doctrine. We call our heretics incorrigibles. I doubt whether we shall ever call our incorrigibles heretics, but who knows?”

After grand tetrahedron installation completion primary envelope people, also incorrigibles, came to build calein roads. Envelopers also joined smaller-sized framework tetrahedrons into the grand tetrahedrons. Twenty-five meter wide hexagonalized platforms capable of supporting heavy vehicles and other objects resulted. Completion of the roads meant the incorrigibles could reach deeper into space. Moving out, they haunted the desolation of the uninhabited potential. Envelopers followed, ad infinitum.

When work halted for their day, incorrigibles returned to particular lower level prison outpost islands. Here they enjoyed a life as close as the Company could provide to that of non-convicts. It was Lester’s & Rav’s goal to make their lives as close to every other person’s as possible. The inevitability for restraint was the only general exception.

General Aloirav passed some incorrigibles, finishing tasks. They were packing tools. The perambulator sky bus, bringing them to the Pontibus’ penetration periphery, earlier in the day, returned. He saw them enter the vehicle. The sky bus then moved across the framework.

General Aloirav’s sky vehicle, continuing a straight course, went very near some workers. It passed close to the legal proximity limit of the incorrigible party. Not wanting to slow down, or wait for the proximity warning buzzer, he changed his course direction with his mind. The sky vehicle responded before the sky bus sent out a proximity shock wave. General Aloirav looked out the porthole, straining to recognize anyone. He saw no familiar faces.

Another prison sky bus stopped in front of another work party. Incorrigibles threw their tool bags into the cargo hold. They then climbed into the passenger area. The vehicle turned around and headed back toward the spiral staircase. Dropping the incorrigibles off there, it turned around once more.

The vehicle focused on another group ready to move to another job that day. It slowed down as it approached them. The vehicle stopped a hundred feet before the calein road just cured. The workers, shuffling around in the cold outer troposphere air, entered the van. The vehicle then headed toward another sky island workstation. General Aloirav outdistanced any further viewing possibilities.

Another similar scenario followed envelopers securing an area. As they forged further out into space, the next stage took over behind them.   The restless, insatiable spirit of man ventured into the limitless reaches of grasplessness. Determined, pseudo-teleological growth, up and out, went ever closer to satiating the universal abyss. Analogously, the bridges eluded the horror of multicellular organismic terminal differentiation and evolutionary death.

Biological colonization reached out 7 miles. The stratosphere was not yet capable of supporting sustained tropospheric-style human life. Within the confines of the Pontibus’ troposphere, however biomass was erupting. Area vegetation got going after wind turbines and photovoltaic films became operational.

Once secondary power generation capacity existed, soil-laying people reached the area. Tasks finished, they returned to family matters. These specialists rested, worked farms, or tinkered with creative-expression and electronic media interests. Even areas not controlled by vegetation exhibited life. After lichens, mosses, and grasses the scrub & pitch pine came. Plant arrival removed that haunted and barren look.

Junipers took root, flowering plants, and some higher brush started. An occasional Sitka spruce and bristle cone pine popped up along with other trees. At 11, 000 feet, bristle-cone pines are the oldest known eukaryotic plants on Earth. Their lifespan continues at over 4900 years. The tree endures longer than many surviving creative-intellectual efforts of Man. The exception being, possibly, cave art.

“Would such vegetation outlast the Pontibus too?” The General wondered.

When temperatures allowed seasonal liquid water, fish farmers arrived to get ponds going. Animals that are more complex succeeded after areas were so habitable. There were exceptions, as habitats were strange. Earwigs and rodents were always among the first terrestrial wild animals to arrive. Toads, frogs, and other amphibians managed to find insects.

No accounting for taste, some wild things preferred sparse and barren structures. A type of cockroach found calein tasty enough in a survival pinch. Lester was distraught, until a South American Pontibus incorrigible suggested importing the “gaipira” vulture-chicken and Brazilian toads. These émigré’s now thrived on calein’s enemies.

The dangerous and uncomfortable work was worse than any ordinary prison sentence. One might hazard to ask, except under compulsion, why would anyone do it? No one demanded inmates do such work. All chose, for personal reasons, the extra duty. It was not just for the high wages the Company paid. The Pontibus Council mandated its people appreciate and respect all work for planet or species. Adulation for these individuals was never sotto voce.

Pontibus print media was but one place where recognition for their contribution occurred. Appreciation awareness for each one’s sense of dignity came from many directions. Lester Frye stopped Pontibus media caricaturing of personalities long ago. Knowing of nothing positive to say about a person meant saying nothing in print. There was no controlling malicious gossip, of course. However, enforcing truth-in-media rules on the Pontibus brought unexpected benefits.

Lester said. “The Company prohibits lawyers and other parasites; therefore, the Council itself must prosecute credit history libels.”

Credit Bureaus found themselves fighting to survive the new restrictions. Caricatures were responsible for a great many non-Darwinian criminals. The Council pounced on the Bureau’s every mistake, every violation. Redress was very expensive. These quality rules brought emulation. As such, they also helped reduce media caricaturing crimes on the First-Surface.

People saw more complete pictures of individuals than previous portrayals. Here, most criminologists agreed. The change reduced much planetary crime and recidivism.

The climatic temperature out in the sky became warmer, reducing planetary greenhouse effects. Andirobal was triple canopy jungle 200 years prior. In the 20^th century, it became frontier, then a desert. The town’s closest sweet water rivers, Mearim & Grajau, dried. They stayed that way thirty years.

Global warming slowed but not before Greenland’s glaciers and a floating Antarctic shelf liquefied. The glacier melt, increasing erosion and sediment deposition, drove up sea level and rainfall. Palacios disappeared. Andirobal’s nearest riverbed, Grajau, filled and overflowed its basin with brackish water. New Society’s Hotel Aloirav, 35 meters above sea level in 1999, was now a beachfront property. Rav Aloirav liked women’s scantily clad charms, and the change did not incommode him.

Higher altitude’s diurnal temperatures warmed too, but not much. It was still cold enough for necessary functions. Platforms for frozen toxic waste grew now at a decelerating rate for many reasons. Wind and solar energy collection devices multiplied ever faster. Lester and Mr. Otorp welcomed the rapid growth rate, and that welcome trickled down to the entire planet.

Surplus toxic waste storage capacity went to stockpile blocks of seawater ice. In the event of a First-Surface physical or tax attack, calein growth could continue unabated for six months. Company estimates projected building two more such storage areas in the next one hundred years. They planned total planetary toxic waste reclamation by 2400.

The Company bought all the known First-Surface landfills and mined them. Very little direct chemical degradation was necessary. Most recycling occurred through benign natural bacteriological and fungal action, (assisted by Company molecular biologists). The World also was growing cleaner and healthier by decreasing population pressures on terra firma. The Pontibus vented high outward First-Surface concentrations of all types of pollutants.

 

This is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.                 Genesis 28:17

 

Chapter Sixty-Seven

 

General Aloirav arrived at the azimuth of the hospital’s (x, y) coordinates. The sky car descended to the (z) coordinate with such speed his stomach felt it. In minutes the vehicle started marking time at the three programmed (x, y, z) coordinates. He disembarked and went inside. An orderly met him and they passed through all the security checks.

A technician said. “General, we are still not in possession of the equipment you ordered.”

“Have the suppliers given a reason for the holdup?”

“General Mab, Sir.”

“She countermanded my order!?”

“Yes, Sir. We cannot get up to speed on these vaccines without more Grade 5 containment hoods. There’s also a shortage of negative pressure materials for another lab’s construction.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes. We have enough serum for about one more week.”

“I was concerned about that earlier. I’ve a question.”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Can you use any other kind of serum for growing these viruses?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re not listening.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I know it’s possible. I was asking if you, personally, knew how to use other serums?”

“I’ve never used anything but fetal bovine, General.”

“Well. I’m going to send you some human serum. I want you to filter and experiment with it for the cultures.”

“Very well, Sir. Will you be supplying the filters too?”

“Yes.”

From the hospital, General Aloirav called Mr. Otorp’s Headquarters domicile and asked. “What’s the story on your wench, Roth? She’s countermanding all my security needs.”

“I know. We need to talk about some things. She said you called her a witch and even threatened her. I cannot allow such lack of self-control. I’ll meet you at her office at 3 PM. Is that clear?”

“The time is all right, but not at her office. We’ll meet at the airport restaurant where she met me.”

“Is there some reason?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

General Aloirav left the hospital for the airstrip restaurant immediately after his phone call to Mr. Otorp. He did not want a delay giving them an excuse to leave and escape his anger. Their disrespect and disobedience rankled. His briefcase contained all the information on Mr. Jober’s death. Entering the sky vehicle, he programmed in the coordinates. The car sprang to life, leaving the hospital quickly behind.

An endless sparkle of reflected and refracted light bounced around the pearl white calein tetrahedrons. Without a softening from green vegetation or eye-protection lenses, a “snow blindness” could result. The sky vehicle’s windshield screened General Aloirav’s eyes now. At –50 dF, it was bitter cold outside the vehicle. He saw prisoners outside wearing supplemental clothing with individual five-hour mixed-gas cylinders attached. The sky vehicle’s respiration meter told him his car’s atmosphere was steady at 20.95% oxygen.

The landscape here was empty and desolate-looking. The howling wind outside haunted the struts. Calein roads ran everywhere through the tetrahedrons. Yet, General Aloirav couldn’t help feeling the vehicle was traveling through a wasteland. The outer landscape was so bleak. It was hard to believe what changes just a few years of growing vegetation and animals would bring.

Level Forty-Six (7 miles above sea level) approached the troposphere’s outer edge. Winds here were high and constant. Dust and bits of sand were unheard of at this altitude. Consequently, the wind turbines could produce a surplus of energy for the Pontibus. Much was bartered to the First-Surface in return for rocks and humeal.

Local inmate laborers, leaving the periphery now, would return tomorrow to install another wind turbine. They looked out of the prison bus and in towards the primary surface. There, below them, was the old water generation plant and great reservoir.

At such a height, the cistern appeared as just a blue speck. The earlier First-Surface poisonings and leukemias sensitized everyone to toxic water. The constant source of pure non-toxic water gave a false sense of security. Should individual systems fail, for any reason, they felt that that would always be available. General Aloirav, of course, saw its appeal as its greatest weakness. He planned its decommissioning as a potable water source for sky residents. He wanted it, exclusively, for hydroelectric power turbines, animals and water sales to the First-Surface.

The large distillation plant produced liquid water from cloud vapor. It also supplied streams and rivers for communal areas of the Pontibus. Enough surplus existed for the entire First-Surface that could afford to purchase it. The plant diminished the snow cover where the laborers now sat. Elsewhere on Level Forty-Six precipitation continued unabated. The old-government once made a feeble attempt at preventing Pontibus cloud condensate appropriation. They could not go the distance, however. The World Court was predominately European. They needed Pontibus clean water as much as did the USA.

The inmates listened to the crew chief explain the following day’s schedule. They learned that the next morning, there would be a delay of an hour or two after arriving. The balloon would arrive late with machinery, material, and their tools. Then they could get to work. The next envelope group, preparing the area for fungus “seeders” and soil-laying people, would follow.

Growing plants to confluence on platforms increased the oxygen partial pressure of air. That diminished the supplemental gases required to live in such areas. Calein platforms became plush green with vines and other erosion-inhibiting plants. Once soil covered the pearl-white netting, frontier settlers would appear. They farmed the sky. Fish people would work their calein-ponds of fresh or salt water.

Computer people would set up the networks. Programs ran the holophones, the water, power, and sewer systems, fed the fish, educated the settler’s young, answered health questions, etc. The Company introduced wild animals, until the sky took on a jungle-like atmosphere. Necessary energy came from solar, wind, hydro, and methane generators. Life incorporated death, filling the former barren wasteland of space with heat, oxygen, and protoplasm.

A special group of envelope people built the spiral staircases inside the ossos. These vertical cylinders of tetrahedrons joined the major platform levels and space houses. Recapitulating the ubiquitous DNA molecule, three different types existed. Selecting one of these three designs depended on whether it was mechanical or human feet ascending or descending. 1. Tightly coiled, more 360degree-turns/Level, for easier pedestrian traffic to and from the monorails. 2. Relaxed, loose coiled – fewer turns/Level, facilitated perambulator transportation. 3. Magnetic elevators, termed “verts”, required less spirals for maximum efficiency and ultra-high speeds of 1000km/hour.

Monorails, termed “magnelevs” by the residents, were the Pontibus’ mass transit. The name derived from the huge magnetic circumferential rings (toros) determining the systems’ speed and direction. Iron alloy impregnated aluminum or calein, light yet strong, went to make train cars. The magnetic donuts (toros) grabbed the cars; levitating them at the flux, and accelerated the same to 500mph. Monorails went underneath the bottommost space houses above the surface of the Ocean. Large modules acted as holding stations (depots) for monorail commuters. These areas corresponded to huge metropolises.

Large screens, installed here, presented community educational programs. While waiting for the monorails, people watched subjects taught in the best Pontibus Universities. Programming was magnelev-consumer-friendly. Attractive spots sold appreciative recognition to a helpful resident or reformed inmate. Propaganda was not nauseating or prurient. The Company tested it with investigators who co-mingled incognito among listeners. They recorded comments and suggestions for making broadcasts more interesting to viewers. Investigators were often students at the local Pontibus Universities.

Commercializing new products began in the Universities. The Company subsidized the product from initial examination to venture capital. Inventors repaid the bill with sales revenue. Customers did the advertising by internet & word of mouth. Company holovision contained no sports, evangelism, religion, commercial advertising of consumer products, or senseless violence. Nonsense or irresponsible broadcasting, like the foregoing, occurred just on the First Surface. Yet, even there, the toxic celebrity phenomenon was becoming insupportable.

Magnelevs never contacted the First-Surface or the Pontibus. They rested suspended in toro flux. Anyone from the First-Surface wishing to access magnelev services must first have purchased a Pontibus visitor card. Non-residents could not cross one of the “feet” without a card. All residents and visitors were in the Pontibus biometric machine’s computer. Returns home entailed a simple thumb & retina scan.

From the First-Surface, or at a distance, en masse space-houses were distinctive. They looked like air bubbles in a bottle of agitated water. Increased concentrations of space-houses, (at Level-Six and higher), from far below appeared as clouds. Structures in the higher heavens (Level-Forty & further out) became indistinguishable from diaphanous cirrus clouds. Above the nearer space-house envelopes, dotting the sky, the two different environments blended, dreamlike.

A prison sky bus and its laborer cargo reached their destination now. The site was a large two hundred-foot wide abyss, circumscribed by osso tetrahedrons. The workers would construct the spiral staircase here tomorrow. The small temporary wind turbine nearby would provide ample electricity for heat, construction, and other uses.

General Aloirav’s sky vehicle moved out of sight as the inmates disembarked. The crew began preparing the work area for the following day. Later, they would get back in the perambulator, and begin the trek inward. Another stairwell and magnelev would take them to their domiciles in the prison community. Internal GPS monitors marked their position. There was very little truancy. Return to a First-Surface penitentiary or virtually instant death rewarded escape attempts. An inmate had only 15 seconds (from custodial hiatus observance) to get the GPS security system out of their bodies before toxin administration and death could be dealt.

A distant work shift was ending. The Company perambulator collected the homeward bound hands. It soon delivered its convict load, at a finished spiral staircase. Laborers disembarked. They walked to the staircase’s entrance steps.

The computer turnstile holograph checked them in, correlating allowed time & space with their actual GPS position. A “vert” elevator took them inward seven miles (37 [+/-] 2 seconds) and stopped at a monorail station. Inmates entered a special monorail vehicle. The monorail went to a second stairwell leading to the prison spur. Laborers disembarked and re-embarked through yet another computer turnstile. The spur entrance computer again correlated allowed time & space with their GPSs. The inmates walked the final stretch to their domiciles.

 

Mab Roth left Mr. Otorp’s’ domicile before the Chairman. The two planned to arrive and meet General Aloirav separately. Mab wanted to drop off some materials at her Headquarters office. She looked over toward the neighbor’s domicile. If Mr. Leion was in residence, he did not make a show of it.

The place seemed quite deserted. Weeds grew all around the private paths. The rest of the module looked unkempt, neglected, and in sore need of repair. Mab made note of all the distinguishing characteristics. She felt it might become necessary sometime to give quick directions for reaching it.

Mab dropped off her work, gave her secretary a few instructions, and left her office at Headquarters. She went right to Mr. Otorp’s office door. A secretary opened it, saying. “Hello, Ms. Roth. The Chairman is expecting you.” She then turned and said. “Mr. Otorp. Ms. Roth is here.”

“Mab.” Mr. Otorp shouted from the large room in the rear. “Come on in. I hoped you’d stop by first.”

Mab walked over to him and, once inside, saw the guard General Aloirav sent. Mab nodded to the man and received a nod in return. The guard was sitting at the entrance side of the room. He was visible just by Mr. Otorp. An entering visitor would not be aware of him until already in the room. Mr. Otorp said.

“I was just having a glass of cranberry wine before leaving. Will you join me? It’s the best I’ve made.”

“No thank-you. I don’t want to be at any disadvantage before this man’s boss.”

“Maurice wanted to search you, but I told him it wasn’t necessary. He has his responsibility to the General. Please be aware that he’s refraining from it on my request.”

“Thank-you both.” Mab replied. “Shouldn’t we be leaving?”

“Certainly.” Mr. Otorp said. “Let me finish my wine. We did want to arrive at staggered times, didn’t we?”

“Yes. I suppose that would be best.” Mab said and left.

Glass empty, Mr. Otorp also left the Headquarters module. Their sky vehicles responded to the restaurant’s coordinates. Within minutes of each other, they arrived. General Aloirav met them at the door as they arrived. They all took the table he selected.

Guards watched the restaurant from an adjoining table. The General, tired from his round the clock work of the last two days, wasn’t yet groggy. He sent the closest guard to the restaurant’s exterior to watch the premises from a different perspective. The other went to the restaurant’s exit, interior side. General Aloirav wanted to prevent anything of a confidential nature from leaving the table.

He could thus limit, to the three principal cognoscenti, possibilities of a security breach. In that eventuality, it would be easier tracing the leak back to the primary source. The shared feeling was that the enemy was the old-government. That meant MMIM too. The fascistic old-government was never, even in the last Century, free of industry-directed corruption. Numerous interstate political agreements left nothing of the original U.S. Constitution intact. Politicians destroyed the last traces of even the smell of U.S. political probity.

Politicians and MMIM executives assuredly anticipated an eventual Company-wide tax-rebellion. Being heavily armed by Rothschild, they would still surely want to disarm the Company prior to any assaults. Three loyal Company executives now discussed the past week’s events. There was no disagreement on the threat’s gravity. Disagreement began over how best to deal with it.

General Aloirav wanted to destroy all Directors & management presenting the slightest hint of treachery. His draconian solution meant also killing Sr. Mendoza and all his prison spur people. Mr. Otorp listened and then asked to hear Mab Roth’s thoughts. She did not agree. Putting some pants on her companion, the woman said.

“General Aloirav, you are the most reprehensible creature I’ve ever met! To destroy on suspicion alone is unthinkable!”

“Ms. Roth.” He replied. “Are you intimating that you want them to go to trial first!?”

“No, of course not. Well, yes, sort of.”

“You don’t know what you want. How feminine. Since when has guilt or innocence under the law decided any question?”

“It’s called justice!”

“Justice! The excuse society uses to justify their lust for blood & brutality!”

“Mab’s right, Rav.” Mr. Otorp interjected.

“You feel it would be better to wait for them to make the 1^st strike?”

“Sort of, yes.” Mab answered.

“Spoken like a true Viet Nam dove. Do you have any idea how many good men died because of that insanity?”

“No, I don’t, but that was another time, place, and confrontation. We’re not re-fighting Viet Nam!”

“You’re damn right! We aren’t going to either. I’ll never again fight for naïve damn fools who don’t deserve it!” He raised his voice, but continued in a calmer tone. “There is no correct dogma to consult here. Right and wrong are fool religious concepts, not biological. Show me good biological reasons for their continued existence. If you can’t, I move again for destroying them.”

Squeamish, never having enjoyed the experience of killing another human being, she felt otherwise. The woman thought it below her “moral” structure. Mr. Otorp’s reasons, why he felt otherwise, were in addition to his moral objections.

“I feel as do you about not waiting for a 1^st strike, Rav.” He said. “However, if we kill these people without first finding out the what, where, how and why, we err. What they are doing will continue. We’ll experience the identical scenario, over and over again.”

General Aloirav countered with; “I won’t fault your reasoning there, Otorp. I thought the same up until a few days ago. The situation has changed with your dinner companion’s exit. We may not have time to find out what we want to know before they issue our death warrants. They may already be effective. Under such a cloud, surrounded by enemies, our chances of survival are nil. It mystifies me why they didn’t waste you along with Jober the other day. I’m sure that little oversight on the enemy’s’ part will not long continue. It may be because they don’t know who’s in charge. I doubt it. I think it’s something else. They may value your incompetence.”

“How dare you?!” Mab riposted.

“I have no doubt they want me out.” The General continued, ignoring the woman. “If they up the ante, and they will soon enough, make no mistake. They will eliminate us. Nothing you or I can do will stop them.”

“What makes you so sure, General?” Mr. Otorp asked, shaken.

“Yes. I’d like to know that too.” Mab said, trying to show herself amenable to conversation.

“They want to control the Company, own the Pontibus. We stand in their way.”

“That’s not hard to understand.” Mr. Otorp replied.

“I’m quite sure I know who’s behind Jober’s indigestion this past Wednesday.”   General Aloirav answered.

Feeling susceptible to his comments, Mab said. “Oh, please! Are we now going to hear some threats bolstering your point of view?”

Waving his hand toward her, Mr. Otorp indicated wanting to hear the General, asking, “Who?”

“The man’s name is Heinz. He used to work for me. I have his dossier, with updates, here.” He said, handing Mr. Otorp a manila folder.

Mab took the dossier. Opening it for her companion, the two looked at the photographs and papers together. General Aloirav narrated as they went along. At one vivid frontal, he said. “Probably no longer blond, as you see there, but he’s still fair.”

“He’s very handsome.” Mab said. “Why would such a good-looking man want to do such a terrible thing?”

No one answered the silly question, and the General continued. “We heard that they sent him to Danbury & San Quentin after breaking up my group. The other people I gave access to that organism, producing that type of heart attack, are dead. All except one, but that one is still in an outpost, under guard.”

“What makes you so sure Jober died as a result of a virus you created?” Ms. Roth asked, anxious to regain respect and still be a player.

“He didn’t.”

“You just said your friend gave it to him!” Mab said, turning to Mr. Otorp for corroboration. “Didn’t he?”

“I said organism, not virus. You said virus. They are not always identical. As in this case, since we are talking here about bacteria.”

“My, my. Aren’t we being cute with our semantics?” Mab mocked. “How did you know you’d created a whatever?”

“Bacteria.” He corrected and replied. “I recognized the look of the corpse.”

“Really?!” She asked.

“Yes.” He replied, working hard to steel himself against returning her pique in front of Mr. Otorp. “Look at some of these photographs here. You’ll see what I mean.”

He presented some photos of his victims’ corpses. The Rosario family album came up first. Then the nuclear weapons builders Heinz killed in Marseilles glared up at them. The resemblance between them and the photos of poor Mr. Jober was unmistakable. Silence gripped the table as photo after photo appeared.

The two companions did not question the photos’ provenance. Both knew they represented a repulsive example of their collaborator’s past handiwork. The circumstance’s exigency and overwhelming evidence tended to change Mr. Otorp’s inconsistent conduct. He accepted without question that General Aloirav knew about that which he was talking, asking.

“Where is this man Heinz now?”

“I don’t know. The research, I did over these last two days, brought me nothing positive. I still have some feelers out, but they haven’t come back as of yet.” General Aloirav answered. “The other side knows I’m looking for him, so he’ll not be easy to find.”

“What are we going to do?” Mab asked, concern perceptible in her tone. “I mean other than the violent murder of the Directors.”

“Be wary of anyone getting close. Cook your own food. If you don’t, eat or drink where nobody would expect you to go. If your food there takes too long getting to you, leave before it comes. I have sufficient vaccines to protect you from all bugs Heinz accessed or stole while in my employ. Nevertheless, you’ll need a coupla’ days to build up sufficient immunity. I would suggest you prepare to take it easy for a few days afterward. My vaccines were never without discomfort. They served the purpose, but were no summer camp.”

“What does that mean?” Mab asked.

“You’re going to feel miserable.” He said, taking vials out of his briefcase and handing them to Mr. Otorp. “This information sheet will give your nurse the necessary injection particulars.” Turning to Ms. Roth, the General said. “I did not make the distinction between bacteria and virus to make some semantic coup. Nor did I feel the need to impress you with my shop diction. Mr. Otorp can help you with this, should you wish. As weapons, bacteria are more vulnerable than viruses.”

“Why?” Mab asked.

“Bacteria are somewhat susceptible to antibiotics. Antibiotics have no effect on my viruses or any others, as far as I know. Vaccines or antidotes must protect against my viruses. Should you find yourself exposed to one, and do not get a vaccine or antidote, you will die. I never made any antidotes. Double your security provisions. We can no longer speak over the phone or computer holograph to each other.” Turning to Mr. Otorp, he continued. “That goes for you too. Face to face. If we think of anything, we may not have thought of, we’ll pass it on.”

“That’s going to undermine our normal communication in a drastic manner!” Mab complained.

“I’m building a messenger corps to ameliorate that problem. We’ll use passwords and identifiable marks on messenger suits. Only discuss important things between each other in private. Implement these suggested bits of advice now.” The General answered and explained the procedures he developed.

“Is that all?” Mab retorted, unaccustomed to receiving orders.

“No.” General Aloirav replied. Turning to Mr. Otorp, he asked. What shall we do about the traitors?”

“I thought we already decided that?” Mab exclaimed.

“We have not!” General Aloirav said. “It’s not your decision to make!”

“How long will it take to get rid of them all?” Mr. Otorp asked.

A shocked Ms. Roth looked over at Mr. Otorp. She then looked over at General Aloirav and back to Mr. Otorp. Her companion’s ivory tower tilted a few degrees. Never having deliberated survival questions in her life, Mab was at a disadvantage. Prior to now, her mind operated rote on dead men’s opinions & casuistry. Mr. Otorp was trying to be practical and thinking about the lives of his son and great granddaughter.

She asked. “You’re not going to do as he suggests!? Think what will happen when they die. We’ll be showing our hand, proving our fear and vulnerability. That’s biology, not religion!”

“About four weeks. I’ll put my best people on it.” General Aloirav replied, ignoring Mab Roth.

“I won’t ask you how you’ll do it. But I do want a full report.” Mr. Otorp said, pain showing in his face. He turned to Mab, saying. “Your observations and thoughts are relevant, Mab. I’ve considered them. I still see no alternative. You have never been in a war. You have never seen women & children murdered by the thousands. You are out of your area of expertise. General Aloirav and I have both seen war. We have both been in one that fools prosecuted. We are not novices. We’re in too big a swamp here, and we’re sinking. You wanted my help. Unless you can tell me of a viable option I’ve not considered, here is my help.”

General Aloirav looked over at Mab Roth, who shouted back at him. “We can put it before the Council, take them to court or…”

“Sue them!?” He exclaimed, making the thought seem as ridiculous as it was. “The Council abhors me as much as you do.”

“I’ll resign. I don’t want to be a part of this!” She said.

Neither man said anything. Both looked straight ahead. They didn’t want to make things any more difficult by entering into her hysteria. Both men felt women were always irresponsible in such tense situations. They expected such behavior. Their disbelief in female accountability after the fact, should results not be positive, was relative. It mediated against undue concern for her feelings.

When Mab did not act or say anything further, General Aloirav broke the silence, saying. “How many Company people can act as a military force, should it become necessary?”

“I… I… don’t know. Why?” She replied, taken aback by the question so soon after being ignored. The woman felt overwhelmed. He brought her back into the discussion in a way she never expected, nor welcomed.

“After we’re rid of the suspected traitors, as you added, there’ll be others who’ll not be so obvious. Forewarned and forearmed, these will be the most dangerous of those with whom we must deal. We won’t always make the right decisions. There will be casualties. We’re going to need more sources of information. I have a precious few. We must turn more and inactivate their own. I hope soon to turn some suspected people but cannot chance it yet. I don’t know how long it’ll be before we come to blows. They will come. Make no mistake. Somewhere there’s a group who’s been accumulating these stolen weapons. I’m going to require warm bodies from you, beyond those I, myself, get.” General Aloirav said. “Think about it.”

“What do you want from me, Rav?” Asked Mr. Otorp.

“I’ll need your moral authority.”

“In what way?”

“I want power to pull people I need from prisons, outposts, and incorrigible stations, at a moment’s notice. I’ll need logistical support. Have her make accessible to me personnel, supplies, and all the ordnance I can find.”

Mr. Otorp got a pained expression on his face. He was a man in agony. What was about to happen was clear. The General just asked the new Company chairman to relinquish his power. Either General Aloirav got the control he wanted or Mr. Otorp would lose all appearance of control. The General was demanding to be the de facto Chairman. Mr. Otorp would be henceforward just a figurehead.

Mr. Otorp hated to give the man anything, but there was that promise to Lester Frye. There was also a dire threat to the Company, of which all were well aware. Any act of power is a wild card. Its method of application is often immaterial.

How the situation would turn out was anyone’s’ guess. There was no alternative for them. The General had a vision of what lay before him. They did not. Mab was powerless against him, and she knew it. The Pontibus and the Company could very well be at stake. It was not her decision to make.

“O.K.” Mr. Otorp answered.

Mab Roth was walking around, searching for some inner direction, feeling deficient. She could find no answers. General Aloirav took charge. Mr. Otorp allowed it. What could she do? Her moral responsibility vanished.

“I need more labs and tissue culture facilities.”

“Why?” Mab asked.

“You do want to protect the Pontibus residents, don’t you?”

“Of course!” Mab riposted.

“Then, we have a serious weakness in inadequate amounts of vaccine.”

“How can we get more?!” She asked.

“By keeping out of my way! As I told you.”

“How am I in your way?!” She asked, looking at Mr. Otorp for support.

“When I tried to augment our store, you trashed my requests for supplies and equipment.”

“Oh.”

“We need a special hospital, in appearance like an ordinary one. It would differ just in being also equipped to handle special casualties. As a side use, we could store vaccines there.”

“What kind of special casualties?” Mab asked.

“Those incurred in the production of vaccines and biological weapons.” He handed her some papers and said. “Here’s a list of what we’ll need in the way of logistics.” Handing her another paper, the General continued. “Here’s a good start on a partial list of equipment and chemical requirements. It’s the inventory sheet from my old lab. Get started on its procurement now.”

She read aloud. “Incubators, centrifuges, horizontal gel electrophoresis apparatus, SDS PAGE electrophoresis apparatus…etc.

“Have it delivered to the new hospital on the Twenty-Fifth Level, near coordinates…”

Mab interrupted him, saying. “I know where it is! That hospital is for much needed geriatric care.”

“Yes, that’s the one. Decommission it. Send the old farts home.”

“We can’t just send patients home!”

“Why not? That hospital is against all Company policy. You know that. Why is it even there?! Who commissioned it!?”

“Why, why…I…I did. I thought it was a good idea to reward retired workers.” Mab said, looking at Mr. Otorp.

“If they need a hospital, they’re too old. Push ‘em over the side.”

“What?!”

“Deliver the assortment of equipment on that 2^nd list immediately. Make it snappy. Your countermanding my orders has set us back weeks in preparation. In addition, we’re gonna’ need a shitload of reefers, serum, and animals. I’ll also need a machine shop to build introduction containers, instruments, filters, desiccators, comminuters, and other equipment. Set aside or build about fifty or sixty new airstrips. Where we now sit is a good model. I want 1800 small aircraft. Spread them about on each of the nine Pontibus Communities around the Globe. I’ll need the same number of miniature jet fans and air compressors. Can you handle all that within a month?”

“It won’t be easy.”

“Ï didn’t ask for tears. Purchase the items from First-Surface factories immediately if the Pontibus can’t supply them. We haven’t any time to waste!”

They separated after some more, less important, detailed discussions. The General returned the way he came. He didn’t like using his Headquarters Security Office. It was not secure enough for him and too close to Mab Roth and Mr. Otorp. They would soon be forever complaining and needing his direction on things. He did not like explaining and holding subordinate’s hands. He also hated to spar using return-fire complaints to handle complaints.

The Twenty-Fifth Level hospital was where he chose to locate his new offices. That was where he headed now a few minutes in front of Mab Roth. She took the same route. It passed the spiral staircase leading to the Level-Twelve Headquarters. Her car could negotiate the descending turns as well as the platforms. She would pass him if nothing occurred to detain her. It was nearing the hour for the last shift inmates to return to the cantilevers.

She wanted to see one before quitting time. The General wanted the particular convict in question released with all Company controls satisfied. There could be future complications, and he did not want anything amiss.

Inmates near release dates were free of GPS surveillance during home time as an inducement & trial for further trustworthiness. True to their calling of forever testing human limits, however, some misused the trust, taking advantage of the Company’s largesse. Enterprising convicts did not scruple to parachute to the First-Surface for continued criminal activity. Laser guns patrolled underneath the prison spurs, searching for such entrepreneurs.

Sudden demise awaited them, as it did for those yet GPS burdened. The Company paid a bonus for each such death. Per diems loss reflected a profitable situation for all except the dead prisoner and the contract prison shareholders. General Aloirav reported many of his ex-New Society convict releases as such. It saved him ingratiating embarrassment, time, and paperwork. Mab went to see a convict now, on his orders, before the wrongdoer reached the monorail.

The many monorails available on the bridges were much in demand all over the Pontibus. The solar energy – magnetic powered vehicles contained a rare metal alloy in their aluminum or calein chassis. With the advent of calein, the material was now available in much greater quantities. Carbonates & silicates dissolved in seawater, used to create calein, left it behind as a byproduct. Metal harvesting technology was still undergoing tremendous upheavals.

The mining revolution now reached to the farthest corners of the Pontibus. The old method of driving shafts into the Earth’s surface to haul out the ore ended. The process of mined ore recovery & subsequent purification from contaminating silicates and carbonates changed. Water dissolution technology underwent tremendous advances during the 21^st century. Salt extraction purified metals from crude water ore solution. Calein creation and curing expedited former mining operations.

Pontibus construction needed increasing quantities of calein. Mineral-poor ex-seawater, a calein pier production by-product, recycled at a profit. It extracted valuable metals from ores more effectively than antiquated mining machinery ever did. Ex-seawater did not measurably dissolve contacted heavy metals.

Other than calcium, magnesium, or iron (carbonates) insignificant metal quantities entered the pre-saturated liquid. Heavy metal by-products precipitated as fine grains before they arrived at the Company’s calein curing mold bases. Calein did not affect the use of other metals. Of no use to the protein, insatiable for calcium-magnesium-iron, they stayed quite pure of contamination.

The solution (seawater) kept always saturated with calein gratuitous metals. Light metal deficient water recycled. Unable to dissolve heavy metals, light metal deficient water went elsewhere for light metals. The repetitive process also precipitated rare metals, and the black sands accumulated in quantity. Solar energy collecting films, fuel cells, and fluorescent light bulbs dropped much in price as their composite metals became less expensive.

Planetary density was slowly decreasing while surface area increased. MMIM mining shelves diminished in investment returns. The Company bought rocks, the very symbol of low value & lifelessness, from First-Surface landowners. The Pontibus gave life to those rocks. The old-government exacted a heavy procurement tax on every million tons. Proposals to avoid the “dirt tax” were frequent. All focused in some way on pumping from the sea bottom, obviating OG rights. Sea sand is deficient in calcium, magnesium, and iron carbonates, however. Dry land rocks, (including OG proprietary rights), were not. The Company paid.

Each morning the staircase elevators and monorails reversed the laborer’s journeys of the previous evening. Inmates embarked and disembarked to the upper troposphere. Upon reaching the designated level, they would enter the labor-transporting sky bus.   The transport went to the lower stratosphere construction site abandoned the former evening.

Earlier on this day some inmates, on a calein platform near a construction site, waited for a supply balloon. Tetrahedralized reticulum stretched out all around them and on into the mid-stratosphere. From the platform, it seemed to go on in front and behind, forever. A matrix of larger tetrahedrons stretched, like blue veins, in the ionosphere’s brilliant aurora. The only break in the scenery was the frequent appearance of a compression-relieving osso. “Ossos” connected to the matrix via ligation belts of pure calein. Thousands of cubic meters of colloidal calein were deposited around the osso like wax reinforcement of honeycomb to walls in a hive. Lest it be forgotten, and unappreciated, calein was also the pre-saturated stuff from which oysters in the 20^th century made the $100/mm to priceless South Sea Pearl. Each osso contained, therefore, the equivalent of billions of South Sea Pearls. Something the Bible says about pearly gates leads one to pondering.

Photovoltaic people arrived with the wind turbine inmates and greeted staircase installers. Three outreach crew foremen received their tasks from the inmate lieutenant, Qercua, in charge of all crews. He finished talking with the balloon pilot who carried the machinery, plates, and tools earlier in the day. Crews attended to their familiar tasks.

First, the wind turbine winding plate attached to the calein floor net. Then they installed the other parts. The crews’ work was diligent. The wind generator and the solar films were soon ready for operation. Other members of the installation party connected the power generating plants to a grid. It was then ready for a general inspection.

The Company insisted on inspecting each power station before starting a settlement. The inmates waited. They wanted the job completed to get on to another outpost. A bonus awaited them. The first inspection was successful, and spiral staircase assembly started. The second group of envelope people could begin their phase of the operation upon its completion. They needed the staircase for many supplies. The electricity provided warmth and powered tools. Fixing calein fibers into close-knit fabric platforms was cold work without electric heat.

Later, while forming the Community, others would install prefabricated calein walls for each individual space house. Next, “soil and flora” people prepared the personal garden plots in the calein netting. Vines and green plants supplanted compost and Ascomycetes fungi in the new gardens. Pathway turf formed into a tough carpet of ground cover. Module wetland people planted the hydrophilic sewage flora for sludge treatment gardens. They also installed and programmed the computers to control the sewage sludge flow. Smaller condensation pools and fishponds followed, etc.

Mab looked at her chronometer and saw her vehicle would not make it to her man before he left work. She also did not want to speak to an incorrigible alone. Noticing a Company inspection magneto-helicopter a short distance away, Mab stopped her car next to it. Learning their destinations matched, she commandeered the ship & crew. A chopper crewmember would return her sky vehicle to Company Headquarters.

When they heard a magneto- helicopter in the distance, Qercua’s inmate crews assumed an inspection was in order. They began leaving their waiting positions for assigned job positions to “ham it for the brass”. An unexpected visitor arrived with the Company inspection chopper. Everyone knew her. She disembarked, and the leaders of the crews saluted. Returning the salute, the woman went over to the senior man, saying. “Good afternoon, Lieutenant Qercua?”

“Yes. Good afternoon, Ma’am.”

“Shall we go?”

Officers and entourage went over to the power complex – called a cristae. She said. “You’re quite an efficient manager, Lieutenant Qercua,” she said.

“Thank-you, Ms. Roth.”

“This cristae took four days from start to finish. I don’t know how you managed it. Most other managers are taking 5 days. Everything functions too. How do you do it?”

“I’m committed to our new world. It’s a second chance for me. I don’t want the Council disappointed.”

“Where were you before?”

“A lot of prisons. Most of the time, I was in Jackson. They supplemented me, as a habitual, there and sent me to do hard time in Marquette. The Company got me out.”

“What’s the matter with you? The head of Pontibus Security, General Aloirav, says you’re above genius level. How is it, with such a high IQ, you screw up so much?”

“I guess I don’t specialize enough, before moving on.”

“How’s that?”

“I never could stick with just one type of crime… to become an expert at it.”

“Perhaps. I’m not aware of that side of life. At any rate, you’re a credit to our decision to remove you from the First-Surface. Keep up the good work. I don’t think we’ll be sending you back.”

“Thank-you, Ma’am.”

“How long do you have on your probationary period yet, before you’re safe from First-Level authorities?”

“Two more years.”

“Well, General Aloirav is very interested in your progress. He has asked that your incorrigible status end. The General also recommended you to the Company Directors and Council for promotion to Captain. That makes for a much easier transition into respectable society again. We’re in great need of people like you. Other inmates see what you’ve learned and done. It helps them and us.”

“I hope I can give you, and the other Directors speaking for me, continued satisfaction, Ma’am.

“The promotion is, more than for anything else, your attitude. Our impression for some time has been that we aren’t effectively using your talents. The Directors are aware of the quality and speed of your work. They feel you might be more helpful as an Advisory Group member.” She turned him aside to speak confidentially.

“In what capacity would that be, Ma’am?”

“With the non-incorrigibles.”

“I’m happy, of course, that you feel that way. I mean… You honor me. But, the impression they might have of me… They’re doing fine. The work is progressing.” The soon-to-be new Captain faltered.

“Yes, they’re doing as well as we expected. But, there’s unrest in certain areas. Certain persons want to find out why. The ones who’re most dissatisfied won’t talk to us. We’re too far removed from them.”

“I hope you’re not looking for a snitch. I can’t help you there. I’d rather you kept your promotion.”

“No! Decidedly not! We already have more than enough of those. You’ve only been out of the First-Surface penitentiary a short time. Your attitude is uncharacteristic. You could give us current advice on how to handle situations. We want to make prisoners more satisfied with their progress. Company Officers and Directors are incognizant of present prison conditions on the primary surface. Do you think you could help us?”

“I’ll certainly do what I can.”

“Good. You’ll be hearing from us.”

“Aren’t you going to inspect the cristae, Ma’am?”

Mab turned, smiled and said. “I don’t need to. Others do that very well. General Aloirav asked me to see you.”

The jet helicopter’s rotors began to turn faster, as she stepped back into it. Ms. Roth waited for the rest of her entourage to enter. Then she waved to the pilot to lift off. The crew chiefs all saluted. The woman returned it.

The chopper moved off the calein deck and wended its way through the tetrahedrons. It headed toward Mab’s headquarters on Level Twelve. The laborers moved to the next site. The new Captain smiled to himself about his promotion. Moving into upper management from convict status was not an everyday occurrence.

“Shortest inspection I ever saw.” A crew chief mumbled.

“Because of Qercua.” His minion replied.

“Yah. Buckin’ for promotion.”

“So what?” Another crew leader riposted. “He gets us better work and more scratch.”

“Less time in the open, too.”

“Won’t last.”

“Why not?!”

“He’s promoted ‘n leavin’. Another’l take his job.”

“Yah. Probably some prick!”

It was a chance Qercua dreamed about ever since Jackson State Prison. Other inmates told him such possibilities existed. Now he saw it for himself. Qercua could soon be an Advisory Group member. Their chairman reported to a member of the Pontibus Council itself. The Pontibus Council was the most powerful authority on the Pontibus after the Company Governor & Chairman. General Aloirav sure took care of his own.

The jet helicopter settled onto the calein heliport in front of the Headquarters enclave. Mab Roth stepped out and made her way to the security tunnel. She noticed vines and bushes too thick around the entrance for Security. She ordered one of her group to look into it. The security people needed to clean it out to conform to General Aloirav’s new regulations. Mab entered and negotiated the tunnel labyrinth to the Company Headquarters space-house.

The opinion of the strongest is always the best.                 de La Fontaine

 

Chapter Sixty-Eight

 

The demographics work neared completion, and the Chief of Demographics went back to General Aloirav to report.

“General Aloirav.”

“Yes, Mr. Walcott. How is the census progressing?”

“We’ll finish in 2 days, Sir.”

“Well that was indeed a close estimate. 28 days, and you said a month. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Sir. I came here today to ask you what I am to do with people who’ll be out of work soon?”

“Yes. That is a concern, isn’t it? They can return to calein production, I suppose.”

“Not easily, sir. I took a great many. Calein production has almost stopped. It will mean some re-tooling delay.”

“True. Tell me, Mr. Walcott. What do you know of desiccation and comminuting?”

“Nothing, Sir.”

“How about managing an army of nurses?”

“Same answer, Sir.”

“Well. What are we gonna’ do with you?”

“I don’t know, Sir. Is there no more demographic work for me to do?”

“Not for a while, I expect.”

“I hope you aren’t gonna’ can me.”

“No, you’re too valuable for that. I think I’ll find a place for you in Immigration.”

“Immigration, Sir?”

“Yes. I want you to take yourself down to our Immigration Office now and talk to its Chief. Tell him he has to educate you in all the forms necessary. Then I want you to take your entire census crew and show them how to fill out those forms. You’ll be working at the Block Island foot next month. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

 

A well-dressed young man stopped in front of the desk of the secretary to Mab Roth’s secretary.

“Mab Roth, please.” He asked.

“Who shall I say is asking for her?” Secretary One asked.

“General Aloirav’s messenger.”

“Ms. McGrath?” Secretary One asked Secretary Two.

“Yes?”

“There is a messenger here for Ms. Roth from, General Aloirav.” Secretary One said.

“Send him in.”

“Yes ma’am.” Secretary One replied. “You may go in. Please wait at the window for Ms. McGrath to admit you.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Secretary One answered.

“Ms. McGrath?” The young man asked.

“Yes.” Secretary Two replied.

“I’m the messenger for Ms. Roth.”

“Come in. Please go to the glass and wait.” Secretary Two said. “Ms. Roth will clear your entrance.”

“Okay.”

The messenger’s suit was normal enough, except for the small, almost unnoticeable, tetrahedron underneath the lapel. He walked up to the security window and stood, waiting for scrutinization.

“What do you want with me?” Mab asked.

“What you want with me.” The messenger replied.

“Come in.”

“What does General Aloirav want?”

“The General would like your opinion of Captain Qercua.”

“I’ve prepared a report. It’s right here. Just a minute.”

Mab gave the messenger the report, and he left. A few minutes after the messenger returned to Level Twenty-Five, General Aloirav sent for the convict. The banished man entered the hospital flanked by guards. The guards left, when General Aloirav took responsibility for him. The General said.

“Captain Qercua.”

“Yes, General.”

“Can you work with me?”

“I think so, Sir. I’m grateful for the promotion. I understand it’s by your doing.”

“Yes. I felt you were the man for whom I’ve been looking.”

“I don’t know, Sir.”

“I’m sure we’ll soon find out the answer to that question.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You will not be receiving a Triumph yet, nor will you be a member of the Advisory Group soon.”

“Yes, Sir. That’s a disappointment, Sir.”

“I expected that. Don’t get to thinking that I’m your doom. It’s because of me that they noticed you in the first place.”

“I know, Sir.”

“Your recent promotion will not be the last, if we understand each other?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I heard about you because of your attitude and capabilities.”

“From whom, Sir?”

“From inmates in my special organization.”

“Yes, Sir.

“The assignment I have for you will result in both of those honors you were hoping for or higher ones.”

“Yes, Sir. Are there higher honors?”

“Many. Of that, we shall speak later. Never will they happen, however, until you complete your job for me to my satisfaction. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You’re a real fuckup. You know that?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You have the makings of a fine criminal, but …supplemented?! A three time loser!”

“Yes, Sir.”

“That kind of shit is behind you! Understand?!”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Bring me some of your most trusted convict friends. I’ll need men that have no problem with killing. They must be hard and remorseless. I have a special job for them. I cannot use regular military personnel. They’re too squeamish. Before you return to the cantilevers, stop by Prisons and get all the release authorization forms for me to sign. I want you and your acquaintances’ release status to be squeaky clean.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Don’t fuckup my job!”

“No, Sir. I won’t.”

“Leave!”

 

Returning to the Security Office of the Headquarters’ Module, General Aloirav encountered Bacon and said.

“Get me the Engineering Chief, Bacon.”

“Yes, Boss.”

A few hours later, a pompous looking man with a pinky ring entered the Security Office. General Aloirav’s secretary let the General know. Bacon accompanied the pretentious fellow, and the General admitted both men.

“What’s this about, Aloirav? My time is as valuable as is yours.”

“Well. I do appreciate your coming to see me, Mr. Friend.”

“You’re lucky I was coming this way anyway.”

“Yes. Whatever.” The General answered, concealing his displeasure at the man’s disrespect. “I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“What do you know about desiccation and comminuting?”

“Very little. I’ve been out of school for twenty years.”

“Can you tell me if anyone in your department knows anything about it?”

“I would have to look in their employment record jackets.” Mr. Friend said.

“Do that and report back to me as fast as you can.” General Aloirav said, knowing the order would have an explosive effect on the snobbish man’s self-image.

“Excuse me!?” Mr. Friend answered. “What authorization do you have for giving me such a task?”

“I want it done.” General Aloirav answered. “That’s enough authorization.”

“I take my orders from the Company CEO, not from another executive with less seniority than I. My superiors are Adam Quake & Mr. Otorp. You’ll have to take up with them anything you would like from Engineering.”

“I’m telling you. I want it done! Now do it!”

“I know your past, Aloirav. You don’t mean shit to me. You’re nothing but a cheap thug. Go fuck yourself!”

Bacon stared at the man. No one talked to the “boss” like that, ever. The “boss” would not let the disrespect go unpunished. Of that, Bacon was sure. The General asked.

“Who’s next in command under you at Engineering?”

“John Hewitt.” Mr. Friend replied. “Oh, ho! Never happen, asshole! Don’t think you’ll intimidate me. I’ve been with the company 20 years. It thinks much more of me than it does of you. I’m not afraid of your reputation. John Hewitt will not get my job. Frye’s dead. Nobody gives a damn about you now. Security is low priority. You have almost zero clout.”

“Send him to me.”

“I will not!”

“Bacon.”

“Yes, Boss.”

“Get John Hewitt, from Engineering, here.”

“Right, Boss.”

“Won’t do you any good.” Mr. Friend said, smiling sardonically. “Mab Roth is my personal friend.”

“Bacon.”

“Yes, Boss.”

“Before you leave. The Chief of Engineering is also leaving us. He doesn’t feel well. It seems he’s coming down with a cold or something. I expect a temperature of around 103 degrees F.”

Mr. Friend turned to Bacon and shouted. “I feel perfectly fine, fat ass. I don’t know what he’s talking about!”

“Bacon?” The General said. “I want to talk with John Hewitt yet today but don’t forget this fellow’s 103 degree F cold.”

“Right, Boss.”

“Go to hell! I do not have a cold, or anything else for that matter! Don’t think you’ll get them to remove me from my position on health grounds. I’m healthier than you are! ”

“Sure.” Bacon said.

“All the Directors, and the Chairman, are in my corner, Aloirav. Nobody’s in yours.”

“I’ll help you out, Sir.” Bacon said. “I’ve had lot’sa experience in these matters.”

 

Later that afternoon, a serious young man arrived at the Security Office. It was late and the secretary was gone.

“You sent for me, Sir?” The young man asked.

“Who’re you?” General Aloirav asked.

“John Hewitt, Engineering.”

“What position do you hold there, John?”

“President of Design.”

“That makes you 2^nd in line to the Chief of Engineering?”

“Yes it does.”

“You are about to receive a new job, if you can do for me what I want.”

“What job is that, Sir?”

“Chief of Engineering.”

“Yes, Sir!”

“You’re predecessor, poor man, took sick today. I doubt he’ll survive.”

“Are you sure, Sir? I just saw him descending the spiral staircase for home, as I ascended it to come here. He looked fine.”

“Is that so? Descending while you were ascending? Ironic, isn’t it?”

“He was in another car, but I’m sure it was he. He waved to me.”

“This is what I want.” General Aloirav said, without further comment on Mr. Hewitt’s observation. “I will need it very soon. I want your utmost discretion. Can I count on it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Everything at Engineering must stop for this project. The Company’s life depends on it. If you need more help take it from anywhere you can find it. You have 25 days.”

“Yes, Sir. What is this drawing?”

“It’s a picture of a serum-humeal facility.”

“A serum facility, Sir?”

“Yes. This is a digital camera. Here is a chin rest. These are handles of brass. Here is a trap door. This is a holding tank. Underneath it is a liquid filter and another tank. Here is a hammer mill. This is a comminuter. Here is a desiccator. Here is another filter. It’s a dry filter. All liquid contact must conform to GMP, i.e. all stainless steel.”

“We don\t use that terminology anymore, Sir.”

“No?”

“No, Sir. It’s BQS now. The best quality stainless.”

|I see. Very well. BQS. The material used in the dry facets is unimportant. I will need 250 volts at all brass contacts. Computer relays and electronic connections can be 12 volt or the usual trade-preferred 32v DC. Make this blade here swing in response to every reappearance of the digital image. 250 volts must short and open when this button is pressed. I want it on a variac of two potentials and two time positions. I don’t want an incinerator for burning clothes. Most First-Surface fabrics are microbial now, and they’ll ferment. We’ll need collateral polyhydroxybutyrate resin fermentation facilities and three Level conveyors. The written explanation accompanies the drawings you see there. Do you understand?”

John Hewitt took a short glance at the drawings and read the introduction to the explanation. He then turned a shade of pale not unlike the most common isotope of the metal lead. He said. “I understand, Sir. Is this project the reason behind why my predecessor is no longer Chief of Engineering?”

“No. It is not. We discovered a flaw in your predecessor’s education.”

“What flaw was that, Sir?”

“He did not understand all the meanings behind the “Golden rule” expression.”

“Yes, Sir. I’ll get right on it, Sir.”

“Very good. Should you need to acquire anything from the First-Surface, I suggest you obtain it immediately. I don’t know how much time we have to save our sky world. The First-Surface is becoming ultra-aggressive and may interdict trade at any moment. I trust I needn’t explain to you the need for your silence. Parcel out the various normal & separate segments of the project until the very last. Begin procuring very secure & discrete people for the final assembly, i.e. before the objective becomes no longer doubtful. If you should run into trouble there, see me.”

“Yes, Sir. And where is this machine to be constructed?’

“Block Island, Level-Two. When the various stages are near completion, you will report to me and we shall plan our next stage.”

“Yes, Sir.”

John Hewitt left the Security Office with his hands full and his head swimming. General Aloirav showed him out the door. With John safely on his way, the General turned to re-enter his office. Before he did so, someone shouted. “General Aloirav!”

“Yes? Oh, Mr. Otorp. What can I do for you?”

“You can tell me why you gutted my calein production!?”

“I wasn’t aware I’d gutted it.”

“We are limping along now at quarter-speed.”

“Why, I’m very sorry, Mr. Otorp. I needed people for an important job.”

“What can be more important than expanding the Pontibus? I need not remind you our mortgages are due in a few months. We need the revenue those calein construction contracts produce!”

“I know that.”

“In addition, we must grow to survive.”

“I can’t fault you there either.”

“Then why?”

“We also need personnel to discover how to protect residents during the coming war.”

“You seem very sure there will be one. If you continue to gut operations this way, there will never be one. The enemy will win just by waiting for us to die!”

“You have a valid point. Perhaps you’re right.”

“I am?!”

“Yes. We have enough vaccines for our own select people.”

“We do?”

“Yes.” The General answered. “Of course. You’re right! Why not just let everyone else die? It will raise living standards over the entire remaining Pontibus community. I’m so sorry. How could I have been so out of it?! Thank you so much for coming by, Mr. Otorp. I’ll tell demographics to stop the census. Fuck ‘em all. Let ‘em die!”

“What do you mean?”

“I took people from the calein production work force. I thought you wanted me to. Mab Roth okayed it at our meeting. I guess I was trying too hard to cooperate, or at least appear so. I needed census takers to tell me how many residents we had on the bridges. It was necessary to ascertain the resources we shall require. I felt it best to produce all the weaponry and vaccines we can before the ultimatum arrives. But, if you feel a few billion lives are expendable, I’m with you all the way. The sub-human race is nothing but a scourge, a blight, a cancer, on the planet! I don’t know these people. Why not let ‘em die? Right chu’ are! Smart. Letting the living standard, for all that remain, rise by just that much. Really top notch. I’ll put everything to virus production. Good point!”

“I…I didn’t say that!”

“Yes. You did!”

“I didn’t!”

“Just what is it you do want?! I thought I was following your direction.”

“I guess I didn’t think…”

“I guess you didn’t.”

“Isn’t there anything else we can do?”

“No. This is the one way to save what we have. I don’t even know if I can do it. I’m doing what I can, but everything is mediating against me. I’m continuing to go it alone. You’re busy with Ms. Roth, doing what it is you two do. I’m here doing my part. I… promised HIM. HE took me out of prison, because HE thought I was HIS one chance. I don’t want to let HIM down, even his memory. I want to do this with you too. HE trusted you. But if you can’t make up your mind…”

“No. Continue, General. I was out of line. When I heard calein was forfeit, just now, I guess I lost it. I’m sorry.”

“So. Do you want to save the residents or shall we let ‘em go?”

“Save them, of course, if you can do so. Whatever it takes. I could never live with myself. I’d writhe for eternity, if I let even the slightest chance slip by me to save billions of people.”

“Okay.”

“I want to help. What can I do?”

“Keep me free of people and complaints. You’re gonna’ hear things. Many things. Your girlfriend is going to hear things.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Right, not your girlfriend. Gotta’ remember that. You’re gonna’ get a lot of heat. Diffuse it, before it gets to me. That will be a tremendous help. Protect me from criticism if you can. If it gets too much for you to hold back, let ‘er rip. I can handle it. Keep your wench…Mab Roth pacified.”

“Okay. I’ll try.”

“Good enough for now.”

 

As time passed, it was not Rav Aloirav’s prison release that got rocks and humeal importation stopped. It was Mr. Otorp’s tax-evasion. The First-Surface media got all the information they could on the Aloirav release. It did the Company no good, and the First-Surface lawyers and other legal scoria worked night and day to find a way of removing him. It was not to be. It was not even enough to stop intercultural trade. For some reason the Company was increasing their purchases of First-Surface goods substantially.

That pleased certain First-Surface interests. Concupiscence is a powerful master. After the articles about the Company Chairman’s tax-evasion came out, however, the First-Surface exploded. As ever, dollars are worth more than lives. It appeared to the under-denizens to be more of the same. Pontibus, flaunting its tax-evasion & anti-socialism, all over again. Mr. Otorp saw himself burned in effigy on holovision’s Evening News.

It presented some striking shots of his image hanging from the one remaining tree in Washington, D.C. MMIM and the OG fanned the flame of war propaganda. Actual hostility stopped just short of total war. Rocks and humeal importation stopped cold. The OG interdicted all export shipments at the feet.

Patrol boats swarmed over the ocean underneath the monorails. Seawater suction tubes became prime vandalism targets. The OG’s Attorney General would not prosecute sabotage and destruction of Pontibus & calein infrastructure. There were scattered skirmishes between saboteurs and Pontibus Police. Calein production slowed to a trickle.

The calein workers were already scarce from the General’s demographics-Immigration’ depredations. It was just as well. It left fewer to feel the pinch of raw material shortage lay-offs. Production now stopped altogether. Unemployment skyrocketed all over the Pontibus.

 

General Aloirav and Bacon were sharing a table in the hospital cafeteria, when the General said.

“Bacon. I want you to call Mr. Walcott and tell him to come here.”

“Right, Boss.” Bacon replied, taking a quick sip of his coffee before leaving to do the bidding.

An hour later, Mr. Walcott entered the General’s J-ward office in the hospital. General Aloirav saw the man enter the outer doorway, and said. “Mr. Walcott.”

“Yes, General.”

“Thank you for coming right over.”

“I was about to come anyway, Sir.”

“You were?”

“Yes. The census is complete. I wanted to deliver you the summary here in person.”

“Ahh.” The General said, taking the manuscript. “Thank you.”

“That will explain how to access the information you requested. It’s all on the Company computer. Each Cartesian location, number of souls aboard, and age of each soul.”

“And, you are studying at the foot of Immigration now, I presume?”

“That’s correct, Sir.”

“Good. When you feel comfortable with your progress, find a place on Block Island’s foot.”

“Sir?”

“I want you to find a site on Level-Two for a large factory. You may locate some billeting for your managers on Level-Three.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I want you to arrange some interviewing square footage before the entrance to the factory site.”

“Yes, Sir. Who are going to be our new immigrants?”

“That’s what I want you to get me.”

“How, Sir?”

“Inundate the First-Surface media with notices. They will read that the Company is thinking of relaxing its genetic restrictions. All former proscribed persons can appear for a re-examination of their medical records. They must come to your special Immigration Department at the Block Island foot, preceding the factory site. You will take standard employment information, holophone number, genetic deficiency, age, weight, sex, etc.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“There’s a lot of unemployment on the bridges right now.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“If you need more people, they are certainly available.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Let me know when you are functional and the “biologicals” are waiting for our call.”

“Right, Sir.”

Mr. Walcott left the hospital, and the General returned to work. A few minutes later, there was a knock at his door, and he said. “Yah?”

“General, Sir?” The voice outside the door said. “There’s a Captain Qercua here to see you.”

“Captain Qercua.” The General said, opening the hatch to admit his new minion. “Come in.”

“The men you asked me to find are all in these records.” Captain Qercua said placing a stack of 30 folders on the General’s desk. “Here are the release forms you wanted.”

“Fine. Captain Qercua.”

“Is there anything else, Sir?”

“Yes. I will need you to train these men in a new profession. There has not been a profession like this one since 1945 AD, as far as I know.”

“What might that profession be, Sir?”

“I’m augmenting my tissue culture facilities. For that, I require tremendous quantities of human blood. We need enlarged facilities to prepare logistically for a possible First-Surface assault. I trust, from the reports I’ve received, you’re not a close friend of that area of the world.”

“No, Sir. I am not.”

“I read that they supplemented you twice because of juror prejudice against your purported “anti-biological” comments.”

“Yes. I can explain that, Sir.”

“Are you now going to tell me you are not a criminal?”

“No, Sir.”

“Then shut up, until I ask for a response! Do you think you could manage a select crew of attendants?”

“Of course, Sir.”

“Could you keep them silent and efficient with respect to their activities?”

“Are we going to be breaking the law, Sir?”

“Unquestionably.”

“What crime is it in which we are about to engage, Sir?”

“You will be extracting blood from “biologicals”.”

“An attractive thought. How many “biologicals” are we considering?”

“A few million. My serum requirements are in the neighborhood of several million liters.”

“Sir. That’s a tremendous amount of blood and an even more tremendous amount of bodies.”

“Yes it is.”

“Do we have to grab them, cut their throats, and drain ‘em on the hoof?”

“No. It will be much more orderly than that.”

“I would hope so. Messy generally means apprehension. But the OG will probably kiss you, if they find out.”

“They better not find out! But why will they want to kiss me?”

“I may be wrong…but… can you imagine how much the OG spends on “biological” welfare?”

The General rose from his chair and exclaimed. “What?!”

“I said. Have you any idea how much the OG spends on “biological” welfare?”

“Oh. I thought you said something else.” General Aloirav replied, sitting back down in his seat. “I’m sure it’s a sizable amount.”

“That it is.”

“As to your earlier question. There will be no capture of donating individuals. I have taken numerous precautions to make the process as painless and as discrete as possible. A large infrastructure is nearing completion as we speak. However, there is still the matter of training production people in the disassembly line, your people.”

“How long will the training take?”

“A few days.”

“On the job?”

“Not yet. Another thing. I can’t have any sexual mis-behavioral problems within your attendant ranks. There will, of course, be many female donors.”

“Of course.”

“I do not want delays, bottlenecks and security problems from that sort of aberrant activity.”

“No, Sir. I’ll screen each man to weed out problems coming from that direction.”

“You will need to rotate the shifts and tasks of each man. I do not want specialists in the donation room. Too great a chance for snitches to develop. Every man must learn all facets of the process. Each man must get his hands dirty.”

“Good thinking. How will the operation proceed, Sir?”

“There are a billion “biologicals” on the First-Surface. I’ll pre-select them by deficiency. Each type will enter the outer facility first. It will be similar to an employment application processing office. We do not want to behave in any way such that the donor suspects that he or she will never return.”

“No, Sir.”

“The applicant enters, puts personal belongings and spare clothing in a secure area. Applicant takes a key, and enters another room. Here the donor will prepare for a physical examination to determine the gravity of his or her individual genetic deficiency. This will require a nude physical examination.”

“Of course.”

“Your attendants must simulate medical personnel.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. There are many ex-doctor convicts banished as incorrigibles. They can serve as attendants and role models for my regular crew.”

“Fine. You will discover that ex-surgeons make great crew members, in such activities as well.”

“They’ll get a chance to prove their worth.”

“I’m sure. After disrobing, the applicant enters another room. Here your attendants cum doctors will explain the “X-ray” procedure. Next, the naked “biological” enters the donation room. There the donor expects to get a photo and an X-ray taken. The subject will cease to exist immediately afterward.”

“I see.”

“Squares will handle all the pre-pre-selection steps. There will also be squares to handle all the serum and humeal transportation. Your men will handle the raw materials and their translation into products. Then, they will remove serum and humeal from the facility and place it on conveyors. The conveyors lead to another Level for storage, shipping and receiving, prior to the squares contacting it. The squares will believe the serum and humeal are stored First-Surface products.”

“And how are we to insulate pre and post processing from the squares?”

“As I said. Just one type of genetic infirmity will ascend the Pontibus at any one time. When we’ve exterminated nearly all of one class, we shall move on to another affliction. Each opportunity will ascend, be pre-pre-selected, and pre-pre-processed. Sending to your section comes last. Facility people will accept the “biologicals” one by one for processing. There will be a staggering of applicants. We will want to be efficient, so efficient that “biologicals” do not pile up in a line for processing. We must minimize discussions between donors. Should they discover the true nature of their fate…”

“. . . it would be disastrous.”

“That it would. We do not want tales out of school. You will, of course, provide guards and all personnel necessary for a smooth operation. I expect you to find ten times this number of personnel.” The General said, placing his hand on the pile of dossiers.

“I’ll ask those here for names of candidates.”

“Fine. Do not forget to put trusted spies in the pre-donor populations and in post-shipment. I do not want even a shade of doubt to enter the minds of my donors or squares. Understand?”

“Yes, Boss.”

“This is your chance to shine, Captain Qercua. Your future with the Company, your fellows, and me depend on your performance. Don’t fuck it up!”

“No, Sir! Never again, Sir!”

 

General Aloirav was about to close his office door in the J-ward, when a visitor arrived, shouting.

“General Aloirav!”

“Why, Mab. What a pleasant surprise.” He said, when he saw the person behind the voice. “What can I do for you?”

The woman pushed open his door, walked into his office, and threw a stack of pamphlets down on his desk, saying. “Perhaps you can explain these?”

“What’s to explain?”

“Who gave you the authority to relax genetic requirements for admission to Sales?”

“I have not relaxed, in the least, genetic requirements for sales of modules. We are not producing modules at present due to the embargo. How could I do so, even if I wanted to?”

“I don’t know. Why did you produce this pamphlet?”

“I am trying to function in many areas, on many levels.”

“So? You break the Law?”

“What Law? The Company has put Written Law on the Index.”

“You know what I mean!”

“Yes.”

“Well?!”

“I needed a minimum of cooperation with the First-Surface.”

“Why didn’t you take this up with Mr. Otorp, or me, first?”

“I didn’t feel it necessary.”

“You didn’t feel it necessary?!”

“No. It’s but a ruse to defuse some First-Surface animosity. I’m hoping to get some relaxation of the embargo or maybe some seawater tube protection.”

“A ruse?”

“Yes. You can look into it. I’ve not sold a single domicile, not even a platform.”

“You swear you’re not relaxing any of Mr. Frye’s eugenics restrictions?”

“Absolutely.”

“What about Mr. Walcott’s department?”

“Part of the subterfuge. We need First-Surface specie from sales of water, energy, air, vegetables, etc. Without rocks, humeal, calein…we must print our money needs away.”

“We can’t! That means inflation!”

“Of course, it does.”

“We need Company script for mortgage payments. We cannot dilute it, or the bankers will not accept our payments. We roll over. Belly up.”

“There you are, Mab.” He said, throwing out his hands as if to say, “You now know why I’m doing what it is I’m doing.”

Mr. Otorp entered the General’s office with a similar tract in his hand, ready to ask the same question Mab just did. Mab saw him, and the paper, and said. “It’s all right. He’s just explained it to me. He has been putting out some disinformation to pacify the OG. I’ll explain it to you later.”

“Are you sure, Mab?”

“Except through some elaborate deception, of which I’m not aware, Mr. Otorp.” The General said. “You will never see a “biological” own a module or domicile on my watch, ever!”

“That’s all I came for. I guess it was a wasted trip.”

“No. It wasn’t. As long as you’re here…I’m still waiting for a definite answer from you?” General Aloirav asked. “How much longer are you gonna’ dissimulate?”

“What do you mean? How are we dissimulating?”

“I’ve been asking for weeks! When are you going to give me an estimate? How many people can I count on if we go to war?”

“I…I…don’t know for sure, of course.” Mab said, looking at Mr. Otorp.

“You’re in charge of the entire Company Logistics Corps. You’ve had weeks to research it!”

“All right! Perhaps a million. A few thousand more, if I include office workers.”

“Thank you. At last!”

“What are you going to do now, Rav?” Mr. Otorp asked.

“Well. We’re finally getting somewhere.” He said, rubbing his hands together, feeling himself refilling with the excitement of conquest. The other two, never having been in his position, were unaware of the signs he displayed. If they were, those signs would have tended to indicate to them the danger they were in at that moment.

The General did not answer Mr. Otorp’s question. Mr. Otorp and Mab Roth both accepted the change in him with equanimity. The three were soon collaborating in the planning and postulating of possible contingencies. General Aloirav encouraged them. He wanted to distribute the enormous responsibility.

Both his colleagues were familiar with subordinate control. He knew that, once accepting the exigencies, they could make valuable partners. As long, as General Aloirav was in charge, that is.

“One thing I think you should know.” He said. “I do not know how vulnerable we are to biological weapons at this point.”

The fear in their reaction surprised him, as Mab Roth almost shouted. “What?!”

“It’s true.”

“You’re supposed to be the expert, and you don’t know?”

“How is that, Rav?” Asked Mr. Otorp. “I’d like to know too.”

“Heinz has copies of some of my vectors in his possession. I know some of the people who are with him… But…”

“But what?” Mab Roth spit out.

“I’ve been out of circulation for a long time. Some of my former comrades may no longer be dependable. Those un-dependable may have taken copies of their weapons with them. They may already have gone over to the other side. I recovered copies of all my vectors from my global representatives when I conquered the world. I hoped the copies were all that existed…. but….”

“Well, how bad can it be?” She asked.

“I’m not sure, as I said. Do you remember the poisonings and leukemias?”

“Yes.” Mr. Otorp said, aware that something was coming with which he was intimately involved. “What about them?”

“Not all of the reported deaths were technically due to CIL’s (Chemically Induced Leukemias).”

“Of course not.” Mr. Otorp retorted. “There were other poisonings due to the compromised water and air that were not neoplastic diseases.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“He means there were some biological weapon caused deaths buried in those CIL statistics, right?” Mab Roth interjected, poised to regain her advantage over General Aloirav.

Members of both Mab & Mr. Otorp’s’ family died because of CIL’s. General Aloirav was not aware enough of it but should have been. Caught up in the moment’s spirit, he didn’t see his neglect. Mr. Otorp was turning ashen, thinking. “Am I now involved with the murderer of my wife and children, even saving the man’s life? Oh what a twist of fate!”

“Yes.” General Aloirav continued. “There may have been. Anyway, we’re going to have to go into accelerated vector and vaccine production at once. I’ll need the Company labs. Those in charge should be examined for loyalty first and eliminated, if necessary…”

Mr. Otorp jumped up, interrupting & shouting. “Do you think you can just kill AND KILL AND KILL, willy-nilly, with no accountability, EVER!?”

“Why, I n. . . “

“Did you produce the diseases that killed all those people?!”

“All wha…?” The General’s sentence stopped, midway through, when he became aware. He surmised what made Mr. Otorp lose control. Mab Roth just stared at the “boss’s” face. She was too surprised at the turn of events to capitalize fully on it.

“Did you?! Did you?!” Mr. Otorp screamed, walking with arms outstretched, as if about to attempt to strangle the man.

Too strong to hide behind a lie, General Aloirav swallowed and replied. “I did produce some vectors used during that period.”

Mr. Otorp was at the General’s neck. Both old men grappled with each other. Mab Roth struggled to pull them apart. General Aloirav extricated himself first. Grabbing Mr. Otorp by the larynx, he sat him down in the nearest chair.

The General felt Mab’s small fists striking his back, as he said. “Now sit here a minute and let me explain something to you!”

“What’s there to explain?” Mab Roth exclaimed, jumping around to face him. “You’re a damned monster! How many other peoples’ families have you murdered?”

“You’re blaming the wrong person for those deaths. I didn’t deploy those weapons. I was already in jail. Look at the record.”

General Aloirav released Mr. Otorp because the man ceased resisting. Holding his crushed throat, Mr. Otorp said still choking. “No …you… weren’t. I… know… when… they… stopped you, and when …my family died!”

“All right. I may have been still free for some of it, but I didn’t deploy those bugs! Except for the coup d’ etat, I never caused a single epidemic in the U. S. Not one! I swear it.”

“And, of course, your oath is worthy of credence?” Mab Roth said in a Brooklyn New York accent.

“Think about it!” General Aloirav riposted. “Would I want sophisticated criminal investigation bureaucracies on my ass? Don’t you think I knew better than to provoke that? When they hunt you as an animal, you feel tremendous pressure to behave as one. I didn’t want that kind of pressure. I made some mistakes, I know, but not of stupidity, at least not of that magnitude in stupidity. The resources the US government could have devoted to my technology…”

The two were silent in the face of his reply. It did seem unreasonable to suspect such a dissonance. Someone smart enough to create such weapons would not also be so dull-witted as to waste them. At least, the man was not so inattentive as to invite an investigation arsenal into his life. Not receiving further comment, he continued.

“It’s been a question in my mind for a long time. Could some of those people have died by my bugs? The one thing I must accept is treachery. I had a traitor in my organization.”

“Heinz.” Mab Roth said, before she could control herself.

“Yes.” He agreed. “Maybe more.”

Mr. Otorp said. “My question is . . . why you did it at all? How could you do such an inhuman thing? Creating such weapons in the first place is monstrous!”

“We live in a monstrous world.”

“Oh, that’s cute!” Mab said.

“You conveniently forget the state of the world before the Pontibus arrived.”

“Yes. I guess I am forgetting.” Mab riposted, disrespectfully. “What was so grave that merited such monstrous measures?” “Extinction was on the next page. I was the only one strong enough to grapple with the problem. Others were just going through the motions with recycling, carbon taxes, Agenda 21, etc. I was trying to do something effective about the mess! Lester was mad. You were drunk, Otorp! The rest of the world had its collective head in the sand… or up their ass.”

Mab Roth gave Mr. Otorp a strange look before seeing how subdued he was. They wanted to believe General Aloirav. They needed to, more than they wanted to destroy him. He provided the required vision they lacked. Yet they couldn’t get beyond their revulsion, thinking about being involved with such a man. Even if innocent here, the man was monstrous elsewhere.

Mr. Otorp felt guilt springing from weak confrontation with past willful blindness. He was experiencing a real problem putting himself back in his former mindset. Culpability kept getting in his way, and the man couldn’t suppress it. “Was he indeed trafficking with his family’s killer? Could his present partner be so guilty?”

The General saw his position languishing in a precarious state, so he said. “Are you sure that your family died as a result of my bugs?”

“What difference does it make?” Mab Roth said, determined not to relinquish her regained moral advantage.

“Perhaps none.” He said. “But to survive our future confrontation, you need me or someone like me. If you feel you can’t work with me, because I’m an enemy, we have a problem. If you feel that you can’t work with me because I’m a degenerate, a devil, or something like that, it’s your problem. I can slide. Think about it!”

“What’s to think about!” Mab Roth said, lapsing back into her accent. “What difference does it make if you didn’t do these particular horrible things? You’ve done just as bad in other countries. Where do we begin to trust you?”

“It was war! It makes no difference that it was I who prosecuted it.”

“Started it!” Mab said.

“All right. Started it. Whatever. You can’t disavow me now. It was not I who did such things to you or yours.” He looked over at Mr. Otorp, when he said the last. “You must trust me.”

“Why?”

“Because of all we’ve built, and all we’ll lose by infighting. You have no alternative!”

“What d’you mean, we’ve built?” Mab shouted. “Are you still schizoid?! You can’t be including us along with yourself! What have you ever built, besides engines of destruction?”

General Aloirav paused, before he spoke. “A great deal.”

“Yeah!” Mab exclaimed. “Like what?”

“On what are you standing?”

“What!?”

“From where do you think the Pontibus came?”

“You’re mad!”

“Where would you be today, if it weren’t for me?” General Aloirav asked, throwing up his head. Turning, he looked Mr. Otorp in the eyes and asked. “Or you?”

Ms. Roth sneered. “Now he thinks he’s Mr. Frye!”

“Mab…” Mr. Otorp said.

“All you’ve ever done in your life is destroy. All your phony talk about making the world a better place. It’s all bullshit! Bullshit! I can’t take any more of this. I’m leaving.”

Mr. Otorp, trying to ignore Mab’s last chattered sentences, murmured. “Don’t go, Mab. Please. Listen a bit more. I want to hear what he’s going to say. I think we’re going to find that it’s important. If we must deal with the Devil to survive, I want to know why.” He turned to General Aloirav and said. “I think I know now why HE took you out of prison. I never understood why, then. HE took a lot of heat for it. I’m almost afraid to say it, but… HE owed you, didn’t HE?”

“Big time.” General Aloirav answered. “I will grant you that my existence has caused the death of millions of subhumans, perhaps even some humans. Yet, he, you, both of you, most of the human race, are probably still around because of me.”

Now it was Mab Roth’s turn to show an ashen face. The thought was just beginning to cross her mind. She was about to hear something even more dreadful. Her ears began ringing with the increases in diastolic pressure. All these years, all her life, Mab worked for something that was wonderful. No one ever doubted it.

She was about to hear how much her principal motive to act owed to something horrible, devil’s spawn! How its very existence resulted from the diabolical presence before her. A reprehensible creature, she despised, was her guardian angel. It was too much. Too much!

“Lies!” Mab spit at him.

“Jonas Salk predicted the carrying capacity of the planet to be…”

“11 billion.” Mr. Otorp said, interrupting him. “We’re at 12 billion right now. We would no longer exist if it were not for…”

“The Pontibus…Luz. I built it.”

Mr. Otorp’s head dropped. His life seemed to have drained away from the table. Mab Roth was too shallow to take the blow full force. Its possible veracity never touched her mind. Inability to confront such a shock made her scream.

“You fucking liar! You damned despicable piece of shit! How dare you profane Lester Frye’s accomplishment with your sick feeble mind?”

“No, Mab. Don’t.” Mr. Otorp begged.

“You aren’t going to listen to such nonsense?!”

“Please. Stop. Listen to him.” Mr. Otorp said to the woman’s shaking head.

“Al-Con prototypes and legal battles over right of way do not come cheap. Crazy environmentalists and obstructive pols cost as much as slanderous news peddlers to obviate. Their greed is phenomenal! Try finding a banker in the 21^st century that would finance skyhouses, even stop to countenance the thought? Their associations would have certified them as whacko in a heartbeat. I know! It was impossible to finance the concept, because Lester tried for decades, even lost his family and sanity because of it. Bankers only want to finance drivel, drugs and destruction while they launder money. He came to me. I helped. I later took him out of madness and forced him to build the prototypes for me. Why? . . . I was the Company’s sole owner. As we moved from Al-Con to calein, he could not find qualified labor. I provided it. Proscribing handicapped access to modules, Written Law, pharmaceuticals, pesticides and abortion caused battles that extracted tremendous influxes of cash to combat. Beating the anti-eugenics lobby and religious freaks was also expensive. The integrated pest management war. Petrochemical pesticide producers have lobbyists in many armpits. Have you any idea the resources the AMA and ABA can bring to bear? Every time you dump a fucking lawyer, two more of the cowards pop up to fill the slot. I must’ve closed out half the legal profession in Boston. Funding the second calein search, of which you, Mr. Otorp, took credit. Who do you think made it all possible?”

“You?” He whispered.

“Me.”

“I knew it. I never wanted to face it. I couldn’t. Now I know why I hated you all these years.”

Mab Roth slumped to her chair, legs containing no strength, and she asked. “You financed all of it?”

“No. Not all.” He replied. “I got the Company up and running with the first sky houses and interconnections. I funded the first few thousand “ossos”, when the gravity buckling began, and the bridges started losing altitude. After the first four Pontibus Communities were …”

“The 1^st 4?!”

“Yes. After they were finished, I made a deal with Lester.”

“How big a deal?”

“About $480 trillion, not including the later legal battles.”

Mr. Otorp could not lift his head, but Mab asked in a whisper. “What kind of deal?”

“Every continent boasted a bridge, when I made a bargain with him. I gave it all to him in return for a promise.”

“A promise?” She queried, defeated.

“Yes. He agreed to use convict labor on all future construction.”

“So that’s why we use them.” Mr. Otorp said. “All the time I thought he was just a crazy liberal.”

“I was the Company’s sole investor for years and the largest investor ever. I believed in HIM. Still do.” He looked in Mab Roth’s eyes and continued. “That’s why I’m the major stockholder.”

“What?!” Mr. Otorp riposted.

“You aren’t?!” Mab seconded.

“Look back in the minutes of the Company Director’s Meetings. Check the financial records for the last two Centuries. HE operated at a heavy loss for years. I carried HIM on my books when HE couldn’t even afford books. Do your common stock inventory. You will not find bodies for over 75% of those shares.”

“He’s right, Mab.” Mr. Otorp said. “Lester knew about those shares. I recall discussing it with him once. HE said HE knew who those names were. Those proxies always went with HIM. All those names are you! That’s why you held such control over us in those early days. HE never told me why. I hated you for years for that power over HIM.” Mr. Otorp said. “I thought it was some kind of cheap blackmail.”

Not wishing to obtain complete destruction of his collaborators, the General changed the subject. “Now then. Do you really believe that I’d risk all that? Lose all I’d invested? Pull down onto my head the entire criminal investigating machinery of the US government for CIL responsibility?” Shaking his head, he continued. “Please believe me. I did no harm to your families. I have records of every hit. Unless you are connected to anyone descending from Rothschild DNA, no one related to either of you ever fell by my hand.”

Neither Mab nor Mr. Otorp made any move or comment, so the General went on speaking. “The Company doesn’t have much conventional weaponry. It has less than enough to carry on a sustained conflict with the First-Surface lasting longer than a few hours. The old-government is weak and demoralized. After years of Rothschild, democracy and political treachery, it’s no wonder. But, it’s not dead. There is enough corruption to keep things going. We’re not invulnerable. Men like Sr. Mendoza, Hernan, and Heinz are no pushovers. They and their compatriots are hard capable men.”

“There are more?”

Yes. Many. These are just a few of the names I’ve been able to uncover, or speculate on, as of yet. That, in itself, has me worried. There is much more I’m not privy to. Their organization is tight. The Trilateral Commission lives up here as does the Council on Foreign Relations. The forces behind them, and those they can muster, are more than capable of pressing every advantage over us.”

“You’re very negative.”

“I’m trying to be as realistic, about our enemy, as I can be.”

“But you admit we’re going to vaccinate them?!”

“Yes. We have no choice. We need our inhabitants. The bridges need them. However, we do not know who they all are… Whatever. Accept it! For over 1500 years, the Commission, by whatever name it’s held, has been around. One assault is not enough to destroy an organization of such longevity. Furthermore, the world’s richest families are not multitudinous and will not be a vaccination problem. It’s the resources they control. They are going to be the problem.”

“What can we do?” Mr. Otorp asked.

“Don’t stand in my way.”

“You have a free hand.” Mab said. “How are we standing in your way?”

“When I deploy the vectors I need to use. Don’t get on a soapbox with your moral problems.”

“Oh, that.” She replied.

“Yes, that.” He said. Looking at Mr. Otorp, he continued. “Those vaccines I gave you. Have you taken them?”

“We have.” Mab answered. “Sick for a week.”

“Good. They took well.”

                                                                                               No one conquers who doesn’t fight.         Biel

 

Chapter Sixty-Nine

 

General Aloirav felt it time to leave Mr. Otorp and Mab Roth alone with their thoughts. They needed to readjust to their new self-images, making changes without his presence. It would be easier for them if he weren’t there, reminding them of their weakness. Until a fait accompli, his power could produce an enervating fear.

Mab Roth went back to her office and got to work. She organized her immediate group of influence even more military-like. After reviewing her managers, she transferred suspect personnel to an inert department. The best personnel, she kept. The rest went to General Aloirav’s readiness battalions. Her table of organization grew in complexity.

Mr. Otorp went home and set about turning his module into a military command post. Mab later helped with some of his logistical intricacies. General Aloirav’s people helped in areas where Mab and the chairman were lacking. More security people and Mab Roth’s quarters meant they needed more sleeping rooms. The Company enlarged the module with five more domiciles on top of the former 10-domicile module. The additional platforms went to storage and observation posts.

General Aloirav went to the First-Surface and his eldest son’s house. He wanted to hurry all his family to the Pontibus. Larry’s First-Surface’ness was a statement against his parents’ life. It was teen-age rebellion carried into old age. The module his father was providing put him nearer Gloria’s prison.

General Aloirav explained to Larry that they needed Gloria where she was. The decision was her’s. The General would not lose another family because of his position or the old-government. He lived for Gloria and their sons’ families too. General Aloirav left Larry’s house and went to Jason’s.

On the way, he thought about his actions. The General now would not have to expose Gloria to his communications courier as much. Larry’s enmity maintained a relationship with his father that approached secret. With some Company-produced false ID, the younger man could visit Gloria. He could act as a frequent go-between without arousing Sr. Mendoza’s suspicions. The arrangement pleased his mother very much.

The General arrived at Jason’s abode just after dark. The younger man was in his cellar, working on his mushroom hobby. The General apologized for disturbing him, and then said. “Your mother tells me you still refuse to move up in the world.”

He ignored the attempt at keeping the conversation light, replying. “That’s right, Mr. Aloirav.”

“You’re never going to call me Dad, are you?”

“You’re never going to recognize me, are you?”

“We told you why we never did that.”

“Yeah?”

“It was to protect you and your children from unseen umbrage. Why is that so hard to understand, Jason?

“If your life wasn’t such an obscenity, it wouldn’t be necessary.”

“Your refusal to move is your statement against me. Maybe, if I grew up in the same world as you did, I would be just as adamant as you are to despise. I can’t fault you for not knowing the pressures I faced. You never needed to walk in my shoes or see through my eyes. The world above is a better world. A world I hoped would one day happen for you. I helped make it a better place. Because I survived, you survived long enough to enjoy hating me.”

“Sure. The diseases you unleashed on the world made it a better place. You can still justify at this late date your heinous behavior. No fool like an old fool. How adaptable the human mind is. If you could have been just a little positive. You knew Lester Frye, why couldn’t some of him have rubbed off on you? Why didn’t it?”

“I was stronger than he was.”

“So that’s how you rationalize it, is it?!”

“It’s not a rationalization, Jason. It’s the truth. Gloria and I wanted to tell you the entire story, but we felt it would do no good. We thought you wouldn’t believe us. You’d say it was a miserable attempt to boost our value by usurping someone else’s glory.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth.”

“You’d feel it was an attempt to justify our crimes by cloaking ourselves in another’s accomplishment.”

“Right again. Is some pattern developing here?”

“ Plus, it was useful & prudent to keep your involvement secret after our demise.”

“My involvement?!”

“Yes. As my son, you were involved. We wanted to protect what we’d worked so hard to achieve. Now times are once again threatening. You and your progeny will probably not survive unless you leave the First-Surface.”

“Just leave us alone. We’ll manage.”

“If it were just you, an old man, I suppose it would be just as well left alone. But, it is not. I have grandchildren and great grandchildren through you. I am asking you as a last endeavor to keep them alive.”

“No!”

“I don’t see any alternative. The need is too great.”

“Alternative?”

“Yes. I’m going to have to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“The truth about Mr. Lester Frye and the Pontibus.”

“I’m going to hear your version of it, am I?”

“Yes.”

The General spent the next hour in a history lesson. He ended his explanation of involvement in the status quo by saying. “… I loved HIM as a brother. I never would have left prison without HIS effort. My work now is as much for HIM as it is for me.”

Jason said. “I wish you had thought enough of me to tell me this long ago.”

“We loved you too much to risk your disbelief in the part we played. You were so young. Suppose you’d let things slip? The mob would have killed you …and Lester too.”

“You and Mom sacrificed your lives and immortal souls to save life on the planet. You still want to protect your children from risk. Is that what you’re saying?”

“In a nutshell, yes.”

“Well I won’t let you succeed. At least not 100%.”

“I was afraid it wouldn’t work. I had to try. Your mother will forgive me.” General Aloirav said, eyes beginning to glisten, as he turned to leave.

“Dad.”

“Yes?” The General, face contorted with grief, turned back to his son.

“I’ll go with you on one condition.”

“What?”

“Recognize me, my wife, my children, and my grandchildren. Make us all Aloiravs.”

“Risk it all?”

“Yes.”

“Your mother will forgive me.”

 

Over the next few days, General Aloirav went to many prison spurs. He collected the remainder of his former group still wanting to associate with him. What now seemed a trustworthy crew had declined to three hundred from its former pre-crash strength. The Newer Society appellation became now the NS section of the Company’s military. Their training differed from the regular forces, and they did not associate with the rest. As Ames, many became spies, infiltrating organizations like the regular military.

The General’s resurrected vectors, from clandestine freezers & ice packs around the world, were all now in Andirobal and Company labs. He began preparing to grow those necessary for the different facets of the anticipated war. Company labs also began to produce necessary vaccines in quantity. NS members started training in how to supervise workers and account for every vial. Different members trained in making periodic checks on their compatriot’s integrity.

The most trusted infiltrated the groups of others and insulated them from leaking privileged information. They installed many negative pressure systems. Equipment arrived every day. To cover all the increased expenditures, the Company began to delay making scheduled payments. The biological weapons’ laboratory and factory were functional…almost. All that was missing was the serum to grow the cultures.

General Aloirav took every precaution of which he & his NS people could think. He missed Gloria’s advice and her thoughts. He wanted to get her out of the cantilever and back into his embrace. He knew, however, that Japan, South Africa, and Argentina would put people near him. They were probably already in position. Her freedom could not stay secret, and he was not ready yet to risk a war.

It would not be easy taking out Sr. Mendoza or Heinz. Sr. Mendoza was a wild animal with all the survival instincts of the jungle at his disposal. Heinz knew many of his former leader’s habits and character traits. Discriminating between hunted and hunter took thought. The General wasn’t going to concentrate on that question.

He expected the impending war would contain more horror than the world could imagine. Except for Andirobal’s “cattle coup”, no one employed biological weapons since the New Society gained world hegemony with them. Gloria deployed them first in Japan. She paid for her deed with life imprisonment commuted from a death sentence.

Inmate Estelle Keatch helped the NS section in another way now. After fingering every traitorous Company Director she could, the woman began informing on the day-to-day activities of Sr. Mendoza’s coterie. Heinz made no appearance at her prison spur. That fact gave General Aloirav no end of both concern and relief. Concern, because he needed to know where the man operated and why. He felt relief because Heinz didn’t show and produce maximum danger for Gloria.

Even while Emperor of the World, Mr. Aloirav couldn’t discover Heinz’ lair. He and Gloria suspected the blond man’s treachery years ago, but couldn’t catch him. Heinz would know many other enemy agents. He would know many of the principals too. If the General could catch Heinz, he could advance the Company’s cause by months.

A death warrant issued each time inmate Estelle Keatch made a positive Director identification. Too close to Sr. Mendoza, Hernan or Quake was a positive. Attempting to prevent eliciting enemy suspicions, General Aloirav did not eliminate traitorous Directors with haste. One of the NS battalion moved in on each one in a different way. The General felt the suspected traitors should not all catch the same cold.

That would have been too obvious. Suspected traitors found themselves undergoing an artful if hard interrogation. It lasted for days. Death terminated the situation. NS members received the same bug with which they were familiar 20 years earlier, if it was one of those expected stolen. The General did not use biological agents still thought to be proprietary. It would be too easy to steal them from the corpses. Therefore, not all Directors resigned life in nausea; some went via accidents. Despite precautions, after the first ten Directors left the planet, the rest became frightened. An influx of desperate Directors congregated at an uneasy Sr. Mendoza’s doorstep. Hernan alone seemed invulnerable to fear. He must have known somewhat of his enemy, General Aloirav thought. Even epidemic flu somehow left him unscathed.

Gloria reported everything to Larry. He relayed it to a special messenger who relayed it to General Aloirav. She continued risking her life to gather more information. It would not be long before Sr. Mendoza surmised an informant resided within his ranks. Larry was at risk now too. The General worried about losing the love of his life. He needed to give the enemy a scapegoat soon.

General Aloirav went to his favorite restaurant near the airstrip where he maintained his plane. He liked tying down there, and the ambience suited him. The General sat again where he sat while trying to justify his squalid past to Mab Roth. General Aloirav was here now, to ready his plane, for another trip to Andirobal. The weather report grounded him.

There was a large group of thunderstorms to the south. His little plane could never negotiate the tetrahedron corridor and go around a cumulonimbus too. He was going to have to wait awhile. The weather station expected a 2-hour delay. Unpleasant weather information is one hazard all general aviation pilots must accept.

The General ordered a cup of coffee, intending to relax while waiting out the storm. Coffee cup pressed to his lips, he noticed the restaurant was different. In the past few days, the management put in a small new patio. The new area was very pretty, with an excellent view, and a decided improvement. The door leading to it was open.

The patio platform looked out over the entire Cape Cod Bay. General Aloirav asked the waitress if she would mind moving his coffee set-up out there. The woman said there was a strong breeze on the patio but did not mind and did so. Another man took his vacated seat. Putting some papers down at his new table, the General placed his cup of coffee on them. The coffee’s weight sufficed to secure them, while he walked about the platform.

The sun shone on the blue water, making the sea sparkle like millions of sapphires. There was still no hint of the coming storm, and the suns’ brilliance was intense. The seagulls around the restaurant were enjoying the warm day. They sat a few yards away, on a lower platform, absorbing the benevolent sunshine. “”Like lilies, they toil not, neither spinning nor reaping””, he thought. “The birds just accept their useless beautiful existence.”

Without purposeful activity or indebtedness feelings, they just seemed to know. Their lives were a simple offering, free from all moral constraints. Except for that one constraint all life has, survival, seagulls need prove nothing. They are superior to us. They have no obligation to act as custodians. We are their slaves. He thought. “What power forces a man to evaluate and act morally? Is it a curse, a punishment, this desire to know good and evil? Is that why we desire to punish? Is it emulation? Are we trying to imitate a divine maniac?”

A white gull flew at a gray one, making a mock attack. The gray one “appeared” to be an unoffending creature. The key word is “appeared”. Who knows what offense seagull angels might take? The gray one flew away, duly coerced, behaving as only a duly coerced seagull must behave. A group of birds, dislodged in the ruckus, returned. They resumed their quiet placid existence, resting on the platform.

General Aloirav found it settling to stare at the ocean. Gazing at an area, where the sun was not too bright in reflection, hypnotized him. At that altitude, large waves came into view as slight ripples in the water. They acted like a comforting hand, stroking his troubled mind. Old wounds, brought back into consciousness, unfelt for years, dissipated in its caress.

“Ah.” He thought. “To be a gull… no responsibilities. Never feeling the weight of custodianship pressing on one’s psyche. To die without ever having to win any battles, for protoplasm, against the irresponsibles and missionless.”

He couldn’t stop thinking about his meetings over the past few days. Never wanting the loans made to Lester Frye known, or the deals, those admissions bothered him. However, war was coming. What did it now matter? They could throw all resulting accusations and reprisals into the same impending chaos.

Looking away from the ocean, General Aloirav’s eyes traveled toward the Pontibus interior. At the base of the restaurant’s cantilever a female child stood. Unbeknownst to the little girl, a small dog appeared to her rear. The 3 yr.-old pulled her underpants down and squatted, oblivious of her spectators. Business took longer than expected, and she strained at her task.

The impatient canine came closer, waiting. When the little girl saw the dog, she took fright. Running with pants around her knees, the child returned to the safety of the restaurant. The dog marched over to the feces. Without ceremony, it quickly devoured every tasty morsel.

The General’s smile merged into a gaze as it returned to the ocean. He began thinking about how many of his former group the old-government could have acquired. On reflection, he knew most were not as capable as his transformed cadres. Nevertheless, he was concerned over his need for legitimate collaboration. There must be treachery lurking. How would he ferret it out in time? Spies. He could think of no better way to operate than by gaining maximum information on the other side. That entailed big risk. Spies are risky.

Still, bugs out there, not of his creation, could be more risky. Those would also be without vaccines for him and his people. As far as General Aloirav could tell, the weapons Heinz possessed were assassinators. It didn’t “appear” yet that the enemy acquired, from him, any of those used for mass destruction. Whether they owned any, from other sources, was another question. That was why the failed experiments against Hernan bothered so. It was a problem area he needed to investigate.

The General found Hernan’s continued existence unsettling. That one executive seemed invulnerable to disease. They’d attempted to sicken him, to no avail. Could the other side have all the “Group’s” assassinator vaccines? If so, then they would have to have the bugs too.

That question was the impetus behind the present trip back to Andirobal. It was time to pore over records again. His life was too busy these days. Then again, were things so different? It was always a series of battles with another just about to engage. There was never sufficient time to prepare for everything.

He thought about how he only ever wanted to be a great humanitarian. His purpose, mission in life, was to be a simple custodian of a beautiful planet. What happened? A bloody warmongering monster emerged from those beautiful aspirations. General Aloirav tried forgetting the constraints and forces, acting in concert, synergistically, to change him.

One never forgets.

That was why he liked, needed the sea. It was here he renewed his life, natural purpose, meaning, star, and piece of now. The sea, like the gulls, represented his conception of what it meant to exist. Here, on the little sky island, his soul’s mother bathed him in her love. So, why was he going to that dusty little Brazilian hell, Andirobal? Security. It was for that. Fear. So, there must be a little in him yet.

The General continued staring, until something frightened the gulls. He thought. “They must sense the coming storm.”

The gulls flew up in a deafening roar. The loud sound of flapping wings brought him out of his semi-trance. When the gulls settled back down it was in their pre-storm stance. Facing into the coming wind, they were prepared for it. General Aloirav noticed it and thought about returning to the restaurant’s interior.

He remained outside, looking forward to the coming storm. His thoughts went back to pleasant and successful days in the distant past. The deteriorating state of the weather brought a similar state to his memories. The group of thunderstorms south approached the Pontibus. The General took another cup of coffee, and waited for them.

In his youth, he would have risked beating the storm, finding a way around it. There was plenty of incentive to get to his destination fast. Having experienced crashes and near-crashes since first learning to fly, however, General Aloirav learned some caution. He remembered now the experience that made him a believer in thunderstorms:

 

Mr. Aloirav awakened on a beautiful August 1977 morning in Tegucigalpa, Honduras. The sun was shining, and the few stratus clouds were small and scattered. The plane was full-fueled with a fresh oil change. His preflight checked out fine for a trip to Puerto Lempira, situated on the Caribbean Sea. It was one of his early Honduran flying experiences.

He filed a standard Central American Flight Plan, which was tantamount to no Flight Plan. A legitimate flight plan presupposes radar, weather information, pi-reps, etc. It promises a chance for rescue in the event of disaster, government search planes, etc. Flight plans south of Matamoras, Mexico promised nothing. They were but obscene excuses for the genuine article.

At any rate, the Flight Plan was for Puerto Lempira. The small community was about 250 miles Northeast of Tegucigalpa. Experienced pilots advised him not to fly after midday, during the season, to avoid thunderstorms. It was a three-hour-plus flight, assuming no wind. A four-hour flight would result should a 20-knot headwind develop.

Mr. Aloirav left Tegucigalpa’s Toncontin International Airport at 7:45 A.M. He should have arrived well before noon. Toncontin’s elevation is 3300 feet. The little Cessna-150’s full-fueled gross weight meant a very slow climb off the runway. It lost altitude many times before making it past the mountain city.

He turned right, once outside the city, to a bearing of 65 degrees. The variable omni-directional radio receiver navigational aid (VOR) came into the operating circle. After an hour’s flight, the VOR went erratic and off – out of range. Mr. Aloirav’s plane wasn’t equipped with an aid to directional finding (ADF). Therefore, he was on his own at 11,500 feet altitude on a Northeast heading.

It was pilotage and dead reckoning now to Puerto Lempira. The “boss” was using the 1974 WAC chart CK-25. At that time there were many areas marked “Relief Data Incomplete”. That meant the area was uncharted. Mapmakers knew not what to expect on the ground there. The charted areas, not marked incomplete, were even more treacherous because inaccurate. They were, however, the best available in 1977.

He passed the Montana’s de Villa Santa and began seeing a few scattered cumulus clouds. They were small and didn’t present a problem. Mr. Aloirav encountered more the further he went. They also started becoming more difficult to circumnavigate. The 20-knot headwind and additional turns to avoid the accumulating cumulus taxed fuel conservation.

Nevertheless, the man felt there would be no problem. Barring something unforeseen, there was still sufficient fuel to get to Puerto Lempira. He reached the intersection of the Rio Guayambre and the Rio Patuca. Here the Cordillera Entre Rios rose to the right of his course.

The “boss” needed to climb to 12,500 feet to get above a large cumulonimbus. The cloud was ahead on his course. It took 20 minutes to climb that last 1,000 feet. The climb was beautiful, so he didn’t mind the time. A slow descent later would recover most of the extra time and fuel spent.

Mr. Aloirav remembered feeling how fortunate pilots were to experience the eternal beauty above. One felt, above the cottony masses, closer to a universal Omnipotence than the Earth-bound feel. It was palpable. His deep exhilaration above the clouds came at a price. The unforeseen became visible. He was soon to purchase his euphoria with sheer terror by stumbling into a large cumulonimbus.

Small-plane pilots are aware of the dangers and dread thunderstorms. They steer well clear of them for just those reasons. The “boss” crossed the Rio Patuca again where it flowed northward. Looking down, he saw Casamacoa and the Montanas de Colon (Mountains of Columbus) before him. That was the last time for the next two hours the man saw land.

Ahead on course, and all around it, he encountered a huge thunderhead. The cumulonimbus was at least 60,000 feet high, way beyond his plane’s ceiling limit. The “boss” saw no way around it north, south, or east. There was insufficient fuel to return to Tegucigalpa. He didn’t know what to do.

He couldn’t land and wait in the Montanas de Colon near the upper Rio Patuca. The elevations glared at him from the chart on his lap. Mr. Aloirav wondered about turning around to get away from the thing. Then, a cloud to his rear seemed to arise from nowhere and made the decision for him. Seconds later an envelope of clouds obscured his frontal vision. He became thereafter associated with nothing but the interior of the cabin.

Something akin to dilute skim milk wrapped around the plane. The “boss” chose, in a second, one of those haphazard options encountered so often in life. Forced in a twinkling to grab an alternative you’re compelled to live with for years afterwards. Residuals laud your sagacity or deplore your pathetic stupidity.

Central American airspace education is harsh. Clouds, mountains, jungles, and oceans vie for preeminence as pilot scrappers. One takes just enough fuel to get to the destination plus 30 minutes. Overloading leaves little planes vulnerable to liftoff failure in mountains. It can also mean collision from frustrated quick climbs over clouds or mountain waves.

On hindsight, returning southwest toward Tegucigalpa, mixed benefits notwithstanding, probably would have been a wiser option. Fuel starvation would have resulted before arrival. Nevertheless, he might have reached one of the smaller grass strips prior to Toncontin. There was that prospect. Going down in Honduran or Nicaraguan mountain jungles, an almost certain death, was also conceivable.

Upon impact, the trees and jungle kill outright. Surviving, semi-aboriginals might slice off your head for a ring or even your shirt. Not carrying a pistol, the “boss” faced Scylla or Charybdis. Should he dive further into the large cumulonimbus, lightning hitting all around him? Or, in turning around, might a woody open grave on some uninhabited mountainside embrace him?

Mr. Aloirav anticipated no encounter with heavy icing before exiting the storm. Gambling on not breaking apart or terminating over the Caribbean, he dove further into the thing. The man also realized the conceivable eventuality of the storm blowing him Southeast. Ditching in the swamps and mountains would result. The same fate could occur as with turning around.

Just surviving now required all his instrument skills. Having learned to fly blind for hours without getting dizzy was encouraging. He needed that reassurance. Without radar and someone to listen to his troubles, however, it was still terrifying.

The first bumps from the initial temperature inversions jarred him. Then a chain of larger bumps increased in frequency. Lightening hit all around the plane. Marble-sized hailstones threatened to pulverize the hull and windshield. Mr. Aloirav read 35mph on the airspeed indicator, below stall speed. Why wasn’t the plane falling out of the sky?!

He soon got an answer. The updraft made his altimeter read altitude increasing at 1500 feet/ minute. It also flipped the craft until the left wing pointed straight down toward ground. The right wing twisted like a drill out into space. Extreme concern usurped fear’s position in his heart. Terror soon reasserted supremacy, gripping him by the throat.

Attempting to kill his courage, it shook his presence of mind. Of course, that concern was unjustified, because a second later the opposite happened. His right wing now pointed toward the earth. The left rocketed out to the stars. The altimeter and vertical velocity indicator lost all emotional balance.

The airspeed indicator read 145 mph. Past redline; it was gaining 500 feet per second (340mph). He was descending too fast. The engine was burning up. Should he shut it off? He pulled the throttle back almost to shutoff. Surge currents and wind shears caused countless aberrations. The “boss” stopped trying to control by instrument, until he could be sure of their effectiveness. Up and down drafts added or ripped off thousands of feet of indicated altitude in mere seconds. A moment later, all motion reversed.

The plane ascended past ceiling height. Instrument skills helped. However, the man felt no match for Nature’s fury in the enormous atmospheric awfulness. His mind rebelled at trying to decipher and make sense of the readings. All large corrections needed nullifying changes microseconds later. Gauging their effectiveness remained elusive.

Wind shear battered as bad as the up & down drafts. Struts, tubing, and fasteners cracked, popped, and made sharp twisting noises. It seemed to continue for an eternity. He couldn’t even guess at how far and in what direction the storm blew him off his course. The “seat of the pants” felt it was north.

Imagination brought him over the sea or crashing into the mountains. Violent death loomed before him. It seemed prudent to try pointing the nose north. How much north? Ah, yes. The Sea. Leave it where it is. The wind disagreed and ripped the stick willy-nilly. He tried not to fight it, too hard. The compass spun with maniacal ferocity.

The tormenta (thunderstorm) made psychological inroads, and terror gave way to apathy. Nothing seemed appropriate to save him. Mr. Aloirav thought about his childhood in church and tried to pray. He embarrassed himself, doing so, remembering the “…valley of the shadow of death,” part. If a belief in God could indeed save him, should he deign to stoop so low? Deny “Him” when safe and beg forgiveness when in danger? How disingenuous! Sergeant Aloirav recollected the spineless Christians in Vietnam. He ceased trying to pray and thought. “No! If I’m gonna’ die, I’m gonna’ do it with integrity.”

The plane couldn’t stand much more stress without breaking to pieces. Enduring it as long as it did was a shining tribute to the crew at Cessna. The buffeting, excess speed, and g-forces would soon tear it apart. He was ready for it. His watch indicated the small craft weathered one hour and forty minutes of it so far. Twenty to thirty minutes of fuel remained.

 

 

 

 

No land or blue sky appeared. The only water, he saw, was that coming at the windshield like an M-60. Soon Mr. Aloirav would be beyond having to make any decisions. Choice would be an afterthought. He regretted not turning back two hours ago, taking his chances in the mountains.

His regrets began to cascade. The “boss” started regretting leaving Tegucigalpa, then Grand Rapids, then legal society, etc. Contrition became like cancer. “Maybe ifs” followed, like raindrops through the storm, one on top of the other. Self-abuse persevered like the lightning and hail. Weakness flattened him, until he felt as fragile as a politician’s resolve.

The fuel gauge read empty. His plane should land now. But, where?

Even turning back two hours ago, landing somewhere, there would not have been a fuel opportunity. WAC charts mentioned fuel available just to make you feel good, something to abet lies to girlfriends. Such facilities were nonexistent in 1977 northeastern Honduras. As it was, Mr. Aloirav’s hoping Puerto Lempira fuel-equipped was optimistic. The storm was educating him on the folly of wishful thinking. It can get you killed. Assume nothing.

His state of mind told him he was lost, out of fuel. There was no possibility of surviving. Get ready to meet Judgment Day, Aloirav. Should just untoward circumstances occur, there could be no fuel for weeks, months, or even years. Much more remote was the possibility of finding somewhere to land. Landing strips in the northeastern area of La Mosquitia’s swamps and savannas were near-miracles… or death traps.

His best risk lay in losing altitude, chance an unexpected mountain or the Caribbean Sea. Crashing into either place didn’t amuse him, but there was no choice. Everything depended on where he was in the air, how far off course. Fuel starvation left little time for ruminating on preferable types of death. Competing fears & the dissipating storm allowed a true descent now of 500 feet/minute.

The “boss” strained every nerve to see something, anything. He descended, savoring each additional minute as his possible last. The altimeter read 2000 feet. It would end soon. Four minutes maximum remained.

1,000 feet and still nothing but white soup everywhere. Two minutes remained of life, if nothing presented but more of the same. 500, 400, 300, 200 feet above ground level. Seconds to live. Life was never so sweet.

Then a stretch of water appeared, but it disappeared. More mist came, then more water, but there was no land. The man estimated that, at the very most, five minutes of fuel remained. He was over the Caribbean. He saw the waves. Would the plane ditch into the sea? Compass works – turn south. A beach ahead, hints of grass, then… savannah! More time to live!

How long would the plane glide at 50 feet above the ground (AGL) without fuel?

Mr. Aloirav was too agitated to calculate and too low to navigate. The compass is of little help so close to fuel exhaustion. Azimuths are meaningless drivel when one is desperate. He got through the storm. It was small consolation when about to go down in a swamp. One bit of good cheer, there was not going to be a mountain or ocean crash. Life was looking up.

The cloud spit him out as so much detritus. The man couldn’t do anything but wait for the engine to quit. He prepared to ditch and get bitten by a Barba Amarilla. The grass and the horse’s movement seen through the mist seemed like a dream. The “boss” chased the animal across the savanna to land.

His engine quit, before he stopped rolling. Mr. Aloirav was fifty miles off course. He landed 30 seconds from the Sea, near Brus Lagoon, La Mosquitia, Honduras.

 

“Nope.” The General thought, as a commotion inside the restaurant interrupted his recollections. “I’ll wait this one out.”

The disturbance within the restaurant came from near the table General Aloirav vacated earlier. Screams alternated with people rushing to get out of the restaurant. Never one to run with the crowd, he watched the flow to see what was happening. Inside, the answer became obvious. A man’s body bounced merrily on the calein floor underneath the General’s former table. Round after round kept the ghastly dance alive.

The General formed a mental picture of the rest of the story in seconds. Remembering the Honduran thunderstorm, while outside, mistaken identity inside saved his life. In seconds, General Aloirav was under the platform. In minutes, he was off the restaurant cantilever and back searching his plane for bombs. Checked over, he gambled that there was no additional sabotage.

The enemy must have been watching the airstrip and reported his arrival. The murder attempt failed due to the assassin’s unfamiliarity with the General’s appearance. Sheer bad luck killed the table’s latter occupant. Firing up the plane, General Aloirav left ahead of the thunderstorms. There was still no future in tempting fate. The northwest Pontibus scene remained behind, and he landed at another restaurant strip closer to the storm.

 

Courage is the price that Life exacts for granting peace, the soul that knows it not, knows no release from little things; knows not the livid loneliness of fear, nor mountain heights where bitter joy can hear the sound of wings.

How can Life grant us boon of living, compensate for dull grey ugliness and pregnant hate unless we dare the soul’s dominion? Each time we make a choice, we pay with courage to behold the restless day, and count it fair.

(1927 Courage)                              Amelia Earhart

Chapter Seventy

While the General waited out the thunderstorms, Brenda Jane Otorp was thinking about escaping her guard. The sun shone brightly through the solar ceiling of her room that September morning. It filled her with the desire to go walking in the woods. Her period was over, as of yesterday, and today was a Sunday. That icky, sticky, crampy feeling was gone and schoolwork was completed.

It was a perfect reason for enjoying a hike. The house was always busy and bustling with strange people these days. The construction above was interesting, while it lasted. It was especially so because General Aloirav started coming around again, occasionally. He always asked her how her life was going and paid her some attention. Otherwise, it was like she was just another cloud in the sky. Who notices clouds?

Forgetting her dream’s dashing young Adonis, driving a white sky vehicle, she jumped from bed. Running downstairs, Brenda almost asked her grandfather to accompany her. He was busy with Ms. Roth, however, and she didn’t feel comfortable interrupting them. Those two were always together now. Miss Otorp never got to talk with her grandfather alone anymore.

Brenda didn’t want a stuffy old guard tagging along with her. She could escape by way of the bathroom window. Nobody watched bathroom windows. Methane generators were the epitome of boredom. Once free, she climbed down the underside of the sloping path outside the module. She did not smell too bad.

The Level-Fourteen pitch pine forest was her objective. Mushrooming alone, the young lady made very poor progress. She stopped, every couple of minutes, to pick blueberries growing along the path. Brenda held a small bag, close to her, filled with honey mushrooms (Armillariella mellea). She collected them growing on those Eighth-Level miniature oaks near the hydro-turbine.

The bag was to gather soma (Amanita muscaria) for that nice General Aloirav. She heard him mention that he was looking for some. The open market on Level-Seven was out of them for the season. She encountered no pine trees, however. When Miss Otorp saw the honey mushrooms, they took precedence.

She wore shorts and a tank top, as it was warm on the northern Pontibus. Alternating between walking, climbing, and eating, the young woman stopped near a small Twelfth-Level pond. Wiping her forehead, she took off her clothes, rinsing them of perspiration & methane perfume in the clear water. Seeing a blueberry bush nearby, the maiden hung her wet clothes on it. Ripe blueberry stains never came out, but these berries were still green, so she did not worry about a stain.

Brenda walked back down the smooth moss-covered path to the water’s edge. She held herself erect, until perfect posture would make her slip on the soft green carpet. Right hand on the miniature oak at the pond’s shore, Brenda stepped into the water. Fish jumped at mosquitoes and other insects, as she sank into the coolness. They stopped, when aware of the change in company.

Long, light brown hair swirled around her pretty face. It plastered to neck and cheeks whenever the maiden emerged from the water. After diving and splashing for a half-hour, she left the pond. At the blueberry bush, she realized there was no way to dry herself. Putting half-dry clothes on, while wet, seemed wrong.

Delaying her dressing two minutes, until sun dried, seemed in order. The remaining moisture her clothes could then absorb. Brenda crossed the path from the pond. Walking to the periphery, she looked at the Bay and Provincetown two miles below her. The shining sun gave no hint of the impending storm.

The region was near a Company wilderness area. There was small chance that anyone would appear. Miss Otorp sat down on the platform and dangled her legs over the side. Wiping hair out of her eyes, she looked around for possible spectators. Seeing none, Brenda faced the sun and lay back spread-eagled. As long as her body was drying, it might as well tan too, she felt. Intending to lie there for just a minute, she fell fast asleep. Warm midday sunshine can overcome the best of intentions.

Meanwhile, 16 year-old Elan Gold stormed out of his parents’ new Twentieth-Level module. His father didn’t like his music, his ideas, or his First-Surface friends. The old fart was so-o-o-o conservative. Just now, his mother told him to be more tractable. If not, Sue Gold maintained, he would wind up a jailbird, no better than his great grandparents.

The woman said Elan was rebellious, stubborn, and lazy. She felt the boy was unappreciative of the wonderful home into which he was born. Elan never wanted to leave the First-Surface. He and his grandfather Larry could agree on that. Elan intended now to return there and live with his “biological” friends in Plymouth, Massachusetts. They all got great pensions, and he never lacked for funds when with them. Here, they expected you to earn your own spending money, and there were few jobs for kids with fathers.

He ran down the grass-covered paths of the Pontibus. On the Fourteenth-Level, the young man glanced out at the Bay and down toward Provincetown. The Pontibus was sure beautiful. But, he could return for visits. It wasn’t like the end of the world or anything.

He saw something not green two Levels below him. The one-kilometer distance was too great for details. An off-white pink contrast to the green looked somewhat like a person lying on the peripheral platform point. That place on Cape Cod Bay’s out spur was off the path of ascending or descending traffic. Elan was heading inward (descending) toward the Plymouth County Pontibus foot.

Nonetheless, his curiosity brought him closer to the periphery. He followed the path toward where he saw the object glistening in the sun. The young man almost stumbled off the Level, when he saw the sleeping young woman. Approaching with a quiet step, for five minutes, all he could do was drink in her beauty. His heart pounded so hard he thought it must echo all the way to Boston.

Terrified of someone catching him staring, Elan cast furtive glances up and down the path. The trembling in his chest became overwhelming, as he crept ever nearer to the forbidden view. Then, out of the ether came our hero’s cause for the moral courage to get closer. Uncertain that the reclining figure wasn’t dead, “duty” demanded he crawl next to her. For once, a reward existed for taking the high road. It meant ascertaining whether the naked young woman still breathed.

An arm’s length away, Elan’s eyes traveled over the exquisite perfection before him. Her hair was curling over the skin of her collarbones. One ringlet covered Brenda’s left eye and another touched her lips. A thin gold chain hung around the young woman’s neck. Its small tetrahedron pendant lay on the ground near her left ear.

Miss Otorp’s right arm rested on her right thigh, and the left covered her navel. Blossoming breasts were beginning to burn in the blanketing rays. Oblivious to both sun and profane adoration, these minor upheavals allowed their owner to enchant the young man.

Elan felt he should awaken her. The ozone layer at that latitude was not yet safe for sunbathing. She would soon burn. However, the young man neither knew how to accomplish that, without rancor, nor did he desire it. Continuing to enjoy the verboten fruit was the best option. His cycles of trembling, however, became paroxysmal in their intensity, threatening inundation.

As if Brenda’s body heard his body’s frenzied convulsions, she started and opened her eyes. Elan stood up, ready for rapid flight. Transfixed with her pulchritude, however, he remained standing, petrified. Brenda was still unaware of not being in bed, dreaming about the fantasy Adonis. She took Master Gold as a part of her dream.

His surprise continued when, instead of jumping up in shocked dismay, the lovely creature said. “Hi.”

“Hello.” He replied.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“Sure is.”

Raising a hand to her breast, she wiped off the slight discomfort of an insect. The increased sensitiveness of the burned skin brought consciousness of her unclothed situation. Then came the shock and dismay. Brenda sat up. Jumping to her feet, she exclaimed.

“Oh no! I’m naked. Aren’t I? Of course, I am! You’re a boy. Aren’t you? Of course you are! You’re looking at me! Aren’t you? Oh! My God! Oh! My God!” Looking at him, frantic, staring at the ground around her feet, Miss Otorp cried. “My clothes! My clothes! Where are they? Where are they? What have you done with them?”

Still so absorbed in her comeliness, Elan could do nothing other than blubber his apologies. “I’m sorry! I’m really sorry. I don’t know, I . I . didn’t…”

“You were looking at me!” She shouted. “You still are!”

She twisted and turned, as the pendant thrashed around her neck. It struck each crimson breast, alternating slaps with every turn of her head. White residual impressions left behind in the wake indicated its former privileged position. The pendant remaining there just long enough to, once again, strike on the return trip. The frightened twosome, escaped notice of how tantalizing the scene was.

“I was going to wake you up so you didn’t get sunburned.” He defended himself. “I got here too late.”

“You got here way too soon for me, you… you lecher!”

Brenda continued turning around. Looking at the ground near her feet, she remembered. Her clothes were across the path, on the blueberry bush, near the fishpond. Pushing the entranced young man out of her way, Brenda charged over to them. Dressing, she regained a measure of dignity.

Sputtering girlish obscenities, Miss Otorp attacked him with everything her fresh composure would allow. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you pervert! What right have you got to come up on someone, when they don’t know it? When they’re not even dressed!”

“I thought you were dead or something.”

“Oh, sure you did! Like I’m just gonna’ lay there dead. While yer’ starin’ at me all naked n’ everything! Grow up will you?”

“I was gonna’ wake you up to tell you that you were gettin’ sunburned.” He said again, confidence growing in concert with his bruised sense of justice.

“Liar! You just said you thought I was dead. Now yer’ changin’ yer’ story!”

“I’m not changin’ my story.

“Ya’ are too!”

“I’m not!”

“Ya’ar!

“I did think you were dead…at first. N’ what are ye’ mad at me for? It wasn’t me laid out in front of everyone, buck-assed naked. You did that yerself!”

As soon as he spoke, Elan knew it was a mistake, as she replied.

“So now yer’ calling me a slut! Are you?”

He thought. “Now she’s really steamed!” He said. “No. I’m not.”

“You are too! You sure just did!” Tears were now coming more rapid than the torrent of words. “You said I laid out in the nude, for everyone to see me, like a common trollop!”

“I did not!”

(Relating his experience here, afterward, to an ancestor, Elan got some belated advice. The reader may accept or reject its validity. The ancestor was not too unsuccessful with the female race. His progenitor maintained. “That was the wrong thing to say Elan. Never hit a woman with straight facts, not if they resemble unflattering truth in some way. You need to sugar coat it first with lots of emotion and attractive lies. See what happened with the contrary? You were unaware of women’s tricks. Never, ever fight with a woman using words. You can’t win. If you do, you lose them. They win either way; or rather, you lose either way. These creatures learn at a very tender age how to protect themselves from slander. Accusing men of doing or saying, what might ever be done or said, preempts that eventuality.”)

“Oh, yes, you did.” She yelled. “I HEARD you!”

Now the lad was getting somewhat confused. He didn’t remember saying it, not that way, but she seemed very sure of it. Could he have said it and not remembered saying it? Could he have implied it somehow?

“No you didn’t!” Elan said, wavering in conviction.

“Did too. You’re a pervert and a menace!” Brenda shouted, casting concealed glances, through tears, in his direction. “You know full well you are, and now you’re calling ME names!”

Defeated, he positioned himself to beg forgiveness. Elan now just knew his behavior was inexcusable. His derogatory disparaging language toward her was indeed unforgivable. Oh, wretch that he was! How could she ever pardon him? How would he ever be able to live with himself?

“If I did, I’m sorry.”

“If?! If!? You did! And, no, you’re not, you monster!” Miss Otorp shouted with diminished intensity.

Well in control now, she felt licensed for any kind of misbehavior. Brenda was beginning to notice that the tall handsome young man was also somewhat sweet. She thought it might be interesting to get to know him better. Brenda started to do just that. Clothed now, she stormed down the path toward home. He followed at a distance, continuing to apologize, as if on a tether. Miss Otorp turned on occasion, (making sure he still followed), to tell him to quit following her.

It worked well. She said just enough insulting things to keep him interested. Not being masochistic, Elan soon tired of the calumny, however, and lagged further behind. Brenda picked up her pace and tried to forget the embarrassment. She turned her head toward home and her grandfather. Elan continued, from a distance, to watch where she went.

After fantasizing a while, and seeing her enter the huge Otorp module, he turned toward Level-Twenty. The young man would visit his friends in Plymouth another time. On the return trip to his parent’s module, Elan detoured to pass by the spot where Brenda was sleeping. He wanted to relive the moment. Walking over to where her clothes were, he imagined himself next to her attractive body. Sixteen and well hormoned, Elan wondered how he could have let himself be so offensive to her.

Young Mr. Gold was ready to resume his journey home. He resolved on spending the rest of his life dreaming about her. He would become a soldier. After killing tons of people, he would return. She would see his sad knowledgeable eyes and immediately fall in love with him. They would live happily ever after.

Just then, however, noticing a bag under the blueberry bush, he picked it up. Loosening the ties and seeing the fresh mushrooms inside made his heart leap. An excuse to return and see her! Elan retraced his steps down to Level-Three, as clouds burst overhead. He knocked at the hatch, and a large rough-looking man opened it.

“Yeah. Whaddya’ want, kid?” The man asked.

“I’d like to see, um…umm.” Elan stammered, not knowing her name.

“C’mon, out with it! Whaddya’ want w’ Mr. Otorp?”

“I’ve got something for Miss Otorp.”

“What is it?”

“Something she left on the path today.” He said, relieved, at least, to have found out her surname.

“Give it to me.” The man said, reaching for the bag. “I’ll see she gets it.”

“NO! Er no… sir.” Elan replied, holding onto the bag, trying not to offend.

The discussion got noisy. Neither side wanting to give in to the other one. Soon Mr. Otorp became interested in the interruption. Going to the door to see what it was all about, he asked. “What seems to be the problem here, Axel?”

“Th’kid wants ta give somethin’ ta Miss Brenda, Mr. Otorp. I said I’d get it to her, but that’s not good ‘nough fer’m. Wants to give it to her hissef.”

“He doesn’t look too dangerous, Axel. I’ll get her.”

“If you say so, sir.”

Mr. Otorp called to her. She was pestering Mab Roth and came right down to the doorway group. Seeing who it was, Brenda turned a few shades of vermilion. She never got the chance to open her mouth, because Elan raised the bag of mushrooms and said. “You forgot these.”

Relieved that nothing more embarrassing came out, Brenda responded. “Thank-you very much. I wondered what would become of them.”

Taking the bag from him, she turned to her grandfather and said. “It’s O.K. Grampa. I know him.”

The two older men nodded their assent. Turning away from the hatch together, they went back into the domicile. Standing under the triangular hatch’s eave, rain falling all around him, Elan fidgeted. The torrents came down with loud thunder. He raised his voice above the thunder’s discord to ask. “Still mad at me?”

Also with raised voice, Brenda replied. “I guess not.” The thunder stopped, and she continued in a softer voice. “But you were crude.”

“I know. I’m really sorry.”

“T’s O.K.”

“Are you in trouble…er important or something?”

“No. Why?”

“Ya’ need a bodyguard?”

“Oh, that. Come inside a minute, out of the rain. I’ll explain.”

Elan stepped into the module, and Brenda closed the hatch. Still feeling some embarrassment, she continued. “You’re not gonna’ tell anyone about this afternoon are you?”

“Of course not.” He replied, saying. “I’d sure like to see you again sometime.”

Brenda looked askance at the double entendre until Elan realized his mistake, saying. “Oh shit! I mean…I don’t mean like th… I mean I would b…didn’t…”

“T’s O.K.” Brenda laughed. “I know what you mean. I’m still touchy about it, ya’ know?”

“Sure. You’re really pretty.”

Hanging her head, she said. “Thanks.”

“Yer’ name’s Brenda, hunh?”

“Yah. Brenda Otorp, Brenda Jane Otorp. What’s yers’?”

“Elan, Elan Gold.”

“Oh. Where do you live?”

“Level-Twenty. We just moved here from the First. That big guy yer’ butler?” He looked at Axel.

“No.” Brenda laughed. “He’s from Company Security. We’ve got lots around the house.”

“What for? Ya’ rich or something?”

“My grandfather’s kinda’ important in the Company. Nobody’s spost’a come into the house, unless the guards say it’s O.K.”

“Oh.” Then, looking at her with a sixteen year-olds’ one-track mind, Elan said. “Well?”

“Well what?” She replied, having learned somewhere how to be coy.

“Will you go out with me sometime?”

“I don’ no. I’ll have to think about it.” Two seconds later, Miss Otorp said. “Yah. I guess so.”

“Oh, super. Thanks a lot!”

Turning toward the door, he escaped. The rain was still coming down, so she shouted out to him.

“It’s still raining. You’ll get wet.”

“It’s O.K. I gotta’ get home.”

Kicking, jumping, slipping and sliding, Elan went up the path. Some places, he almost fell off the platform. The young man scrambled upwards until out of breath. A very happy fellow arrived at Level-Twenty. His parents never noticed his absence nor he his lost intention of returning to the First-Surface.

After Elan left, Brenda turned to hear Mab say. “Who was that, Brenda?”

“Just a friend.” She replied. “Were you listening to us?”

Mab didn’t answer but asked. “What’s his name?”

“Elan.”

“Elan who?”

“Elan Gold.”

“Oh.”

The interrogation seemed to relieve Mab. The young man resembled someone else, but the last name didn’t mean anything to her. Brenda went to her room, and Ms. Roth returned to Mr. Otorp. Looking first in Axel’s direction, Mab said to Mr. Otorp.

“Did you see who was just here talking to Brenda?”

“Yes. Seemed like a nice boy.”

“He didn’t remind you of anyone?”

“No. Should he?”

“I don’t know. He looked like a younger version of Aloirav.”

“You’ve got the General on your mind. He’s becoming an obsession with you. Is Aloirav still so attractive he can even snare a beautiful young woman like you?”

“Don’t be silly! I don’t find him in the least attractive.”

“No?”

“No. His eyes are dark and cold. His face has a sad calculating look to it. He’s heartless & frightens me to death! Doesn’t he you?”

“Somewhat. He’s not my favorite person. The very thought he might have something to do with my family’s deaths churns my intestines. I don’t know whether to kill him or myself for employing him. I know I don’t like thinking about the man.”

“I have the same baggage to contend with, and I do hate him.”

“You have to understand something about him.”

“What.”

“Aloirav is still in Viet Nam, trying to save the world.”

“By killing it!”

“Yes. In part. Aloirav’s a man who has one tool with which to paint a picture. His tool is not a brush. Ever try imagining how to describe something to a blind person?”

“No.”

“Think of a sunset, a sunrise, a rainbow, or even a child’s’ happy face.”

“O.K.”

“Now depict them to me, as if I were sightless.”

“I can’t.”

“There’s not much point then in asking you to do it using just a pencil.”

“No.”

“Imagine painting a picture portraying an expression of agony & rage in a man’s soul. Show that soul also possessed by unreasonable guilt from accepting an illegitimate survival.”

“Same answer.”

“When you can do so, we’ll judge him together.”

“Are you saying you don’t judge him for what he’s done? His atrocities!”

“No. I don’t think I said that, because I do. I just can’t do an effective job of it. Aloirav says I shouldn’t presume to do so. I have no right. Aloirav went through hell. Those he loved most in the world died. He feels the war sacrificed them in his place.”

Showing honest guilt by walking a few steps in the man’s shoes, Mr. Otorp stopped talking and sat down. Looking at the deck, he remained still and contemplative. The silence became uncomfortable for Mab. She walked over and put her hand on his shoulder. Mr. Otorp covered it with his own.

These last few weeks, working side by side, brought them close. Threats from enemies were present. Holding themselves together was a concern. Keeping the Company’s integrity alive took more energy. The two drew together for many reasons.

“You’re so kind.” Mab said. “I can’t be so charitable. I hate him and everything for which I believe he stands.”

“I understand.” He replied, looking up at her.

Her hand crept further across his back, and their eyes met. She wished he would stand, take her in his arms and show feelings for her. Mab wanted the affection. He was affectionate. She saw that in him with Brenda. Mab wanted him in her life forever, regardless of the age difference. She saw him as her life’s counterpart, just that, but it was enough.

The hand stealing across his back unsettled him. Mr. Otorp didn’t know if it was correct, or if he possessed the right. She was so much younger. Other than Brenda’s, the man remembered no female touch since before his wife’s death. Discovering desire for something somewhat forbidden concerned him.

“Why is it forbidden?” He thought.

Then, like the residual mist on the rain-spattered window, all reservations disappeared. Mab got her wish. He stood up and took her in his arms. Their lips met, and the two became intertwined. They remained close, while Brenda and the guards kept out of sight.

That evening, Mr. Otorp and Mab Roth slept together. They continued to do so for the rest of their lives. Never again did one deliberate without first including the other’s needs in the decision. Failing to juxtapose their mate’s position in the scheme of things didn’t occur. A Roman phalanx could not have been more coordinated.

 

General Aloirav stood in the photo room of his serum-humeal facility and said. “It’s a beautiful machine, John.”

“I hope it gives you what you hope to get from it, Sir.”

“It’s already given you what you wanted from it, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, Sir, and then some.”

“Do I detect a little corollary in your tone, Mr. Hewitt?”

“I’ve been having nightmares, Sir. I’m bothered by how you’ll use the machine.”

“But you knew from the beginning that it was for war production needs.”

“Yes. That’s true. I still can’t get it out of my mind that it will kill people, and I built it.”

“”Biologicals”. Not people, John. The people who will enter these portals are “biologicals”. They’re parasites, not humans!”

“I realize that, Sir. I’m just disconcerted. I feel even worse now.”

“Why?”

“I thought it was going to be used against those committing capital crimes.”

“Criminals being more deserving of death than “biologicals”?”

“Of course. We can’t help our birth.”

“That’s probably true. And crime is volitional?”

“Of course. I wish I hadn’t built it myself.”

“You had help.”

“I know. I didn’t mean that.”

“Do you feel the same about the work you did at Company labs. Someday the products those labs produce will kill many people too.”

“Yes, General. I’m having a lot of problems with everything I’ve done for you.”

“The Company, John.”

“Sir?”

“The Company. Everything you did for the Company.”

“Yes. Everything I did for the Company.”

“You knew it was for a good cause – our survival. Do you have relatives on the First-Surface?”

“No. Not anymore.”

“You did have?”

“Yes. They’ve all died.”

“Were any of them “biologicals”?”

“My little sister was born a mongoloid.”

“A Down’s idiot, trisomy 21?”

“Yes.”

“Well I can see how you must feel some hesitation about assisting us.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Is that going to be an impediment to your continued work?”

“It could be, Sir. I don’t feel comfortable with my job anymore.”

“Will your feelings affect your discretion?”

“I’m no more interested than the Company is in publicizing my participation in the project. I don’t want anyone knowing I built it.”

“Good. It’s top-secret work. Should you ever reveal its existence you will …”

“Be executed, Sir?”

“I’m afraid so. But, stop thinking about such things. All you did was build some machines. Enjoy your promotion. It’s not you who’s putting “biologicals” in them. Others have that responsibility.”

“Yes, Sir.”

 

General Aloirav returned to the hospital and called out. “Bacon.”

“Yah, Boss.”

“Do we have anybody we can put on Hewitt and his helpers?”

“Everyone’s got a job, Boss. He doin’ somethin’ special?”

“Yah. He’s lookin’ for religion. Don’t know where he’ll find it.”

“I’ll see who I can dig up.”

“Thanks, my friend. Should Hewitt get to looking loquacious….”

“Stop the conversation?”

“Before it gets started.”

“Right, Boss.”

 

In a Boston gray stone apartment on Huntington Avenue, near the VA hospital, two women were talking. The younger said. “I don’t care, Mother. I’m gonna’ put my name in the running.”

“My dear girl. You have no chance. Twenty years ago, they told me that there was no way we could ever get up there. Before he died, your older brother was anencephalic. They said that was a neural tube defect and made me, his mother, a “biological” too. You, my daughter, are insulin-dependent. They said. “Your son’s deficiency and your daughter Sarah’s juvenile diabetes are incontrovertible facts. They prove there’s no place on the bridges for either of you, Mrs. Stevens.””

“Martha said she saw where they said they’re reevaluating all biological defects.”

“It doesn’t matter, my child. Who will pay for your insulin? And your pension? The OG isn’t going to help you up there. They’ll consider you little better than a criminal. They’ll cut off your welfare down here. We will not be able to afford this nice apartment! They have no doctors up there. What happens if you go into shock?”

“I’ll buy bootlegged insulin.”

“With what? You’ve never worked in your life. How will you get a job with your disease?”

“They’ve got men up there don’t they?”

“Oh, no! Don’t even think that.”

“I’m pretty. My body is normal, except for my skin.”

“My daughter, the whore!”

“Just as a last resort, Mother.”

“Oh, my dear child, don’t go. Don’t go!”

 

General Aloirav and Captain Qercua were in the hospital security office on Level Twenty-Five. The General was saying. “Are your men ready, Captain Qercua?”

“Yes, General. They are.”

“Well. Tell them to be at their battle stations tomorrow at 7 AM.”

“Right, Sir.”

“This is going to be a new experience for them.”

“That it will be, Sir. We’ve never before done our homicides on such an elevated level.”

“Well, don’t let it go to your heads. You’re still breaking the Law.”

“I realize that, Sir. We’ll be careful.”

 

General Aloirav was in his Headquarters’ module Security Office, talking with Mr. Walcott.

“Mr. Walcott.” He said.

“Yes, General.”

“Are your people ready to start the immigration screening?”

“I don’t know, Sir.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? You’ve had months to prepare!”

“I know, Sir. But it isn’t like demographics or census.”

“How so?”

“Those other things you had me do were at our own speed. We could choose when and where we moved. There were three billion Pontibus residents on nine bridges to process. That was manageable. Each person worked for 7 hours a day, calling modules, and recording data. We entered data, numbers, and names, from each domicile.”

“So? What’s the problem? There are just a billion “biologicals”! 1/3 as many!”

“True. The onslaught of applicants surprised us! Such applicants, Sir! These people are so depressing, so ugly! All those wanting to come up in the world are ravenous! We’ve been swamped with people asking questions, crowding into the interview rooms.”

“So, how many are ready for medical screening?

“A few million, Sir.”

“A few million?!”

“Yes, Sir. It’s the best I could do. I’m sorry, Sir.”

“It’s all right. You did fine, Mr. Walcott.”

“You mean it, Sir?”

“Yes. You did more than I expected.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Now, for tomorrow’s start, I want you to program the computer to select by deficiency.”

“Right, Sir. I’ve already done that. What type of “biological” are you looking for?”

“I want to release the first modules to those don…er… “biologicals” with the least grave deficiencies, the most normal appearing.”

“I see. You want the applications of homosexuals and PKU’s?”

“Yes. Not just phenylketonuriacs, but all the metabolic diseases. The hypothyroids, tyrosinosies, homocystinuriacs, maple syrupos, galactosemiacs. You can add the hemoglobinopathies like thalassemias, sickle cells, and cystic fibrosis carriers. All the grave carriers, for that matter, may enter. Insulin dependent diabetics too.”

“Downs?”

“No. No Downs, no Huntingtons, no cretins, retards, etc. I want to save the most hideous and obvious “biologicals” for the last. We don’t want to scare our residents. Once the entire Pontibus has been misfit contaminated, residents can hardly complain about a few more now. Can they?”

“No…er..Right, Sir.”

“Starting tomorrow at 7 AM, send a hundred of those we just talked about up the path to the sales “factory” on the Second-Level. Have them carry all their papers. Captain Qercua will accept them as they come. Separate them by 5 minutes. We’ll see if we can’t get modules for 100 people. I’d like to increase it some each day.”

“Very well, a hundred it is.”

“Oh, yes. I almost forgot. Put the names of those who’ve made payments, and the amount paid, together. I want you to send it off on a separate file to a special isolated computer. Delete their names from general application information. Except for the special file, I want there to be no record that they ever applied.”

“Yes, Sir. May I ask why?”

“I have critics in my ranks that would use those sales against me.”

“Eugenicists?”

“And others. I’m holding you personally responsible for those payments and that computer’s security.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The morning of the serum extraction machine’s debut, General Aloirav made a short trip to Block Island. Finding Captain Qercua, on the Second-Level, pacing in the facility, the General said. “Captain Qercua.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“It’s 6 AM. The “biologicals” will be coming in one hour. Are you ready?”

“We will be, Sir. Should we expect having to help the retarded and crippled into position?”

“No. You will not be getting those types of “biologicals” for a while. They usually come with relatives in tow. Feeders at the trough. We do not want First-Surface Missing Persons on our case so soon. They will be on their way soon enough. It’s best you get your experience with normal-appearing “biologicals” first. I don’t want you to have to activate the secondary donor relief crew yet. The first donors will look as common as you and your men. They have metabolic deficiencies. Most are treatable. If caught at an early age, they never even flaunt their defects until applying for welfare. The Company caught them or their mothers with various biochemical tests or computer records of having applied for assistance. Except for the pregnancy option, warn your men to avoid questioning entrants. Just process them. We don’t want sympathy for subhumans to cloud judgment. Each prospective will have a blue identifying sheet, signifying our intention to donate his or her blood.

“Right, Sir.”

 

Outside the entrance hatch of the sales “factory” domicile were some calein benches. The hatch opened into the new serum-humeal facility reception parlor. A number of young people were sitting on the benches, waiting for the facility to open. A pretty young woman was first in line. As the module attendant opened the door, the young people all stood. The first in line waved her blond hair and said. “Hello.”

“Hello.” The attendant replied. “Your name, please.”

“Sarah…Sarah Stevens.”

“Ah, yes, Sarah. I have your folder here. How are you?”

“I’m fine.”

“You may come right on in.” The attendant said, letting Sarah into the domicile. Closing the door to the others, she asked. “How old are you?”

“Twenty seven.”

“You may place your things there in that box until they process you. When you have your module, you can send for it. Here’s your key.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome. Remember to urinate, then go and see Nurse Welcome in the next room. He will help you take your physical. They did tell you about the routine physical every new immigrant must take?”

“Yes. I’m so excited about having my own module. I would have been happy with just a domicile and a platform, but …a whole module. My mother didn’t believe it when I told her. She never thought my monthly welfare check would cover it. ”

“I’m sure. Just pass through the door there, very happy for you. Have a nice day.”

“Oh, I will.”

 

The process went on all morning and afternoon. The receptionist attendant met each donor and introduced him or her to the next attendant. That next attendant did the same. The optimistic “biologicals” entered one after another. Each greeted the attendant with the same happy sound.

“Hello.”

“Hello. Your name, please.”

“Tom..er..Thomas McAdams.”

“Hi Tom.”

“Hi.”

“You may place your things there in that box until they process you. When you have your module, you can send for it. Here is your key…”

 

The second attendant opened the door, and the “biological” said. “Hello. I’m Sarah Stevens…”

“Hello, Sarah. I’m Nurse Welcome. You will need to disrobe in that room there. Are you pregnant?”

“No. I. .I don’t think so.”

“Fine. Leave your clothes & key there and pass into the next room.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“Not at all.”

Sarah went through the door into another domicile. She stood shyly, her hands in front of her pubic area, and said. “Hello.”

“Hello Ma’am.” The attendants replied, obviously impressed with the woman’s naked beauty. “Please place your feet here.”

“Here?” Sarah asked, walking over to the painted footprints on the trapdoor.

“Yes. That’s correct. Now your chin on this chinrest here. That’s it.”

The attendant felt Sarah’s belly and breasts, lingering a bit in the nipple region, before asking. “Are you pregnant, Miss?”

“I..I..don’t think so. I’ve missed cycles, but I’m a diabetic…

“Yes. Okay. Place your hands on these two brass handles. When you are ready, the other doctor will take your picture and your X-ray. That’s right. The right hand on the right handle and the left on the left. Are you comfortable?”

“Ye………” Sarah started to say, but her musculature stopped responding to her volition. 250 volts were passing through the naked woman from wrist to wrist. A metal plate descended and power went from her head to her feet. Power then returned to her wrists, stopping her heart. All the woman’s muscles went into instant tetany.

Body thus frozen, her hands could not release the brass handles. The belly tightened so much that urine passed her vulva and flowed down the stiffened pretty legs. Feces left her anus in much the same manner. She stared at the attendant, through the X-ray machine gaps, until her eyes bugged out of their sockets. Sparks shot out of her chest in the region of her ascending aorta. The smell of urine and burning flesh entered the room. Vents and fans removed it within seconds.

Similar “biologicals” continued to enter the “photo” room all that day. The scenario seldom changed. An attendant always helped the subject place his or her chin on the support provided. The attendant also showed the donor how to grasp the two brass handles with each hand. When the “biological” was in position, the attendant stepped back and said. “Ready.”

The other attendant snapped the picture. The digital camera captured the image, and other sets of circuitry closed. As in Sarah’s experience, circuits energizing manacles grabbed each of their wrists. The shackles were superfluous, as musculature, in tetany, would not allow release of the handles anyway. The large iron plate descending upon Sarah’s head also contained electrodes.

These additional features prevented loss of electrical contact and Ms. Steven’s possible escape, should something go wrong. If Sarah had been pregnant, the voltage would have endured a few moments longer. The “biological”’s state of reproduction determined the 1minute or the 1.5-minute timer position. Fetuses formed an interior spherical capacitance. That condition required a longer burst of energy for complete perforation.

If the attendant did not select for additional time there was a chance an incomplete death would result. It behooved the blood donor reception crew to stay alert during donations. Unexpected conditions of pregnancy, creating incomplete deaths, presented the need for unpleasant counter measures in all concerned. It could even require the secondary donor auxiliary reception team. Stress might cause problems for attendants with successive blood donors.

As a rule, attendants ascertained the need for additional time with ease. Trained technicians were not often required. A simple question often sufficed. The pregnant “biological”’s mid-region and breasts swelled beyond normal obesity in a characteristic way. Observing that condition indicated to the attendant that he must pre-select the longer time option.

However, an incorrect selection did not necessarily spell immediate disaster. Reverberating tetany occurs in the pregnant female’s mid-region at the point of her death. At that point, the fetus also experiences the death phenomenon. It kicks and flails about in the interior of the mother’s uterus. The attendant, who snaps the picture, having failed to pre-select the additional time, can do so at that moment. There is no need for concern about defective fetal decapitations. Insufficient blood exists in the child to make recovering it cost effective. The equipment desiccates it intact.

A hiatus of normal sinus rhythm in Sarah’s heart now triggered the manacles to open. The near dead woman dropped through the trap door. A second digital camera recorded again her physiognomy, as it descended. A computer comparison program signaled the exact time and position of Ms. Stevens sacral vertebral region. Once presented as correct, a knife blade swung out and decapitated her.

A bar then moved across, flipping the girl’s head into one vat, pulverizing it. Her headless carcass went into another. Sarah Stevens’ corpse minus the head then fell into a special compression coffin. Negative pressurization vacuumed all fluid from her compressed arteries and veins. Both oxygenated and deoxygenated bloods flowed into another holding tank.

When the tank was full, it allowed the mixed blood to gel into a clot. Later, an extractor expressed the serum from the clot. Serum then went through a purification filter to become pyrogen-free. Gravity flows introduced it into another stainless steel refrigerated tank. Bottling of filtered serum continued the liquid facet.

The liquid operation ended when the 1-liter serum flasks arrived at the Level Twenty-Five hospital. The technicians took the serum and prepared the culture medium. It entered special refrigerated courier vehicles. They brought it to Company labs for vector production.

Sarah’s blood cake, leftover from the serum extraction, joined the rest of what was once she. From the negative pressure coffin, a drawing bar extracted the bloodless decapitated carcass of Ms. Sarah Stevens. The purple & white-flecked flesh moved on to a punctuated movement conveyor. Here, blood cake and pulverized head joined it for a short journey to the hammer mills. Departing from there, Sarah’s manageable piles & pieces of flesh, bone, and semi-dried blood fell onto another conveyor. It delivered her to yet another mill or comminuter. Later, a drying oven or desiccator removed 95% of Sarah’s moisture.

From the desiccator the formless accumulation that was once Ms. Stevens’s body went to another comminuter and another desiccator. More filters strained & further dried her, until she could pass a 100mesh screen. Sarah powder then entered a shiny new 50-kilo flour sac. Thomas McAdams powder covered her. Soon, the other young people who were sitting on the bench outside the sales “factory” joined them. The flour-like substance, (humeal), once Sarah, Thomas, and the others then went on to become Pontibus vegetation.

Albert Schweitzer said. “He who has been given must give in return.” Nature gave the “biologicals” very little. They were now giving of themselves and what they had. Sarah Stevens was a good Schweitzer Christian.

 

Since when was genius found respectable?                 E.B. Browning

 

 

Chapter Seventy-One

General Aloirav sat at a table with Mr. Otorp and Mab Roth. They were in the Headquarters module in the Chairman’s office. The discussion was over the increasing infrastructure required to produce the General’s vectors & vaccines. The General was getting exasperated with their intransigence. He wanted more money to buy equipment.

“I still don’t see why we so desperately need them.” Mab Roth remarked. “You’ve already monopolized the geriatric hospital and half the Company labs. Our financial condition borders on default.”

“We’ve been through that more than once.” The General said.

“Tell me again.” She said, resisting his dismissal of her reservations.

“We have no howitzers; we’ve no big guns of any kind. They have all the chemical weapons. We have no nuclear capacities whatsoever. In a sustained conflict, the bridges would be pulverized!”

“You’re saying we’re defenseless.” Mr. Otorp summarized.

“No. I’m not saying that.” He replied. “I’m saying that they have all the conventional weapon systems necessary to stop them or us.”

“Why do they need weapons to stop themselves?” Asked Mab Roth.

Becoming frustrated with her feminine shallowness, General Aloirav said. “They don’t!”

“You just said they did!” Mab riposted, looking to Mr. Otorp for confirmation.

“I did not!” The General replied. “Haven’t you ever taken a course in self-defense?”

“Yes.” She replied.

“Then you should know why.”

Stepping in to make peace, Mr. Otorp said. “They’ve taken everything we could use, fighting to stop them. They’ve prevented us from gaining a conventional advantage in any coming struggle. He wants us capable of self-defense. We must protect ourselves against either attack or the extortion from unbearable taxation. Both or either could enslave us.”

“I see.” She said, becoming docile for her mate. “Why didn’t he just say that? I wish there was some other way.”

“So do I.” He admitted.

“Well, there isn’t.” General Aloirav said. “It’s resist or become Rothschild cattle, tax slaves of the OG’s USA and other war-mongering countries. The IRS & DEA’s methods have changed some, but they’re still the “Gestapo”. The OG’s gonna’ find out what we’re doing. We need to work fast. These fiat paper people hide all around us. It’s the world’s biggest mafia, running the old-government’s glorified protection racket as tyrannically as it ran the USA’s.”

“What makes people like that?” Mr. Otorp asked, pensively. “Sick, really sick, individuals.”

“It’s a type of death wish, this addiction to power and money. Most people can balance their need for survival with their concomitant desire for death. Those who make their human mission the accumulation of money are skewed toward the death side. It’s like a medical professional gone crazy.” The General said. “Doctors’ greed results from fear of poverty in the pre-pre-med student. Maybe the money pigs were deprived as children in some way too?”

“I think medicine is an addiction to compassion, not greed.” Mab Roth said.

“Just take a class near pre-med students, and you will immediately see the truth of what I’m saying.”

“I don’t think it’s got anything to do with fear of poverty either.” Mr. Otorp said. “DEA and IRS agents don’t know how much they’ll be able to steal when they first enter police academies.”

“Of course they do, but I’m not saying that.” The General said. “I didn’t explain, very well, what I meant. I think it’s because of insecurity & fears from an unsettled upbringing that children become bankers, doctors, DEA agents, etc. It’s like vindictiveness, from unresolved childhood issues, makes lawyers and cops. Some go to Treasury, because they want to beat people up with Rothschild power. Enforcement agents continue the tradition of being very small people. Only brave responsible men have ever dared oppose their cruelty. In the late 20^th Century there was always that unspoken fear. Submit! The military-industrial complex lurks behind them. They’re invincible! Now, MMIM is out in the open. It’s common knowledge that the OG citizens are but cattle, serving MMIM’s balance sheet. Treasury is an invincible Rothschild puppet.”

“I see what you’re saying. I still think it’s compassion makes doctors.” Mab said. “You may be right about the others. I don’t know. Whatever it is, it’s bad.”

“I stopped it for a time.” The General said.

“I remember.” Mr. Otorp said. “Are you sure we have no other options?”

“Other than complete capitulation? Yes! I’m sure. It’s oppose or become OG voting cattle.”

“Where do we go now?” Mab Roth inquired.

“We’ve been discussing that, Mabby.” The General said. “I need an unlimited access expense account. It’s enervating having to call you each time the limit must be surpassed.”

“We don’t have any resources left. You shut down module production!” Mab said.

“Correction, Mabby.” General Aloirav said. “The OG shut it down. We couldn’t get rocks and seawater, remember.”

“You sacked it first.”

“Well.” The General said. “We can still run it on a limited basis.”

“How’s that?”

“I have rocks coming in at night via freight monorail from a clandestine Brazilian quarry. There is still a six months’ stored frozen seawater inventory on Level Forty-Six, and I’m almost ready to start pumping seawater from the new inner-pier camouflaged pipelines. Your command module’s renovation came from calein produced with my Brazilian rocks. You should be able to finance a re-opening with what you still have. Once you’re in production, we can talk to Dr. Gras. With his okay, we can float another 90 day note.”

“If that’s so, and the rocks are indeed available, we can afford more capitalization.” Mr. Otorp said. Looking over at Mab and seeing no objections on her face, he said. “Yes. We can do it.”

“Fine.” The General said. “Be careful how you approach the bankers, what you tell them. I have reason to believe Dr. Gras is not 100% with us.”

“What do you mean?!” Mab asked.

“He has connections which may be other than Company benign. I haven’t enough information to be more explicit. Just be wary.” Realizing he was doing all the taking, not wanting to lose cooperation, the General added. “Before I leave is there anything you want from me?”

Mr. Otorp looked at Mab Roth, swallowed, and said. “Just an answer to a technical question.”

“Shoot.”

“It concerns research experience with defective alleles in human ova.”

“OK.”

“Specifically, an autosomal recessive disorder. The biochemical abnormality is the absence of an enzyme involved in nervous system lipid metabolism. Hardy-Weinberg notwithstanding, is it possible to…remove and replace the allelomorph?”

“Never been done before, that I know of.” General Aloirav said.

“I know.” Mr. Otorp said. “I’m not asking for tears.”

“Aren’t we cute?” General Aloirav asked with a smile, remembering using the same words himself, a while back.

“You liked that did you?”

“There are a lot of “biologicals” that wish it could be so.” The General said, not replying to the question. “You’re asking me if it can be done?”

“Yes.” He answered. “And can you do it?”

“Don’t you have sufficient confidence in your own technical capacity?”

“No.”

“That calein coup was no small matter.”

“The calein breakthrough was tissue culture finesse. Lester did all the DNA manipulating. I don’t have your experience with nucleic acids. Moving segments interspecies was never my forte’.

“Most of my experience has been in taking fragments out of selected organisms and reintroducing them into other hosts or recipients. Applied research. I don’t have a great deal of basic research experience.”

“Applied is what we…I want.”

“What enzyme are we talking about?”

Mr. Otorp hesitated before answering. “Hexosaminidase A.

The General said. “The nervous system lipid would be the GM2 ganglioside?”

“Yes.”

Not sure he could do it, General Aloirav did know the applicable biological law – “exaggerate strength”. Doing the impossible, whenever possible, is more than just Machiavellian. It’s always the safest biological course to take. It’s the theory behind the lion’s roar and how social institutions like government, religion, penitentiaries, etc. survive so long. Semblance also tends to aid subsequent protection. Residual benefits persist in unanticipated moments of subsequent weakness.

Therefore, he replied with feigned certainty. “It’s a matter of time and resources.”

“What would be required in the event you were to attempt it?”

General Aloirav thought he understood the dynamic now. At first, he presumed that they were testing him and his expertise. Then he got concerned they somehow found out about his serum-humeal works. Before he could get very deep into that mindset, however, he sensed. “No, they’re too diffident for that. They’d be much more aggressive if they were going after me for that. They just want to see whether I still possess my technical capacity.”

Entrusting him with supervising the upcoming struggle for future Pontibus supremacy was no small matter. The man believed they wanted a confidence-building prowess display. Now, after surmising the query was more personal, he reoriented his thinking, answering. “I assume, of course, you’ve thought about the “question of definition” long and hard?”

Mr. Otorp’s face reddened. Mab Roth noticed it and asked. “What’s the trouble?” Looking from one face to the other, she queried. “What d’ya mean, “question of definition”?”

“I mean, I can do it. After I do it, what then?”

“What do you mean, “what then”? A perfect baby is born.” She riposted.

“I hate these graphics trivia.” He said, zeroing in on Mr. Otorp’s weakness. “What do you propose to call it?”

“What is this? A joke! You’d call it a baby; name it, whatever, of course. Are you soft?!” She exclaimed, disgusted at his cussedness.

Studying his shoe, Mr. Otorp appeared uninterested in further conversation, so the General enlightened her. “I’ll explain it for you, Mabby. You’re asking about making a transgenic. Scientists have been doing such manipulations since the 20^th century. Techniques are mundane.”

“Then it should be simple?”

“Yes. But there are some hard questions involved.”

“Such as?”

“What you’re requesting is the other side of the eugenics issue. Suppose someone discovered a gene in birds for free-spiritedness. Some social philosopher might maintain perfect humans needed such a quality. An enterprising groupie soul might want his baby born with a bird’s free spirit. Human in all ways but one. That someone might ask me to put such special spirituality into their child.”

“Go on.” Mab answered.

“What would you call the child, a human or a bird?”

“Why a human, of course?” She replied.

“Isn’t that a trifle presumptuous?” He asked. “What if they decided to soup it up with a few more intelligence alleles from a genius’ sperm? Give it the visual acuity cistrons of an eagle?”

Thinking a bit, she replied. “Well, I guess that would be wrong. I…er it shouldn’t be overdone…or too much, naturally.”

“Really?” General Aloirav asked, feigning surprise. “How about if I induced twinning, separated the blastomeres, divided a couple of the blastocysts? We’ll soup it up even more with some strange mitochondria. Why should a mother undergo the discomfort of carrying it for 9 months? I could gestate fertilized oocytes in some rhesus macaque uteri. Got any preference for sex? Want them all human female, Mab? Satisfy the Hippolyte in you? Shall we take them all from one woman’s genome? Or, shall we make it… them, clear chimeras? We can throw in some animal, bacterial, plant, and male genes? Give it a penis as well as a uterus. Don’t want the gestation occurring in a macaque? Choose another monkey species – an orangutan is good. Use a cow, your stomach, under your arm, perhaps? Save a lot of deodorant. You’re not too fond of sharing your reproduction rights. Why have men around? Why not just activate the egg and re-install it! Parthenogenesis.”

“I hear what you’re saying, just a little too dramatic.” Mab said, her smile sarcastic, looking to Mr. Otorp, (preoccupied with his shoelaces), for confirmation.

The General looked in the same direction and then looked back at her. “I’m too dramatic? Too graphic, perhaps?”

“Yes, very much, too much!”

“Ever been to the Perigord, the Vezere’ valley of the Dordogne?”

“No.”

“Some pretty monstrous creatures may have existed before, because of such an attitude as yours. The caves showed strange humanlike creatures too. Not that they were any stranger than the monkey brained cattle in the USA, of course. Who’s to stop it, once the technology is available? Think you can close the box, before the bugs escape, Pandora? Alternatively, because I wouldn’t, someone or everyone else wouldn’t? Look what they did on the First-Surface. Those viragos behind “Pro-Choice” started it. Once “abortion-on-demand” got into the culture, few questioned it. Just “whackos” remained opposed. Now, embryos are just another factory-product for organ-transplant criminals.”

“Just once?”

“You can’t do “just once!”

“Why not?!”

“Moments later, sentiments ripen, accountants get involved. You’ve forgotten what happened down there. I was in the box and read about it in the rag. You were too busy getting rich.”

“That’s true. Whose fault was that?”

“The question matured.”Why not eliminate old people? They’re nearly as defenseless as a fetus. We can do it without much of a battle. Look at the money we’ll save. We can spend what we save on our constituents’ misfit children.” As population pressure got oppressive down there, it passed. You need a special license, currently, just to exist if you’re over sixty.”

“You do not.”

“Almost.” The General said. “The “Death Channel” restrictions and other hurdles thrown in front of the indigent aged make it the same thing.”

“I suppose.”

“Suppose nothing. Why do the aged all come up here if they can?”

“For the same reason everyone wants to come.”

“We don’t allow chronic illnesses for the aged any more than the First-Surface does. Wealthy aged can find private hospitals below to work on them.”

“That’s true.”

“Now, the laws down there even call a Down’s ape a human being! It gives them preference over the aged. Why? Because, other than their dollars, (special licenses) the aged have no sponsors! Young people find old farts despicable, largely because of the economic aspect. Lester made the old people admired and valued information vessels. You saw it, Mab. We all did. Am I not right?”

“Yes. Better be a Pontibus resident if you want to grow old.”

“That’s why you need to be sure of how you play the technology card. You may get more than you ask for. The planet may have to pay the bill.”

His shoes still appeared to hold more interest for Mr. Otorp than the conversation did. All knew the question. No one cared to express it. Could General Aloirav do the job, they desired?

Mr. Otorp succeeded in getting one shoelace tied and began working on the other. The General stood up in feigned disgust. Walking over to the porthole, he stared at the greenery and contemplated his next move with care. Assuming involvement in the attempt, the man felt inexperienced in the area. Thinking as a military man, he knew probable failures required possible escape plans.

He said. “I don’t know why it is. The loudest negative screamers, about “playing God” with biotechnology, jump the soonest to employ it. You’re a beaut, Otorp. You and your paramour…”

“Paramour!?

“Yes!”

“Why you…” Mab said.

“I’ll need the egg, of course.” The General said, as though her injured pride was just so much detritus. “The exact time and method of capture will be crucial to fragment replacement success. That could mean some discomfort. Mitochondria may need replacing. Keeping host eggs alive during the intervention may prove difficult. Extensive manipulation occasions much trauma.”

“I see.” Mr. Otorp said, losing interest in his shoes. “Thank you. I was interested in the subject from a disinterested standpoint.”

Knowing the statement disingenuous, General Aloirav replied. “Sure, you were. And God is omnipotent.”

“What are you implying?” Mab asked.

“Wondering just how cheap you want to make our species. We finished?”

“Yes.” Mr. Otorp riposted.

“I thought so. You know, Otorp. Lester once asked me. If the opportunity presented, and the price was right, would I do it?”

“What?” Mr. Otorp asked.

“Sell out the species.”

“What did you tell him?”

“No.” The General said.

“I see.”

“I’ll be leaving now. I’ve a great deal of work.”

“Whatever.” Mr. Otorp said.

 

Boston police officers were receiving many calls regarding missing friends and relatives. There appeared to be a similar scenario in each case. “Biologicals” were the usual people in question. Most were recent applicants for a domicile in the sky. One particular case was supposed to be the first person, gaining reconsidered module purchasing approval. Her mother reported the long absence and silence.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Stevens.” The police officer said. “The Company says they have never heard of your daughter.”

“That’s impossible. I took her to Block Island twice myself. I know she’s applied.”

“Her name is on a file at the station. There’s a heavy backlog of missing persons. Many handicapped are missing. We have investigators working around the clock on their account. Have you put her picture up at the Boston foot?”

“Yes. I’ve heard nothing.”

“I’ll send a detective down to see you, when I get one free.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

 

A few months later, Sarah’s mother received a visit from a man in a brown suit, who asked.

“Mrs. Stevens?”

“Yes?”

“I’m detective Amos Brown, missing persons.”

“Oh, yes. Can you help me?”

“I don’t think so.” Amos replied, going over to a picture on a small table to ask. “Is that your daughter’s picture?”

“Yes it is. That’s her, my baby, Sarah.”

“Well I’m going up to the Pontibus, this coming Thursday. I do have a sizable backload of cases to inquire about. If you help pay my expenses, I’ll investigate the whereabouts of your daughter while I’m there.”

 

Detective Amos Brown took the T to the Block Island mass transit. That brought him to the Pontibus-foot ferry. The ferry took him to the foot immigration office. He received his tourist card and went to a small border-town restaurant for a cup of real coffee and a palm-worm sandwich. Palm worms & genuine coffee were import items on the First-Surface and very pricey. On the bridges, they were as cheap as old salami.

From the restaurant, he took the elevator car to the Special Immigration Facility Level. It was not hard to find the “biological” module-purchasing application office. There was a kilometer-long line. It became necessary to use his Boston Policeman’s badge to get to the head of it. Even then, he found it necessary to get physical with some “biologicals” ahead of him.

He talked with Mr. Walcott’s secretary, who said. “No. I’m sorry, Mr. Brown. The computer says that girl applied but never made it onto our roles.”

“Her mother said she brought her here, herself, two times.”

“Yes. She did apply twice. I don’t know what to tell you. You see how many people are coming up to be processed. Perhaps she just got tired of waiting and left. I’m sure it happens. Millions have been applying. Would you excuse me, please? I have people waiting. Perhaps you could come back later?”

 

A month after the first “biological” donated her serum; General Aloirav came to see Captain Qercua.

“Captain Qercua.” He said.

“Yes, General.”

“What seems to be the holdup? My tissue culture people tell me that our serum supply is not adequate to the task set before them. Why not?”

“Sir. We’re processing over 500 “biologicals” per day in four shifts. We can’t go any faster. The negative pressure coffin broke down last week, and we had to stop until Engineering got it operational again. That conveyor from the second comminutor is going bad now. We have to run it at half speed or it falls off the track. The head crusher jams at least once a day. I don’t know how I can go any faster. We’re killing every 2.5 minutes. Yesterday a donor entered and saw the previous donor slipping through the trapdoor.”

“Really? How did you handle it?”

“As fast as we were going, I was afraid it might occur one of these days. So, I took the precaution of having the secondary donor relief crew standing by. The auxiliary reception segment did the job manually.”

“Good job.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“I’ll see what I can do about getting more facilities built to handle the demand.”

“Sure would help, Sir.”

 

A pretty young man entered the main office of MMIM in East Providence, Rhode Island. He swished into the room, went over to Mr. Hodges, and said. “Mithter Hodgeth?”

“Yes?”

“There’th a fellow out here from Bothton Polithe Mithing Perthonth.”

“What’s he want?”

“He thaythe he hath thome informathion you might want to hear.”

“What kind of information?”

“He thaythe the Company ith produthing itth own humeal. Thyayll I thend him away? He lookth like a weirdo.”

“Yes. That can’t be. Frye would never allow tha… No. Send him in.”

“Right, Thir.”

Detective Andy Smith entered Mr. Hodges office. He walked over to the big desk and leaned over it. Taking the other man’s hand, he said.

“Hello, Mr. Hodges. I’m detective Andrew Smith. Like to ask you a few questions.

“Hello. Sure. What’s this about humeal?”

“Yes, Mr. Hodges. I’ve been here all day asking people up your chain of command about the problem we’re having.”

“We’re having or you’re having?”

“Yes.” The police officer replied without hearing well. “Everyone pointed me to you. I know your time is valuable, so I’ll be brief. They told me that just MMIM has OG authority to produce humeal. So, I came here to see if you authorized a plant on the Pontibus.”

“Well, Mr. Smith. MMIM doesn’t produce it, itself. There are MMIM licensed families around the world that do that for us. We contract with them and distribute it.”

“I see. You have not contracted with any family out there.

“No. We have not.”

“My partner, Amos Brown, took a report from some guy named Hewitt, works for the Company. Says he’s an engineer, and he built a machine that makes humeal for the Company.”

“On the Pontibus?!”

“Yes, Sir. Block Island foot. He says it can process a hundred “biologicals” a day.”

“Live “biologicals”?!”

“Yes, Sir. Do you want us to follow up on it?”

“Yes, I do.”

“You want us to do the leg work too, or what? Calls are swamping the station. Could sure use yer’ help.”

“Do you have this Humit’s address or phone number?”

“Hewitt, Sir. John Hewitt. His number is the Chief of Pontibus Engineering’s number.”

 

John Hewitt came to the Security Office of the Headquarters Module as ordered. He waited for about 3 minutes before General Aloirav asked him to step into the office.

“John.” He said.

“Yes, General.”

“We need more facilities. Humeal supplies are dwindling. The machine you built is functional but insufficient. We are using it past the recommended speed, and it breaks down frequently, as I’m sure you knew it would. We need ten more just like it. How soon can we get them up and running?”

“Sir. It will require at least a few months. That is, if you can get the First-Surface to supply the equipment and supplies needed.”

“Get me a list of your requirements, and I’ll see to it.”

“I can’t help you anymore, Sir.”

“No?”

“No. Sir. You’ll have to find someone else.”

“John. You don’t like being Chief of Engineering?”

“Yes, Sir. I do. But, if it means building more of those terrible machines, I’ll resign. My assistant can help you. He came from those people you sent me, anyway. He knows how to set everything up.”

“All right, John. I’ll find someone else, if you insist.”

“Thank you, Sir. You have my resignation.”

 

General Aloirav remembered his presentiment that John Hewitt was becoming unreliable. Now the General wanted to find out if the man was doing anything treasonable too. Over a month passed since then. He opened the office door and shouted.

“Bacon!”

“Yah, Boss?” Bacon answered, running from the coffee machine.

“Who’ve we got on Hewitt’s crew?”

“Oh, Damn! . . . Boss! . . . I’m so sorry! I clean forgot about that. I couldn’t find anyone that day and, with all you had me doing, it slipped my mind.”

“Bacon! He could have been telling tales.”

“I know, Boss. I’m real sorry.”

“Sorry won’t cut it! Big fuckup, Bacon!”

“Yah, I know.” Bacon agreed, penitent. “But, Boss.”

“Yah.”

“We don’t have the holophones monitored anyway. We don’t have funds like the NSA does. You said it many times. He could have used one, and we’d never a’ known about it anyway.”

“That’s true, Bacon. But, I’m still disappointed in you. I wanted you to watch him.”

“I know, Boss. Ya’ gonna’ off me?”

“Hell no! Like to beat the shit outta’ you, but how would I get along without ya’?”

“Thanks, Boss. What’cha want me ta do about my fuckup?”

“What can we do? He’s gonna’ snitch, for sure. Off him!”

“Right away.”

“And Bacon.”

“Yah.”

“Find out who he’s been talking to, first.”

The General was at his hospital office, talking with his newest Chief of Engineering. The new serum-humeal facilities, and the vector-vaccine labs, demanded increased attention. Many decisions were necessary. He also wanted to think about Mr. Otorp’s question. General Aloirav needed to determine whether there was a way around his promise to Lester. As so often happens, the most diabolical are also the most ethical. Unbeknownst to him, his Company executive associates were also discussing the matter.

Mab asked. “I’ve been thinking about your asking Aloirav regarding my genetic problem.”

“Yes?” Mr. Otorp said.

“Do you think he suspects our reasons?”

“What difference does it make? Sooner or later we’ve got to let him in on it anyway, don’t we?”

“Don’t know. It’s giving him an awful lot of power.”

“I’ve already done that. Did I have any alternative?”

“No. I meant over us, personally.”

“Oh.”

“We could start looking for another molecular biologist?” She suggested.

“You’ll never find one like him. Even after 16 years of prison, he’s light years ahead of the others. How many times do you want to attempt it? Such things could go on forever. It could prove enervating, and…indiscreet.”

The General suspected there was more than “disinterested” concern involved in Mr. Otorp’s information request. Somebody wanted something, not yet apparent, involving defective egg repair. General Aloirav wondered if it was Brenda. Liking the child, he wanted to help but thought.

“If it’s that bitch, Mab Roth, the problem could prove interesting. Could she be hiding a defective gene from the rest of the Community? Ohho, wouldn’t that be a good one. I’m gonna’ find that out, before I’m a week older.”

“Bacon.”

“Yeah, boss.”

“Get everyone, we can spare, together. We’re gonna pow-wow tonight.”

“Right, Boss.”

The evening went by almost like old times. The “boss” was back, ruling an organization of virtually unparalleled power. He settled into his reorganized autocracy as if 2 decades were but 2 months. It was a mixed pleasure for the man himself, however. Without Gloria, it was not the same. His spirit felt hobbled.

The General tendered and parceled out responsibilities and positions of authority. He agreed on demise dates and times for the few remaining treacherous directors. All former New Society members, if no longer meriting trust with an agreement, were dangerous. They met similar fates. Methods of termination were rich in variety, as always. Another team got the job of discovering the Otorp gang’s genetic secret. Final business charged a special group with the responsibility of ferreting out Heinz’ whereabouts.

Each man left knowing his immediate enemies, including methods to approach and destroy those on the termination schedule. If any obvious chance existed for failure, they were to refrain, until a more appropriate time. Members memorized what the General knew of the backgrounds of Hernan and Mendez. General Aloirav wanted to discover the masterminds behind these men and Heinz. He also wanted to know more of their cohorts.

About this time a bit of unpleasantness occurred at the Aloirav hotel in Andirobal. In resolving the subsequent events’ difficulties, the “Group” never again experienced problems on Brazil’s account.

There was a certain “biological” whose particular malady was dementia. The fellow wandered around Andirobal and its neighboring village, Cordera. He walked with his hands outstretched before him, as if driving a truck. Barking out commands, the chap simulated an intercom or radio conversation.

His illness earned him the sobriquet of the “motorista” (driver). The aberrant behavior didn’t stop at his ridiculous obsession. He also was a very accomplished burglar. His calling card, at homes he rifled, was a succinct pile of feces. Always stealing new attire, he made it a point to wipe his sullied anus with victims’ clean clothes.

His hosts awakened in the morning to a fresh pile of manure. Next, they noticed dirty & missing clothes, plus a vacuity residual from whatever struck his fancy. Police knew it was impossible to get a criminal conviction. A “doido” (crazy) was not competent anywhere, and this was lawless Brazil. The motorista was impervious to all constraint.

Another invulnerable was a juvenile thief named Edson. He was very happy to use the motorista as an accomplice in Andirobal police masterminded heists. Together, one night, the two untouchables visited the Aloirav hotel. The “boss” sent a man, Hewes, to investigate and recover what he could. Hewes went to Cordera and beat the two thieves into a confession, recovering but one dirty shirt. When the police and communistic townspeople learned about the discipline delivered a profound negative reaction grew.

Bacon informed the General, saying. “Boss. We’ve got trouble.”

“What is it, Bacon?”

“Hewes fucked up.”

“How?”

“It seems he took it upon himself to solve our problem forthwith.”

“In what way?”

“He didn’t just investigate and return with information, as you ordered.”

“And…?”

“Cordera and Andirobal police want his blood.”

“Where is he?”

“In Cordera’s jail. A San Luis’ newspaper guy is calling for maximum imprisonment. Both mayors agree with the reporter and the other commies.”

“What’d Hewes do?!”

“Gave the “doido” a “moohoo” (punch) or two in the belly and the kid a real dustin’.”

“Doesn’t seem like such a bad thing.”

“In front of everyone?”

“Oh. I see.”

“Stupidity in your friends works far better than intelligence in your enemies to suck ya’ down, doesn’t it, Boss?”

“Sure does. Now what do we do?”

“I dunno, Boss. But we better do something.”

“Why?”

“Loupa’s coming up here to see for himself how bad the “victims” look. It’s a real pol opportunity.”

Loupa was Brazil’s president, a lifelong communist, Rothschild puppet, and democracy advocate. Despite garish displays of personal funds, either stolen from Brazil’s diminishing number of taxpayers or via Rothschild’s bribes, he was still very popular. The socialists loved his swashbuckling “Evita” style. The man also encouraged homespun theft and embezzlement. He felt such behaviors acted to further reduce free-enterprise incentive in the populace. His reductions in pay to police insured high crime rates, aiding wealth distribution. Embarrassingly small bribes got any kind of miscreant (except a gringo) immediate release from custody. Mayors and congressmen always got Loupa’s nod when they released even the most vicious of murderers. Only gringos did hard time in Brazil’s jails. There was a lynch mob mentality now forming in Maranhao.

“Well.” General Aloirav replied. “I can’t fault Hewes’ spirit. His only mistake was in lack of discretion. One “moohoo” would have been a sufficient public display.”

“That’s what I thought.” Bacon agreed. “We could’ve off’ed ‘em later in private.”

“The police released the thieves?”

“Yah. The mayoral bribes arrived the same day they hit us.”

“We’ve got to stand by Hewes, Bacon.”

”That was my thought too.”

“Yet, how do we prevail without appearing to genuflect?”

“I don’t know.”

“There’s only one real crime in Brazil.”

“Being a gringo?”

“Yup. We’ve got to show Brazil that being a subhuman is far, far more grave a transgression.”

“What bug?”

“How did you know I was planning on using one?”

“I know you, Boss. You’ve been itching to show the commy bastards an example. And we have no alternative.”

“How’s that kid to find his mission? Education here is a travesty! He’ll make a miserable world for himself and all the other lives he ever touches. Subs won’t spend money on rehabilitation, Bacon, and they won’t humealize the misfits. They pander to ‘em like they were human! Mollycoddling young thieves and “biologicals” is no way to run a world! Irresponsible subhuman trash!”

“I knew it!”

“I don’t want a pandemic, mind you. It’s too soon.”

“But you want to take ’em all out?”

“Yeah, except Hewes. We got’ta keep respect. He’s up to date on his vaccinations?”

“Yah.”

“Okay, do it.”

“More witchcraft too?”

“Plenty. Throw some crosses and other tacky Jesus bullshit around. Cry havoc! Let loose all the superstition. Use assassinators.”

“They shouldn’t get too far afield.”

“No. And they’ll take all the commy bastards in that town to their final reward.”

As luck went, the epidemic got a bit out of hand, spreading beyond Cordera. The Andirobal police brought some of the pestilence back to their own waterfront community. Andirobal bodies accumulated in the praza and on the main street. It was somewhat unsightly.

The General said.

“I’m a bit disappointed we couldn’t limit the contagion better, Bacon.”

“Sorry, Boss. I know you wanted just Cordera to go. I overdid it. Now we’ve got this mess.”

“Don’t kick yourself over it, man. I’ve seen bodies lined up on streets before. They don’t remain long. Subs always materialize to bury them, “…the dead bury the dead”.”

“Maybe we should send for some humeal machines?”

“No. They would take too long to get here. We can wait out the stench in the lab.”

 

Hernan Castillo was chewing out his new employee. Expected information was not forthcoming. Initial assiduous attention to duty was faltering. Everyone could see the dereliction. Mr. Leion was dilatory in approaching his espionage assignment.

“So what’s yer’ excuse!” Hernan shouted.

“I told Sr. Mendoza. They haven’t left the module together for weeks.” He lied, afraid to admit the real reason, malaise, keeping him from his post. “It’s always one or the other, never both at the same time. That woman’s always there now with Otorp. He goes out alone or with the broad. The granddaughter stays behind.   You want me to tell you something untrue or…?”

“Try it tubby, and you’re carnissa (rotten meat).” Sr. Mendoza added.

“I need to earn a living too.”

Hernan asked. “How much time does your other job require?”

“Quite a bit.” Mr. Leion again lied, not even required to leave his domicile for the other job.

Just exceptional circumstances, like the one with the murdered accountant, qualified as an obligatory absence. He gambled that Hernan wouldn’t know that. Mr. Leion gave the impression that frequent absences from his domicile were work-related. He was spending more & more time at the antique shops. His corporate employers were also getting restive with recent performance. He didn’t want to lose his remunerative job, but motivation was dropping in all areas.

After the accountant’s demise, the thug in his domicile stayed for weeks, “helping out”. He served but to preempt any precipitous Leion action. Mr. Leion weathered the scrutiny. In time, the assassins condescended to trust him more, and the chaperones disappeared.

“Why can’t you do the expected at your dom-terminal?” Hernan asked.

“Some things just can’t be done here.” He fibbed. “Office politics requires my presence if I’m to survive. I need my job…bills to pay. That sort of thing. I can’t spend all my time here.”

“Watch yer’ lip, tubby!” Sr. Mendoza riposted.

Sensing a compensation bid, wondering if a cash influx would facilitate competition abandonment, Hernan replied. “What would it take to get you to quit?”

Mr. Leion’s heart jumped. It happened almost as he wished. The man thought about a figure, and he blurted it out. Not born the day prior, Mr. Castillo asked his present salary. Knowing they could discover the truth, an embarrassed Mr. Leion admitted the figure.

“Getting a little greedy, aren’t we?” Hernan ridiculed. Receiving no response, he continued. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll double your present salary right now, if you stay close to your domicile. Get the necessary information. I’ll send you a woman too.”

“Not that Rhonda – she’s a zombie.”

“As you wish. I’ll get you a live one.”

Overwhelmed, not expecting that much money and a woman too, Mr. Leion sputtered. “Really! She’ll come and live here, with me?”

“Of course.”

“Can I fuck her n’everything?” He asked, like a small child in expectation of Christmas.

“Whatever turns you on. Just get me that information.”

“Pronto!” Sr. Mendoza barked.

The men left Mr. Leion wandering around his domicile, fantasies unleashed. He returned to a more assiduous watching of the Otorp domicile. Assenting to his post, a more amiable slave, Mr. Leion resigned from his marketing position. His former supervisors shared his relief. He asked for no special recommendations or severance. His pension began.

“I’m beginning to see your point of view, Mendoza.” Hernan said, back at the prison spur.

“He ees a jeerk.”

“Yup. When we’re done with him, he’s fish food.”

Of all life’s vistas, a naked woman gives most young men their greatest pleasure. That fact might tempt one to assume too much about Mr. Leion. He did not have such simple sexual desires. Although the man did like looking at the sex unclad, Mr. Leion felt uneasy near them. He also lived with some rather strange additional needs.

Mr. Leion found experiencing joy, due to a woman’s exposed presence alone, somewhat vulgar. Controlling possessed women, he sublimated his need for copulation. “Possessed” is the notable term here. In another life approach, he would have been a rapist. As it was, the man liked to dress his toys.

Not just in clothes, but in the most expensive & out of fashion items available. If it weren’t for his misogyny, Mr. Leion would have been almost as happy with a mechanized mannequin. While cohabiting with Jane, Mr. Leion bought all her garments. The finest of microbial polyesters alone were for her. That they were of a style fashionable in his mother’s era was Jane’s dismay.

After the petroleum dearth, hydrocarbon monomer prices skyrocketed. Reasonable prices returned only after fermentation processes attained replacement capacity. Bacterial fabrics & calein proved more than competitive with all plant and animal fibers except hemp and flax. In time, the microbial productions also surpassed the others, even silk, in esthetic features. Top quality, as ever, brought the highest price.

The last century exhausted First-Surface soils. Pontibus arable areas, supplemented with humeal, ended biomass fiber deficiencies. Septage and imported sand delivered the carbon and nitrogen sources necessary for plant-produced cellulose-silicon fibers. Fabric competition shaped Pontibus’ cotton, flax, wool, hemp, polyester & microbial fiber production. Available quantities grew to meet demand. Free enterprise never displayed greater success.

Sitting at his module’s porthole, Mr. Leion wrestled with his latest problem. He needed to maintain assiduous attention to his espionage. The man couldn’t leave the module to buy attire for the anticipated girl. With her ensconced within, it would be even harder. She would report his absences to Sr. Mendoza and Hernan.

He would have to order her clothes by Post. Nothing arriving that way appeared as the holographs depicted. Everyone knew that. Wrong colors, poor fit, imperfect skin color matches, or another insurmountable problem always appeared. Mr. Leion was upset for days.

He made a few sporadic purchase attempts to be prepared for her arrival. Nevertheless, Mr. Leion sent almost as much back as he ordered. Halfway through his planned purchases, Mr. Leion reported the information Hernan desired. Mr. Otorp, Brenda Jane, and Mab Roth all left the domicile together. Eleven Security people accompanied them on their warm Indian Summer stroll. Twenty more surrounded them at a distance. A four-man helicopter crew waited on the next level, should they require it.

The report, Hernan received, just mentioned that the occupants left. An unknown destination for an unspecified period was sufficient. A prison team with Hernan and Sr. Mendoza in charge arrived underneath the Otorp module minutes later. Mendoza deactivated most of the security system. Axel opened the door, upon a knock. Lopez attacked and neutralized him.

The men swarmed up and entered the domicile over the guard’s body. Axel lay face down, bleeding from an opened carotid artery in a crushed throat. Sr. Mendoza motioned to Fredo, and he dragged away the still quivering body. They closed the hatch, and the module remained inconspicuous to disinterested observers. Three more Security people died before work began. The crew ransacked the multi- floored building for information.

They did not hesitate to pick up any intelligence material. A Security person, awakened by the looting noise, entered the area of concern. Sr. Mendoza threw him into the ocean below. A half-hour after the search began, two of the family’s guards returned from outside. Lopez & Fredo stopped, questioned, and killed them. Hernan called a halt. He wanted to be gone before the rest of the advance guard returned. The prison task force prepared to leave. They could see the Otorp group returning down a distant path.

Above the module’s overpass pathway, young Elan Gold approached. Intent upon seeing his new friend, he converged on both groups unawares. Preparing to ask Brenda’s company on a walk, the boy thought of nothing but his choice of words. He saw the host of men leaving the Otorp module in a great hurry. It brought him out of his reverie for a moment.

Mab Roth and Sr. Mendoza were first in their respective parties to see their adversaries’ approach. They informed their colleagues. Security people exchanged gunfire with prison crew. Elan crouched down to watch what would happen next. Most of the marauders returned a deadly fire, dropped below the platform, and escaped. The filched information went with them.

Hernan and Lopez, last to leave, fought from the domicile’s limited cover. Surviving Otorp guards positioned themselves behind pathway trees and fired into the module. Master Gold remained not only above the battle but right on top of it. With gunfire so obviously close, he remained concealed on his hands and knees. Creeping along, close to the platform turf, his curiosity soon brought him to a point where he could keep within sight of the entire battle.

From the upper level, the young man occasionally heard and saw rounds whistle through the soil. One passed very close to his head. Both parties to the conflict remained unaware of his presence. Lopez escaped the module, through the methane generator, below the living quarters. He took the same route Brenda did the day she met Elan.

Reappearing underneath the Otorp group, not as adept as Brenda, Lopez now reeked of sewage. Nevertheless, many Otorp party guards fell to his lethal marksmanship. Acquiring a dead guard’s gun, Mr. Otorp shot at Lopez a few times. One round struck the man’s larynx, muffling any scream. The wound would prove fatal.

Hernan remained alone inside the building. He saw Lopez and others destroying Security people everywhere. Hearing no heavy gunfire, Hernan assumed most contact to have ceased. Thinking it his best chance at freedom, he left by the hatch. An Ivy League gentleman, he was ill-prepared for the job. The man ran directly down the path, never leaving the walkway.

Hernan expected the Leion module bifurcation path to appear before anyone recognized him. He didn’t jump off the lane, where the other burglars did. He miscalculated the distance to the Leion module and neglected to use the shorter route. Unfortunately for Hernan, the walkway also led close to the remainder of the Otorp group. In his defense, a great deal of vegetation obscured the jump-off point, which helped to confuse him, as it protected him from view. He continued on to the normal turnoff point, virtually unobserved. Mab Roth and Brenda Jane chose just that spot to hide from the now sporadic gunfire.

Brenda Jane, watching everything as best she could, was frightened to death. The child, assuming Hernan rushing to get her, jumped up to run. He was already upon the child. Knocking her down, the man tripped himself. Panicking, he scrambled down the side path toward Mr. Leion’s module.

Both women let out simultaneous screams that aroused the still sentient Lopez. Raising himself, he pointed his gun at the movement he could see. That movement was Brenda Jane running toward her grandfather’s protective arms. As the round left the chamber, it headed straight for the girl’s heart.

Where the lion’s skin will not reach, you must patch it out with the fox’s.                  Plutarch

Chapter Seventy-Two

The bullet never reached its intended mark. Our young hero, with the overactive libido, saw both gun and intended victim. He dove from the platform, above the bifurcation, just the moment before. The round struck Elan’s head as he fell upon the girl. The action knocked her down a second time in as many minutes.

She lay, paralyzed in fear, upon the path & underneath the unconscious bleeding boy. Except for hysterical screaming and gasped shouts, Brenda Jane babbled incoherently. Seeing the blood, Mab Roth clapped a hand over her mouth, assuming the worst. Mr. Otorp wrestled with Lopez’, tearing the gun from the man’s dying grasp. Rushing to his granddaughter, he reached the bleeding boy first.

Distinguishing who was hurt between the two adolescents was difficult. Elan’s head put out copious quantities of crimson. That determined the issue. Kneeling down, Mr. Otorp extricated his granddaughter. He moved Elan to one side with Mab Roth’s help.

“I’ve got to call the hospital!” Mr. Otorp said. “The boy looks seriously hurt.

“Right.” She answered, and then motioned over to Lopez. “That one’s still moving a little.”

“I know.” He replied. “Please stay with Brenda.”

“O.K.”

“You might need this.” He said, handing her Lopez’ piece.

Mr. Otorp then ran to the domicile, navigating past the bodies and mess. After the initial shock of the sight passed, he discovered Axel’s body. Searching within Axel’s coat, he found the dead man’s portable compuphone. Finding it still functional, Mr. Otorp called the geriatric hospital. The Security-controlled facility, handling everything, would assist news-containment. Asking for General Aloirav, Mr. Otorp first met with a few frustrating but appropriate questions. He did get through to him.

The General pre-certified the switchboard operators as to following strict procedural matters. He wanted to form no comparison with bungling First-Surface hospitals or 911 operators. In addition, calls coming from specified names were to go direct to him. General Aloirav answered. “Yes, Mr. Otorp. Is it about the firefight?”

“You know?”

“Yes. I’m almost there. Hidden security system alarms activate when the obvious one went dead. I also became aware the firefight started because one of my men called it in. Is it over yet?”

“I think so. I’ve heard no shots for a while. I think most or all of our people are dead. Hernan and a number of others have killed them. A neighbor boy, also hit, appears to be dying!”

“Are you calling from the module or are they still there?”

“The module. They seem to have all run away, but bodies are everywhere.”

“Don’t move or talk to anyone. I’m just about there. 30 seconds, max. Ambulances are on the way too.”

Minutes later, the General ran up the path to the carnage from the periphery. Not as young as the emergency doctors with him, he lagged. All were surrounding the bodies, when he arrived, obscuring his view. Mab Roth and Mr. Otorp waited at the path’s bifurcation point. Seeing him appear, they rushed to explain the events.

“I saw them just as we got to the cantilever path.” Mab gasped. “They saw us at the same time. They must’ve killed Axel, Maurice, and most of the others.”

“The attackers all escaped?” He asked.

“No.” Mr. Otorp answered. “I shot the one that shot the boy. He might still be alive.”

“Who? The gunman or the boy?”

“The gunman or the boy what?” Mab shouted.

“Might be still alive?”

“Both… either.” Mr. Otorp replied. “I took the gunman’s pistol, after he shot at Brenda.”

“The boy?” General Aloirav asked, expecting news containment problems with another family involved. “Where is he? Where’d he come from?”

“Over there. He jumped down from the upper platform there.” Mab Roth said, pointing. “Some boy Brenda knows. He saved her life, diving on her that way. The bullet hit him instead of her.”

“Brave boy.” The General said.

“Yes, he certainly is… or was.” Mr. Otorp agreed.

A Company doctor appeared to explain the morbidity and mortality. “General Aloirav, Sir. There are forty corpses. Two wounded.”

“How bad are the wounded?”

One has four bullet wounds. Three are enough to kill him. He won’t make it to the chopper.” The doctor said. “Looks like the boy will be fine. The bullet didn’t enter the cranium… grazed it enough to cause a slight concussion and perforate a small artery. He lost consciousness & lots of blood. X-rays will tell more.”

“O.K.” He replied. “Take the boy to the geriatric hospital. Leave the other one here. I want to talk to him.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Otorp and Mab Roth walked back to the younger ones. Having recovered her decorum, Brenda was holding Elan’s hand and talking with him. General Aloirav went over to the dying marauder. Lopez’ throat allowed no sound to pass, but he was trying to mouth something. The man died, trying to speak, and the General turned away.

He went over to where the others stood. While doing so, he passed the orderlies taking the four dead crewmembers out of the Security helicopter. Two had their throats cut. Two were shot point blank. Mr. Otorp was continuing to thank Elan for saving Brenda’s life. The doctors interrupted to take the young man to the ambulance. As they lifted the stretcher, General Aloirav got his first view of him.

A momentary visual gap made Elan light up first in recognition, and he cried out. “Grampa!”

“Elan?!”

 

General Aloirav returned to the hospital with the medical chopper. After seeing Elan unloaded, he rushed to the J-ward and shouted.

“Bacon!”

“Yah, Boss,” Bacon replied, running across the hall.

“Get forty of the new men down to the Otorp place. Try to scrounge up some chopper pilots too”

“Aye, aye, Sir.”

“And Bacon.” General Aloirav said, stopping the man in midstride.

“Yes, Boss?”

“Any word yet on Heinz or Hernan?”

“None, far’s I know.”

“What’s taking so long?”

“The Company doesn’t have any info on’em.”

“None? For cryin’ out sideways, Hernan’s a goddamn Director. There’s got to be something!”

“Roger says there ain’t no information at all. Said ‘t’slike it was washed clean, months ago.”

Both men then looked at each other hard and knew what happened. As the Otorp group went out of the examination room, the General stayed with his grandson, saying to Bacon. “Hernan knew someone would get to looking into his background. Prudent, lifting all information on yourself before things might get hot. A wise step, removing personal material prior to getting involved with treason. He’s no fool. He doesn’t exist now, a non-person. A new set of paperwork, and he’s as clean as a baby, a new person.”

“Not entirely, Boss.” Bacon countered. “He’s got to get past our biometrics machines, moving to and from the First-Surface.”

“That’s right! Who was he, I wonder? It’ll be much more difficult to find him now. The resistance he manifested to our biological assaults is unsettling enough. Now he’s free of the Company too. The guy won’t go back to his offices or job. He’s a fugitive on the Pontibus. The First-Surface will shelter him. He could stay safe in the wilderness areas up here. But, I don’t take him for the woodsman type. If he’s up here, he’s hiding, with someone, using phony documents. If on the First-Surface, how did he get there, past our machines? Chopper or small plane. Need to notify the periphery boys to redouble their smuggling watches. Need to augment their personnel. The orderlies came to take Elan to the CAT scan just then, and the two conferees parted. Bacon went to follow his orders.

He called the hospital later and said. “Boss, Roger found a guy knew ahr boy, when he got sent up, after you got busted.”

“Heinz?”

“Yah.” He replied. “Tracked him to Boston.”

“Who tracked who?”

“Roger tracked Heinz.”

“Great.”

“Should know something by the meeting tonight. One other thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Yer’ man in Michigan City wasn’t blowin’ smoke up yer’ ass. After Heinz left Danbury, he did a stretch in San Quentin. Nobody seems to know why. No writ sent him there. He was a free man.”

“Interesting.” The General replied. Looking down the hall to see if anyone of Otorp’s party was listening, he asked. “What about Otorp’s woman?”

Bacon told him all they discovered of her past. He mentioned race, birthplace, parents, schools, husband, child, etc. She didn’t try obfuscating much. Her having a family came as a surprise.

“She’s married?” General Aloirav asked.

“Widow. CIL’s. Kid died too. Somethin’ called T-sex.”

“What?! Say that again.”

“Widow. CIL’s did in her squeeze. Roger said her kid died a few years back of T-sex.”

“You sure he didn’t say Tay Sachs?”

“Tay-Sex”. That some new kind of perversion, or somethin’?”

“No. It’s a genetic disease, and it answers a lot of questions.”

He now knew the reason for Mr. Otorp’s cryptic questions regarding gene replacement. He and Mab Roth must have agreed. They wanted no truck with any more Tay Sachs homozygotes or carrier status. It also started explaining Lester’s keeping Hernan on after the alleged attempted rape-extortion of Mab Roth. She must be heterozygous for the bad gene. 1/30 of Ashkenazis are so afflicted.

“Hernan was blackmailing the Old Man!” The General blurted into the compuphone.

“Think so?”

“Yes. We need to know more. What else did Lester do? What made him feel so vulnerable? We need to know just how pervasive Hernan’s influence was. It’s not going to be easy. Hernan’s extortion cancer almost killed the Company. Frye let him get away with it. Why?”

The conversation ended with Larry Gold’s shout, as the old man ran down the hallway. “Dad!”

“Larry! Gretchen!” General Aloirav replied, greeting his son and daughter-in-law. “Elan’s okay. A slight concussion is all. He’s in X-ray now. I tried calling you earlier from the module near where they shot him. You weren’t home.”

“Shot him!” Sue Gold, Larry’s daughter-in-law & Elan’s mother, screamed. “They told us he’d fallen!”

The General led all his family to one side of the hallway. A few minutes later, Larry’s son, (Sue’s husband, Elan’s father), arrived. They were out of hearing distance of orderlies and hospital people. Larry Gold tried explaining why they were out of touch. He said Mab Roth got him at his new employment.

The General ignored his explanation and said. “They shot Elan as he saved a girl from being murdered.”

“Oh, my god! Oh, my god!” Sue shrieked. “All because we came up here to live! All because you said it was safer! It’s terrible to think about falling all the time! It’s so dangerous up here!”

“Don’t worry, Sue.” He consoled, putting his hand on her shoulder. “He’ll be all right. The bullet hit his head but never entered the brain. He was unconscious just a few seconds. I talked with him, until just a moment ago.”

“What was he doing with a broad somebody wants to murder anyway?” Larry asked. “He’s taking after you in everything, isn’t he? I suppose you’re happy? Why won’t you keep away from him? Haven’t you hurt your family enough?”

“He thinks he’s in love with her.” General Aloirav replied, ignoring his son’s insults.

“Oh, my god! Oh, my god!” Sue cried. “It just keeps getting worse. He’s only sixteen years old!”

“Perhaps you need to get a hold of yourselves.” He riposted. “Your son, 16 years-old or not, did a very brave and manly thing. He dove into near certain death to save someone he feels he loves! Don’t you know the kind of a person that does things like that?”

“Yes. We all know someone as crazy as that.” Larry retorted. “His parents were trying to keep Elan from repeating such asinine behaviors.”

Looking at his son and shaking his head, the General said. “I really don’t know where you came from, Larry.”

“I feel the same way about you, Dad.”

The General’s words shamed, sobered, and calmed them, despite Larry’s comments, and Sue asked. “When can we see him?”

“He’ll be out shortly. X-rays don’t take long.”

An orderly appeared just then and asked. “Where would you like us to put the boy, Sir?”

“In the J-ward. Bring him here first. These are his parents, and they’d like to see him.”

“Right, Sir.”

The attending physician approached, and began telling the General of the boy’s condition. General Aloirav told the doctor that the boys’ parents were present. The doctor greeted them. Then he turned back and continued addressing General Aloirav. All present listened, curious and attentive, at the description of the bullet’s effects. Mr. Otorp and Mab Roth came over to listen to the doctor too.

The doctor maintained Elan would have a complete recovery from the slight concussion. The deep cut would leave but a small scar. The prognosis terminated shortly after the Company Police Chief’s arrival. The Chief was speaking to Mr. Otorp and Mab Roth for a few minutes, before he saw the General. His focus altered toward the latter.

General Aloirav thanked the Police Chief for coming by and excused himself from his family. He then asked. “Can you keep a lid on it, Chief?”

“I donno, Gen’ral. Speaking with Mr. Otorp and Ms. Roth, just now, gives me some doubt. It was a real pitched battle. These sorts of things aren’t easy to keep away from the fuckin’ press. Neighbors hear things… saw many bodies. What’s goin’ on anyway? They hit our Security men hard.”

“Our people did their job. They died protecting Otorp as opposed to themselves. We can be proud of them.”

“Mr. Otorp says he wants to go home. Says I’m to ask you what he should do. You his new boss too?”

The Chief knew the General’s past. Taking orders from an incorrigible did not please him. The ex-con’s status vis a vis the former was enough aggravation. General Aloirav imagined the sentiment and mustered as much empathy as possible. Knowing how such a position must grate, he said.

“For the time being, Chief.”

“You the Company Chairman?!” The Chief asked loud enough for the General’s family to hear.

“No. We have a big problem, Chief. All our jobs are at stake. If you can’t keep it quiet, many more people may die than just our men. We know who we’re dealing with and are conducting an investigation. Your help is welcome.”

The Chief’s eyes got cold and hard. His job meant a good deal of money. Such considerations came before opinions about taking orders from a former criminal. What the hell? He worked on the First-Surface in the past. Pandering to sleaze-merchant politicians and Rothschild whores degraded far more than showing deference to an honest serial killer.

“Can you tell me any more than that?”

“No. The Company has acquired many enemies. Some are right in your department. We need to keep in close touch, until we discover who they are. Yours is not an attractive position, I know. Can you help us?”

He asked the question, knowing its rhetorical nature. Time was short. Men were cheap. The de facto ultimatum would determine if he could expect cooperation. The Chief took a step backward and saluted, indicating quasi-genuflection. General Aloirav’s family watched as if riveted to the two Company officials.

“You can count on me, sir, I’ll box it in!” He said, turning to walk toward the hallway entrance.

The General looked back toward his son, Gretchen, and Elan’s parents. He saw them staring wide-eyed at him. The doctor left. Larry appeared morose. Something bothered him.

Sue asked. “How come he saluted you?”

“Did he? I didn’t notice.” He lied.

“You returned it!”

“Reflex.”

“That’s the Company Police Chief. I’ve seen him on the Holo.” She said.

“Yes. He is.” General Aloirav replied. “Did the doctor set your minds at ease?”

“No. He said we couldn’t take Elan home. He said those were your orders. We’re the parents. Yet he listens to you. Why?” Sue asked. That’s Mr. Otorp, over there, and General Mab.”

“How come everybody treats you like a god?” Larry asked. “You’re a criminal. Shouldn’t you be in jail somewhere?”

“This is my hospital. At least I run it. They’re just covering their tails to protect their paycheck. Don’t blame the good doctors.” He responded, laughing, while pretending to ignore the insults.

The two got very sober looks on their faces. Neither joined in the General’s laughter. They didn’t see respect and deference as laughing matters. Respect is but warmed-over fear. Some find anxiety small cause for mirth.

“How come you run this hospital? You’re an…” Sue groped for an “incorrigible” euphemism.

General Aloirav interjected, before she could embarrass herself further and said. “An ex-con, Sue? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Er…yes. I guess so.” The woman answered, returning her gaze to the floor.

“Don’t worry about it. They pardoned me. Maybe they think that since I can make people sick so well maybe I can make them well too.”

“We aren’t children, Dad! You needn’t treat us as such.” Larry said.

“I don’t understand.” Sue’s husband asked. “How is it that the Chief of Police, the Company Chairman and General Mab obey you…willingly?”

“They’re just doing what feels right to them.”

“No! I don’t buy that!” Larry said. “You’re a serial killer. You’ve been in prison for 16 years and now you have the highest de facto position on the planet.”

“What is going on?” Sue said. “What’s wrong with this world?”

“A great deal.” General Aloirav replied.

“Why do they respect you so much?” Sue asked. “Am I going crazy?”

“No, Sue. You’re not.” The General answered. “These people know that if the situation is to improve, they must listen to me.”

“What is so wrong with the situation!?” She asked.

“More than I can say right now.”

“How can they betray Lester Frye so shamelessly?” Larry asked. “Is there no gratitude anymore?”

“Lester Frye was my friend.”

“That’s a lie!” Sue replied. “You were his enemy! Everyone knows that.”

“At times he felt so. That’s true. He learned to believe in me and took me out of prison to save the Company.”

“The world’s most respected scientist & businessman gets a serial killer released… because he believes in him!?” Larry said. “You must still be deranged if you think I’ll believe that one.”

“Larry!”

“Yes, Dad?”

“I am not deranged. I fell into an intoxicating fluid long ago and lost my mental equilibrium for a few weeks. Those chemicals have been out of my system for nearly 2 decades. I’ll allow no more disrespect out of you. Do you understand!?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t tell your mother anything about the shooting. Do you understand?”

“Sure, Dad. Why the concern now? You never ha…”

“I said, CAN THE INSOLENCE!”

Larry said nothing in response, and the General continued. “By some strange coincidence Elan stumbled into the path of our enemies, your mother’s, mine, and Mr. Frye’s. Don’t think they’ll stop and leave you alone just because you don’t approve of my behavior, or me. The world doesn’t work like that. Families are forfeit, “hostages to fortune”, as Lord Bacon said. Our pasts have just converged on our present, perilously. If Gloria thinks you and your family are in danger, the woman’s liable to act precipitously. Without all the facts, she might do something rash. Getting herself killed, maybe all of us. Please try appearing normal.”

“Sure, Dad. If it’ll help Mom.”

“It will.” He said. Then, turning to Elan’s parents, he continued. “One more thing, if you can. You probably can’t, but try keeping Elan away from that girl.”

“Definitely!” Sue said. “I’d have done that anyway!”

Elan came out of X-ray, and the relieved parents went to speak with him. General Aloirav found the interruption convenient, returning to his office in the hospital’s J-ward. He could now avoid explaining about their son’s remaining hospitalized without doctor’s demands. It was not necessary, but it made no sense alarming Larry & Gretchen or Elan’s parents. The General wanted to keep Elan away from the Otorp’s. The young man’s safety was questionable if Mendoza and Hernan should continue the assaults.

Brenda and Elan now thought they were in love. Forced separation would but bring them closer. The young couple could look to General Aloirav for solace. He wanted them closer…and more.

A few minutes later, Bacon got General Aloirav’s attention and said.

“Boss.”

“Yah, Bacon.”

“Hewitt talked, just as you thought.”

“How bad is it?”

“Called Boston Missing Persons. They’re sending a guy out to talk to him tomorrow.”

“Hewitt still here?”

“Yah, but he’s humeal.”

“Okay. Get Harcourt and Ames. That painting job done?”

“Yah. They’ve been helping Roger find Heinz & Hernan.”

“Okay. I want Harcourt to impersonate Hewitt, if he can. If it blows up in our face, off the cop before he leaves the bridge.”

“Gotcha.”

 

After visiting hours concluded, the General returned to Elan’s’ room. Entering the J-ward chamber, he visited the young man. Elan made his great grandfather very proud that day. The old man wanted him to know how much. Before the General left, Elan was well aware of it.

They talked about a man’s commitment to women, and the General was saying. “A woman can’t know how unspeakable a man’s love is for her. She can’t know its gravity or depth, because their love is different from ours. If he accepts her children as his own, the woman will never know. You see Elan. Being a good father, protecting his children, begins even before he meets their mother. He must be ever vigilant. That means his health, his woman’s health & fidelity – he must know his children are his and will be healthy…”Elan fell asleep, and the statement fell on deaf ears.

Continuing to look at his sleeping grandson, General Aloirav thought about his first sons. Enemies killed his “hostages to fortune”. One was much older than Elan, when they took his life. The others were unborn. Memories brought tears to his eyes. A special torment comes with the experience of losing a child. One is never free of the guilt, especially if it’s an undeserved guilt. Many of the General’s grandchildren escaped after the New Society’s crash and his imprisonment. Their parents and grandparents never saw them again. That was why the General tried to forgive Larry’s caustic and vituperative remarks. Larry lost children too.

The General went to Elan’s room before breakfast the following day. He asked if Elan could remember ever seeing any of the intruders before yesterday’s assault. He could. A number of them were at the same prison spur as his great grandmother. The young man recognized them from his visits there.

“One has a big scar on his face & neck.” Elan said. “His left arm kind of twists in toward his chest. He jumped away with a big bag before the shooting got going really bad.”

“That would be Mendoza.” General Aloirav said.

“An old man jumped too.”

“Fredo. Anything else unusual you remember?”

“Yah.”

“What?”

“Those guys that jumped just disappeared for a few minutes. I saw them later, and they weren’t running anymore.”

“No?”

“No. I saw a lot of them walk real slowly into the neighbor’s house.”

“Really! Then what happened?” The General asked, not believing his ears at such manifest stupidity or arrogance.”

“The tall guy that banged into Brenda. He ran down that way too.

“Did he go into the neighbors’ house?”

“I don’t know. I saw the gun pointed at Brenda and dove down right after that.”

“That was a brave thing you did, without a doubt. But I think you’ve been watching too much First-Surface holograph.”

“She’s just about the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, Grampa. I couldn’t let anything happen to her. Could I?”

“No. I guess you couldn’t, my boy. I guess you couldn’t.”

“I love her, Grampa.”

“I’m sure you think you do, and I sure as hell hope you do not.”

“Why not, Grampa?”

“Young beautiful women are nothing but trouble.” The diabolical General answered.

“Why?”

“The more beautiful the more trouble.”

“Tell me, Grampa? Why?”

“Like all women, their shelf-life is half a man’s. Probably for this reason, they’re very high maintenance. She may demand you spend much more money than you have. She’ll want you nearby all the time. They’re never satisfied, always looking at other girl’s guys. They imagine how they might have a better life with some other chap. Most experiment too. Every disagreement you have, she may take as an excuse to betray you. She may start disagreements just to get that excuse. If you catch her, she’ll use it. In any disagreement, she’ll make you feel that you’ve abused her. She’ll make you feel you deserved the treachery. She probably won’t want kids or will fail to take care of those she has. She’ll want you to hire babysitters or take care of the kids yourself. She’ll find it difficult to share with you anything positive of hers and will want you to take the entire negative off her shoulders. If you separate, she’ll make you beg to see your kids or force you to spend a fortune to do so. She’ll throw her new stud in your face at every opportunity.”

“I love her, Grampa. I don’t think she’s that way.”

“Maybe not, my boy. Maybe not. She’d be mighty rare.”

“She is.”

“If she isn’t or becomes the kind of slut I’m describing, it may not be her fault alone, but yours.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’ve known many men with paramours & wives like that. They blame the woman, when it’s often their inadequacy. Never forget. Nature looks to the survival of her children, and She’s a bitch. If a man proves insufficient to the task of producing prime offspring, Nature pulls the trigger on female survival traits. She becomes a slut, looking for a better man. Slut traits destroy weaker males.

 

The detective was chewing gum as he entered the module. He didn’t remove it to speak, saying. “Mr. John Hewitt, please. Name’s Amos Brown. He’s expecting me.”

“Just one moment, Mr. Brown.” The secretary replied. “I’ll see if he’s busy.”

“Okay.”

“You may go in now.” The secretary said, upon her return. “He’s with Mr. Ames but wants to speak with you.”

“Thank you.”

“Mr. Hewitt?”

“Ames. He’s Hewitt.”

“I’m here about your holocall, as we arranged.”

“Yes. I know. I’m afraid I’ve made a big mistake, wasted your time.”

“How is that?”

“I told you something untrue.”

“You did not build that machine you said you did?!”

“Oh yes. I built it, but it was for a concern in Brazil. I thought they were going to use it here. I was mistaken.”

“Could you give me the name of the concern in Brazil?”

“I don’t know that. You’ll have to take that up with Sales. I just learned about my mistake from an accidental conversation.”

“How is that?”

“My friend heard a man named Bacon, in Sales, mention it was going to some place called Belem, Brazil.” Mr. (Harcourt) Hewitt replied.

“What friend?”

“Ames here.”

“You heard this Bacon fellow say the machine was going to Brazil?”

“Yep, sure did. He said it was to ship out yesterday. It’s gone.”

“I see. Where can I find this Bacon?”

“I don’t know. I expect Sales. I have his number.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. Here.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re quite welcome, Mr. Brown.” Ames replied.

“Sorry to have caused you so much needless trouble.” Mr. Harcourt said.

“Yeah.”

 

Detective Andrew Smith spoke to Mr. Hodges secretary. The toy boy admitted him into Mr. Hodges office. Mr. Hodges asked. “Well, was your trip successful?”

“No. Mr. Hodges. It was a false alarm. The machine went to someplace in Brazil.”

“Really?”

“Yah. I talked to some big old geezer named Bacon in Company Sales.”

“How is Bacon?”

“He seemed fine. You two know each other?”

“We know some of the same people.”

“Well. He said the machine went to Brazil.”

“How can that be? There is an embargo on Brazil. MMIM has an interdiction going there. Nothing passes up or down.”

“Yah. And you never heard about smuggling either, I suppose?”

“You think so?”

“Where do you think the Company gets their rocks?”

“They’re getting rocks?!”

“So long, Mr. Hodges. Sorry. Taking up yer’ time.”

Mr. Hodge went right to the Commission way station with his news. He entered the inner sanctum and saw Hernan sitting in a chair near General Trilate.

“Hi, Hernan.” He said.

“Hello, Mr. Hodges. What’s the news from Rhode Island? I haven’t been to Headquarters for weeks.”

“We’re all about the same, Hernan. How’s everything with you?”

“I’m still ducking & dodging Company Security.”

“I can imagine.”

“What brings you here, Mike?” General Trilate asked.

“I thought you should know, Sir. They’re apparently going to produce the humeal in Brazil. A Boston detective advised me that one of Aloirav’s men told him the machine went to Brazil.”

“Well. That hardly seems like something Aloirav would stoop to dirty his hands over.”

“It does seem below him.”

“Is there any possibility Aloirav could have bamboozled that detective?”

“We both know Aloirav, Sir. Of course, it’s a possibility. It was Bacon’s statement the detective took.”

“So. We may have a humeal operation on the bridges?”

“We may.”

“At any rate. I’m glad you came, Mike.” General Trilate said. “Hernan has been advising me of the latest on the Bridges from the Board’s position, or what’s left of it.”

“Yes, Mr. Hodges.” Hernan reiterated. “Our Directors are falling like dominoes.”

“So, it appears Aloirav is making inroads on the Company management.” General Trilate said. “We knew it would happen if his presence continued. I was hoping your people would have taken him out by now.”

“There have been attempts, Sir.” Mr. Hodges said. “He’s either lucky or very crafty.”

“Both. Clausewitz warned us about it. Something about the”residue of diligence” comes to mind.”

“What do you want us to do about the humeal machine?”

“I talked to the other Commission members yesterday after you advised me of the existence of this machine. Now that there’s a possibility it’s in Brazil means I’ll have other things to tell them. Hernan tells me Aloirav’s getting rocks through the embargo, hunh?”

“That’s the rumor.”

“Where there’s smoke…”

“Yes, Sir.”

 

Heinz tired of playing mind tag with Mr. Hodge’s toy boy and knocked on the office door. Mr. Hodges queried as to who wanted him, and Heinz replied.

“It’s me, Mike. Heinz. Got some scoop for you.”

“Come in, Heinz.”

“I think you’ve got some competition in the humeal game.”

“How do you know that?”

“My mole in Aloirav’s yard. Said the “boss” is hiding something from us.”

“Are you sure of your mole?”

“Absolutely. The guy’s terrified of losing his kid.”

“So. What did he say, exactly?”

“He says Bacon told him to impersonate a dead Company engineer. My guy says he’s sure Aloirav off’ed the guy.”

“What guy?”

“The engineer.”

“I see.”

“The engineer, some dude named Hoot, snitched to some Boston dick that he built Aloirav a humeal machine. Aloirav off’s him too soon, discovers the guy snitched before he became fertilizer. The cop, some First-Surface detective, trying not to starve, comes up a ‘snoopin’.”

“What was the detective’s name?”

“Brown.”

“Not Smith?”

“No. An Amos Brown.”

“OK.”

“Our slick detective Brown asks lots of questions and gets Aloirav’s canned lies.”

“And?”

“The machine’s up there and running. I’m sure of it. Why would Aloirav off its loquacious builder and have my mole obfuscate the fact?”

“It does seem strange. Plus, MMIM would not license an operation there without informing me.”

“What do you hear about rock smuggling?” Heinz asked.

“Well, that’s another matter. Aloirav could be doing that. There’s a lot going down in Brazil, and he’s been a smuggler all his life. You know that.”

“Yah.”

Ames saw Bacon at the hospital and took him aside. After relating what occurred during the meeting with the detective, he said.

“We separated for a few minutes, and I followed our boy.”

“What happened?”

“Mr. Harcourt talked to his new sweetheart for about 5 minutes.”

“What else?”

“It was with someone on the First-Surface.”

“How can you be sure it was on the First-Surface, Ames?” Bacon asked.

“He punched in a low line exchange.”

“But you didn’t hear any of the conversation?”

“Just one word.”

“What was it?” Bacon asked.

“Heinz.”

“Get someone from Communications to that holo. We might find Heinz location.”

“Right away, Bacon.”

 

Eager to undo his incompetence in the Hewitt affair, Bacon rushed to tell General Aloirav the news.

“Boss.”

“Yah, Bacon.” The General answered.

“Just got done talkin’ with Ames.”

“And?”

“Harcourt was on the holo, talkin’ with Heinz.”

“That’s great news, Bacon. When?”

“Today, after the meeting with that First-Surface cop.”

“Then they know about the serum machine.”

“Afraid so, Boss. Whatcha’ gonna’ do?”

“Time to wait and see.” General Aloirav said. “We’ll let the other side fill the vacuum for us. We’ve got a real good thing going with Harcourt.”

“If they buy it, they’ll believe, we really don’t know, he’s their boy.” Bacon said.

“It’s a major coup for Heinz.” The General added. “And for us.”

“They’ll swallow whatever we feed ‘em.” Bacon added. “What about the machine, Boss?”

“We’ll risk it. Let’s let them think about it for a while. They may want to see if we change its position or something because we suspect Harcourt’s loyalty.”

“You don’t want to do anything?”

“I didn’t say that. Get Communications on the holophone that Harcourt used to talk to Heinz. Get Heinz’ location and the conversation.”

“I already did that, Boss. They can get the conversation too?”

“Yah. I installed recording discs on all Headquarters trans-border hard lines.”

“That it?”

“No. Warn Captain Qercua that he needs to keep the auxiliary reception crew available 24 hours a day. Have them supplement the secondary donor relief team. Tell him to make it all real low visibility. We don’t want to expose our worries, but we want to be ready for interference.”

“Right, Boss.”

 

Mr. Hodges rushed right off to the Commission way station. He wanted to inform General Trilate of the latest news on the humeal machine. General Trilate admitted him and Mr. Hodges said. “General.”

“Yes, Mike.”

“I think we may have solved half our smuggling problem.”

“How?”

“The humeal machine is still on the Pontibus.”

“It never went to Brazil?”

“No. There’s no company in Brazil that could get a humeal license. MMIM would have informed me of it. Our spies report Aloirav still has the machine and is using it.”

“He’s using it?!”

“Yes, Sir. It seems the embargo’s making the Pontibus desperate for humeal. He’s processing live “biologicals”.”

“Live?! How do you know that?”

“Boston Missing Persons is swamped with calls. They’re getting like 4 or 5 hundred calls a day.”

“A day?!”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And the rock smuggling?”

“It may just be a smoke screen to hide the humeal machine’s real position.”

“That is really a bit of news. Who got it for you?”

“My man Heinz.”

“Isn’t he the contractor on the Aloirav job?”

“Yes.”

“He’s not been successful.”

“No. But he’s made attempts, and Aloirav escapes them.”

“Well. Tell him to keep at it and that we appreciate his good work on the machine item.”

“Right, Sir.”

Mr. Hodges left the meeting with General Trilate and went back to his Rhode Island office. General Trilate went into the communications room. The space scrambled all Commission calls and voices. Every Commission member possessed his or her own decoding computer. Today, it was Commission member Dr. Fargen handling the Pontibus business for the Commission. After General Trilate explained the news about General Aloirav’s humeal initiative, he asked.

“What should we do, Dr. Fargen?”

“Well. It’s clearly a violation of Company mores as well as OG law. Aloirav is a fiend. He feels above any law or moral code. Nevertheless, stopping him is becoming something of a joke. MMIM’s man can’t or won’t do it. As you know, we’ve had numerous other contractors try. All have disappeared.”

“Are you saying we’re powerless against him?”

“No. But, we can’t entertain vain hopes of stopping him legally. The Company has outlawed written law for one glaring obvious reason, General. Caedere power can harness it in a twinkling. Frye couldn’t allow that and still be supreme. I don’t believe he ever intended to outlaw law, just its deification on paper. The Council can still use human sanction & precedent whenever they choose. When “they choose”, is the operative phrase. No one can order or command the Council. Frye was above the law, as is the Council. Aloirav is continuing the tradition. I don’t think the Council will interfere against Aloirav.”

“He may have started it.” General Trilate added.

“True. As his heir, Frye just fell into the mindset. Frye knew he had an obligation to see civilization continue. English Common Law & Statutes are on every Pontibus computer.”

“OG law, US law, purports to do the same, doesn’t it?”

“Written law became ossified, down there, and is thought of as a fiat ex cathedra.”Dr. Fargen said. “Attorneys got involved. When that happens, another scenario develops altogether. The Romans outlawed lawyers for that very reason.”

“What?”

“Lawyers make caedere wealth the holy chair.”

“You make it sound like you agree with Aloirav!”

“Of course not! Well, yes. In a way. I’m trying to explain to you why, legal restraint is of use to us and of no concern to him. In his position, he has no choice. He must behave the way he does.”

“How so?”

“I would do exactly as he’s doing if I were in his place.”

“Become a monster?!”

“He’s only as monstrous as he needs to be. The struggle is very clear, General Trilate. The issue is plain to see. It’s civilization or Aloirav, us or Nature.”

“What?”

“Caedere wealth or biological sustainability. The Commission or the Company. Aloirav is forcing our hand, giving us an ultimatum. I wish I knew where he finds such balls at his age.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“He must protect the Company from written law, General Trilate. He feels he has a world to defend, promised Frye he’d do so. That devil is out to save natural creation! He’s trying to rescue Frye’s vision of a safe & healthy world for all. He’s endeavoring to achieve biological sustainability, Frye’s religion.”

“And we are…?”

“Trying to protect the Commission and our assets, the rule of lucre.” Dr. Fargen explained.

“Yes!”

“What difference do a few species and the subhuman race make in our struggle? We’re trying to survive! Written law is our lifeline! It becomes, under Rothschild and his lawyer auspices, a lash to keep us free of the “biologicals” and other riffraff. It keeps the littles in their places. After the very first news, (regarding the Company’s humeal machine), surfaced, the Commission’s been united. I’ve just talked to Mr. Gras and some other members. We’re going to let Aloirav alone.”

“Let him alone?!” General Trilate exclaimed. “Whatever for!? You just explained how he was killing us!”

“Yes, I did. He is.”

“Then why…?”

“Do we allow him to continue with his diabolical little factory?”

“Yes! The embargo was for just that purpose… humeal, was it not?”

”Yes, that’s true. Our carrion merchant members say the embargo is rotting stored humeal in the warehouses. They also say it’s getting harder to start wars these days. The girls aren’t buying the “wars make good husbands” propaganda like they used to.”

“All of which mediates against letting the Company make its own humeal!”

“General Trilate.” Dr. Fargen said. “You are absolutely right. If I were an OG pol or MMIM executive I would have another way of proceeding, I’m sure. However, I am not. I am a Commission member, as are you. We control MMIM, the OG, and the entire First-Surface. It’s our fief. The First-Surface needs Pontibus products. The embargo started out as a good idea. It’s not proving itself worthy of its promise. It’s killing us! Have you any idea the resources the First-Surface wastes on these “biological” monstrosities!? The figure is enormous! Thousands of trillions of dollars every year. We made a terrible mistake, long long ago. When the first “biological” applied for welfare, we should have known …and acted. We did not! We listened to one of our members, the Pope. He said socialism would weaken our human enemies, bleed them dry. He was right. Socialism, like any tax, was license to kill the decent working class. Once we broke them, enslaved them and made them our cattle, we sat back on our laureled asses! Now these biological misfits are replicating toward infinity! They consume, consume, and consume! Air, water, food, organs, energy, etc. Their shit is becoming a mountain range. It gets worse every day. They demand a living standard equal to other subhumans. They even have the temerity to demand replacement organs! As if they had some right to life?! They do nothing for us. Nothing! They are dragging every living thing into the abyss!”

The world wants to be deceived.                     Brant

Chapter Seventy-Three

“Yes, Sir.”

“I saw some of those things yesterday.”

“The “biologicals”, Sir?”

“Yes.” Dr. Fargen confirmed. “Those of us who live on the bridges are not used to seeing such sights. I must confess. It really disheveled me.”

“I can imagine that, Sir.”

“I was with an old friend who was visiting his First-Surface factory…a moment in nostalgia for both of us. Navigating through the morass of those creatures was almost more than we could bear. There was one of those post-encephalitic freaks begging at the front door of my friend’s concern. You ever see one of those things?”

“Yes, Sir. Daily. Much neurological damage. They’re usually catatonic.”

“Right. It was sitting in a wheelchair staring out into space. Nothing human there, just useless living corpse meat. A quack was talking to a relative in attendance, and they were all very sympathetic.”

“Yes, Sir. That’s quite common down here. People feel much compassion for the handicapped and genetically stressed.”

“Crazy!” Dr. Fargen said. “Can’t they see how unreasonable they are? Such a quantity of resources devoted to a vegetable that will never even be someone’s food! So many subhumans on the planet! We could be free of such detritus in one generation. Yet, we risk more cases by allowing them life.”

“Yes, Sir. But there are those who ask, “where do we draw the line?””

“What line!?”

“The demarcation point between when a defective human is too defective and not worthy of life.”

“General Trilate!”

”Yes, Sir?”

“How long have there been computers?”

“Centuries? Sir?”

“Nearly. Every person who has ever applied for welfare benefits is on one of those infernal machines. Am I not right?”

“Well. I suppose so.”

“Of course they are! It’s very simple. If you need help, just to survive, you’re a waste! If you are so shameless as to force your fellows into supporting you, you deserve to disappear!”

“I see.”

“I wish I did.”

“Sir?”

“I wish I could see, understand, the counterargument. But, I can’t. The OG academics say my thinking is wrong. Something about a Hardy-Weinberg Law. Ought’ta repeal it. It’s like allowing a virus to coexist with us. With all that refuse around it could very well result in just such a scenario. They’ve forgotten what happened in the 13^th century! So much suffering these freaks cause, due to their continued existence alone. It makes you wonder.”

“What does, Sir?”

“Why, who is the most sick, the monster or the fiend keeping the freak alive? It’s appalling! Aloirav has the right idea. Get rid of them, along with their panderers!”

“But what about the OG and MMIM’s embargo? You want to undermine them?”

“Yes, we do. We have but two members that still have sizable investments in MMIM. They’re cutting their losses and are moving with the rest of us in this. We’re losing faith in MMIM and want to see if it can prevail without so much assistance. The two new members from the USA must keep silent. You know our membership does not enjoy accepting parvenu applicants. MMIM and the OG are like all the other past concerns, General Trilate. They come, contribute, and go. Only a small fraction of their management ever enters the Commission. We remain.”

“What about the rock smuggling?’

“Same thing. Let it go. We want to destroy the Company, not the Pontibus.”

“But Aloirav. If we destroy Pontibus growth, we destroy him too.”

“Perhaps, but it’s far too expensive. The other members all agree on this point. The Pontibus is wealth, our purpose. We want to control it. If Aloirav survives the future, who knows? One day, he may be one of us. We almost had Frye. If the man hadn’t been so damn principled…”

“Okay. I’ll forget about stopping the smuggling and “biological” processing.”

“That’s right. Concentrate on destroying the Company and that damn Council. Get Aloirav if you can.”

“It will get expensive. MMIM and the OG are not going to be pleased.”

“Too bad. They’re controllable. They’re democracies.”

“But they’re on the Commission’s side, Dr. Fargen.”

“Today, General. Allies change. You know that. An enemy today is a friend tomorrow and visa versa. We use concerns like MMIM and the OG as tools. We used the USA before them. We used the Third Reich.”

“Hitler?!”

“Yes. He was almost in the Commission. The man was coming around and would have been if those little Jews with that commie Roosevelt didn’t get him, after he lost favor with us. Most of our people were with him. The wealthy Jews, Khazar Jews anyway, even our leader, his grandfather Rothschild, went right to the man’s table. They ate his vegetarian porridge, helped him destroy the religionists and other defectives degrading the living standard of Europe. Then, unfortunately, he went and made a deal with Stalin and the other subhumans to divvy up the planet without the expenditure of gold on our arms. That we couldn’t countenance. We must get our just due. We did make him see the light, but it was too late. He no longer met with our favor, so we helped Stalin and our other tools destroy Him. We thus gained from sales to both sides, as is our way. Use them. Never befriend them. Pols are cheap meat. We want to see them at the heads of countries and large concerns, General Trilate. Weak, unprincipled scum. Vermin. Tools of our trade. We cannot live with men of style running things. In the past, the Commission always took its greatest hits when real men, men with grand style, ran the world. The key to human subjugation is democracy & written law. The Company represents pristine manhood and strength of will, that Aloirav-Frye spirit. It must go, General Trilate! Turn Pontibus residents into cattle. Make them kneel, as they do on the First-Surface! We want democratic ideals and rule of law on those bridges!”

“Right.”

 

General Aloirav was convinced that Mr. Leion must go. How should he manage it? By now, the cabal should want to discover who fingered the disloyal Company Directors. He needed to give them a name, and soon, or lose Gloria. The General pondered the value of keeping to himself the news of the fat man’s assistance after the attack. Only Elan saw the escape to its finish. No one but Elan and the General himself knew that fact.

Such information could have much value if the other side did not know the Company knew of it. The treacherous directors were all but completely eliminated from the Company’s Board. The General’s suspicion and subsequent reactions could only come about in response to a leak in the other side’s organization. They would need to find that leak. If it happened to him, Rav knew he would be hot on the trail of whoever was the culprit.

How much longer could Gloria survive the increased scrutiny? The General must make Mr. Leion the cynosure of their wrath. If not, despite dehistorization, they would find the real informer. Looking among them, it wouldn’t be long. They’d soon discover her past association with the New Society.

Could he somehow use the private escape information to make the prison cabal redirect their eventual probable suspicion focus from her? How could he arrange to finger the fat spy as the culprit, getting the cabal to lose confidence in their man instead of Gloria? It would suit the General’s purposes best if the enemy killed Mr. Otorp’s neighbor themselves. Mr. Leion appearing as a double agent would accomplish both these objectives.

Laying incriminating doubt on Mr. Leion was one way to save Gloria. Leaking pseudo-evidence to Sr. Mendoza or Hernan seemed appropriate. Getting quality incriminating information and a way of leaking it was now in order. General Aloirav thought about using the woman accountant’s disappearance – murder as the gambit. He also felt that it might backfire on him if his guess was incorrect.

Photographs showing something apparently treasonous to the cabal to connect the man to appeared a good choice. People working on the non-moving side of common mores were less inclined to discover truth beyond a reasonable doubt than were squares. Where to get such photos was a big question. What nefarious treachery could they throw at Mr. Leion? It was another unknown to consider. Maybe Andy and Bacon working together could think of something.

He arranged a new signal to ascertain when Gloria needed off the spur fast. If her life was in much more grave a danger, it meant Gloria’s usefulness there was over anyway. Heinz appearing at the prison, seeing her, would clarify the cabal’s doubts about their informant. If she ever saw the man again, Gloria would know to get out of his sight. She needed no one’s advice on that subject. But, where could she go if seen?

 

Communications were successful at finding the holophone Heinz used to speak with Mr. Harcourt. Roger supplied the “Group” with that important information at their last meeting. Heinz was in Boston. Hernan and Sr. Mendoza knew how important he was to their operation. They kept him very well hidden. Roger couldn’t discover his exact address. They knew the holophone was on the corner of Boylston and Mass Ave.

General Aloirav cautioned Elan to tell no one what he saw during the gunfight. He then left the young man and went to the Otorp house. The General wanted their next-day reactions as to dispositions on the current situation. He heard enough immediate thoughts and feelings yesterday. Now was the time for cooler reason.

When General Aloirav arrived, they asked about Elan. His grandson’s courage and self-sacrifice won them over. He informed all that Elan slept well and was doing fine. The General was still debating with himself as to telling them what he learned about their neighbor’s treachery. First, he got their input on the previous day’s events. It appeared they knew nothing about the burglar’s aid coming from Mr. Leion’s direction.

When General Aloirav got Mr. Otorp and Ms. Roth alone, he almost told them about Elan’s observation, but at the last moment refrained from it. They were angry enough about the situation and could offer no helpful ideas anyway. Losing their independence was obvious after asking him what they should do. The General could only blame himself for such meek behavior. He wished they could have shown spunk a bit longer. The new mindset often incubated treachery.

Yet, there seemed no reason to take them further into his confidence. They were simple subordinates now. Other people were better equipped to be his intimates. When Mab Roth regained some rebellious spirit, it surprised but did not please General Aloirav. He didn’t care for her brand of spunk.

Mab said. “…Well, you’re going to have to specify a time, General. We can’t just give you carte blanche to keep Company infrastructure forever, you know.”

“You can’t possibly believe the struggle with the old-government is over! They just attacked us, yesterday, for Christ’s sake! I lost good men!”

“Yes! A bun’cha incompetents! 40 bodies! Your timing isn’t so hot. They could have killed us! I suggest you wise up on your procedures. Not very impressive.”

“You are all alive and unharmed because 40 of my old friends are dead. Some might call that loyalty. That a concept foreign to you, Ma’am?! You been studying at the feet of the US Government?”

“I want a date, General! You may be a major stockholder but until you become the Chairman, you are still a subordinate. Just because you started the Company doesn’t give you any special privileges now. Don’t forget we’re “running this show”.”

Containing his anger, he wanted to slug her, thinking. “Good men died saving their asses. I’m doing all I can, and this bitch is holding my feet to the fire! We’ll see, right now, who’s “running this show”.”

“I’m not forgetting it. Thank you though for reminding me.”

“You’re quite welcome.”

“You’ve also reminded me of something else. In trying to discover the whereabouts of our friend Hernan, we’re not having much luck. His dossier in the Company personnel files is missing. I’m going to have to go on something else. Excuse me for asking; I know it must be embarrassing. But how is it you got into the mess you did with Hernan?”

“What mess?” She dissembled and colored.

“There was more than one?”

“No.”

“Then the one in which Lester Frye interceded?”

“What do you mean?!” Mab asked, taken off guard and playing for some time.

“Didn’t you tell me Hernan tried to blackmail you once, or something like that?”

“No.” She replied, looking at Mr. Otorp. “He tried to extort sexual favors, and I reported it to Mr. Frye.”

“Yes, yes, I thought there was some kind of blackmail. I forget now. Correct me if I’m wrong. Was it you tried to blackmail him then or…?”

“I did no such thing!”

“And, you say, Lester Frye did nothing? I’m trying to clear some things up. Didn’t you say Hernan had more pull than you, or he was blackmailing Lester Frye? Something like that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember. It’s not important.”

“Oh, but it i.i.i.i.s.” He patronized her frantic looks toward Mr. Otorp with sing-songing his last word.

“What’s this all about, Rav.” Mr. Otorp interceded. “She’s done nothing wrong. What are you driving at?”

“Didn’t say she has. Don’t know. Just mighty strange Lester would give the guy a promotion, just because he rapes her.”

“He never raped me!”

“Right. You were faking resistance, I underst…” General Aloirav said.

“You son of a…”

“Even with Frye’s sometime strange values. Isn’t that getting a little rough, just to bridle a troublesome virago?” The General continued. “Don’t you think? Promoting the guy?!”

“You’re calling me a virago!?”

“”If the fu shits”, my dear… I’m trying to get the truth. You don’t like my choice of words? Give me the answers I want. Quit equivocating, and I’ll leave.”

“I must agree with her.” Mr. Otorp riposted. ”Your conduct today is less than friendly.”

“Yes. I thought there might be something in it too. Some lead which I could investigate further to ascertain Hernan’s whereabouts.”

“I don’t see what difference it makes?” Mr. Otorp tried to get him to back off.

“Oh, it makes a difference, all right.” The General replied, laughing. “If it bothers you that much, I’ll find him some other way.”

“It doesn’t bother me at all!” She said. “It’s just that that’s all that happened.”

“Right.” He said, smiling in obvious disbelief.

No one said anything more, as General Aloirav turned to leave. All three knew Mab was lying, and no one believed her. At the hatch, his hand on the handle, he stopped. Turning back, the General stared malevolently at her. Saying nothing further, he just walked out the door.

After the two were alone, Mab cried. “He knows! He knows! The monster knows, and now he’s going to blackmail us. I knew it when you asked him about operating on defective eggs the other day. He was bound to find out!”

“We don’t know that.” Mr. Otorp responded, feeling that she was right. “You were a little hard on him. He may just be fishing for a way to get even.”

“He knows. I know he knows! And you gave him the clue!” The woman exclaimed, betraying her weakened condition by attacking a friend.

“You may be right, but we’ll just have to wait and see.” He said, walking over to her and patting her back while embracing her. “There’s nothing we can do about it now anyway.” Mr. Otorp consoled, believing women need love most when they least deserve it.

Four men sat in Heinz’ room near the Combat Zone in the old Hotel Lafayette, Boston. They were discussing building materials. Sometimes the subject matter deviated, but it remained in the nature of business. Mr. Michael Hodges said.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Mr. Heinz? I do not work for the President anymore! That was twenty years ago. We were both young men.”

“You can tell the bastards what we want.” Heinz replied.

“I work for MMIM now. We’re interested in re-acquiring the aluminum business, not tax revenues.”

“Look Mike. We understand our principals are interested in sales and profits. Who isn’t? It’s also a well-known fact MMIM controls the OG’s politics. When you were liaison between the President and the New Society, it was in the closet. Now, everyone knows Presidents do what MMIM demands. Presidents are just expensive whores, always have been.” Hernan Castillo said.

“So what?” Mr. Hodges replied. “He’s not going to lighten his tax revenue demands on the Company just to keep MMIM happy! Constituents’d dump him like a load o’ preachers into hell. We need to change Company policy in some other way.”

“I’m tellin’ ya’. We never had enough directors in the fold to remove Otorp before. With him Chairman now, and our friendly Directors dropping like shit from a sick duck, it’s impossible. The Company will never renounce calein for aluminum. Otorp & Frye created the stuff. Otorp’s not about to pay taxes, his own or the Company’s. He knows it’s a rope! If you’re gonna’ get aluminum back, ya’ gotta’ take Otorp out!” Hernan said.

“As I said. My principles want aluminum sales back. MMIM’s aluminum division profits went from 1475 trillion in one year to 2 trillion the next. Our directors are from every country in the world. I need not tell you, they are not pleased. Have you any idea how many wars we must prosecute to recoup those metal revenues? Arms, narcotics, pesticides, drugs, prostitution, legal frauds, and organ sales do not compensate for it. Humeal was keeping our operations alive. That’s a bust now. Calein curing is disemboweling our own mining operations. MMIM could go belly-up in less than a decade if we can’t get those sales back! You told us you could get calein out and Aluminum back in by discrediting and removing Otorp. We believed you. I believed you. We made you an MMIM executive. You have not delivered. What is going on?”

“Why don’t ya’ just blow the fuckin’ thing up!? Start it over!” Heinz said. “Why all the squeamishness?”

“My principles at MMIM are not so cavalier with human life. Unlike yourself and your former employer, sir.” Mr. Hodges said. “Furthermore, recycling of Pontibus aluminum already represents a sizable return. Should it be destroyed, we’ll lose much time recovering it.”

“I thought so!” Heinz said. “Aloirav was right. All you fuckers care about is the bottom line. Yer’ no greater friends of the human race than he is.”

“Lad’s quick.” Mr. Hodges retorted.

“Not to mention it’s been tried…unsuccessfully, many times, eh Mike?” Hernan added.

“It isn’t just the metal there,” Mr. Hodges replied, ignoring both men. “The administrative costs of reconstruction and logistics, amortized over the alternatives, would depress profits for decades. Our accoun….”

“Enough!” Hernan interrupted. “We’re not here to talk philosophy. Speaking of Aloirav, why hasn’t he been taken out yet?”

“We’re workin’ on it.” Heinz replied, cowed.

“You’ve been working on it!” Mr. Hodges said. “What’s the holdup?”

“Aloirav’s smart. He doesn’t want the same things other men want. He’s not after money, love, or glory like…”

“How many attempts have you made?” Hernan pressed.

“He’s been in the joint too, don’t forget.”

“How many, Heinz?” Mr. Hodges pressed.

“He knows what I and his other people look like. He’s recruiting back his best people. They’ll recognize me if I get too close. It’s gonna’ take more time.” Heinz explained.

“How much more time do you need?” Mr. Hodges asked. “You were trying to take over his position when I was still a congressional aid.”

“Hell I was!” Heinz equivocated. “Well… maybe, don’t remember.”

“In fact, he almost found out about your little misappropriations.” Mr. Hodges said, nudging Hernan.

“He never did!” Heinz shouted, taking the bait. “That’s bullshit!”

“T’hell it is!” Mr. Hodges continued, laughing. “He almost found out about those CIL weapons you embezzled. You needed to get rid of the guy that was about to blow the whistle on you. I remember it very well. You needed my help.”

“Yeah, so what? Aloirav never knew, so what’s the problem?” Heinz said in disgust.

Mr. Hodges said to Hernan. “Heinz saved the President’s job because of them.”

“How’s that?” Hernan asked.

“You weren’t born yet. There were many hazardous and toxic waste clean-up companies back then. It was common practice for them to use injection wells.” Mr. Hodges said.

“You’re right. I don’t know about them. What are they?”

“Waste disposal people (Suck’n Spit’ers) dug deep wells in pristine aquifers. They then filled them with VOC’s (Volatile Organic Compounds) and toxic aromatics. Clean up from spills and such went into them.” Mr. Hodges said.

“What the hell for?” Hernan asked surprised.

“It was cheaper than incineration and legal everywhere.”

“Legal?!” Hernan riposted. “Poisoning millions of people was legal?!”

“Yes. Out of sight out of mind. You can’t believe how venal & stupid the people in democracies are.”

“Yes, I think you’re right.”

“Anyway. The water in the aquifer diluted them to where they wouldn’t be detectable for some time. They caused neoplastic diseases and birth defects in five – twenty years, depending on concentrations. Some cancers came faster. Otorp proved that many of today’s “biologicals” came about from the teratogens those companies buried in the drinking water. By the time people woke up, the investment returned, profits made. Story’s over. Few paid settlement judgments or punitive damages.”

“Why not?”

“Technicalities,” Mr. Hodges replied. “Many were dead. Most were pol-connected affairs. Few people knew or cared. There was a general ignorance of the epidemiology of cancer and teratology. Jobs were at stake. The Statute of Limitations ran out. If anyone squawked, some cheap lawyer would file a well-placed frivolous (SLAP) lawsuit and even cheaper newspaper disinformation silenced the whistleblower. “SWAT (Silenced With A Threat) ‘em!” The perpetrators yelled. Editors are easy to corrupt if publishers are in the pocket. Reporters are too terrified of losing their jobs to speak up and fight management. Companies picked aquifers in communities where the bumpkins didn’t know shit from shinola what was happening. Chemically induced diseases were still considered witchery and nonscientific. Bribing local pols cost peanuts.”

“Sounds like a real good business.” Hernan said.

“It was. One of the older ones, Washed Beaches, is still in MMIM. In Heinz’ story, two companies vied for first place in the toxic waste cleanup business. Some of the more respected media, non-Rothschild-owned, became wise to the injection-well practice. They printed some unflattering stories of the industry.”

“No doubt looking to cash in on a big suborning check.”

“People got concerned.” Mr. Hodges said.

“Time to cut and run?” Hernan asked.

“Not yet. The President started making big noises. He was going to “get to the bottom of it”. Said everything people wanted to hear. He was a master at mob exploitation.”

“The dumpers’ gravy train was nearly over.” Hernan said.

“Yeah. Both companies the President was gonna’ punish for the people were heavy contributors. Not just to his personal fund but lots of other pols too.”

“Trouble for everyone.” Hernan laughed.

“As it turned out, one dumper owned a story about the Presidents’ son. The President’s owners knew it would cost him the next election if the media ran with it. All of a sudden, he wants to help the extorting dumper.”

Everyone laughed in the room, except Sr. Mendoza. The language difference made him miss the innuendos. They explained to him why the President elected to dislike the other company. He then also laughed. Heinz laughter was subdued, but he went along with the mood.

Mr. Hodges continued. “The President’s chosen company wanted more than just getting the media off their back. They wanted all the country’s toxic waste clean-up business. The new angels exploited media hype about VOC disease propensity in aquifers. They pushed grass roots & soccer moms to scream about how the country demanded incineration-with-oversight. The favored group knew the aquifer-injection gravy train was passé’ anyway. They just wanted assurance of full market share before any major incinerator investments.”

“So how deed Meester Heinz come eenta peecture?” Sr. Mendoza asked, noticing Heinz’ sheepish demeanor.

Mr. Hodges answered. “Mr. Heinz was already in our camp by that time. He informed us about New Society plans, whenever he could. The President and I worked out a deal with the fortunate environmental company. Mr. Heinz would poison the other company’s operational area. The media knew the target company area. The New Society possessed a biological weapon that mimicked VOC induced leukemias. The best part was that it did so almost overnight. Mr. Heinz accessed it.”

Hernan said. “So much for “to protect and defend”.”

“Yah.” Mr. Hodges agreed, laughing along with Hernan.

Hernan said. “The media must’ve had a field day with the unlucky company, while the other one kept…”

“A very low profile.” Mr. Hodges said. “They hired some Harvard and Yale engineering whores. The bunch swore in their erudite scientific opinion. They assured everyone that only the bad-dumper’s injection-well VOC’s could have caused the CIL’S. (The same “engineers” swore to the exact contrary, for the bad-dumper, just a few weeks prior. The media ignored them. No one noticed.) The morgues filled up. The President did some dumping of his own, all the guilt, on the unfavored company… revoked its license. Vuella! He became a hero and saved his own Presidency in one chop.”

“Until Aloirav got him.” Hernan added.

“Right. That’s another story. You know? Aloirav killed that same waste disposal company’s owner too, along with all his family.”

“He didn’t?!”

“Yup. Gift to Frye.”

“Really?!”

“Yah. Later, an MMIM member bought the company for a song and re-licensed it.”

“That’s the disposal company that’s still in MMIM?”

“Yah. Washed Beaches. Anyway, getting back to Heinz. A New Society member got suspicious of him. Heinz got wind of it, did the guy in.” Mr. Hodges said. “Aloirav almost discovered that one of his members was involved in the CIL’s thing. He just suspected the wrong guy… with Heinz’ and my help.”

“How you know that?” Sr. Mendoza asked.

Heinz came and told us about it, because he needed some assistance to extricate himself.” Mr. Hodges said. “Isn’t that true Heinz?”

“Yeah. So what’s yer’ point?” Heinz answered.

“Get Aloirav.” Mr. Hodges retorted. “If you can’t do it, we’ll get somebody else who can. He could regain all his power. He’s already growing big at the Company, getting his best people out of the penitentiary, wasting our directors. If there are biological weapons left, and we have reason to believe there are, we’ll see maximum trouble.”

Hearing how Mr. Aloirav almost discovered Heinz after the CIL misappropriation, Hernan got pensive. Saying nothing during the latter exchange, Hernan was deep in thought. He now said. “He’ll get him soon.”

Heinz said nothing, just looked at Hernan, as Mr. Hodges said. “I hope so. Management won’t pay for any more weapons, until we see a corpse. Is that understood?”

“Understood.” Hernan said.

“Verstehe, Heinz?” Mr. Hodges asked.

“Yah. I understand.” Heinz sulked.

“Comprende, Mendoza?”

“Si, Senor.”

Mr. Hodges left, and Heinz said. “I don’t see why he can’t get MMIM to make the pols hold off on the tax thing. Hell of a lot easier to isolate Otorp without that pressure on the Company right now. Just throws him the initiative. Makes it easier for the Directors to fall in line behind him.”

“He’d be asking pols to cut their own throat.” Hernan said. “The Company’s rich but doesn’t have effective representation on the First-Surface.”

“Picking on the Pontibus is all plus, no negatives, for the old government pols?”

“Yeah. It makes no difference to me either way.” Hernan said. “I’ll never go back to my old job now.”

“You fucked up there, all right, Sonny.” Heinz replied.

“He sweet on a brot.” Sr. Mendoza said.

“What!” Heinz shouted. “You let a fuckin’ cunt get between you and business?”

“Hell no!” Hernan said. “Mendoza doesn’t know shit!”

“I know you don’ poot yer’ meet weer you mek yer’ bret, meester!” Sr. Mendoza replied.

“You’re a crude bastard, ya’ know it, Mendoza?!” Hernan said, forgetting what he was about to ask Heinz.

“If you’ve been shittin’ where you eat, Hernan, you sure paid a heavy price for the flush!” Heinz said.

“She and I were over a long time ago.” Hernan said. “Mendoza’s full a’ shit.”

“I don’ theenk so, hombre. I see you freeze, when she sees you see heer weeth Meesteer Otorp.”

“What you think is your business.”

“You becha eet my beezeynees!”

“Tell me more about this shit with Aloirav and the CIL’s, Heinz.” Hernan said.

“Nothing ta tell. It’s all bullshit!”

“Si. Ees’ aw buusheet!” Sr. Mendoza parroted, breeding an ally in Heinz.

“I don’t think so. Why is it such a sore point? You did what you had to do, right?”

“It’s bullshit! Bullshit, Sonny!”

“Who’d you have to waste?” Hernan asked.

“I told, ya’, man! It’s bullshit!”

Heinz was adamant about keeping the information to himself, so Hernan let it alone. The parties separated. Heinz remained, brooding alone in his room.

Hernan and Sr. Mendoza happened to meet in the lobby of the Hotel. Hernan spoke first. “Thanks a lot, Mendoza, for making me look bad up there.”

“You weelcom’ mon. You got my cossin kilt. You clinch at Otorp casa. They sees tu cuz’ you stee’ carrin’ a torch for thee kike beetch. Lopez wass a gude mon, too. I don’ trus’ you no more, mon. You dangrous! Entiende!” Sr. Mendoza yelled.

 

The General was at his hospital, supervising the culture medium production. Vector and vaccine manufacturing still failed to meet his goals. He watched people unloading fertile eggs and thousands of liters of serum. It was not enough. He needed millions of liters.

General Aloirav classified his medical people. Those supervising material unloading and storage did not work in the hospital’s clinical facet. The shipping and receiving people did not work in the labs. Culture medium labs did not work in vector-vaccine labs, etc. Casualties would be coming, but he still did not want any jacks-of-all trades materializing. The virus-vaccine shop was not the humeal factory, where he wanted ONLY jack of all trades.

Educating anyone enough to be a threat someday was not an option. These were not civil businesses the General was running, where such thinking is a liability. He operated in a figurative jungle and wanted to stay in charge. Pondering on that, for a moment, he said to himself. “Wanted to punch her lights out when she said, “Just keep it in mind. Don’t forget we’re running this show.””

The General slapped his hand down on a storage bench and said. “Bullshit! Never again, lady! Never again!”

“Sounds like a plan.” Captain Wilks said laughing, startling General Aloirav.

“Hello, Andrew.” General Aloirav said. “You caught me.”

“Yes, Sir, General. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Same here, Andy.”

“I got a message you wanted to see me.”

“Yes. I don’t want to talk here. Meet me into my J-Ward office.” The General said, leaving the lab.

When Andrew arrived, General Aloirav said. “Captain, I’ve got another job for you.”

“Thank-you, sir. What kind of a job?”

“You’re gonna’ get a chance to employ your burglar skills for the Company.”

“Really, sir?” Andrew replied, concerned. “Couldn’t you pick someone else. Except for the Cinza job we did, I’ve been almost straight. I don’t want to chance going back to the joint.”

“You have no choice.” The General riposted. “The Cinza job was old business. You overpaid your debt to Society for that when you did your first stretch. I got you out of prison early for my purposes, not yours. It’s your job to follow orders from your commanding officer. That’s me. I’ll be giving you phony IDs and all the protection the Company can provide. Should you fail us, we’ll return you to civilian life, your former identity intact. I can get anyone out of any prison in the world. You must know that by now. Succeed, and you’ll make Major, more responsibility, and more money. Stay close, and one day we may find Cinza’s stash too.”

“Under those conditions, how can I refuse? What is it you want me to do?”

“I want you to take some photographs without being seen.

“Infrared or daytime, optical or digital?”

“Anytime. Digital. Get them within a week.”

He explained the constraints of the job and gave him the names. Most prospective shots were of remaining suspect Directors and unreliable past compatriots. It was a prodigious amount of work. There was provision for helpers, however, when the job required it. Captain Wilks left with many addresses.

“Bacon will help you with any manpower & creativity needs.” The General said. “One or two photos of each will do. I prefer the photographs of Directors to come from near the Level Twenty-Seven bodega or prison spur. You familiar with those locations?”

“Very well, sir. They billet you at that spur, when you first transfer up to the Pontibus. They call it indoctrination. It’s just another interrogation. I’ll get the job done, General. You can depend on me.”

“I know that, Major.”

Later, talking with Bacon, General Aloirav said. “After Andy gets those pictures, we’ll have him put them on Leion. The enemy will off the pig. I want Andy to supervise the whole job. He’s good. In case they grab him, and they might, he shouldn’t know everything. Just because that Otorp burglary escape wasn’t well done, Mendoza’s no dummy. He got the info and killed all our men with that fuckup.”

“Wha’chu want from me?”

“I want you to work with Andy. Collate and arrange the pictures he gets us, Bacon. When Mendoza finds them, there must be no question in his mind. They have to believe the fat boy is tellin’ tales outta’ school. We can’t let them suspect Gloria.”

“No problem, Boss. We’ll set’im up so bad his own mother would send him to the chair.”

“That’s just what I want. I know you can do it. What about Otorp?”

“Round the clock. An army couldn’t get to him.”

“Neither foe nor friend. He’s well isolated. Now we’re really running the show. Like old times.”

“Sure is, Boss.”

 

Later, the General thought Elan might like to join him on a clandestine trip to the First-Surface. Elan could see where Lester Frye lived when he developed the first sky houses. It was a shrine now. The Company (General Aloirav) built a museum there.

General Aloirav needed a break and some time to think. He couldn’t remember ever taking the boy anywhere. Now was a good opportunity. The young man was quick to respond in the affirmative when asked. He found the hospital boring. They left for the Third-Level magnelev right after the General pocketed some alternate identity papers.

There the two took the train to the Boston Harbor Pontibus Foot. Luz’ Plymouth foot was closer, but it meant using the Southeast Amtrak. It would be too slow, and they would have to go through the Queenstown Insane Asylum. They could walk from the Boston Foot ferry landing. The two soon arrived at the site of the old Boston City Hospital. They crossed Harrison Street and looked at the long chain of Massachusetts Avenue row houses.

The first one, past the Hospital and parking lot, was Lester Frye’s. It was not the same dirty old building the hotelier remembered. The Company dressed it up considerably for him. The General paid the small admission fee to enter the museum. At the entrance, a sign read.

“Here is where Lester Frye conducted experiments necessary to build the Transatlantic Bridges… Since Man left the caves, he has imprisoned himself against the elements in boxes. He called them houses. Knocking holes in the sides for windows and doors allowed him to breathe or escape. Now new homes, without that prison atmosphere, are available…”

They viewed the old lab and models of the first structures. General Aloirav became pensive near the upper story window, where he found Lester mad that wintry day. When they came to the photographs of Mr. Frye’s family Elan expressed surprise, saying.

“I never knew Lester Frye had children, Grampa.”

“Oh, yes. Three. All died very young.”

“How did they die?”

“The US government killed the first, drugs the second, and suicide the third. I didn’t know him yet when the first one died, sometime in the early ‘70s. The latter two deaths happened just before the century turned, I believe it was. Yes! Soon after he and I returned from that Honduras trip.”

“You knew him well enough to go on trips with him?”

“Oh, yes. We were very good friends. Your father never told you?”

“No.”

“Really?” He winced. “Your grandfather never wanted to involve you in my past. Your father doesn’t have much use for me either. I’ve been a real embarrassment to them all. I always tried to impress two things upon your grandfather and your great-uncle Jason. One was the need to be a positive force on the planet. The second was never to let human rules limit you. They never understood the first part. I can’t think of a much more negative force on the planet than medicine. They just ignored my second counsel. I guess I’ll have to tell you the story.”

General Aloirav bought a couple of imitation ice cream cones and began to remember. Out of respect for Lester Frye, he left out facts unnecessary to the abridged history. Elan listened as his antecedent told him the story. What Elan remembered of that story, along with eyewitness accounts, one day, he put down in this book. When they left the museum, they went to a little coffee shop on Washington Street.

Under the old Orange-line T station site, the General ordered a cup of ersatz coffee, and Elan asked. “You ruled the whole World, Grampa? Just like in a computer game?”

“There were isolated pockets of resistance here n’ there.”

“How come I never studied about it in school? We studied World History. They never mentioned you.”

“There are a number of reasons for that. One is that I removed all official knowledge of my work from the world’s computers. I wanted to be effective without people knowing from whence those effects came. Fame can be a positive force, but not very often. It’s usually counterproductive, and I didn’t need it to achieve results. I also felt it necessary to protect my family should my plans go bad, which did indeed happen. I called the erasing dehistorization. The second reason you never heard of me, Elan, is that you studied on the First-Surface. All First-Surface history is fiction. The media prints what pols and subhumans want to read. Pols haven’t the balls to face the future unaided. They conspire with the media, commissioning it to write phony pasts with which they can live. Believing their own lies helps them fake enough courage to enter the future they fear.”

“People on the First-Surface don’t feel that way about politicians, Grampa.”

“I know. You see, Elan. The OG is essentially the repackaged USA. People learned to be cattle there, slaves, through twisted print propaganda and free food. Subliminal programming, from a thing called television, helped. Their children & grandchildren are still living the effects of that same program. Missionless vestigial remains, pols are organisms devoid of value. They’re the lowest form of life ever given breath, priests in a spineless vermin hierocracy. People see pols as their equals or betters, but they’re neither. Pols are much lower than even the monkey-brained cattle that inhabit the First-Surface. Pols don’t have the freedom to act more than 20 steps ahead of subhumans like humans do. Pols programmed you. Your real education is about to begin.”

“How is that, Sir?”

“The wise man realizes that in a democracy, (or its twin sisters, communism & Christianity), the de jure leaders, pols, represent what is most cowardly and despicable in the people. Travesties of leadership, they are the enemies of all humans. Politics is the perfection of corruption. Pols sell out before it’s possible to do anything positive. Political power, like taxes, is the power to destroy. Substantive creative power lies elsewhere. Ungrateful treacherous apes, pols are beasts best butchered for their compatriots’ culinary enjoyment. The rest of us may relish how much better the world is once they no longer infest it.”

The great end of life is not knowledge but action.                     T.H. Huxley

 

Chapter Seventy-Four

 

“Is that why there are no politicians on the Pontibus?

“Yes. Mr. Frye was well aware of their nature. If you want to read real history, you’ll find it via Pontibus University computers. To understand history you must read the descriptions of identical events through the eyes of true enemies. Do you know how to extrapolate?”

“Like trig?”

“Yes. Like that. A moneychanger buys a dollar at one value and sells it at another. If you add the two prices and divide by two you know the true value of your dollar. That’s extrapolating. You do the same to discover historical veracity.”

“I see. Both lie to favor themselves and degrade their enemy.”

“Exactly. Humans, as their values, change by the microsecond. In the Pontibus computers, you’ll read about the rise of nation states. You’ll discover that statehood debased heroism; armies & police departments debased private arms. Banning private arms debased individual familial defense; pols destroyed our survival possibilities and chances for potential evolution. They made us all slaves of licensed thieves, cheats, other pols, and the caedere rich.”

“But I won’t be able to find out anything about you and your kingdom?”

“Not much, perhaps some of my crimes are all. The Company computers will have most of the truth, but you must have access to the special files.”

“How come you wanted to hide what you did? Why didn’t you want people to know about it?”

“What could I gain? What would I have accomplished by being famous and having loads of monkeys worshipping me?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“I don’t either. Imagine yourself, Elan, the sole human being in a cage full of monkeys. How would you behave? How would you feel?”

“After the first few minutes?”

“Why?”

“Well, the first few minutes it would be kind’a neat?”

“Yes. I suppose the first few minutes would be entertaining. Then would come the culture shock. Monkeys do not have any knowledge of culture, history, geography, movies, ethical behavior, education, etc.”

“It would be terrible!”

“You couldn’t stand it. It would be worse than being in a private prison cell or living in a house of poor people.’

‘Why poor people, Grampa?”

‘They’re virtually all uncivilized. Monkeys. My headquarters now is in a small town in Brazil called Andirobal. It’s poor and a testing ground for me. Ground zero for the subhuman race. Loincloths are not always the only indication of aboriginal behavior, Elan. The people there are the closest I have ever come to confronting the truly savage. No human respect, sense of the esthete, dignity or integrity exists. You will find no friendship or anyone capable of it there. The dearth of music is heartbreaking, just noise, Rapp, or sex beats at earth shattering volume. No learning or respect for learning exists. Schools are just a way of swindling the socialist government out of tuition. Justice and peace are for others. A sense of responsibility translates into dangerous innocence. No one has a mission. Courage and honor are unheard of silliness. No appreciation for real diversity exists. Making the world a better place is naïve cloud gazing. Freedom is unconstrained by considerations of the constraints of liberty. Peer pressure is the only law. No one believes in conation. Private property is private only until unprotected by brute force. Community responsibility is a joke. Majority rule is misrule. Criminality of every kind is feared but condoned. There are no rights of speech or arms, but people scream out the truth and everyone has a gun. Soul snatching superstition and idleness permeate everything. Animal rights do not exist. Eugenics is never considered. Culture and a sense of the esthetic are unknown. No one pays attention when others speak. Concerns for children or posterity are afterthoughts. There is no accountability – political, social, or personal. No intellectual pursuits exist. Only might, represented by $, makes right.’

‘I think that sounds like Hell.’

‘It is, almost as bad as a monkey cage. If you had something to protect there, you couldn’t do it. The monkeys would destroy it. Would they not?”

“Yes.”

“Well that’s what I was up against, back then. The USA controlled the previous world. I had something great I wanted to protect, so I hid it from the apes. I never flaunted my status as World Ruler. I never even had enough time to enjoy the new planetary government I built. I was too busy with my research. I didn’t take the time to cultivate the demeanor of a king. Less than 4 years after the World recognized my hegemony, I had an accident. I wasn’t even used to the change, before I became incapable of administering it.”

“How come?”

“I lost track of time and space.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I took a bad spill in my First Surface lab. When I recognized what was happening, weeks later, I discovered I’d lost everything, including my freedom. I just got out of jail a few months ago.”

“Boy! I sure wish I could have studied the real history.”

“You shall yet.” He replied, standing up.

“Before we go, Grampa. Can I ask you another question?”

“Sure, my boy. Fire away.”

“That girl I met.”

“Brenda Otorp.”

“Yah. I like her a lot. I want to have her for my own.”

“So take her.”

“My dad wants me to go to school and be a doctor like he & grampa are.”

“I see. School will preclude your relationship’s blooming, right?”

“Yes, sir. It will.”

“I don’t agree with your father. Such a waste of a good mind. Doctors look for god in trash, and they never find him there. By the time they discover, (that they never will), they’re old & jaded. The only place I ever found God was in a wild cunt in the jungle. You’re looking in the right places. Hard to find a decent broad in the garbage of sickos. You want a girl out for herself, not some scared defensive do-gooder. I know Brenda. She’s a selfish little spitfire, and she’s going somewhere. You can count on me to help you with her, Elan. Continue following your heart. Remember though what I said. Like most young men, most young beautiful women are not worth much. If you find one that does not make you sad, hang on to her like a tick. If she makes you sad, toss her out. Always proceed from positive motives – a mission, the desire for pleasure, power, or health. Never let negatives like fear motivate you.”

“What kind of fear, Grampa?”

“Any type. Hunger, religion, caedere wealth & insecurity, prison, or possible loss of your life, etc.”

“I see, I think.”

“Once you discover the right path, you need strength of character to follow it. Do you know what strength of character is?”

“Pretty much.”

“It’s the ability to prevent trafficking in desires from precluding your goal’s achievement. Come on now. I want to get back to the Pontibus.”

 

A week later General Aloirav received a knock on his office door and he answered. “Yah, who is it?”

“It’s me, Boss, Bacon.”

“C’mon in.”

“Andy’s got the pictures.”

“Send him in.”

Captain Wilks gave General Aloirav a manila envelope containing a number of pictures. Most were of people with a segment of the prison spur in the background. There were also many other pictures. Andy stood back, at ease, until the picture viewing ended, and the General said.

“These are very good, Andy. The one of Abner Quake and Mendoza is excellent. I’m most impressed!”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Bacon! Look at these.”

“I’ve seen ém, Boss.”

“Good. You know what to do, where they have to go. Show Andy what we want and how to go about it. Give me 2 sets of collated copies and dossier’s on possible snitches.”

“Right, Boss.”

The two men left and General Aloirav returned to the work on his desk. Poring over the figures, he read about liters of serum and vaccine. What came out of the Company factories was insufficient. Most unsettling, he noticed the growth in vector supply was also way below his satisfaction level. The General rose from his chair. Storming out of the J-ward office, he rounded the hallway corner leading into the engineering sector.

The hallway ahead filled with gas. People collapsed en masse in front of him. General Aloirav recognized the characteristic smell of HCN (hydrogen cyanide) and sensed the danger. Holding his breath, he tried to return to his office. En route, two men with masks and gas tanks sprayed his face and body.

Getting dizzy, the General felt the pounding in his head growing. It told him he was taking it in through his skin. The two men with masks and tanks surmised that their victim was holding his breath. They now grappled with him, attempting to force internalization of more gas. Taking one desperate gasp, he took in the acid, feeling the nascent nausea envelop him.

No match for the two younger men, General Aloirav soon lost the struggle. His vomit gave evidence he aspired a good quantity. The General fell past the hallway’s corner and saw Bacon and Wilks talking. In his last conscious moment, he activated one last bit of controlled musculature and shouted.

“Bacohnnn!”

The two men released his silent and limp body to flee. The General awakened a few hours later. He looked up at the man in the white coat standing over him. The man returned his gaze. General Aloirav asked.

“What happened? Why am I here? What’s going…?”

“Just be calm, General. You had a heart attack. We’ll tell you all about it.” The doctor said. “Right now we’re just glad to have you back with us.”

A few hours later, they relayed the whole scenario to him, and he replied. “As I get older, it gets ever more expensive to cheat death. I suppose it’s bad form or in poor taste to complain about the check. But I’m still feeling mighty sick.”

“It’ll pass, Boss. The doctors said the coronary & the gas’s wake will make you a tad uncomfortable for a while.” Bacon said.

One of the gas sprayers made good his escape. Bacon killed two others. He could also boast of dragging his “boss” out of the gas-filled hallway.

At first Bacon bemoaned that there was no one left alive (out of whom to beat answers). Nevertheless, by their action it was pretty clear whom the men wanted. He didn’t recognize either of the two dead sprayers. The General tried sitting up but halted the objective with dispatch. A terrible headache arrested that idea.

Two of his other men were near. He assumed Bacon assigned them to watch the room. General Aloirav remembered why he left his office prior to the gas attack. It prompted him to say. “Bacon.”

“Yes, Boss.”

“We’ve got to make vectors and vaccines faster. The old-government could force our hand at any time.”

“Yes, Boss.”

“Who knows about this attempt to waste me?”

“Lots, Boss. The gas killed two doctors, four nurses, and a shitload of orderlies. Survivors will spread the news. If you hadn’t fallen past the hallway, you’d be a statistic too. It was right around the corner, and we never knew. Smart attack.”

“But naïve. Why didn’t they just drill me with a .38 or a 7.62? Why do you suppose they used Prussic? There’s a lot of gases much more deadly, tabun, sarin, soman, VX, phosgene, and even some better than those.”

“Don’t know. Maybe just wanted to scare you or wanted it to look like a heart attack. Could just be stupidity. What’chu think?”

“Same. Maybe they thought if they used gas they couldn’t miss, like the shotgun theory. Maybe they thought with gas nobody would interfere for fear they’d be hit too. Don’t know why. I’d be dead now, if they’d a’ used the others. We’ve gotta’ find Hernan and Heinz. Any word yet?”

“Nope.”

“I just got a thought.”

“What about?”

“I think I know why they used the Prussic.”

“Why, Boss?”

“You got two, right?”

“Right.”

“They were both young, right?”

“How’d you know?”

“That assault was well-planned but naive. I’ll bet the one that got away was older.”

“Why?”

“Murder is murder. They get the same nightmares we do. They didn’t use prussic out of concern for ancillary damage. One of our “Group” is workin’ both sides. I’ll bet it’s our own gas they used. Maybe he was just waiting for an opportunity to waste me with the means at his disposal, our gas. What’ya think? Might mean our interdiction methods are sound.”

“And Intelligence is not finding all the traitors.”

“True.”

“You could be right, Boss. I’ll check on it. Meanwhile, you sleep. The doc says you need some time to get the shit outta’ yer’ system, easy like.”

“You givin’ the orders now, Bacon?”

“No, Boss. Sorry.”

“O.K. And Bacon.”

“Yes, Boss.”

“Thanks for savin’ my life.”

“Sure, Boss.” He replied, as if it were all in a day’s work.

 

Glad to have his services appreciated, Bacon left the General. Beaming with pride, he went to check on the gas’s provenance. The other two men stayed at their posts. One stood outside the door, and the other watched the interior window. General Aloirav went to sleep.

He awakened at night and felt like working. Leaving the bed, the General went back to his office. Guards and drip solutions accompanied him. New production figures awaited his perusal. He felt no better, seeing them unimproved.

The situation could not continue. Those new serum-humeal machines were essential. They needed to expand production, augmenting donations to at least 2500 “biologicals” a day. There was also that item about mortgage payments. It held some concern.

His prison release brought the Company to the brink of bankruptcy. Income was far from sufficient. Calein production almost stopped. It was limping along now with his smuggled-in rocks. He needed funds. Imminent foreclosure and its ramifications would be disastrous to his plans. Gleaning from the “biological”’s down payments, accounts, and valuables was essential.

General Aloirav was in his office but minutes before Bacon arrived and said. “You were right Boss! They were our own gas cylinders.”

“That’s great. Now who was absent yesterday?”

Four men and a woman were not at their usual jobs the previous day. All came back later in the evening. Of course, it might even have been a disloyal non-hospital resident. There were always good chances for traitors from day one.

The names didn’t help at all. They would remember the five and watch them.

“Bacon.”

“Yah, Boss.”

“We know MMIM wants Otorp & I off’ed don’t we?”

“Stands to reason. There have been attacks on you ‘n he. We stopped a lot more before they got close.”

‘Why did they fail?”

“We were too sharp?”

“I don’t think so. At least not for all of them.”
“What, then?”

“Suppose it’s Heinz that’s after us.”

“Might be. They could’ve put him in charge off the hits, or some of them.”

“My thoughts exactly. Heinz knows us both, me more’n Otorp. So why did he fail. That break-in at Otorp’s killed everyone but Otorp.”

“Almost.”

“What?”

“Almost everyone but Mr. Otorp.”

“Yah. His immediate gang escaped. My gas attack was very amateur. The restaurant job was too.”

“Ya’ got me, Boss.”

“I think it’s because Heinz doesn’t want us dead yet. He may not even realize it, himself.”

“No?”

“I think he’s makin’ it look like he’s trying hard to get us.”

“What possible value could you be to him?”

“That made me wonder too. Then it came to me. The elixir.”

“The youth drink?”

“Yah. Just Otorp & I have it. We control its dispensation. Lester and I talked a lot about that. We’ve been very careful to whom we gave it. Heinz was getting it, until a bit before I fell. He knows we have the clones. He may believe, if he kills us, he’ll never get anymore. He won’t know where to look.”

“And he won’t live to be Methuselah.”

“Exactly!”

“So why hasn’t he made any attempts to get at it?”

“That’s a good question. One that I can’t answer.”

“He hasn’t had any in his system going on 20 years now.”

“He should be aging fast.”

“That he should.”

 

General Aloirav was thinking about how he was going to manage the new serum-humeal facilities. Finding people who could define themselves in the world of his day was not going to be easy. Most people looked to others for their definition. Military men could kill, but they needed their peers to program them first. They needed to feel what they were doing was linked to patriotism somehow.

They could sense such a definition. Other motives, more esoteric, like justifying brutal murder, took exceptional definition. It took a unique individual to give it. Killing “biologicals” was not like killing a human being, but it was close. The General thought about Captain Qercua.

He saw the man arrive after sending for him and said. “Captain Qercua?”

“Yes, General.”

“I want to know if you have men to put in charge of the new serum-humeal facilities?”

“I can make some suggestions, Sir. I can’t say for sure if they’ll be as conscientious as I am.”

“Ten new facilities will start coming into production status in a few weeks. I think it’s time you held a higher rank and did more work for it.”

“Yes. Sir. Where will you locate the new facilities? Nearby, I hope.”

“Yes. They’ll be on the Plymouth foot near The Queenstown Insane Asylum. It will accommodate more easy access. I’m extending a cantilever to accommodate all the nine new ones. Once one becomes functional, we’ll dismantle the Block Island model and reassemble it with the others. I expect soon to process 5000 “biologicals” daily. Can you get people to fill all the positions necessary?”

“Whew! General. That is almost 2 million bodies a year. I may have to use the auxiliary reception crews for a while.”

“One year or less should give me all the serum & funds I need. It’ll make possible the arms necessary to kick the First-Surface’s ass if they try holding ours ransom.”

“I’ll get busy looking for attendants immediately, Sir.”

“I thought you might.”

 

Mr. Michael Hodges and Hernan Castillo were speaking with General Trilate. The two former were there on MMIM orders. While drinking some 100-year-old Napoleon brandy, they discussed strategy. The information gathered from the Otorp residence was at issue. General Trilate said.

“The raid’s results indicate the Company will soon fire Abner Quake. Mab Roth will be the new Governor. Otorp’s of no further use. Take him out! Why is Heinz still fucking around with Aloirav?”

“I don’t know, General.” Hernan said, looking at Mr. Hodges. “He last reported killing half of Aloirav’s hospital to get him. Yet the man survives, even with a heart attack. Aloirav’s a devil.”

“Heinz is too old.” Mr. Hodges replied. “He’s had ample time to do the job.”

“Aloirav is THE Devil. One heart attack is not going to stop him. He’ll be more dangerous than ever. If Heinz can’t do the jobs you give him, replace him.” General Trilate said.

“That would be difficult, General.” Hernan said.

“Because of his usefulness with Aloirav’s former people and the biological weapons?”

“Yes. Finding extraordinary people with his expertise and special qualifications is difficult.”

“Do you think you could do the job, Hernan?” The General inquired.

“I think you know the answer to that, Sir. The Otorp raid was not as successful as we would have liked. Practical violence is not my forte.”

“You did eliminate all the security that was out to get you. That was commendable.”

“Thank-you, sir.”

“Too bad you didn’t get Otorp as well, now that we no longer need him.”

“Yes, it’s a shame. Things just happened too fast.”

“Unfortunate. How about the weapons’ relocations?”

“They’re proceeding. We’ve but one shipment left to leave the prison transfer bodega. The Company has many more people at the depot. Accountants are swarming all around the place. Even without MMIM’s interdict on more weapon purchases, until Otorp and Aloirav are toast, it’s over.”

“Are there many weapons still there?” The General asked.

“No. The Company could never rehabilitate the remainder to use against us. Even we don’t want them.” Hernan replied. “That’s why we left them till last. We have people in Aloirav’s vector and vaccine factories. Heinz expects to have more vectors and their associated vaccines soon.”

“Good enough. I have what I need for the Commission.” General Trilate said. “I trust the old-government Generals will have grist for a while?”

“Yes, Sir.” Mr. Hodges said. “MMIM is standing by. Our objectives just require coordination with your group.”

“Every part is crucial to the mission. Your fellow MMIM collaborators in other depot’s and prisons around the Pontibus are doing their parts.

“Yes, sir. Is there anything else for us to consider, General?” Mr. Hodges asked.

“As to what?”

“I expect the tasks in front of us now will be accomplished with dispatch. What is it we can look forward to in the future? We might be able to make small effort investments now which will pay off later.”

“I see.” General Trilate said. “As long as MMIM proceeds with plans to devour the Company, we’re satisfied. If you see anything that might expedite that objective, contact me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Right, sir.”

Hernan left the meeting and went to his condominium in Boston’s Jamaica Plain. The First-Surface brownstone was now his one home, since the Pontibus was off-limits. He waited a few minutes, until the woman arrived. She entered the room, and Hernan said. “Strip.”

Thinking it was an order to perform the sex act; the woman complied and got close. He then grasped her breasts and fondled her nipples. Motioning for her to turn around a few times, he said. “Bend over, Nancy.”

She did so, and Hernan fondled the exposed enticing area, saying. “Now stand up straight. Turn around and bend over again.”

Nancy complied again and asked. “Everything okay?”

“Yah.”

“What’s this all about, Hernan?” She asked, when he made no move to disrobe.

He explained his purpose for her and said. “There’s not much to do.”

“How often do you want me to report?”

“Once a week or when something unusual happens. Just keep him happy.”

“Right. When do we leave?”

“Now. There’s a plane waiting. I’m persona non grata on the bridges. We’ll have some uncomfortable traveling, until we get to the paths .I wouldn’t even be accompanying you now if it weren’t for the fact that I have additional business up there.”

“How uncomfortable, Hernan?”

“The plane will take us to a Pontibus wilderness. We’re going to land at a clandestine smuggler’s airstrip. From there a guide will take us to the guy’s paths. Are you familiar with the Pontibus?”

“Somewhat. My class went there, on a field trip, when I was a kid. My cousin lives up there somewhere.”

“Then the heights won’t bother you? You don’t get vertigo or have acrophobia?”

“I don’t think so… much. Can I dress now?”

“In a minute.”

 

Hernan locked his six door locks, and they went to a local general aviation airport. Logan was too risky. The small plane took off toward Provincetown. It climbed to Level-Four altitude. The periphery here contained a Company mandated wilderness. Large red plaques reading, “KEEP AWAY”, sprinkled the area. The Concern mandated implementing the protection, and other copious signs read:

As long as there exists diversity in DNA arrangement, there will be contention between phenotypes. The mandated wildernesses are here to protect Nature from abnormal pain and stress. Areas may include resident expended laboratory created organisms and their parts. Other than natural fruits, attempts to remove or destroy biomass will be summarily resolved.”

The clandestine airstrip builders were, as a rule, human organ & pharmaceutical smugglers. There was much money in such contraband. Genetically engineered factory-grown stem-cell organs were prohibitively expensive for much of the world’s sick & aged. Stealing and smuggling previously committed parts were in great demand. Clandestine hospitals occasionally popped up in the sky, and they required medicaments. Using the strip for such unauthorized purposes and being caught by Company wardens meant unquestionable guilt. When he mandated smugglers be shot on sight, Lester Frye said.

“Eating incorrectly, living an unwholesome life, makes people ever more susceptible to doctors & surgery. Those making the biggest mistakes waste the greater part of their lives. They are those most apt to invest their time in obscene ways of prolonging it. Time, meaning money, to throw after organ transplants, treatment regimes, cryogenics, etc. continues the devastation. Our intention is not to curtail profligate living. Nevertheless, we must not permit it to diminish our new world.”

The plane and sub rosa entry avoided hurdles like legitimate Company borders, (Pontibus feet), and installed biometrics machines. Company wardens knew about the clandestine strips and often ambushed pilots on landing. Prisoners were an expensive option for the Company. Repeat offenders but added to the cost.

In an effort to economize, the Concern did not reward wilderness wardens for living collars. Pushing the interdicted over the edge of periphery platforms avoided negative First-Surface publicity. The Company paid their wardens a bonus for every scalp. Carrion merchant nets congregated beneath known clandestine airstrips. Feral areas assisted in keeping humeal prices reasonable.

Hernan was justifiably uneasy, until they got to a regular pathway and commandeered a strato car. Phony documents and the sky vehicle protected them from that point. It was but minutes to the Leion module. Upon their arrival, Hernan introduced Nancy and left for the prison bodega.

She sat down at the kitchen table and waited for Mr. Leion to speak. He was very nervous, but they managed to work out their difficulties. Nancy soon found herself dressed in expensive haute old-fashion. One could describe the effect as opulent splendor leading into full ersatz “silk purse”.

Hernan needed Sr. Mendoza, but the prison official was still fuming over Lopez’ death. He could forgive neither Hernan’s arrogance nor the Otorp burglary escape fiasco. His personal problem perhaps came from the bungled escape being as much his own fault as Hernan’s. Hernan entered the command module, and Sr. Mendoza shouted. “Whot thee fock you want, mon?”

“We need to talk. You know I’m wanted. I need a place to stay. Can’t keep smuggling myself up and down.”

“You ain’ wanted heer. You go letteen’a womeeng geet undeer yeer skeen so bet, a gude man dies.”

“Lopez died because he fucked up, not because I did.”

“Boolsheet!”

Sr. Mendoza shouted at Hernan without mercy. “Eef you wassn’t theenkeeng uff that kike woomeen, Lopez wude steel be heer! He wass wasted ‘cuz you focked up!”

“That’s not true, you racist bastard! He fucked up, got himself shot. I had nothing to do with it! It was as much your fault as it was mine!”

“Eef you wassn’t lookeen’ out feer heer ya’ cuddha’ hepped heem!”

“This conversation’s a pissing contest. Are ya’ gonna’ give me a billet, or do I talk to Hodges?”

“Nah. You keen stay heer.”

“Good. That’s settled. We just have one more problem.

“What?”

“I’m hotter than a humeal machine.”

“Fu’ shu’ mon. You beeg reesk.”

“I can’t move around like before, and I still have things to do up here. Precautions are time-consuming. We also need to get that last shipment of weapons down to Plymouth.”

“I’ll seend Fredo. He’s was theer weeth you an’ Lopez lest time. He cin fin’ thee warehouzh an’ babyseet thee cartons theere.”

“Sounds good. Where’s my room?”

While Sr. Mendoza was showing Hernan his cell, they met Fredo. Sr. Mendoza said. “Fredo.”

“Si, Senor.”

“Heernan ees goeeng to be stayeeng heere for a while. He nee’ you tak’ hees job weeth thee nex’ sheepmeent of guns. Keen you do eet?”

“O, si. Senor.”

Sr. Mendoza left, and Hernan discussed the particulars with Fredo. Later that day, Fredo saw Estelle outside her domi-cell. Lecherous as ever, he thought it might not hurt to ask her along. He would be in charge, a very sexy position. They were pretty good friends anyway, Fredo believed.

“Hey, Estelle. What’s cookeen?” Fredo asked.

“Very little, Fredo. How ‘boutchu?”

“Gonna’ make a run down to thee First-Surface. Wanna come?”

“Naw. Thanks, Fredo. I like clean air and water. Still value my life, such as it is.”

“We keen hafe some fun.”

“What kind of fun?”

“Good clean fun. I have to deleever some guns, and theen weer free to take een some sights. We can heet a few bars and restaurants, maybe fall een love.”

Gloria was very interested in locating the warehouse and said. “I’m not sure. Yer’ not my type.”

“Come weeth me, and I’ll show you yeer wrong.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“Okay. I’ll give it a whirl.”

Gloria reported the good news, and where she’d be. She couldn’t receive the new quick escape signal. The contact in the prison was still out, with Estelle’s message, when the General was ready to send it. The messenger could but notify him that Gloria was out of touch but important information would be forthcoming. Estelle Keatch now accompanied Fredo and the guns.

She discovered the location and other particulars but never saw inside the building. Fredo kept her from entering. The two went barhopping after the work ended. By the time they finished, Fredo was too intoxicated to do much loving. He got Estelle’s clothes off, managed some cunnilingus, but passed out before anything more strenuous could occur.

While Fredo slept, she contacted General Aloirav from a First-Surface compuphone. Estelle gave him the particulars on the warehouse and how the material left the Pontibus. She included information on waypoints and disloyal periphery guards. After giving her the quick release signal, he ended the conversation, and Estelle returned to Fredo.

The General said to Bacon. “Get Wilks. He needs to do some reconnaissance on a First-Surface warehouse.”

“We gonna’ use the material on the fat guy?”

“That would be nice.”

“Okay. I’ll prepare him.”

“Come right back, Bacon. You’n’I are gonna’ waste some vermin.”

“Tallyho.”

 

The General visited the Otorp premises, thinking his partners must have heard about his coronary. Not wanting them getting any “free will” ideas, he asked. “How long will it take to get everyone on all the Pontibus Communities inoculated?”

“We’ve got to inoculate all of them?”

“Unless you want to kill residents, spreading powerful & nasty negative propaganda, you’ll want them protected.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Mr. Otorp replied, uncertainly

“We discussed this months ago, Otorp. Are you asleep? We cut calein production to make the vaccines!”

“Then you think it will come to that, Rav?”

“Yes, I do. I’m sure the enemy will choose to use chemical and biological weapons along with conventional. They’ll want to limit conventional & nuclear for fear of damaging the Pontibus. Chemical weapons too will kill many animals they need. Vectors will not.”

“What are we talking about in terms of cost?” Mab asked.

“I’m producing a variety of vaccines. We’ll counter those Heinz misappropriated and protect against my own offensives. Their facilities are probably very good. But I doubt they can match us in vaccine production.”

“Why do you think you’re more capable in that area?” Mab Roth asked.

Not wanting to explain his serum works at that moment, he said. “Unless I’m mistaken, they’re going to have a tough time of it. Getting vaccines together took me years.”

“What do you mean, years?!” Ms. Roth countered. “You haven’t been out of prison even one year yet!”

“Otorp can explain the details, Mabby.” General Aloirav riposted. Turning to Mr. Otorp, he continued. “They may have been working on them for that long, but I don’t think so.”

“Why? What makes you think not?” Mr. Otorp asked.

“It’s my guess MMIM first started anti-Company measures about the time calein arrived. Their incentive to subvert increased when you stopped using aluminum. Investment in war preparations occurred simultaneously or soon thereafter.”

“Yes. You’re right.” Mab Roth agreed, attempting to regain some lost esteem. “Er… you may be right. I remember first noticing dissension in the Directors about four or five years ago.”

“The enemy began making loyalty assaults on Lester about then.” The General added.

“But that gives them over seven years!” Mr. Otorp exclaimed.

“That’s true. They wouldn’t recognize much of an impact for the 1st year though. MMIM needed time to change interest loyalties. They didn’t want to jump in bed with the OG until the currency direction changed. Once calein came on line, the OG & MMIM became natural allies. I’m betting they didn’t get active until the old-government implemented the plan to raise Company taxes. It took me at least that long to get my first vaccine.” The General explained. “Now we’ve got another problem.”

“What now?” Mab Roth asked, annoyed.

“We’ve got a security problem in the factories.”

“What does that mean?” Mr. Otorp asked.

“It means that the vaccines or the methods of their manufacture may have been compromised.”

“That’s just great!” Mab Roth said.

Mr. Otorp asked. “How do you know that?”

After General Aloirav explained the previous day’s events and his reasoning, Mr. Otorp asked. “What are you going to do about it?”

“First I want to know what infrastructure is in place to distribute the vaccines. Once they’re ready, they have to go to the other Global Pontibus Communities.”

“Are you absolutely sure everyone needs a vaccine? It will be very expensive.” Mab Roth asked.

“The vaccination move is not just a humanitarian effort, my dear Hecuba.” He replied. “If that were the case, I’d dispense with it altogether. We need those bodies to maintain the bridges. We must protect the symbiosis.”

“Oh, right. The usual shipping methods, of course.” Mab Roth answered.

“Monorail freight & by water from the feet are the usual methods. Some air transport from the larger airports.” Mr. Otorp added. “You’ve used magnelev cargo transports for the rocks, so you know about them.”

“We’re going to have to take special precautions to protect the magnelevs.” The General said. They’re going to be great sabotage targets.”

“Why is that?” Mab Roth asked. “The number of people traveling now is much reduced.”

“I expect the current embargo will not end until the expected conflict is over. All surface transport will likewise stay interdicted. Derailing the trains will be an important target and very easy to do.”

“That would be catastrophic!” Mr. Otorp reacted. “How will the calein factories continue to function without transport?”

“Yes. And mining. Half our revenues come from mining and surface sales!” Mab Roth squawked. “They’re already killing us!”

“They’re killing themselves too. How well do you think they’re doing without normal imports of clean air, water, and food? The emergency hospitals are all reporting an increase in organ-robbed victims. Smuggling kills by our wardens are up 10,000 percent. Inflation is skyrocketing on The First-Surface. The old-government will blockade our surface access until they can stand it no longer. Calein production ceases when raw materials stop. We must prepare for losing all income during that period. Once war is declared, they’ll shoot down our air-transport planes and magnelevs. I won’t be able to smuggle rocks and other things up here. We’ll need more hospitals similar to mine on Level-Twenty-Five. Each of the Continental Pontibus Communities must have one.

“That’s impossible!” Mab Roth shouted. “Are you aware of what just that one hospital now costs?”

“No, I’m not, Ms. Roth. Military defeat will cost us a great deal more, I would expect. I don’t think they’ll destroy the bridges. They could do so now, given their superior firepower. They haven’t. I believe it’s in their interest to leave our hard assets alone. They don’t want the dearth in food, water, clean air, etc. to become a hiatus either or they’d hit us with neutron bombs. They certainly won’t want the shortages to continue beyond the conflict’s end.”

“Everything the Pontibus supplies they will want to resume.” Mr. Otorp agreed.

“We must be prepared. War is imminent. In most wars, the belligerent parties desire but to change or humiliate enemy administrations. War-profiteers want to sell arms to both sides. They are not selling arms to us because the arm’s producers are also among the belligerents in this case. We are not selling biological arms and they are not selling us conventional arms. It’s my guess MMIM, the OG and maybe the Commission is our sole enemies.”

“Oh, that’s a relief, isn’t it? Only three? Piece of cake!” Mab whined.

The General ignored the woman and said. “I’m betting that they just want to get rid of Company management and the Council. They’ll refrain from weapons deployment, until they have no choice. I expect an invasion will be their ultimate deployment of choice. That will require massive expenditures for troop movement and supply. Letting them continue to bleed us for an ultimate invasion, by making our payments like any good credit risk, is counterproductive for us. I suggest you think about refraining from mortgage payments.”

“That’s impossible!” Mab shouted. “They’ll foreclose, and we’ll lose everything!”

“How?” The General argued. “The mortgagors are all First-Surface banks.”

“The funds came from Commission specie!”

“Tough on the Commission but not a problem for us in the event of war.”

“It is if even one bank survives.”

“Not if we win.”

“Subrogation clauses, successor rights, etc….”

“Suit yourself. We need specie, and I’m betting we can throw all future debt and liability into the havoc.”

“Perhaps, but until war breaks out…”

“They’ll continue to blockade all the Pontibus networks, until we either submit or they do, breaking the siege. They’ll do that whether we make payments or not. Foreclosure is just a euphemism for what they intend doing to us anyway. But, you may be right. Now is not the time to precipitate escalation. If you can still pay, pay.”

“Why do they want to break the Company management and the Council?”

“Yes. We’ve never hurt them?”

“Aren’t you good Christians though?”

“What are you saying?”

“It doesn’t matter if you’re nice, Mab. Nice is weakness. They want to see your blood shed! You, meaning the Company, represent freedom & strength. They want a democracy and pols up here. They want soft residents, weak-willed sheep, OG citizens that they can control.”

“We have so much of what they need, and we’re self-sufficient. What’s to prevent us from holding out forever?” Mr. Otorp asked.

“I think you know the answer to that.” General Aloirav replied. “The First-Surface has been dying of starvation for decades, but they endure. We, ourselves, are not self-sufficient! We need rocks, seawater, and humeal nitrates. Our position is like that of a colony of aerial termites. If we can’t get earth materials, we can’t continue moving around or growing. You once asked me to ask myself the same question.”

“What?”

“If we stop growing, what happens?”

“We die.”

“Right. Plus, they have all the weapons.”

“Speaking of humeal.” Mab said. “We have not experienced a shortage yet. I don’t understand it. I’m sure we didn’t have so much in the warehouses. I see farmers seeding their platforms and harvesting as if they had all they needed. Fruits, vegetables, fish, mushrooms, and dried palm worms fill the markets. Where is that humeal fertilizer coming from?”

“I’m bringing it in.”

“You? How?”

“We need it right along with rocks and seawater. There are things we just can’t do without.”

“What else are you smuggling in?”

“Everything we need that we can’t produce. Now. Will you make those calls and get the hospitals converted? They should be ready soon for production.”

“Yes.” Mr. Otorp said.

“Just a minute.” Mab Roth countered. “I’m still seeing many problems here. You say you already have sabotage and spying in your labs. Suppose the old-government and MMIM acquire or already have some of your hush-hush products?”

“I can’t give you a good answer to that question.” The General said, after some thought. “They got through just the first level of our security, my one chemical weapon. I’ve tripled my precautions. I don’t know what I can do beyond maintaining extreme vigilance. My espionage corps is still in its infancy. It’s a tricky situation with many contingencies to consider. I’m not implying I have precise control. I would appreciate any suggestions. Any input you can offer will be appreciated.”

“It seems you’ve done precious little.” Ms. Roth said, crassly ignoring his high-minded attempt at rapprochement. “Even if you have enough of the commodities you say you need, I’m not comfortable with all these inoculations. How do you expect to get each and every Pontibus resident to accept them?”

“You know residents better than I, Ms. Roth. You can give a much better assessment of what they will bear.”

“Not that well, or how much.”

“Then I propose you get the Council to help us with propaganda devices. People trust them. Get the Council to trust us.”

“Trust you? Impossible!”

“They’ll trust Mr. Otorp.”

“Perhaps.”

“If they won’t be vaccinated, let’em die.”

“Should it work, and we get beyond there, begin the injections. I still see problems. Big ones.”

“Such as?”

“How will we know we’re not vaccinating the First-Surface?”

“My census has all 3 billion residents catalogued according to owners and family members.”

“How are you going to prevent the enemy from knowing your plans?”

“By the time we start inoculating, it will be too late to stop us.”

“That’s naïve and shortsighted. I’m not so sure of that and neither are you.”

Mab Roth was silent after her last comment. He just smiled, knowing she was right. The General then left them and returned to the Level-Twenty-Five hospital. Bacon was at the front door of the Command Center. They greeted each other and Bacon said.

“The fat guy is set up. All we gotta’ do is activate the leak channel.”

“How do you plan to do that?”

“We got to his woman when he was out of the house down at his pools. Andy got in her pants. The fat boy’s a marico. She’s got a 746 habit and acrophobia – wants to get back home to the First-Surface – needs cash.”

“Okay. We have to do it soon. Every day could be another board in Gloria’s coffin.”

“We will.”

“Good. I want Harcourt to steal one of those sets of Andy’s photos that you made for me. Leave a few photos out. Add the new photos of the First-Surface weapons warehouse and the waypoints. We don’t want identical sets emerging. It’ll look like the setup it is. Harcourt must deliver the set containing the warehouse tomorrow, on the qui vive. Entiende?”

“Yah. Why tomorrow?”

“Tonight we hit the warehouse and waste the scum!”

“You want 2 leaks of our info to arrive?”

“You got it. No sense giving anyone the chance to hide our boy’s bad behavior. Any word on Heinz or Hernan’s whereabouts?”

“Heinz no. Something on Hernan.”

“Really? Tell me, Bacon.”

“The guy we got on the Level-Twenty-Six prison spur.”

“The one watching Gloria?”

“Yah. He says he thought he saw a dude resembling Hernan in the transfer bodega.”

“That means Heinz could be close. If he sees Gloria, and makes her, she’s dead.”

“I know, Boss. I told him to tell her she’s in danger and ought to get out now. Jist like you said.”

“Did he?”

“Yah. He said she wants to stay until the last possible minute. Said to tell you she hates prison more than any of us. She’s there now just because of you & your kids.”

“Bless her guts, but it’s too risky. If Heinz is around that cantilever…we can’t move that fast, Bacon.”

“I know, Boss.”

“And to think I was contemplating delaying the fingering of the fat guy a week.”

“Maybe we should do it today?”

“No. We want to hit that warehouse before they’re watching it closer.”

“Right. We still do it tonight?”

“Yah. We’ll stick with our plan.”

“Is the snitch ready?”

“Yah. She’ll get the photos tonight.”

“Okay. After we leave.”

“Right.”

“I feel better.”

“But ya’ gotta’ get Gloria out, anyway, Boss. Got a bad feeling. Can’t you tell her to get hurt, have herself brought here?”

“I’ll sure try.”

True nobility is exempt from fear. Henry VI, Act IV, Scene I, line 129                       Shakespeare

 

Chapter Seventy-Five

 

Gloria’s information proved invaluable. It was the first time in many years that Rav Aloirav was able to enjoy good red enemy blood, washing over his hands. It brought back pleasant memories of Viet Nam. Bacon relinquished to him the opportunity to take the first enemy sentry’s life.

Each disloyal sentry, along the illegitimate egress path, fell to the NS squad’s silent attack. Knife & garrote served the purpose. Every compromised waypoint, having guards, went unmanned for that night. Against the “boss’s” thrifty heart, sentry bodies, separated from vital counterparts, went into the ocean instead of the humeal machine. The path of treachery led into the Provincetown magnelev depot. A little-used side spur there, south of the toro tracks, descended farther than normal.

The end of the spur was still 15 meters above the ocean. Here, the cabal stashed a Jacob’s ladder and a winch. They were accustomed to using same for lowering contraband into waiting boats or dropping it onto barges. From there the thieves brought it to the old Le Pere warehouse in Plymouth’s Cordage Park. It was not the first time smugglers visited these environs.

Local residents were familiar with the pier and warehouse. Miscreants used the building for drug smuggling as far back at the mid-20^th century. The area (sans buildings) was used in similar ways, since even before Pilgrims first contaminated those shores, centuries earlier. Coincidentally, the environs were less than a kilometer from where Queenstown destroyed Lester’s laboratory.

Two Company helicopters met General Aloirav and his NS squad in Provincetown. From there, they went to Plymouth. The choppers’ mist-gray paint and absent insignia meant they were virtually invisible. General Aloirav wanted to take no chances meeting an embargo patrol. What they were doing was an act of war. Rav had no illusions that the OG would not consider it so, if they were recognized in Plymouth.

Stiffening guards, destroyed at the spur, accompanied the squad. The spur there was too close to an occupied area to dump bodies into the water. It was seawater not fresh. Someone familiar with the area might see the corpses, floating near shore. They could warn the warehouse as to possible sabotage in the making. With more than fifty guards around the building, surprise was essential to success.

The NS were not regular military. Nor were they SWAT police. They were feral criminals playing at soldiering, like the earliest armies of antiquity. Other than the General, only a few understood military technique. They would have to take the warehouse using untutored creative deception. Each was essentially an amateur general, responsible for his own tactical surprise.

The General pondered the situation while waiting for his helicopter to reach land, saying to Bacon. “All animals steal & kill to survive. Most use stealth & camouflage. Humans & subhumans are no different in this respect. Theft and cheating satisfy the deception characterization for Homo. The most effective at such behavior, or the principal specimens, become objects of veneration by their victims. Subhumans like lawyers, judges and pols, plus other voracious beasts, like medical doctors, surpass in fraud the smaller ones. They hold positions of maximum respect in the minds of smaller monkeys. Homo borrows such wisdom from the carnivorous beasts. Homo pays back the loan with negative interest. The difference is arcane in such matters.

The Company helicopters descended to flare altitude above the roof. Most of the ground-level guards were squares. The NS were closer to the natural beast than they.

“Are you ready, my friend?” The General asked Bacon.

“I am, Boss.”

“Then, let’s make the world a better place.” He said, grabbing a satchel charge, jumping to the roof, and shouting. “Die subhumans!”

Others of the NS squad judiciously dumped transported corpses on top of former compatriots. During the immediate resulting confusion, they deployed and tossed the bags of explosives over the building’s sides. Guards either died or went for cover. Very little return gunfire resulted as the guards were rounded up and shot by descending NS people.

The section of the squad, remaining on the roof, removed the warehouse’s ventilation covers. They poured in microbial petrol and plastic explosive. A number of satchel charges on 10-second timers, known as Bruno Hochmuth traps, dropped into the building through the opened vents. The choppers lifted off the roof with all NS members aboard.

The last thing the NS squad saw, as the helicopters whipped away, was the warehouse in flames on the pier. Explosions continued throughout most of the night. Bacon and the “boss” walked back into the hospital about 6 hours after they left it. A few hundred trillion dollars’ worth of conventional and chemical weapons no longer existed. The chemical weapons released but not destroyed in the holocaust decimated North Plymouth, Queenstown, and Marshfield.

 

While the NS and their leader were playing at conventional war Hernan, Heinz, and Mendoza were talking. They sat at a small table in a Faneuil Hall restaurant. Mendoza was making snide comments about Hernan’s sloppy Otorp break-in getaway. Hernan let him finish his comments and replied. “We’ll put aside for a moment your part in the debacle. It appears you have a security problem of your own.”

Producing some photos, Hernan handed them to Heinz and continued. “His man next to Otorp seems to be somewhat of an entrepreneur.”

“Whatchu’ mean, Mon?” Sr. Mendoza asked, at last colored as a true Paya Indian.

“I put a cunt with him to keep me posted on his activities. She likes the 740-enhancer line we produce. The broad’ll do anything for it. She says she thinks the fat guy has a sideline. It appears she’s right. He blends his camera work well with his marketing skills. Our Directors drop like flies with his able assistance.”

“Thee mothhair focker!” Sr. Mendoza said, jumping up to look at the photos. “I weel keel heem!”

“I would hope so.” Heinz muttered. “I got a sample of his work from my own intelligence people, earlier today. These look very much similar to those.”

When they separated, all but Heinz went back to the prison spur. Sr. Mendoza learned there that another Company director just sickened and died from a strange disease. Brouhahas over security breaches increased. Corporation News was reporting a large explosion in North Plymouth during the early morning hours. Experts explained how an unusual rain was keeping gas casualties to a minimum, as chemical residues never reached lower Pontibus altitudes. The disaster likewise occupied all First-Surface radio and holovision channels.

During the media barrage, Sr. Mendoza discovered Fredo’s little trip to the First-Surface, 2 nights prior, was with company. He suspected Fredo was up to something. The interrogation began with the senior man shouting. “So why thee fock deed you take heer down there weeth you weethout askeeng me first?”

“I deedn’t theenk eet wude be no provblem. She’s ol’ like me. We jus’ wanted to see thee lights and stuff.”

“Were you dreenkeen’?” Sr. Mendoza asked.

“Un poco.” Fredo replied.

“You fock heer or she geet out off yeer’ sight?” Sr. Mendoza asked.

“We focked all night.” Fredo lied. “She neever leet me alone fo’ un minuto.”

“I ought to off you, you know that?” Sr. Mendoza said.

“Por favor, no.” Fredo said, relieved.

He knew Sr. Mendoza. If the man would talk about it, he wouldn’t do it. Sr. Mendoza was no small man, given to making threats. He never warned anyone as to his negative intents. If planning to murder Fredo, the man would already be dead. There would be no warning. Sr. Mendoza was treacherous & ruthless.

“Geet outta’ my sight, asshole!” Sr. Mendoza yelled.

A few minutes later, Tomas’ came running into the domicile shouting. “They keel alla’ ahr peepels on thee peeripheery! Nobody theer mais!”

“What aboot thee warehouse?”

“No sabe, Senor Mendoza.”

“Find out pronto! Entiende!”

“Si, Senor.” Tomas’ replied, running back the way he came. He was gone but a few minutes, and returned saying. “Senor Mendoza?”

“Si.”

“Warehouse no more. All gone.”

“Teell ahr loffer-boy I wanna’ see heem.”

Fredo re-appeared, and Sr. Mendoza screamed. “Whaatchu wan, asshole!?”

“Tomas’ say you wanna see me.”

“I wanna see thee othair loffer boy! Sai!”

A few minutes later Hernan appeared at Sr. Mendoza’s module. He now lived in one of the prison domi-cells, despite the Pontibus-wide manhunt. Sr. Mendoza’s negative opinion of him was undiminished by the proximity. Finding First-Surface life quality, sans substantial income, unsuitable, Hernan accepted the Spartan prison existence. His status also deteriorated from its former position commensurately.

“We haf a problem.” Sr. Mendoza said, as Hernan walked through Sr. Mendoza’s hatch.

“How so, Mendoza?” Hernan asked.

The disrespect was not lost on Sr. Mendoza who replied. “Someone see one off my peeples near thee warehouse weeth a possi’bly unreliable eenmate.”

“Last night?!” Hernan asked.

“Two nights back.”

“How far has it gone?”

“He says eet was jus’ a peese off ass, bu’ I don’ know. Now, Tomas’ say warehouse Feers-sufas blow opp. I haf beegeer prolem!”

“What makes you suspect them?”

“I don’ no.

“There must be something you feel is not right.”

“Sim…” He replied, pensively. “Why ees eet, Hernan? Stupid peoples theenks all peoples ees stupeed?”

“Ya’ got me, Mendoza.” Hernan replied.

“Inteelleegeent peepels know theere bees otheer speecial peepels out theere, more speeceeal eveen theen teey ees.”

“You know more about the situation than I do.”

“I jis thow you mighn hep.”

“They’ve seriously curtailed my freedom of movement. I can’t do any checking.”

“Sim. I know thet. You kneew Sr. Frye. Peepels say he cover’ up thee reecords off New Society peeples.”

“That’s true. He did get involved with them for some reason beyond just covering his ass. I know that implication with the group concerned him. He spent a bundle keeping his name clear of association. I guess he got Aloirav out of the box because he felt he had nothing to lose by doing so, dying and all. Ask Heinz to check it out on the MMIM computer.”

Unwilling to let Hernan know that he was afraid of Heinz, Sr. Mendoza replied. “Thes alrigh’. I thought you might know sometheeng about these two tha’ I don’ know. Eef I gafe you their records and papers you migh’ look theem over, mebbe see sometheenh useful.”

“I don’t think my looking at them would shed any light on the subject. If Lester Frye sanitized them, only Heinz could help. He has access to real memory and the big computer.”

“MMIM cheeck out Fredo. Theem say he wass okay. I truss thet assessmen’. He hass a probleem weeth hees pecker but beyond thet hee’s clean. Eet’s hees geerl-freend that I’m conceern abou’.” Sr. Mendoza said, worried about what Heinz might do to him for the “oversight”. Gloria’s residence on the spur was a tad “irregular”.

“Who is she?”

“Heer namee’s Estelle Keatch, an ol’ neegeer.”

“How old?”

“Ol’ enough. Mais que cien.”

“Did you ask Heinz?”

“No. Naw yeh.”

“Why not?”

“I don’ needda cheeck wee’ heem ever’ time I gots a problem!” Sr. Mendoza said, becoming irritated.

“No, I suppose not.” Hernan said, aware the testiness belied a fear. “Give me her records. I’ll look into it. Give me something to do.”

“Okay. See what you theenk off heer.”

“Sure.”

Sr. Mendoza went out of the room and told Tomas’ to get Estelle Keatch’s records. Tomas’ was soon back and Hernan set about scrutinizing them for anything out of the ordinary. The records indicated that Fredo and Estelle Keatch were not that similar in age. They could both have been involved with Mr. Aloirav’s group, however, if Fredo came into it toward the end. Beyond that, there was nothing to indicate a deeper association. He relayed this information to Sr. Mendoza.

“Theen we hafe to tell Heinz.” Sr. Mendoza said.

“Not necessarily, Mendoza.” Hernan said, pulling Mendoza into his corner.

He saw Sr. Mendoza wanted to maintain his autonomy. Heinz threatened it. Hernan also saw no future in staying outside Sr. Mendoza’s good graces. He would try to solve the latter problem by appearing to help Sr. Mendoza achieve the former.

Hernan said. “Why don’t you let me talk to her and get to know her some? Maybe I can trip her up on something.”

Sr. Mendoza jumped at the chance to evade telling Heinz about the security breach. Obviating the repercussions, without making Heinz aware of the fact, was so much better.

“Si? Oh yeah.” Sr. Mendoza replied. “I’ll hafe heer brough heere. Tomas’!”

“No!” Hernan said. “Let me go to her, myself, before she knows we’re on to her. Make like it’s accidental. One thing.”

“Whot ees thet?”

“I want an understanding from you, first. Every time we meet with Mr. Hodges or Heinz, you embarrass me about the Otorp raid. You allude to my past relationship with Ms. Roth as being the cause of Lopez’ death.”

“Si?”

“I embarrassed you with the fatso on Level-Three.”

“Si.”

“I help you with this bitch, and our mutual behavior improves. Get my drift?”

“You help me weeth thee beetch. I geet off yeer beck y you geets off my beck?”

“You got it!”

“Accordo.” Sr. Mendoza agreed, offering his hand.

Tomas’ appeared. Sr. Mendoza sent him on another errand and turned back to Hernan, saying.

“O.K. Mon. Do what you can.”

Finding Estelle was no problem for Hernan. Her picture in the records was accurate, and he was soon entertaining her. Over the next few days, Hernan got to know her much better. Sr. Mendoza kept Fredo away by sending him on many meaningless errands and trips. It subverted any chance Fredo might have to feel jealous or warn her, if he should want to do so. Estelle suspected nothing and was flattered to have the attentions of a handsome young man. Hernan reported his progress to Sr. Mendoza each evening.

The New Year drew closer. The weather grew colder. Interrogator and questionee spent their time in ever-closer quarters. One day Hernan knocked on Estelle Keatch’s hatch. She answered it, saying.

“Come on in, Francis…er I mean Hernan, it’s cold out there.”

They both knew the meaning behind the Freudian slip. Hernan’s facial features and personality traits were indeed similar to another’s. The name Francis Castle was familiar to both of them. It was out, and a great gulf breached. Estelle surmised she was now in serious danger. That presumption impelled her into an attempt at obfuscating the past.

The heretofore-unrecognized likeness in features informed against her. Memories of her friend of long ago invaded her conscious mind, piqued by the young man. Brought to the fore at just the wrong moment, Hernan was well aware. He knew that Francis Castle was Rav Aloirav’s right-hand-man. The close associate’s name was a familiar one in the early years of his life.

Coming into her domicile, he gave no indication of acknowledging her error. Then her subconscious mind betrayed her again. Attempting to conceal the situation, she made it worse. Estelle said. “Sorry. You reminded me of someone I once knew, long ago.”

“Hope it was a friend?” Hernan asked with apparent nonchalance.

Estelle could see that she compromised her camouflaged identity. Even if Hernan wasn’t aware of her past, the faux pas put her off balance. Drawing herself up as tall as possible, as if accused, Estelle said.

“Yes. He was a very good friend.”

Hernan was intelligent. He saw the old woman put herself off balance. He hoped she was disconcerted enough to make even more mistakes. It was the opportunity the man waited days to obtain. To gauge her reaction, without giving her time to dissemble, he took a chance.

Hernan asked if the friend’s surname was “Castle”. Estelle was no longer Gloria, the quick-witted member of Mr. Aloirav’s cabal. She assumed he knew her past and replied. “Yes. Francis Castle was my very good friend. You look like him, I’m very sorry to say.”

“Why sorry?”

“The resemblance made me slip. I let my vanity betray me. I should have known you were using me. What young man would be interested in spending time with an old woman? Only one with an ulterior motive. I have no special right to be ignorant, no one does. Now that you know all about me. You’ll be killing me, won’t you?”

“Why?”

Surprised by such disingenuousness, Gloria thought she might have misjudged the situation and said. “Never mind. Just leave or get it over… I’m not feeling very well.”

Hernan would not leave now. He was a shark, smelling blood. Not about to relinquish a moment, Hernan knew he grasped a New Society member. It was a real coup. The man intended learning what he could, asking. “Now we know how Aloirav found out about the Plymouth warehouse and the route there. You probably gave him all the names of our good dearly-departed directors too, didn’t you?”

Gloria said nothing, so he continued. “How well did you know this Francis Castle?”

“Well enough.”

Hernan spoke to other New Society members who now worked for Heinz. It was never for very long. None were willing to share much of their past with him. Trapped, the woman was under his control. His opportunity was clear and obvious. He interrogated her.

“Do you know what happened to him?”

“No.”

“Why he was killed?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why did Aloirav murder him?” Hernan asked, unprepared for her response.

“You fool!”

“Why do you say that? Everyone that knows the old Aloirav says he killed Francis, because he was stealing his bioweapons.”

“Aloirav didn’t murder him, you fucking liar! Francis was as much Aloirav’s friend as mine. Anyone says any different is a goddamn traitor! Get the fuck outta’ here… you stinking bastard! Go ahead n’ kill me! You won’t get me to say anything about Aloirav or Francis that isn’t true. I’m too old to be afraid of you pieces of shit!”

“Hold on, Estelle. Calmo. I’m sorry. I was asking a question, not making a statement. I wondered how he died.”

“By accusing Aloirav?!”

“Right. I thought that was what happened.”

“Thought wrong.”

“O.K. If you say so.

“It was a long time ago. Let it be? What possible good could come of it?”

“It might save your life.” Hernan replied.

“Is that a threat? Because if it is, you’ll get no more out of me, on principle!”

“It is a threat, yes. But, not from me. Come clean with me, Estelle. I might save your life.”

“Really, sir. Save my lil’ ol’ life? Oh, thank you sir. Thank you, ever so much, sir.”

“What I know, and what you’ve just told me, is enough. I can show both sides enough bullshit to make each suspect you of informing. They’ll both want you dead.”

The thought of her beloved believing she betrayed him was a heavy blow. Getting killed was secondary. Gloria knew she was not guilty of giving anything away that would hurt General Aloirav. It was the appearance of it that caused her dread. Just imagining the loss of Rav’s love was too much for her to contemplate. It contained a recapitulation of the Francis Castle enigma of years ago. The woman asked.

“So how is my telling you how Francis Castle died going to change their minds?”

“It won’t, but I might be able to.”

“How?”

“I’ll think of something.” He replied. “Deal?”

She thought a bit, and then replied. “I don’t recall the exact date. It was after we made the announcement.”

“What announcement was that?” Hernan asked.

“The one where we informed the World’s governments that the New Society was assuming control.”

“Oh. That one.”

“It was right after Aloirav’s wife and son ran away.”

“Why did they run away?”

“Don’t remember, but Francis found them anyway. He was gonna’ bring ‘em back from Omaha, but never did. No one knew what happened to them. Bacon went to look and found all of them.”

“Dead?”

“Yes. It looked like Aloirav’s family and Francis shot each other.”

“Is that all?”

“That’s all I know.”

“What about his family?”

“I told you. They were dead.”

“No. I mean Francis Castle’s family?”

“I don’t know much about them. Aloirav sent somebody to look for them, but they’d disappeared. Lester Frye knew where they were, but he wouldn’t help.”

“Why?”

“He and Rav were always feuding. Francis was Lester’s friend long before the two came into the “Group”.”

“What!? You lie!”

“I do not!”

“Lester Frye told you that?”

“Yes. Francis told me so, and so did Lester. Lester told me even more, when he came to see me in prison, after the Japanese document presentation. I remember it well. He said he had been in contact with them even before the “Group”, while Francis was in prison for growing marijuana. Francis asked Lester to look in on them from time to time. Lester said that the Japanese were the most aggressive and rude people in the world. I guess that was to soften the blow for me. Because then he told me the United Nations OG denied my request to leave Spandau.”

“Are you sure?” Francis grabbed her wrist.

“Of course, I’m sure. Francis told me as much many times before that. You’re hurting me!”

“Sorry.” He said, releasing her.

“Lester said he helped Francis’ family financially too.”

“After Francis got sent up?” Hernan asked her to reiterate. “Before either joined the New Society? You’re sure of that? That he said he was taking care of Francis Castle’s family?”

“Oh yes, very sure. He said he was helping them with more than just money, even after everything fell apart.”

“How?”

“Before the end of our rule, he got them the vaccines & other things Francis wanted them to have.”

“Why didn’t Francis take them there himself?”

“I don’t know. It was a strange relationship. I guess he felt strange going back to them after the years in prison. Francis was a strange man. The New Society didn’t like his religious beliefs. Maybe he felt vulnerable there…”

“I see.”

“Lester told me they lived in Fort Worth, for a while, and he took care of them there and afterward too. I was very glad to hear that. Aloirav, Francis, and I were very close toward the end, you see. I remember being a little jealous once of the friendship between Aloirav and Francis. Francis and I were enemies at one time. Aloirav made me see how I was too hard, too punishing. He was always doing that.” She said the latter with a soft shine of love in her eyes. “Somewhere there’s a photo of Francis and I, both leaning over Aloirav, after he’d been shot.”

Hernan started for his pocket. The shine in Estelle’s eyes got brighter with apprehension and courage to face her death. However, he just pulled out his wallet. Hernan extracted an old yellowed newsprint photograph from the wallet. Showing it to her, he asked.

“This one?”

“Yes! Yes! That’s it! See Francis and me, looking up at the camera?”

“See why I mistook you for him? Doesn’t he look li…?”

“You were going to say how much I resemble him, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I guess I was.” She replied, as she turned away from his look. “You’re Francis’ grandson, aren’t you?”

“Great grandson.”

“That’s why Rav’s vectors had no effect on you. Your great grandfather’s vaccinations were transmitted Lamarckian. They must be in the germline now.”

“I assume so. I wondered why just I escaped his extermination program on our friendly Directors.”

“Rav thought germline transmission was possible. He just was never sure. Darwinian selection propagandists were so prevalent in the old days. How come Aloirav never could find you?”

“My great grandmother didn’t want to be found. After my great grandfather, Francis, went to prison, the family moved to Fort Worth, Texas. She changed the spelling of our name.”

“The spelling of your name?”

“Yes. It’s Castillo now…means Castle in Spanish. Very poor, living among Mexicans, it just progressed in that way. My grandfather Hernan moved to Brownsville later.”

“I see.”

“I didn’t know, until now, Mr. Frye knew them. My great grandmother never told me. Mr. Heinz never mentioned it either.”

“Heinz?! He knew where you were?”

“Yes. He’s the one who told us Aloirav killed my great grandfather for treason.”

“Heinz told you that?” She asked, turning away to hide her sneer.

“Yes. He also told me Aloirav supported Lester Frye. That’s what brought me to Boston. This is the first I’ve heard Lester Frye told someone he sent my great grandmother money.”

“He told me he sent her money for years.”

“I don’t know what to believe now. My great grandmother died long ago. I remember money coming regularly from somewhere. We always needed it, when it came. My parents never worked for it. I thought it was welfare. Then later, I thought the money came from Mr. Heinz. My real father was a drug smuggler. He died when I was very little. Heinz was the only father I ever knew, even though I hardly ever saw him. After I came to Boston, I ran across him. He got me a job with the Company. I never learned much from my grandfather. He was too embarrassed. Mr. Frye came to court with them when they imprisoned my great grandfather Francis.”

“Why do you think Heinz would send money to the family of a man he hated and feared?”

“Mr. Heinz didn’t hate my great grandfather. Why he even took a big chance telling us Mr. Aloirav killed him for disloyalty.”

“He told you that too?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Hernan said.

I don’t know what to tell you that will convince you otherwise. Aloirav always thought very much of your great grandfather. Lester Frye always tried to befriend him also.”

“Why would Lester Frye like my great grandfather? He thought my great grandfather’s drugs killed his son?”

“I know nothing about that. I do know Mr. Frye was not vindictive. He always told me he blamed himself for his son’s death. Many, many times he said that to me. He would repeat it over, and over, again. He felt his accursed sense of duty ruined his own life and that of his family.”

“What about the treason part? Did Aloirav believe my great grandfather was guilty of treason?”

“He did, at first. We all did, I’m sorry to say. All the evidence, found on his body and his papers pointed to it. Maybe that’s why Aloirav never pursued the search for you and your great grandmother. Lester and I convinced him there were many questionable aspects to those papers. We had many doubts. By the time of Aloirav’s accident, we three no longer believed he was guilty. At least not guilty of anything more heinous than friendship to the end.”

“I’m being honest with you Estelle. I don’t know what to think. My mind’s a whirl. You’ve told me things; I never knew and never wanted to think about. But I do not want you to tell anyone else about what we’ve been discussing.”

“I have even less reason for doing that than I did for telling you.”

“I’ll try to save your life.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Hernan left Estelle’s domicile and returned to his own. There was some intense soul-searching in order. He spent all his adult life hating Mr. Aloirav, the New Society, and Lester Frye. For years, Hernan blackmailed Lester Frye for collusion with Mr. Aloirav’s group. Now he wondered if it was all terribly wrong of him.

Hernan thought. “My entire existence has been predicated on avenging my great grandfather’s murder. Now it appears all a big mistake! No, it wasn’t! I’m not wrong! The woman is either mistaken or lying! Heinz must have told the truth. She’s an informer against his side. Naturally, the bitch would be telling me things from her slanted point of view. She would have to try to protect Aloirav. Wouldn’t she?”

He tried to sleep, sleep would not come, and Hernan thought. “Suppose I’ve been wrong, seeking and wreaking revenge against my lifelong benefactor? Estelle appears so genuine, so convincing.”

The reason he went to an Ivy League school was due to that money. Finding out that source’s identity was a key issue. Hernan now grabbed onto an idea how he might discover who murdered his great grandfather.

Mr. Hodges knew more than he let escape. From his domicile, Hernan contacted MMIM and got Mr. Hodges office. At first, the older man answered Hernan’s questions with reluctance. Persuasion, however, soon got to him, and he produced the desired information. Mr. Hodges told him what type of documents Heinz used to incriminate his enemy, even sending a copy of one to the prison by holofacsimile. Hernan now needed to discover what documents were on his great grandfather’s body.

As soon as Hernan was out of sight, Estelle Keatch went to look for her contact. She wanted him to give the NS the signal that she needed immediate transfer off the spur. The woman knew she was in grave danger. Being a past member of the New Society was bad enough for the enemy to know. Not a fan of the new anti-Company cabal compounded the danger.

General Aloirav got the message and stopped everything to get to Level-Twenty-Six and collect her. Bacon and a few of his other people accompanied him. The General felt Sr. Mendoza might not want to leave as expeditiously as was prudent. The jailer was too cagey to try to fight now for control over a piece of ephemeral territory. Nevertheless, there were things…

As General Aloirav left for the cantilever, Heinz entered it. MMIM sent him to investigate the arms-warehouse explosion. They felt he might find out more in person. The old blond man walked through the prison gate and made to Sr. Mendoza’s domicile. Entering the hatch, Heinz saw the slight form of a woman he recognized from years ago.

Gloria was returning from signaling her NS contact and heard his shout. “Gloria!”

Thinking about General Aloirav, Estelle looked in the direction of the voice. Too late, she also recognized the tone as that of her old enemy. The woman turned and ran toward her domicile, Heinz fast on her heels. He caught her at her module’s door, where they struggled.

Heinz was still strong for an older man, at least still stronger than Gloria. Her knife was also no match for his gun, and he soon prevailed. Pistol-whipping her, he lifted her from the floor and twisted her arm behind her back. In that manner, he marched the woman over to the prison’s main office. Throwing her at the domicile’s door, the man opened it and pushed her in with his foot. She stumbled across the room in front of a surprised Sr. Mendoza.

“Look what I just found in your bailiwick!” Heinz shouted at Sr. Mendoza.

“Estelle!”

“Wrong answer!” Heinz said. “Gloria Gold, Aloirav’s second-in-command.”

“What?” Sr. Mendoza exclaimed. “Yeer’ sheetteen me!”

“Like hell, I am.” Heinz shouted again at him. “I worked with her for years. I ought to know the bitch. She’s not as gorgeous as she was, but she’s the same cunt. Now you know where all yer’ leaks are comin’ from! She was supposed to be dead. They said she hung herself in Rudolf Hess’s cell at Spandau.”

“You focking cunt!” Sr. Mendoza shouted, as he jumped up and ran over to her. Striking her in the face, Mendoza screamed. “We almos’ wasted our fat-guy for those leaks. He was supposed to go out tonight.”

Heinz said. “Looks like your loss is his gain, Gloria.”

Gloria looked straight at him and said nothing. Feminine arrogance angered Sr. Mendoza beyond his control. He struck her in the face again. She went down on her right hip, breaking the fall with her right hand. She sprang back up, looking at him and ridiculing.

“Not only are you brave enough to strike a woman but you even dare hit an old one. My, my, such big strong men we have here.”

Sr. Mendoza pulled a .38 and was going to shoot. Heinz put his hand on the weapon and said. “Hold on, Mendoza! There’s plenty of time for that. Put the piece back in your pocket.”

“What thee fock for?”

“She cost us a bundle. Ya’ wanna’ waste it all? The cunt’s not worth anything to us dead. Let’s just hang onto her for a bit. See what happens when Aloirav finds out we got her. He just might want to deal.”

“Heemseelf fa’ heer?”

“Something like that. Don’t know. He always thought the sun rose n’set in that twat. Never liked dark meat much myself. People say Aloirav’s part nigger; so it’s understandable. Whatever. We won’t hep ‘orsels none by throwin’ away the bait now will we?”

Sr. Mendoza put away the gun. Just before turning to walk away, however, he looked down and spit in her face. Her head whipped away from the direction of the sputum. She stared at the floor in suppressed rage and shame. Still sitting on her knees, Gloria wiped the liquid off and said.

“You’re mad to think Aloirav will deal with the likes of you, Heinz. You know him. Who’re you trying to bullshit?”

“Aloirav wouldn’t bargain for anyone else. He might for you. He might even genuflect to save you. Won’t hurt to try. I never could understand how a man as smart as Aloirav let a cunt con’em. A black kike cunt! He was always crazy over you, from day one.”

They stopped talking, when a knock came at the hatch. Tomas’ went to open it, and Hernan stood at the entrance. His holophone call and facsimile from Mr. Hodges was, as yet, unknown. Standing in the hatchway, Hernan looked down at the floor of the module. Estelle was on her knees, Heinz bending over her.

Mendoza was behind his desk and Tomas’ before him on the left, when Hernan exclaimed. “What’s going on?”

“You’re looking at Aloirav’s right-hand bitch.” Heinz said, before Gloria could feel betrayed by Hernan. “Right under Mendoza’s nose. This fockeen cunt destroyed Japan single-handedly. I’d bet a dime to a dead pol that she cost us the warehouse and a gaggle a’ Directors.”

“Hernan been cheecking heer out for days. He got notheeng outta heer neeteer.” Sr. Mendoza said.

Hernan shot a quick glance at Gloria and said. “That’s right, Heinz. There are no records that exist for any of the New Society people. Frye took care of that for his friend, Aloirav. Mendoza couldn’t have known who she was. She was just another old-loser.”

Hernan just got the last sentence out of his mouth when Fredo rushed into the domicile and shouted. “Company chopper landing on thee heleepad! Aloirav’s in eet weeth a ho-lotta hombres!”

Pandemonium broke out after that. Each man went to a porthole to see what his chances were of making a break for the cantilever’s entrance. Gloria scrambled to her feet and started to run to the door. Heinz saw her. He picked up a machete, lying on the table, next to the porthole and swung.

The knife struck flesh, as she reached for the door. It bit deep into her thin brown arm, and the woman screamed in pain. Blood shot from her wrist and dripped onto the deck. She tried to hold it back with her hand, yelling.

“You son-of-a-bitch, Heinz!”

“You always were a sweet talker, Gloria.”

Looking over at Hernan, she screamed, pointing at Heinz. “You want to know who killed and framed yer’ great grandfather Francis, Hernan! There he is! Heinz!”

“She’s talkin’ bullshit, Hernan!”

“Like hell, I am!”

“Did you kill Francis Castle, Heinz, like she says?”

“Hell, no. She’s just tryin’ta save her nigger hide.”

“He hated Francis, Hernan. Aloirav thought more of your great grandfather than he did that bastard!” She shouted. “Aloirav trusted us more. Heinz was jealous! He killed Aloirav’s family and Francis, making it look like they killed each other.”

“You lyin’ bitch! Heinz yelled.

He came at her with the machete again, raising it over his head as he did so. He swung down with the blade. It would have gone through her neck, killing her, but Hernan pushed her. She fell out of the way as it came down, missing her by millimeters.

Heinz shouted. “What the fuck are you doin’? Don’t tell me you believe the cunt?”

“I wanna hear her out, Heinz.” Hernan said.

“She can’t prove what she’s sayin’, and she knows it!”

Holding her bleeding arm & turning to look up at Hernan, Gloria said. “I can’t prove it. He’s right. The principals are all dead. He can’t prove he didn’t do it. No one knew where he was at the time. Francis did not kill Aloirav’s family, or they him. The evidence didn’t fit. Someone else killed all three. Everything points to him! That thief and traitor! He told Aloirav the reefer in Lansing’s Giltner Hall went bad, and we’d lost the CIL “bugs”. Francis found out it was a lie!”

“You’re talkin’ shit! You silly bitch!” Heinz yelled.

“Shut-up, Heinz! Let her talk!” Hernan said.

Fredo shouted just then. “We gotta do sumpeen’ queeck. They comeen’ thees way, Mendoza!”

Mendoza said. “Tomas’. You and Fredo come weeth me out thee back way. Wee’ll go down thee sewer path to thee guardpost. Faustino ees thee guard now. He don’ work for thee Company!”

“Como no. Vamonos!” Fredo squealed, leaving the module. Mendoza and Tomas’ followed.

Hernan turned to Gloria and said. “Go on, Estelle, I’m listening.”

Heinz said. “I’m not! I’m gettin’ the fuck outta here! She’s going too as my insurance.”

“Not yet, she’s not, Heinz!” Hernan said, pulling a pistol out of his vest-pocket and pointing it at him.

“Yer’ gonna’ fuck everything up, Hernan, over a lyin’ bitch?! Mendoza’s right. Yer’ pekker’s your boss.”

“Talk, Estelle. Make it quick!” Hernan shouted.

Gloria looked at Heinz and continued speaking. “Those viruses didn’t get dumped, like he said they did. He swiped em’ and sold ‘em. MMIM has ‘em now. Afterwards, he drained the Freon out of the reefer system. He made it look like an equipment failure. The lab technician called the hotel and Francis talked to her. She said some guy took a lotta’ vials out of the reefer the day it quit. You killed her too late, Heinz. Francis knew. He was gonna’ tell Aloirav, so you killed him too.”

“That’s bullshit!” Heinz said.

“The hell it is! I remember. Francis told me, before he went to Omaha, about something strange that happened in East Lansing. He said it sounded like you.”

Hernan looked at Heinz and then at Gloria. He looked out the window over Heinz’ shoulder. General Aloirav and his crew were coming ever closer to the module. They’d be there in less than a minute. Turning to Gloria, he asked. “You saw my great grandfather’s body, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Before they took all the papers off him?”

“No. But, I was in the room when Bacon showed those papers to Aloirav. Bacon wouldn’t bullshit Aloirav. He thinks Aloirav’s next to God.”

“Unlike yerself.” Heinz said.

“Shut up, Heinz!” Hernan said, and then asked Gloria. “Do you remember what those papers were?”

He was asking an old woman to remember something from many years back. Something she saw for but a moment in passing. However, Gloria was not an ordinary person. Very intelligent, she knew it was a fight for her life & love. Memory was all that stood between her and certain death. That fact made the moment vivid. As resplendent as a final hour of life, spent in recollection, could have been.

She replied. “Driver’s license, social sec…”

Hernan interrupted. “Gloria! We haven’t got time to stall. Which were the incriminating papers?”

Fortune favors the brave. (Audentes fortuna iuvat.)                       Virgil

Chapter Seventy-Six

 

“I can only remember one, besides bank slips.”

“What was it?” Hernan riposted.

“I don’t remember any of the words, but it was embossed with the imprimatur of the CIA.”

Heinz, looking out the porthole, said. “This is crazy! They’re almost here, Hernan! We’re gonna’ have ta shoot it out now!”

“Why do you remember it was the CIA imprimatur? Did it say CIA on it?”

“Yah. It did.”

“What else was on it?” Hernan asked.

“There was an eagle’s head over a shield with a star flashing in the middle. Do you know it?”

“Yes.” Hernan said. “I know it. What else?”

“I don’t remember anything else.   Bank deposit slips, photographs… ”

Hernan looked back at Heinz, as she paused. The pistol became slack in his hand. Mr. Hodges remembered the CIA letter, too. It appeared Gloria was telling the truth. Hernan now realized his whole life was a study in mistaken revenge.

All his purpose, will to go on, left him. There was not even the desire for revenge against Heinz. All he could think was of his unjustified abuse of a great man. Repaying with mistreatment, the kindness he, his mother, and all his grandparents received. It hurt too much to handle during that moment of intense excitement.

Astute Heinz observed the glaze coming over Hernan’s eyes. Recognizing his window of opportunity, he went for the gun. Hernan just stared. Heinz got the piece in his hand and pointed it at Gloria, planning his human shield strategy. Thinking Heinz meant to kill her, Hernan jumped at him, yelling. “No, Heinz!”

Heinz reacted and shot. The bullet entered Hernan. While Heinz extricated himself from the moribund body, Gloria jumped into the doorway. Heinz shot again, but missed her. She fled down the pathway. Bacon saw her exit and yelled. General Aloirav turned to see Heinz firing close behind her. The air was ablaze for minutes as Heinz battled with NS associates.

Seeing that the woman slipped through his fingers, Heinz thought just about his own escape. He turned around, running out the back way, taking the same path as his compatriots. Bullets didn’t penetrate calein. They could see where Heinz ran, but the calein trusses protected him. He escaped.

The General ran forward, sweeping Gloria into his arms. He carried the beaten and bleeding woman to the chopper. His crew fanned out, hoping to encounter Sr. Mendoza and his cohorts. Someone opened the tetrahedron-emblazoned door of the helicopter. General Aloirav jumped in, taking his woman’s body with him. He shouted to the pilot to make for the hospital.

The chopper rose into the sky. On the spur, Bacon & crew gave chase, but the cabal, except Hernan, made good their escape. The chopper returned from the hospital to find the troop at the spur empty-handed. Bacon brought General Aloirav the bad news.

The band must have escaped to the First-Surface. Nothing could be done about it now but continue war preparations. The concern managing the prison was an MMIM subsidiary. The Company took over its management and sent MMIM the formal notice.

 

The General wanted assurance that the elimination of all suspect Directors was complete. Bacon investigated. The disloyal CEO and ex-Pontibus governor, Abner Quake still lived. It should have been a matter for swift retribution. However, the man was well entrenched in the politics of Company bureaucracy.

He was circumspect in his treachery and very likable. Mr. Quake made himself a close friend of Mr. Otorp & Mab Roth. Mab’s spies brought her word that General Aloirav knew Abner was the brains behind the bodega – prison spur subterfuge. The ex-governor even helped buy the Le Pere warehouse for MMIM. Ms. Roth was well aware that General Aloirav was after him. There would be no escape. She told Mr. Otorp the General expected to kill their friend soon.

Mab felt they should punish Abner but not kill him. Mr. Otorp agreed and knew the General would feel just the converse. They sent for General Aloirav to approach the subject. Mr. Otorp asked.

“General. You’re planning to kill Abner Quake. Is that not true?”

“Yes it is. He’s a very dangerous man. He’s hurt the Company, a great deal, in many ways. The traitor’s orders come direct from MMIM. He has friends that are robbing other bodegas around the Pontibus.”

“That may very well be, but we don’t want him destroyed.” Mr. Otorp said. “Apprehend him, question him, incarcerate him, but don’t kill him.”

“Why the hell not!” General Aloirav retorted.

“He’s a religious man.” Mab said. “He can be punished & rehabilitated.

“He’s religious, he’d never cheat?!” The General shouted. “Just because a person is stupid doesn’t mean he’s trustworthy.”

“Being religious doesn’t show stupidity, General!”

“No?” He replied. “Show me one better indicator. Otorp! We agreed on this. He’s a traitor, a Director, and one of the worst!”

“Punish but not kill, Aloirav!”

“Punishment is not an acceptable response to crime!” The General replied.

“Killing is?!” Mab shouted.

Mr. Otorp said, “I know how you feel, but…”

“No you don’t! You damn pussy!”

“You needn’t be pejorative!”

“That bastard’s the enemy!”

“We know that!” Mab replied. “But we’re civilized.”

“You sick, fuckin’ squares are such perverts!”

“We don’t need to hear such language, General! It ill becomes our status. And, there’s a woman present.”

“You …Sick… Fuckin’… Squares are always ready to punish & incarcerate. It’s because you don’t have the guts to kill. Why can’t you be a man, Otorp?”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, General.”

“Don’t, or I’ll repeat it. Those years of drinking must have extracted your guts along with vitamins and such.”

“I’ll ignore your insulting language, because I’m sure it’s due to your uncontrollable frustration and disappointment. Unlike you, we’ve both known Abner for some time.” Mr. Otorp said. “We feel they must have pressured him beyond belief to force him into doing such things. Despite what you may think of me, unless you’re planning an insubordination, it’s an order. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I understand. You’re pushing my patience. I think you’re making a big mistake. Suppose he escapes to the First-Surface? The man knows a great deal about the Company.”

“No more than those others you let escape.” Mab Roth said, mocking him for the Otorp module break-in and subsequent prison rescue & escape of the cabal crew.

“Yes, he does. He’s one of the brighter ones, and from the inside. The other escapees got their information on the outside or from him. A living Quake could be much more trouble. Imagine what he could do on a GPS in a cantilever with a cell holo. Let’s eliminate that trouble. We have the opportunity.”

“No, Rav. He lives!” Mr. Otorp said.

“Very well.”

“You’ll not kill him.”

“No. I’ll not kill him.”

“Nor anyone you might order to do it either.” Said Ms. Roth, anticipating a future quasi-mutiny and flimsy excuse.

“Nor any of my people. I’ll incarcerate but not kill him, just as you order. You’re being very unfair to the man. He was a valuable asset to the enemy and an accomplished foe to us. The man deserves swift retribution and an honorable death.”

“Bullshit!” Said Mab Roth. “You’re a bloodthirsty savage!”

“Don’t fight us, Rav.” Mr. Otorp said.

“I won’t. Consider him saved. I’d better leave right now. I scheduled his end for tonight.”

General Aloirav left, and when he was out the door, Mab Roth said. “My God, I hate that man! He and his people send chills up my spine. I feel like I’m in a room with a lion, when he’s near. I still can’t believe I’m condoning all he’s doing. He’s brutal and inhuman. Do you believe the disrespect with which he talks to us?”

“I know. I feel the same revulsion.” Mr. Otorp said. “But what choice do we have? As you said, Mab, we must deal with him as we would a guard dog. We’ll put him to sleep when his usefulness is over. In the meantime, we pretend to cooperate. Remember what we agreed. He’s our bodyguard, just for the time being.”

“You’re right.” She said. “But I hate it. I just want it all to end. I don’t know how anyone can enjoy conflict like he appears to do.”

“I don’t either. Never takes a rest from it.”

“Like you said.” Mab replied. “He’s still fighting Viet Nam.””

 

The General returned to the hospital and shouted. “Bacon.”

“Yah, Boss.”

“Been a change of plans. We’re going to change the disposition on that Quake fellow.”

“Whachu’ want me to do?”

“Find me his dossier. I want to get to know him better.”

“What?!”

“Yes.”

General Aloirav read Mr. Quake’s dossier, learning his habits and idiosyncrasies, then said. “We’re gonna’ change his prognosis and not kill him, Bacon.”

“Why the fuck not, Boss? He almost got Gloria killed!”

“I know that, Bacon, but Ms. Roth and the Company Chairman want him incarcerated.”

“No!? And you agreed to it?”

“Yes. Incarcerate we shall.”

Bacon listened with a recalcitrant appearance on his face, and said. “They could care less about us and our people, Boss.”

“I’m aware of that. They’re the top echelon. I’m just an employee. What can I do?”

“Can we rough him up some on the way to the box?”

“No.” The General replied. “That would be a subhuman reaction. We’re trying to civilize these monkeys. I want it done with class, so he can report back to them that I was a real gentleman.”

“You do?!”

“Yes. I do.”

“I feel real bad about it, Boss. It’s unlike you to be so submissive.”

“Sometimes we must accept humiliation in the interest of the planet and the greater good, Bacon.”

“Yes, Boss.”

“Use 247, Bacon.”

The recalcitrant demeanor changed. A vile smile crossed Bacon’s brightening face, and he replied. “I understand, Boss. We can’t kill the man. It would be inhumane.”

“That it would. Two micrograms with fourteen cc’s of vaccine and 10 grams altretamine. Use agarose as oxidation protector. Do it tonight, in a cup of coffee, at his scheduled arrest. Put the 10 grams altretamine in a spinach croissant.”

“T’s done, Boss. Anythin’ else?”

“No that’s it.”

Bacon stopped at the door before going out and said. “Hey, Boss.”

“What is it, Bacon?”

“You want the guy to match his name, don’t you?”

“Just get it done, Bacon, and cut the comedy.” The General said, smiling.

“Right.” He said, then stopped again and added. “Boss?”

“Yah, Bacon?”

“If we ever fall out, please don’t ever be “humane” to me?”

“I’ve known you almost a century, Bacon. We’ll never fall out.”

Two days later Abner Quake entered Mab Roth’s office, looking very bad, and said “Mab.”

“Yes, Abner.”

“You said Aloirav relinquished total retribution against me, didn’t you?”

“Yes, except for incarceration, he did.” She replied, smiling. “Has something happened?”

“They arrested me two days ago and took me in for questioning.”

“Well. That’s to be expected, Abner. You must pay something for your mistakes.”

“Oh. I understand that, Mab. I’m not complaining. They even gave me coffee and a croissant, perfect gentlemen. I didn’t feel anything happened contrary to what you told me to expect.”

“See? He gave Mr. Otorp and me his word. I’ve never heard of him going back on it. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. We’ll get you resettled as soon as we can. I’m sure you’ll spend but a few months in prison. Why do you ask?”

“I’m feeling very, very bad. I’ve a terrible headache.”

“It’s a February cold. Go home and sleep awhile.”

“You’re right. Good idea. I think I will.”

His career having plummeted so, he took it quite hard. A middle-aged man, such as Abner, could but expect some subsequent malady to occur. That afternoon, preparing to leave the Company offices, he experienced a stroke. Ms. Roth was still at headquarters, when she learned of his condition.

 

Gloria recovered from her wounds. Injuries damaged bones, tendons and much muscle tissue. Bell’s palsy afflicted her face, where Heinz pistol-whipped it. One of the later rounds, he fired, struck her shoulder. Advanced in years, even with the elixir, she did not experience rapid healing. General Aloirav was often at her side.

The two reacquainted, but it was slow and painful. Both had experienced situations in which they didn’t feel they’d acted well. Because of moving to the Pontibus, both Larry and Jason lost their First-Surface pensions. Their working children, those still around, were doctors but not of the emergency type. The Company prohibited their continued practice. As a result, Gloria’s children and grandchildren were often at her bedside.

In a few days, she left the hospital. The General appropriated Adam Quake’s former secure cantilever for the entire group. It was near the end of the monorail run, above Provincetown. A ten-minute magnelev commute from the Boston foot was very manageable. The extended family adjusted to a semblance of normalcy. The view was spectacular, and the reacquainting proceeded. In time, it appeared, even recriminations would cease.

To forgive, the family needed to understand each other’s motivations and constraints better. The offspring needed to take a more profound look at their patriarch’s mission and past. The old man needed to be charitable with his progeny too. In their youth, they never saw missions of higher status than law or medicine. The First-Surface didn’t have many from which to choose.

Mr. Quake recovered from his stroke and subsequent coma, but he never reacquired his complete mental faculties. Speech, hearing, and sight never returned. An acute persistent Parkinson’s disease also dogged his continued existence. He was a prisoner within his own shaking body. An appropriate description would be a “quaking” vegetable. His remaining friends rallied to his side…for a time. They left him in the prison cantilever nurse’s care when she wanted to change his diapers or wipe away his drool.

 

Vaccine and vector production proceeded with increased intensity over the next few months. As each new serum-humeal facility came up to function vector-vaccine manufacture grew exponentially. Shipping and receiving unloaded new storage freezers at the labs day after day. The new relaxed genetic standards were very popular. The more obvious “biologicals” now besieged Mr. Walcott’s crew. Phenotypes, strange and wonderful, became a daily sight.

One day, Mr. Walcott arrived at the Level Twenty-Five hospital and asked to speak with General Aloirav. Bacon went to see if it was a good time to bother the “Boss”. The General thought it was. Mr. Walcott entered and said. “General Aloirav.”

“Yes, Mr. Walcott. What can I do for you?”

“Sir. The application center at Block Island fills with applicants every day. We cannot work there anymore. The “biologicals” push in and even sit on the desks, damaging the computers. We are running 3 shifts, 24 hours a day, and the demand still grows.”

“Should we build larger facilities?”

“Definitely! And my people need something more than just larger facilities.”

“What is that, Sir?”

“They need some protection.”

“What kind of protection, Mr. Walcott?”

“Psychological, Sir. Have you any idea how difficult it is to look at “biologicals” everyday?”

“I can imagine.”

“It makes one question things.”

“Like?”

“It’s unsettling, Sir.”

“Imagine having to live on the First-Surface?”

“Yes.” He agreed. “My people lose all incentive to work after seeing such sights day after day.”

“How do you handle that?”

“Not well. I’ve even had some suicides!”

“Really?!

“General. It strikes at the very heart of our cause in the sky.”

“What do you mean?”

“We want to make a healthy, sane, sustainable world, right?”

“Yes, we do.”

“Where everyone can pursue their own brand of happiness. That’s why I bought a module, joined the Company.”

“And…?”

“How can a “biological” ever be happy?”

“I can imagine it must be difficult.”

“Every day they see healthy people and know that they, themselves, are Nature’s rejects. They are more dependent than normal beggars, needing drugs and prostheses. They’re like children, requiring help just to exist. First-Surface thugs rape “biological” females and produce more of the freaks. It just goes on & on…”

“Yes. Imagine their pain.”

“But General. We see that pain in their faces, when they see us. Over half look at us in anger and resentment. Twisted in body appears to mean twisted in mind too. It makes us feel … a …an unreasonable guilt, like war guilt or post-traumatic stress… or something.”

“Suicides?!

“Yes, Sir. They leave notes. They put the blame on seeing the “biologicals” every day. I rotate people now. I cannot let people see the monsters every day. They need respite. Seeing “biologicals” is just too much grief to take straight, day after day. Absenteeism is rampant.”

“You seem to be handling it well, Mr. Walcott.”

“I’m not, Sir. It’s beginning to make me too question the value of contemporary existence, especially my own. I don’t want to end up like some of my minions. How can I continue to help these poor wretches? I’m helping to contaminate our bridges, and my race, with these freaks too! I feel like …like…a criminal!”

“What would you suggest, other than a complete moratorium on their migration?

“I don’t know Sir. I feel we’re committing some terrible offense against Nature.”

“By helping these people gain a measure of happiness?”

“Yes, Sir. I know it seems contrary to what we should believe, but…”

“The happiness they receive is so small compared to the unhappiness they produce?”

“Exactly, Sir. I was in the OG’s war with Brazil in 2023 AD. We had to kill many “naturals”. My parents taught me that homicide was wrong. Prosecuting the conflict made me question my principles. I feel the same kind of mental agony now. My principles tell me to destroy the freaks, give them no chance to flourish. Here I am facilitating a good life in paradise for them! I feel I’m aiding the advent of a disaster.”

“How is that to come about, Mr. Walcott?”

“I’m not certain, of course, Sir.”

“Speculate, Mr. Walcott.”

“Just think what a tragedy they will mean to our species if they continue to live and reproduce, Sir? Think what resources they will misappropriate from other living things? They put back nothing of what they take, and they take so much. There are so many deserving life forms, even in our own genus… I feel my own nature is perverse in assisting in the process. I’m no biologist, but aren’t we weakening the human race? Aren’t we doing just what those First-Surface abortionists are doing on the other side of the question?”

“Violating Company mores and the will of the Founder, perverting evolution?”

“Yes, Sir.

“I understand your pain, Mr. Walcott.”

“You’re not just glad-handing me, Sir?”

“No. Lester Frye felt the same way you do.”

“He did?”

“Yes. Not at first. We had many discussions about it over the years. He asked me if I had the courage to kill a “biological” infant. It seems to be the only way out of the situation. You can’t very well kill the adults now, can you?”

“I suppose not. But what did you answer?”

“I’m afraid I equivocated.”

“Really?”

“Yes. We talked about the Babylonian Baal and other cultural infanticides. They didn’t seem to be answers with any more enlightenment than an OG pro-choicer’s barbarism. The sustainable get the ax along with the garbage. Then he said he would probably emulate the Lacedaemonians.”

“Let the rubbish starve on a hillside?”

“Yes. He said. “A baby isn’t a human, Rav. It’s a wild animal with the promise of someday becoming human. Over 99.9% never reach that position. Allowing Nature to take back her “biological” mistakes is no greater crime than butchering a healthy pig.””

“I’d heard he’d grown cruel in his later years, but…”

“Not quite so cruel?”

“Yes.”

“People of your sensibilities are hard to find, Mr. Walcott. I don’t want to lose you. Try to cut it for a bit longer. I’ll try to find a replacement for you.”

“Thank you so much, Sir.”

“I’ll be canceling the moratorium in a very short time, anyway. I have to agree with all your sentiments. I’m just allowing the situation to continue a bit longer to achieve a greater benefit. I need a month yet. Can you give me that?”

“If we could send Major Qercua the very ugly & twisted cases a bit more quickly?”

“Take some of the pressure off the retina, hunh?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Have you noticed some relief after moving the secondary application facilities to Plymouth?”

“That was a big help. The “biologicals” could leave our sigh …er our congested facility faster. Less congestion made for faster processing.”

“Yes. I thought it would.”

“Will you speak to Major Qercua today, Sir?”

“I will. You promise me you will not harm yourself?”

“Yes, Sir. I can hold on another month.”

 

General Aloirav was indeed able to move his selection criteria. He added to simple metabolic “biological” diseases those having more obvious chromosome aberrations. Mongoloid idiots and other retarded mutants began arriving for their merited rights. To the trisomy 21s he added deletion syndromes like cri-du-chat, 5p, 4p, and the micro deletions. Many others came for their just rewards…and went. Gonadal dysgenesis & mosaics, Klinefelters, Turners, etc. also arrived, demanding their deserved placement.

The General even began accepting applications from different types of mutants. Monsters afflicted with genetic alterations due to teratogens from injection well intoxications of the 20^th century now could apply. By month’s end, not a single obvious genetic malady failed to obtain representation in the new program. His temporary solution was not conducive to an overall smooth functioning operation, however. Problems multiplied, at the far end of the processing, and Major Qercua came to him very concerned.

“General.” He asked.

“Yes, Major Qercua?”

“I need a directive from you on something.”

“Shoot.”

“I’m having to activate the auxiliary reception teams and secondary donor relief squads almost hourly.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. These monsters that we’re taking in now always come with a train.”

“I thought that might happen. Faster serum supplies result, no?”

“No, Sir. Just the contrary. It’s very disruptive. The machines do not run any faster than before. Plus, every time we receive a dual entry, there is the delay.”

“Delay?”

“Yes. As you know, before accepting a donor, we must clean up blood on the photo room floor left from the previous. The donor’s family members always require manual processing by the auxiliary reception teams. Successive donors will not easily or always consent to have their picture taken when they hear scuffling while waiting in the next room. We can’t let them leave. That requires the secondary donor relief squad.”

“I see.”

“And sometimes we can’t hold them back. The other day 22 family members came in, wanting to go along with their mongoloid brother. I assume they felt they could somehow share in his good fortune. They must have felt the Company would pay welfare benefits, without discrimination, as the OG does. I confess I don’t know their exact motivation. At any rate, we were rounding them up to explain how they must enter single file. One sibling was upset, for some reason, and demanded to talk to the monster. The monster was already processed.”

“What happened?”

“We had to process 18 donors manually. Successive donors heard the commotion. The facility manager needed another secondary donor relief crew. He called another facility to handle the processing demand. A pitched battle ensued in the facility, lasting over an hour. It took us half the day to get things running smoothly again.”

“Good show, Major! What can I do to help?”

“Issue a directive. Allow us to use one facility, exclusively, to process all monsters with trains, manually. It will expedite matters like you can’t imagine.”

“You don’t think it will be worse?”

“No. Below the trap door, everything runs the same. We just have to take care to throw the heads in right or they jam the pulverizer’s conveyor. I have two men who were pro basketball players on the outside. I can keep them at the special facility full time.”

“Anything else?”

“We’ll need a larger supply of continuously-sharpened cutlery for the mega-monster facility.”

“What else?”

“Another magnelev car to haul clothing to the fermentation vats.”

“I’ll see to it.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

The General was not yet satisfied that quantities of vectors and vaccines were enough for a full-scale war. Vaccine production was nearing a point where he felt comfortable. Almost all the serum now went to vector manufacturing. The Pontibus Council ultimately gave their imprimatur to vaccine inoculation of residents, but the security needs were ponderous. The Company did not want any First-Surface residents vaccinated.

Mr. Walcott’s initial census paperwork was most important to insuring that demarcation goal. Just those who responded to census takers could receive vaccinations, and only if they so desired. The Company gave later arrivals the option at module p

 

 

The Company gave later arrivals the option at module purchase. Most domicile residents accepted that things were not going well between the Old-Government and the Company. They wanted the inoculations.

Residents also knew disagreements between upper and lower living involved taxation and biosustainability economics. No one got too concerned, until the Pontibus Council began its education drive. Residents that were more intelligent increased their Pontibus news attention habits after that. The First-Surface media also got into the spirit of the conflict.

Psychological operation’s campaigns against the aerial residents accelerated. The OG strategists knew how susceptible the ignorant and demented are to mystic topics. They therefore increased their use of religion as a means to obtain lower level cohesion. Funding increased for holovision stations with evangelical “faith” messages. Bacon said.

“Biblical nonsense spouts out of those religionists’ noisemakers like explosive vomit.”

Persons heard things like, “near the Day of Purification there will be cobwebs spun back & forth across the sky.” The OG preached other hysterical messages geared to total destruction of those “cobwebs”. Voodoo and macumbah experts flaunted their mumbo jumbo in Africa and South America. The Star Spangled Banner began playing every hour. Flag waving jingoes began jumping higher than Holy Roller Pentecostals and their South African black counterparts. Pontibus infrastructure sabotage got tremendous impetus.

Health cadres spread out over the structures disseminating their repertoire of vaccines. Vaccinations of residents on the New England Pontibus networks spread to other continents. Asian and South American structures began similar protection measures. Among those getting the vaccinations and the propaganda were Commission members and disloyal Company military personnel. General Aloirav knew it would happen. He did everything he could to prevent it, but it was impossible to be everywhere and know everyone. He did wait until the very last to vaccinate late-arrivals and residents suspected of disloyalty.

Most of the serious doubtfuls received a vector instead of a vaccine. The Company kept their deaths from the media. Carrion merchants did not complain about the increased volume falling to them. The depressed price of interdicted humeal did not please them much either however.

The General welcomed resulting complaints. They were good indications of disloyalty to him and merited a swift response. Some received a vaccination anyway. That wasn’t the worst of it, the General felt. The information they carried off hurt more than the lost vulnerability.

General Aloirav asked Gloria to try to find their hidden grandchildren. Gloria was itching to be useful, and it was a task both wanted done. They desired the entire family to live on the Pontibus and soon. First-Surface hiding must end for all the Aloiravs. If some continued to do so, they could die in the coming war. There would be no way to protect them.

Returning to the Pontibus from Andirobal, General Aloirav landed at his favorite restaurant airstrip. It was a few weeks subsequent to Gloria starting the descendant search. After tying his plane down, the General walked over and got a cup of coffee. He never entered a restaurant without having all eyes focus on him. Male eyes held fear and loathing, female’s showed interest and desire.

The General believed that feminine esthetic sensibilities differed from the masculine in more than simple sexual ways. One sex put more weight to a particular quality than did the other sex. He believed most males and young females saw beauty more though their eyes, as physiognomy and body form. Older women saw beauty more through luxury possibilities and quasi-survival traits, such as money, power, discipline, etc. Women’s conception of beauty is less in the eye. They use their heart and concupiscence more, the man thought.

General Aloirav was here now to meet Gloria. She was waiting for him, and he asked. “Am I late?”

“No. I was early.”

“Should that concern me?”

“No. It’s good news, Rav.”

“It is?”

“Yes. I went through some old telephone records that Lester kept. There were some interesting calls coming from Mexico.”

“Mexico?”

“Yes. Mexico was one of the last countries to demand our executions. I thought maybe the grandkids would head there in hopes of …”

“Understandable. If they should get caught, better to get caught where people have no ax to grind.”

“That was my feeling.”

“Have you been using the people I told you to use?”

“Yes. But listen, Rav.”

“Sorry.”

“I’ve found some of our family. I think they may know where the others are.”

“Oh, Gloria, that’s great.”

“Isn’t it? There is a problem, though.”

“What’s that?

“They don’t dare come home, so traumatized by the propaganda against us, they are. Things coming out of Japan, South Africa, Argentina, and the USA made indelible impressions. We were made abhorrent to them. They don’t want anything to do with us.”

“I can imagine.”

“They also can’t believe there could be a safe area anywhere near us.”

“Are they living in a heavily populated area?”

“No. They’re in the Mexican mountains near Guatemala. The people there are a lot like Andirobal residents. They’re ignorant, cheap, promiscuous, greedy, dishonest, lazy, superstitious, wasteful, rapacious – typical poor. I tried to convince them of the need to discount the negative propaganda, but…”

“Be careful, Gloria. You know you can’t win an argument with your own kids. Chances are, they’re just as intelligent as you are. Being younger, their logic will prevail.”

“I know.”

“If they allow you to think you’ve won, you lose on another level.”

“I know, Rav. What can I do?”

The General took a sip from his cold cup of coffee and said. “Leave them be. I’ll get some vaccines together, and you can inoculate them in situ. You’ll have to take some salt, glucose, and antibiotic solution down to them too. Show them how to use it. Explain about Vibrio cholerae and the others. There will be collateral diseases from the dying unvaccinated like never before.”

“Okay, Rav.” Gloria agreed. Then with tears rolling down her cheeks, she added. “Oh Rav. I wish you could come with me and see them. There’s one of Jason’s great grandkids, a half-indigenous little girl. She is so darling. Smart as a hot pepper. When she’s naughty, which is almost always, she holds up her thumb & forefinger. She makes a little oval, like this.” Gloria demonstrated and said. “She then puts it in front of her right eye, like a lens. It’s a shibboleth, to regain your approval.”

Tears would not fall, but the General’s eyes got red and watered, as he said. “I think just you should go now, Gloria. My life is …”

“I know. I’m careful too. I even feel maybe I’m being selfish just talking to them.”

“No, Gloria. It was necessary. Without those vaccines they may not survive.”

“Yes. But it’s dangerous.”

“Life is dangerous. We took greater chances.”

“Yes. And look what happened?”

“Gloria! Are you getting old?!”

“No.”

“Then stop the negative bullshit!”

 

General Aloirav was in his hospital office when he saw Mr. Otorp and his bodyguards arrive at the cantilever. The Chairman went straight to the General’s offices and was about to knock on the door. General Aloirav opened it before he did so and invited him in. Mr. Otorp told his bodyguards to wait outside. The General asked.

“To what do I owe this visit, Mr. Otorp?

“I would like Mab to share in the serum.” He blurted out.

“Serum?” General Aloirav asked, thinking something compromised the secrecy of his humeal facilities.

“Yes, General. The youth serum that Mr. Frye found in the jungle.”

“Oh, that serum. Why? Why do you need it?”

“For the same reason you do!”

“No. I didn’t mean that. I thought you had your own supply.”

“Well, I don’t. I never needed to keep any on hand. Lester gave me whatever quantity I needed, whenever I wanted it.”

“I didn’t know that. I thought you and I were the sole possessors of it.”

“No.”

“How is it you didn’t grow it for yourself? He gave you the cloned cells didn’t he?”

“I don’t know what all he gave me. It was just a liquid, and I just drank it. I thought it was all the same as it always was. I’m all out now and want Mab to share in it with me.”

“I see. Very well. It’ll take me a few days to get some to you. There is none available right now.”

“You’re not going to be niggardly in sharing it with me are you?”

“Of course not. I just have none available, at present. The clones are in glycerol in an ultralow. I’ll need to grow some up for you. Lester wanted you to share in it, and so I’m sure I will too.”

“It will be much easier for us to collaborate if things continue as they did while he was alive.”

“Won’t it though?”

Mr. Otorp was almost out the door, when he stopped to add. “I almost forgot. There was a contingent of OG police here this morning, looking for you.”

“Really? Did they say why they wanted me?”

“No.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I spoke to them through my bodyguards and secretary. Almost the entire group spoke Japanese. One spoke Spanish. I think we made them understand that only Mab Roth spoke both Japanese and Spanish fluently.”

“They went to talk to her?”

“Yes.”

 

The day arrived when General Aloirav felt the stores of vector and vaccines were sufficient. For some time he was not even lyophilizing the product. He just mixed the vectors in glycerol with his special agarose-polyacrylamide carrier gel. In such a condition, he delivered it to a clandestine periphery site. There it remained frozen until needed.

The General didn’t have any idea when the OG and MMIM would increase their aggression. He wanted to be ready. By this time, most of the nine Pontibus bridges were as vaccinated as desired. He now willfully changed from actual vector-vaccine manufacture to spurious products.

He didn’t know all the spies in his serum-humeal facilities. It was time, nevertheless, to do what he could to injure such people. From his research over the years, he accumulated many vectors and vaccines that were ineffective. By nature opposed to wasteful behavior, his advanced years just made the predilection grow deeper. He hated to throw away anything. Now he found a use for the irksome monomania.

Putting his labs to work producing spurious products seemed like a good opportunity. It would undermine his enemies’ efforts to misappropriate valuable assets. He didn’t know, of course, how much MMIM spies had already stolen. Nevertheless, it could not hurt to give them ample bogus goods. It would only add to their detriment.

The General also now began transferring his better people. They strengthened his security and that of his family. He put many to work gathering more information on his enemies. The less competent and unremarkables remained in the spurious labs. With the diminished need for serum, General Aloirav found the serum-humeal facilities becoming de trop.

He didn’t know what to do with them. The Company (Rav Aloirav) no longer felt a need for funds to make mortgage payments. If the banks tried to foreclose, the General was ready to prevent it. He would foreclose the aggressive banks. Humeal was necessary but smuggling brought in all they needed. Decommissioning the infernal machines would be problematical.

One day, an answer to his dilemma appeared. It wasn’t what he would have chosen, but fate served his purpose. Mab discovered the source of the humeal. It was her great opportunity to deliver the coup to her enemy for which she was waiting. Storming into his hospital office, she accused him, demanding he confess that the rumors were true.

“Why Mab.” The General replied. “It’s so nice to see you too.”

“Don’t try to sweet talk your way out of this! I’ve apprised Mr. Otorp, and he’ll be here shortly.”

“Well then, why don’t we just wait until he shows before I explain about my little factories?”

“So. It’s true, is it? You are an actual monster; a serial killer like none has ever been before.”

“Oh, Mab. You’re gonna’ give me a big head.” He replied, shaking the designated member in a downcast false modesty. “Stop it. Stop it.”

“You bastard. We are going to have you put away this time forever!”

“Let’s not get testy, shall we? I’d hate for you to say anything you’ll regret.”

Mr. Otorp arrived with his retinue and entered the hospital office in state, asking. “What’s the problem, Mab? The messenger said you wanted me here immediately. Is something wrong?”

“This…this monster has been making humeal out of First-Surface “biologicals”!”

“No!? Is that true, General?!”

“I’m going to have to say it is. Not just humeal but serum too.” General Aloirav replied, puffing up a bit. “There are other products we could produce there, but I must confess to a bit of motivational lethargy. I’ve my hands full with other things. Is there something you need from them? No? Are you in need of some special fertilizer at the module? No. Is something else amiss?”

“I just learned about it from one of our co-Directors.” Mab said to Mr. Otorp. “She informs me that her child, a Lesch-Nyhan syndrome, cannot get treated in our hospitals because of his condition. She, herself, cannot purchase a module because of her carrier status.”

“That’s Company policy, Mab.” Mr. Otorp said. “We must live with it, until we can change it.”

“I’m not finished!”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Mr. Otorp riposted, duly castigated.

“She wondered why persons, other than she, seem to have no trouble, even OG welfare trash. I informed her of the General’s ruse to pacify the OG. AS HE SO INFORMED ME!”

“Whoops!” The General interjected.

“She replied, to my embarrassment, that there was ample evidence people were leaving the First-Surface. They never returned, leading many to suspect that they were acquiring modules. She thought I was growing soft and letting General Aloirav sell modules on the qui vive for his own aggrandizement.”

“Wouldn’t you just know it? Subhuman reasoning.” General Aloirav said, shaking his head.

“Not trusting General Aloirav’s candor, I decided to investigate myself.” Mab continued, swelling with pride at her acumen & courage. “I went to talk with Mr. Walcott, who is in charge of the hypothetical ruse’s propaganda. He informed me that the applicants left his charge and went to Major Qercua’s facility in Plymouth. I went there and watched the crowds enter. I counted over 4000 people enter Major Qercua’s enclave in less than one day. It’s on a cantilever. I could not have missed their departure. They never returned! Nothing but vehicles, attendants, and cargo left. The cargo was largely humeal!”

“General Aloirav.” Mr. Otorp charged. “What you have done, even admitted, is a crime! It does not matter if you are a Director, major stockholder, or just a resident! Your arrogance and law-breaking are appalling, Sir!”

“Isn’t it true?” He replied. “What Mabby neglected to mention is that along with the humeal being transported out were thousands of liters of serum.”

“So WHAT!?” Mab asked.

“You said that you saw mainly humeal leaving. I do so hate it when I’m not given full credit for my accomplishments.”

“You bastard!”

“You must not be aware that we’ve been paying many bills with the deceased’s bank accounts & recycled clothing. Isn’t that enough to forgive me?”

“How can you make light of the fact you have been trafficking in untold human misery?”

“Well. Since you won’t give me the credit that is my due and seem only to care for an explanation. I suppose… First. I’ve been trafficking in ending human misery. Second. I’m making the Pontibus, and the planet, more happy, healthy, and sustainable.”

“By murdering innocents!” Mab shouted.

“I have been trafficking in “biological” life. Existences lower even than subhuman… not human misery, as you term it. I do so wish you’d try to keep your facts straight, Mabby.”

“Your attempt at levity is noted. Your planetary concerns are no excuse.” Mab added.

“Any criminal can say the same thing, Aloirav.” Mr. Otorp added. “It does not excuse your horrifying behavior! I’m going to report this to the Police Chief immediately!”

“Why not?” General Aloirav replied.

“What!?”

“Why not? When I got the drift of what Mab was complaining about I made the same decision.”

“What decision?”

“Yes.” General Aloirav continued, slapping her on the back and finishing like a circus barker, putting his arms around the two in order to usher them out. “I was thinking of going there myself. Let’s go! You’ll like my new strato, Mabby. I…I…I…I…I…t’s a jumper.”

“Why would YOU want to go there?” Mr. Otorp asked, shaking the General’s arm off his shoulder.

“Ah. You want to talk a little about population genetics first.” The General said. “I thought you might. You sly old fox.”

“Why?”

“Okay, if you wish, we can talk about autosomal mutants?”

“I don’t wish.” Mab said.

“I think you do.” The General disagreed, placing his arm more tightly around Mab’s shoulders. “My little witch is shy.”

“Are you soft!? What are you talking about?”

Removing his arm from Mab’s back, General Aloirav said. “Every human being on the planet is heterozygous for about ten special alleles. In a condition of homozygosity these particular alleles would bring on genetic recessive diseases. Thousands of them in fact. Affected individuals are rarer than recessive carriers. Am I not correct?’

“What you’re saying is of no importance, whatsoever!” Mab shouted.

“It isn’t?”

“No.” She riposted. “The Hardy-Weinberg Law states that genotypic distribution remains the same over the years.”

“How conveniently such information comes to your lips.” General Aloirav mocked. “Do you suppose Mr. Hardy & Mr. Weinberg were Ashkenazis too?”

“Fuck you!”

 

One must therefore be a fox to recognize traps, and a lion to frighten wolves.     Machiavelli

 

Chapter Seventy-Seven

 

“Fuck you! Fuck you! And fuck you!”

“I’m already attached, Mab. So sorry.” The General derided, and then continued in a serious manner. “If there were but a few billion of us on this planet. Or, if all other species, excluding ourselves, were not in danger of extinction. You might then feel safe in making such a statement, choosing such an alternative. But, the contrary is true! The human race is swamping itself in misfits & mutants. Quality humans and our fellow traveling brother species are paying the bill. In much the same way funds, stolen from children yet unborn, subsidized your race’s 20^th century kibbutzim and Khazar wars of pillage. Intolerable obscenities! We are burying life in mutant offal! Such a perilous condition is critically dangerous to our species and all other protoplasm. Why? Because of religious bullshit or a misplaced belief in that Hardy-Weinberg nonsense! Phenotypic monstrosities kill, just by their presence. In addition, they make the planet U.U.U.U.U.UGLY. They cheat healthy happy individuals of life because of resources dedicated to unnatural mutant survival. Mutants are technically not even subhuman. These subsidized freaks reproduce, shitting all over Mr. Hardy & Mr. Weinberg!”

“You can’t stop mutants, mutation, or change genotypic balance by eradicating phenotypes!” Mr. Otorp said.

“I’m not sure of that and neither are you! It’s a hair brained theory backed by very little hard evidence and disproven by very much. Even then, we’re not arguing the parvenus Hardy & Weinberg. We’re in dispute over a de facto obscenity perpetrated against Nature! Why does the First-Surface have so many genetic counseling classes? Because, predicting the risk mathematically of producing over 4000 genetic defect conditions is a fact! YOU CAN increase mutant numbers & change genotypes deleteriously by protecting defective phenotypes until they reproduce!”

“I don’t believe that!” Mab said but with diffidence.

“Oh, yes you do! You’re just not familiar at all with either speaking or confronting truth. But, that’s a side issue. Come on, you’re so sure of yourselves. Let’s go see the Police Chief. I know he’d like to hear how you came to have a Tay Sachs child die up here.”

“Wha…Rav. Wait. I can’t believe you’d…” Mr. Otorp cautioned.

“Mr. Otorp.” The General replied. “I’m sure the Police Chief would also like to hear about your story.”

“What story?”

“How it is you got a module with your little genetic bordello. Maybe you’re not very familiar with our Chief of Police. I am. He’s as much a bold eugenicist as Lester was. Let’s all go edify him with our individual peccadilloes shall we?”

“I think we should discuss your crime here, first.” Mab said. “We might be able to reach an accommodation. If you agree to modify your behavior and…”

“If we agree to leave you in peace, will you stop the processing of “biologicals”?” Mr. Otorp asked, immediately aware of Mab’s change of course.

“No. But I will cut it back to a couple of thousand a day, if that would make you feel better.”

“That is horrendous!” Mab shrieked.

“That’s the best I can offer you. And for that, I want a quid pro quo.”

“What do you want?”

“The name of the dissatisfied Director with the Lesch-Nyhan spawn.”

“You’ll kill her!”

“Damn straight! She has no right living on this planet and especially here on our bridges. I expect motor-mouth over there was the cause of her getting to be a director. One of his imbecilic Adam Quake abortions. Now! You have any more complaints, Mab? You bring them here with a respectful demeanor. I get any more lip from you or speak-easy; you’ll nourish the Pontibus in another form. Understand?”

“Yes, Rav.” Mr. Otorp said.

“Get outta’ here! I’m busy.”

The two made for the door, and the General said. “Not you, Hecuba. I’m not finished with you.”

“What do you want?!”

“I want that director’ name and to know about your visit with the OG Police?”

Mr. Otorp stayed close to Mab until General Aloirav said. “I don’t need you, Otorp. She won’t be long.”

Shutting the hatch in the other scientist’s face, he led Ms. Roth into another room and asked. “Now, Mabby. What did you tell the bastards?”

“About what?”

“Don’t get cute! They asked about Gloria. Out with it!”

“They mentioned that someone saw your “paramour” free on the magnelev.”

“Go on.”

“They wanted to know if her release was Company authorized.”

“And you said?”

“No.”

“What else?”

“They asked about someone named Estelle Keatch.”

“Did you agree to cooperate in her capture?”

“No.”

“But you didn’t say you wouldn’t?”

“They didn’t ask!”

“What did they want from you?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

 

The Commission gave General Trilate a directive. It was a call for information searching that he could not ignore. There were but two MMIM executives within the Commission’s membership rolls. The other members did not want to submit to Aloirav’s vaccination program. They found it distasteful in the extreme. If it were to prove unnecessary, they could but shudder at what repercussions might entail. There was no end of speculation as to what might be in those “vaccinations”.

General Trilate said. “Mr. Hodges. We need information as to the extent of Aloirav’s biological weapons capability. How are you proceeding with that mission?”

“We have every hope that Mr. Heinz has secured such information for us. He has some people working in Aloirav’s labs. He has also brought into our sphere some Company military people. I am expecting to meet with them this evening.”

“Excellent! I will expect to get your report on the morrow.”

“Yes. Sir.” Mr. Hodges replied. “Do you think my superiors would mind if I relaxed the First-Surface meeting rule for this evening? The people we are going to talk to are Pontibus residents. It will be awkward for them to leave the Pontibus at this juncture.”

“You may meet them on their “ground”, so to speak, if it will assist the mission. I’ll talk with our members from MMIM.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

 

Generals Kromack and Carlo stood at the platform railing. Kromack was military. Carlo was NS. Each held a drink in the right hand. Heinz was talking to both, as Mr. Hodges listened.

“Yes, Mr. Heinz.” General Kromack was saying. “What the media is reporting is true. General Aloirav is vaccinating the entire bridge network system.”

General Carlo said. “The Company hopes to finish by July of next year.”

“I’ve placed all our people on the “to vaccinate” lists.” General Kromack added.

“Good. That will save us a great deal of effort.” Mr. Hodges said.

“You have a full complement of microbes against which those vaccines are meant to protect. I included them in that last shipment I brought you.” General Carlo said.

“So you can get started on a vaccine manufacturing program.” Heinz said to Mr. Hodges.

“And the biological weapons, themselves, if you wish.” General Carlo added.

“Yes.” Heinz agreed.

General Carlo said. “And let me add that it was not easy getting through the gauntlet. He meant to trap those others and me absconding with goods. Strip searched each night, x-rays, the works.”

“How did you get through?”

“Bribed the guard.”

“Really?”

“Yes. He actually delivered them outside the facility for me.”

“Excellent.”

“We’re growing those microbes in the MMIM laboratory now.” Heinz reported to Mr. Hodges. They should be ready soon to start producing the vaccines. We’ve ample time to preclude Aloirav’s expected offensive. Or, should MMIM wish it, launch an offensive of our own.”

“Well done, Heinz.” Mr. Hodges said. “Thank you very much, Generals. We appreciate your help. I trust your remuneration pleases you?”

“It does, Sir.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And we can expect your continued cooperation?”

“Of course.”

“Yes, Sir.”

 

General Aloirav was waiting in his hospital office when Major Qercua arrived.

“You sent for me, Sir?” Major Qercua asked.

“Yes, Major Qercua. I plan on shutting down all but one serum-humeal facility.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I have another mission for you and some of your best attendants.”

“What is it you need, Sir?”

“As in the serum-humeal facilities, whatever happens, if they do well it will go well with them in turn. I trust you and your people are satisfied with your compensation so far?

“Yes, sir, but they’re wondering, Sir?

“What are they wondering, Major?”

“When you don’t need us anymore.”

“Yes? Ah. What will happen to them? Right?”

“Exactly, Sir. What are your plans for us?”

“Clandestine rehabilitation for all who wish it. An exemplary reward for those, such as yourself, who merit more. You can tell them that.”

“Right, Sir. What is it they have to do now?”

“I think you know your men by now. You know which ones are dependable and which are less than such.”

“Yes. That’s true. Not all measured up to my expectations.”

“They never do. The ones I want you to choose now must be your personal choices. It will be a dangerous game they’ll play. Some may not survive.”

“I understand, Sir.”

“What I am about to tell you is for your ears only.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“For several months, I have been concealing special sites. These regions are very small. Someday they will contain extraordinary equipment and crews. Your crews – I shall call them the “serum crews”. They must protect these “hidden crews” from detection. It will not be an easy task. Your men are not to know where they are going or what they will be doing in detail, until I activate them. You must make it very clear. Your serum crews cannot communicate with anyone but themselves until after their job is finished. Start practicing tomorrow and whenever you can. You must not allow anyone to see you practicing. Do you understand?”

“Who is going to try to detect these crews?”

“OG troops.”

“Any place in particular you’d like us to practice?”

“Bacon will show you a hidden area mockup we’ve prepared. You will imagine directions from which OG troops will approach. Then you can learn accordingly. Find a suitable practice area. Use wilderness areas if you like. Just don’t get shot by the custodians. Avoiding them might be good practice.”

“Right.”

“I don’t know yet when your training will become necessary, but it will be soon. So, don’t dilly-dally getting going. Bacon knows where each hidden crew’s station will be. He will advise you as to your exigencies and the exigencies of the hidden crews. He will explain your responsibilities. When the time arrives, he will explain more. There will be over 500 hidden teams around the bridges. So, choose enough men at the start. You must, I repeat, must kill all escape attempts among your people, including those too unreliable to continue. The most unreliable are to enter the water dead along with escape attempts. Of those who remain, clearly differentiate between reliable and less reliable. Remember who your less reliable men will be. I want you to call them peripherals. Remember your most reliable and call them feet. Once again. Your men are not to escape. Should any try to do so, eliminate them. Throw them in the ocean. It is your responsibility to apprehend and destroy any escapes and proven unreliables.”

“Yes, Sir.” Major Qercua replied. “I have a question I’m concerned about asking.”

“What if you fail to protect the hidden crews, and the OG detects them?”

“Yes. What am I to do then?”

“This is why your job will entail danger. You are to destroy all OG troops in your vicinity, silently if you can. If you cannot avoid detection, you are to remove the entire hidden crew along with any equipment that may accompany them. Everything is to go into the ocean. The OG must not know about them. Your success or failure could mean the life of the Company and the planet. So, don’t be cavalier with your responsibility.”

“Is there some method or plan you have for my operation?”

“No. Use your own creative skills to con or eliminate the enemy. We want them to do what we expect them to do. We do not want them to know we are “monitoring” their moves.”

“Hide & show.”

“Exactly. Remember. Should problems develop make sure all evidence falls into the ocean. Leave nothing on the Pontibus. Do not fail me. The men in these hidden areas are my friends. I do not want to lose any of them.”

“It may be necessary.”

“They’re ex-convicts. They know the risks.”

“What else?”

“Give all the names of who you will use in your “serum crews” to Bacon. He has the release codes of all prisoners for when the job is over. I can’t help you any more than that. Do your best for us, Colonel Qercua.”

“Yes, Sir.”

 

“Gloria.” The General said.

“Yes, Rav.”

“The OG knows you’re free.”

“Doesn’t surprise me.”

“They have help in Company upper management.”

“Who?”

“Mab Roth and perhaps Otorp.”

“What shall we do?”

“Keep bugs on us at all times.”

“The ones we used after the US President got a headache?”

“Those are fine.”

“I expect their intended endeavor will not languish for want of preparation?”

“I expect you’re right.”

“So get myself armed immediately?”

“You got it. Bacon has a number of them from which to choose. Don’t let them get you to the First Surface.”

“Not a chance, Rav.”

“Gloria.”

“Yeah, Rav.”

“Don’t take this lightly. Please be careful. I don’t want to grow old without you.”

“I bought 2 rocking chairs yesterday. I’d hate for my investment to be wasted on someone else.”

 

One autumn day, Bacon brought General Aloirav some important news. The old-government expanded its traffic interdiction at the Pontibus feet. MMIM patrols now prevented any interchange. All procurement stopped. Loudspeakers everywhere blared out the same message. “The inhumane Company is killing “biologicals”. It refuses to pay its taxes. The OG invades in two days if the Company does not genuflect.”

Demands for General Aloirav, Gloria Aloirav, Mr. Otorp, and Mab Roth’s immediate surrender to the First-Surface “Criminal Justice” system soon arrived. If they were not forthcoming, within two days, the old government would make good on their ultimatum. Every hour more military equipment and ordnance arrived at the feet. Patrol boats swarmed around underneath the bridges, looking for absconders. They found very few attempting it, however.

“Bacon. It looks like the day we’ve been preparing for has arrived.”

“Sure does, Boss.”

“They fucked up bad.”

“Why do you say that, Boss?”

“Our spies have not reported heavy biological weapon production, weapons or vaccines.”

“Don’t you think it’s possibly because we have very few spies?”

“No. They’re betting conventional will suffice.”

“Right. Overconfident.”

“They should have attacked the periphery in the night. Now we have them.”

“We’re completely surrounded.”

“They can’t get away now.”

“What dya’ want me to do?”

“Call all NS section heads – we meet in ten minutes.”

“Right.”

Mr. Otorp and Mab Roth were frantic. Both wanted to know what the General intended to do. The General told them to call a meeting of the Company’s General Military Staff. He wanted all the high-ranking Company Generals to be there. They held the meeting in the morning at Company Headquarters.

The Generals, Mr. Otorp, and Mab Roth were all assembled waiting for the Chief Security Officer to arrive. Most knew each other and confabulated with strained but pleasant familiarity. General Aloirav, Gloria, Bacon, and some of their NS staff walked into their midst. All conversation stopped. It was as if the S.S., Gestapo and KGB all entered at once.

Tense courtesy met greetings. There was not one person there unfamiliar with the newcomers’ pasts and presents. An air of death surrounded the NS. The serum-humeal facilities were still a hot topic of conversation. Company Generals neither wanted to appear pleased nor offended by seeing the military’s special NS unit. Everyone knew about the tension existing in upper management.

Until one side was the clear authority, no one wanted to offend either faction. Mab Roth and Mr. Otorp were well entrenched in the figurehead power seat. Yet, emblematic they were. Nobody dared get on the bad side of General Aloirav. All dreaded him & his NS unit.

“What’s she doing here?” Mab Roth whispered to Mr. Otorp. “She’s not supposed to be walking around free with our blessing?! Suppose the Japanese get wind of where she is? I gave them my word!”

“We’ll just have to cross that bridge…” Mr. Otorp was saying, when General Aloirav interrupted them. He greeted, formally, all those present, introducing Gloria as vice Chief of Security and his second-in-command. Then he said. “I’m sure you are aware. The old-government has begun its long-expected offensive. MMIM, the OG, and the carrion-merchant families have assembled their destroyers and carriers. Their armies are at every First-Surface seawater procurement facility and foot. They’ve trained all their weapons on the Pontibus. Gentlemen and ladies, we are completely, unequivocally surrounded.”

He paused to let the news lixiviate. The three latecomers & their NS compatriots listened to the alarmed buzzing going on around them. After a bit, the General continued. He made a full disclosure of what weapons the enemy arrayed against them. General Aloirav then said.

“Their messengers have brought us the long-awaited ultimatum.”

“Which is what, General Aloirav?” A General asked.

“The Company either genuflects, or we all die.”

“Another General asked. “Is it true that they just want us to deliver certain people to them? If we do so, they will leave the Company in peace?”

“No! That is not true. It is true that they have long wanted me (and some of your other leaders) to submit. Failing to accomplish that goal, they now want to destroy us. Do not be misled. With or without our submission, they will attempt to destroy the Company and pillage the Pontibus. There are those, I’m sure, that do not agree with my assessment of the situation. That is your prerogative. Thought-crime is not prosecuted on the bridges. That is a First-Surface mania. Nevertheless, any one of you thinking you have the wherewithal to deliver us to them had better have his coffin prepared! Anyone fall short of understanding me?!”

No one misinterpreted his meaning. Alarmed whispers, rising in crescendo, instantly, became silent. He then continued by waving some papers in his hand, saying. “They also demand we resume clean air, water, energy, and nutrient shipments. We are to send them all mineral and mining receipts. Tribute must be paid in full or they will bring down the Pontibus.”

“They wouldn’t dare!” A General said.

“I agree.” General Aloirav replied. “Prudence dictates that they need our resources too badly to risk a hiatus.”

“Is that it?” Another General asked.

“No.” Gloria replied. “They also want a relaxation of biological purity requirements for residence. They demand we recognize the Abortion and Aged Law. They want us to institute a democratic, rule-of- law government similar to their First-Surface brothels. They want us to contribute to the World Bank, IMF and accept all the Rothschild regulations concerning fiat money. Essentially, we must relax all restrictions on immigration and conform to OG First-Surface Law. They want to colonize us. Taxation will begin at 50% of Gross Pontibus Product, with annual increases of 10%, until we are paying 80%. That will make us just another First-Surface company. If we submit, we can expect lawyers and CPAs, along with government accountants, to begin the April 15 annual Rothschild rape. Interdiction on narcotics and all controlled substances will begin at once. Corrupt pols, judges, cops…the works. Police officers will be at every vertex. Squad stratos will be ubiquitous, and special resident income taxes will pay for them. There is more, but suffice it to say, you will all become monkey-brained cattle, except for the lucky few designated as slaves. Those of you, who are too young to know what that means, listen up. You will soon become what every First-Surface resident has been for two hundred years. The final indignity is resignation of all Company Directors and executives along with the Pontibus Council. OG martial law begins immediately.”

The General listened to the loud talk and went on speaking. “Since the Company cannot allow such demands to be accepted, we can expect an invasion.”

Loud buzzing filled the room, and he raised his voice to add. “They plan to send their army across every Pontibus foot. Their purpose is to enter each module, searching us for contraband weapons. It’s a veiled concession to troopers to loot. They don’t pay very well, as you know.”

Mab Roth now stood up and spoke. “They talk pretty tough for an army that has not yet won any battles. Are we going to stand for such treatment? I don’t think so!”

Her statement received a standing ovation. Sitting back down, Mab smiled at her people. General Aloirav, Gloria, Bacon, and the NS members showed no similar indication of pleasure at her statement. Their faces maintained grave & studied expressions. General Aloirav now spoke.

“Before going too far in such directions, with gratuitous sentiments of bravado, it would be prudent to reflect. This is not a First-Surface football game with time outs, rules, and a limited engagement force. Total wars tend to escalate. We are in nearly the same position as the old-government’s army. We too can but talk tough, until we win some engagements. I don’t want to cast aspersions on your fine words, Mab. But, their army has indeed won many engagements, just not with us, yet. They are experienced at war. We are not. In addition, we don’t have the conventional weaponry to fight them. We are not yet ready. We need another year. I intend to negotiate.”

Mab Roth said nothing, and a General asked. “Do you really think that they’ll kill the golden goose, General Aloirav?”

“No, I do not. But they want us to believe that the risk is there.”

He felt his vaccines and attack vectors covered all that Heinz garnered. As far as the General knew, he also increased all supplies of his stock Heinz never accessed. General Aloirav believed his security and counterespionage was sufficient to cover any of MMIM’s vector espionage. He depended a great deal on that conviction. Many lives rested on his faith. Other espionage was almost a wild guess.

“We’re facing an early invasion.” General Aloirav replied. “We shall continue to negotiate for time.”

There were whispers of uncertainty. Consternation traveled around the room. The head Security Officer was not setting their minds at ease. Gloria, Bacon, the NS, and their leader remained very stoical. Eyes looked at them and then toward Mr. Otorp and Mab Roth. All but the former New Society people looked to others to make them feel better.

General Aloirav continued. “We’ll need every aircraft we have, ready for service. Right now, all transport planes are necessary. We still must make the final vaccine shipments to the other structures around the globe.” Turning to Mr. Otorp, he asked. “Do we have sufficient fuel? We need to make four more trips to the South Atlantic, Asian, and Pacific Pontibi?”

Making Mr. Otorp look bad in front of the others, Ms. Roth answered for him, asking. “Each?”

“Each.” General Aloirav answered, and then drove the disrespect in further, saying. “But I asked Mr. Otorp.”

Furious, she turned to Mr. Otorp, saying. “May I answer for you?”

“Yes, Mab. Please do.” Mr. Otorp replied, repairing somewhat his shattered image’s apparent weakness.

“I’m not sure.” She answered.

“What’s your best estimate?”

“I don’t think so, unless we’re prepared to ground the small ones.” Mab responded. “You said you wanted the small ones ready for service. They all need fueling. We will have to take fuel from the transports to do so.”

“We need all the available small aircraft in addition to the large transport aircraft.” General Aloirav said. “But keeping the small ones ready is the most important arrangement for now.”

“We’ll just have to produce more, faster.” Mr. Otorp said.

“We can’t prod…” Mab began.

“We don’t have that much fuel in storage, General.” Gloria spoke up, preempting Ms. Roth. “Not much is set to leave the fermenters soon for refining either. Until our position is better, we must continue to negotiate.”

Loud murmurs went around the room. Mab Roth glared at her. Mr. Otorp looked toward the Generals. General Aloirav wrung his hands, looking every bit an old man. Displaying a demeanor similar to Mr. Otorp, he motioned toward Gloria, and added. “I think she’s right.

Loud voices of dissent accompanied Mrs. Aloirav, who now spoke to the Generals. “If we act precipitously now we could provoke an outright attack. If we wait a bit, play for time, we’ll be in a better position.”

General Aloirav riposted. “That sounds like good advice, Gloria.”

“Listen Dearie!” An old General said. “If they don’t want to negotiate, they’ll attack! They have the initiative! You’re going to be giving up without a fight!”

Gloria countered. “They have literally an uphill battle, General.”

“Meaningless drivel, in light of their fuel reserves.”

‘Where do you suggest we get weapons, General? All we have are biological arms. For that, we need avgas. If we can’t disperse the vectors, they won’t take effect.”

Another General spoke. “If we put all our hopes on negotiation, we’ll be lost. Ever heard the expression “He who hesitates is lost”?”

“Yes, I have.” She replied. “It’s good advice and very true, at times. It does not apply in this instance. If we act now in haste, we’ll repent at leisure?”

“We don’t want to act in haste.” General Aloirav said. “We’ll allow the old-government to posture a bit and rattle their sabers, until we have more fuel.”

“Why wasn’t ample fuel stockpiled?”

“A good question.”

“What if they invade?”

“We will negotiate until they do. We can do no more than that now.” General Aloirav said. “Whether they invade or not the situation remains the same, until we can fight back.”

After hours of arguing, the assembly, on a general note of discord, disbanded. Most went to their respective employments. They made many phone calls. Gloria, Bacon, and General Aloirav went off with the NS. Mab Roth and Mr. Otorp left together.

Most Generals repeated, among themselves, various renditions of Mab Roth’s later conversation with Mr. Otorp. “He’s scared! Did you see his body language, that hand wringing?”

“He made himself look very bad back there, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did. I’ve never seen him that way.”

“Do you think he could be listening to that woman, Gloria, too much?”

“It looked that way to me. I heard others complaining about her arrogance, speaking down to the Generals. Having her there at all was a big mistake.”

“I heard the same things. We’re being dictated to by a bunch of ex-convicts!”

“Now’s our chance!” Mab said, as they walked back to their module. “We’ve regained the moral advantage. He’s running scared, and we can much better move now to control him.”

Together they planned their strategy for recovering the control they allowed to erode over the past year. The strategy included a holophone call to the OG Police contingent looking for Gloria. That evening Bacon entered the room in which Gloria and General Aloirav were dining. His face didn’t look very happy or confident. He was just returning from a talk with former New Society members.

The General asked. “Bacon, what do you hear?”

“Just like you said. Most of the Generals think yer’ yella’, runnin’ scared. They say it’s just because of your woman’s strength, you’re still in power.”

“What’d I tell you, Gloria?” General Aloirav looked at her smiling. “It always works. Sometimes you can play the same trick over and over again without them catching on.”

“Yah, you’re right. But, don’t get too cocky, Rav. Some of your own people might begin worrying about your courage too.”

“And switch sides?”

“It’s possible.”

“I don’t understand.” Bacon asked. “What am I missing? What good does it do to look scared?”

“Normally no good, whatsoever, Bacon.” The General said. “It’s very unsound, biologically. However, we have some very big problems. We have virtually no conventional arms. There are many areas on the Pontibus we cannot protect from invasion. There are many traitors among those Generals. Despite a year of espionage, we still don’t know who they all are. We have to let them surface. It’ll be easier if we give them some courage. If they think there’ll be no resistance, they may act precipitously, expecting to get rich robbin’ us.”

“So what? Now they’ll go back and report yer’ yella’, and we’ll all be in tough shape, besides being robbed if they invade.”

“Chances are they won’t do much more than invade, Bacon.” Gloria countered. “Their arrogance will most likely make them underestimate us. Remember back in Grand Rapids, before we killed the US President?”

“When we all left you alone?”

“Yes. It made Rav look like a coward, but the strategy won us a great victory. If you rule out betrayal as a possibility, your enemies can at times do more for you than your friends or non-enemies. Our people know, or should know by now, that we’re not yellow. We’ve been through years of struggle together. Those NS people, who were with us today, are some of our oldest and most trusted members. Except for Colonel Wilks, they were all with us in the New Society.”

“Yeh. But, it sure looks bad. Don’t ya’ think we ought to tell our people, anyway?”

“No, Bacon, I don’t.” General Aloirav said. “You show them your own faith in us. Make sure the others do too. They will show others. Confidence will return. Our own “Group” has traitors in it too. Remember General Carlo? How many vials of vector wasn’t he trying to get out?”

“Seven.”

“And if Wilks didn’t set another guy to watch him, switching those vials on him, we’d have lost ‘em.”

“Yah.”

“How long haven’t we known Carlo? He was like a brother in the “Group”. I took him out of a First-Surface penitentiary myself, before my accident.”

“I know, Boss. You’re right. There may be more. MMIM pays well.”

“I never knew, Bacon. What ever made Wilks suspect Carlo?”

“In stir together. Didn’t feel right about the guy.”

“I see. You get my point now, don’t you?”

“I think so.”

“We let the traitor think he could bribe us. He assumed we were weak. It’s human nature to believe in your enemies’ weakness over his subterfuge. Carlo still thinks that. Let ‘em think they’re secure, and they’ll fuck up. Wilks put weaker bugs on him. Those microbes will grow up just strong enough to inspire confidence in their vaccines. Carlo never knew the switch took place. His employers will never suspect them… until it’s too late. It’s possible that not every NS traitor now bribes Wilks or another security person we made look venal. We must prepare for treachery. Without conventional weaponry, disaster awaits every unknown sabotage attempt. MMIM must get bogus bugs, and we must learn who those traitors are. Besides Carlo, we’ve discovered 12 others. They’re continuing to work the same street. As far as we know, MMIM still believes Mr. Harcourt is their jewel alone.”

“I get it.”

“Plus, Bacon.” Gloria said. “There’s another reason why we don’t want to let others in on our ruse.”

“Never good to have too many in on the job, right?” He guessed.

“Exactly. The more the number in the know grows, the more chances exist for blowing the deception.”

“Rises exponentially.” The General said. “I don’t want to leave anything to chance, if I can help it. Talk to our men you feel are scared. Remind them of Grand Rapids. Tell them I’ve done similar things before. When planning something special, sometimes I need to look weak. Most know already. They also know we trust them enough to choose them for the hidden rooms at the feet, deploying the vectors.”

“You know what Aloirav always used to say in the Society?” Gloria asked.

“Hunh?”

“Never use weapons, until you’ve exhausted all opportunities for deception. That’s why we use bioweapons. Force, hot on the heels of fraud.”

“I remember. We hide what is – show bullshit, until it’s time to waste ’em.

“Bacon.” The General said. “By noon, day after tomorrow, if all goes well, we should be invaded. They’ll think we’re becoming intimidated. Their own over-confidence won’t let them get away.” General Aloirav said, spelling it out for the dejected man. “We want them up here to make slow blind progress.”

“How do we accomplish that?”

“Make those not in our corner believe in our weakness and fear.” The General answered.

“They’ll think were running scared – too scared to act.” Gloria added. “Our greatest danger is having the ruse work so well it sparks revolt.”

“It’s our clearest risk.” The General agreed. “But it’s a risk we must take or we’re lost anyway.”

“What’s next?” Bacon asked.

“Have Utilities turn all public condensers and water precipitators off tomorrow.” General Aloirav said. “That’ll create an obfuscating fog by midnight and in the morning slow their movements.”

“What about the condensers not on the grid?”

“No. You’d have to put the notice on the Pontibus news. The OG & MMIM would get wind of it. Central Control will have to be enough.”

“What then, Boss?”

“Send our NS people to the vector storehouses on the Pontibus outer periphery. Get all our blue vial stock and distribute it to the hidden areas. Put the new supply on line with the red vial store already in position. I want every Pontibus foot and major airstrip on the bridges ready immediately. Connect the large tube fans, water tanks, and vectors to the polyacrylamide gel machines. They must be in place and ready by 2 AM, all agents ensconced. As soon as the troops start coming up, or trying to land, begin the inoculations. At the feet, our people must stay hidden in the special cages. The tubing equipment is my standard design, easy to use. Spread the mist, slow. Use gradation stop number 1. It won’t let the bug fire line show through the fog.”

“Got it.” Bacon said, hurrying off to do his jobs, leaving them to return to their meal.

“I want to take Elan with me to the other Communities.” Gloria said.

“Damn Gloria! Why?!”

“He wants to go.”

“But he’s so young.”

“I know that.”

“He’s young enough to believe it possible to get out of life alive if all moves are astute. Can’t you take anyone else?”

“He’s got to learn. You think your sons and grandsons would come?”

“Of course not! Too old & soft, never learned to sacrifice.”

“Rav! They’re retired medical doctors! They understand nothing but wallowing in compassion like Christians.”

“They stayed in school too long. Universities build and perpetuate neurotics.”

“Perhaps. How’d you escape it?”

“Didn’t finish.”

“Oh, yes. I remember your telling me that now. You’re a drop-out.”

“You’re so kind.”

“You walked right into it.”

“So I did.” The General replied, smiling, and then continued. “Our sons & grandsons never wanted to get involved, Gloria. They never internalized my commitment.”

“Why is that?”

“Too long without us, I suppose. Saw too much of us in prison or not at all? Learned to judge us?”

“Larry actually wants to return to the First-Surface to warn his friends.”

“No!?”

“Yes.”

“That hurts.”

“Doesn’t it.”

“I suppose it’s a blessing that most children disappoint their parents.” General Aloirav said. “Without that, parents would probably grow to hate their very offspring.”

“Never!”

“Ours are ungrateful mediocres.”

“Please, Rav. You make me feel it’s my fault.”

“I’m sorry, my love. That was not my intent.”

“We did our best.”

“They’ll never see the value of our lives.”

“They don’t believe in us or in our mission.”

“Elan’s with us all the way.” General Aloirav said.

“That he is. He’s our blood.”

“I’d hate to lose him. The girl’s not pregnant yet. Suppose the action kills him? Prepared to accept that?”

“Runnin’ scared, Aloirav?”

Putting his hand on her scarred arm, still an ugly purple, he said. “No, Gloria, I’m not. But, I’ve already lost two families. I lost you for nearly two decades. Things can go wrong. I don’t want to lose anyone else. Damned duty killed Lester. Entiende?”

“I’ll protect him, Aloirav. He’ll be okay. I promise you.” Gloria said, leaving for bed. The next day would be coming soon, and she wanted rest before the following day’s activities.

The next day, General Trilate was pacing up and down his Boston hotel room. With him were Mr. Hodges, a few Commission members, and some MMIM staff officers. General Kromack, Carlo, and other traitors were also present. None of the carrion merchant families sent representatives. They were betting on both sides. The operation was too controversial, should it collapse. Most of the old government officers were on the destroyers and carriers. There were just liaison officers present with the MMIM staff.

General Trilate said. “We’re all ready then?”

“Yes, General.” Mr. Hodges said. “Everything is set for 5 AM tomorrow morning.”

“What kind of problems do you anticipate?” A Commission member asked a staff officer of MMIM.

“I don’t anticipate much of a problem at all.” Mr. Hodges replied. “General Kromack and Carlo were both at the meeting the Company called yesterday. They tell us the Concern’s upper management appears indecisive and intimidated. They seem to feel they will gain something by hesitation. Aloirav called it “negotiation”!”

“That’s true, Sir.” General Kromack added. “Aloirav appeared cowed, taking orders from his whore.”

“That “whore”, of whom you speak, General Kromack, wiped out Tokyo!” Mr. Hodges said. “She took chunks out of Argentina and South Africa that would have made an ocean of sharks proud. Not that I’m a fan of the rude little monstrosities, but the Japs were no pushovers. Neither is Gloria Gold Aloirav.”

“I don’t think I’m being overconfident, Sir.” General Kromack said. “We’ve taken all the best weaponry, including their bioweapons. We’ve made vaccines from them and dispensed the same to our military. As we all know, the Company is still months away from their vaccination goals. They’re even short sufficient fuel to deliver what vaccines & vectors they do have. They were grieving over that at the meeting.”

“What does Aloirav care if he’s not vaccinated everyone?” General Trilate asked. “He’s vaccinated those important to him.”

“It doesn’t matter. We’re protected too.”

How will the invasion proceed tomorrow?” General Trilate asked.

“I’m expecting a smooth transition, General.” Another staff officer offered. “The Company has made no moves indicating any desire to hinder our progress.”

“As I told you, Sir.” Mr. Hodges said. “They’re hoping to buy time with that “negotiation” maneuver. They think they’ll accumulate sufficient fuel soon to power their remaining vaccine transports. They maintain they want to save what they have for an emergency.”

“What emergency?” A general asked.

“The perceived need to power small aircraft for biological weapons deployment.”

“Aloirav is sure no strategist.”

“He has no military sense.”

“How can he? His woman wears the pants.”

“The Company management is all marico.”

Amidst the general laughter, a junior staff officer, asked. “What if we’re wrong?”

“We’ve a chain of command for that.” A senior officer bridled him. “We’re not. Don’t get negative on us.”

“Aloirav is not the pansy you are portraying him.” An old MMIM officer agreed with the junior officer. “He’s a treacherous old lion. What if they shut down the condensers, spray biological weapons at us as we march?”

“You’ve been vaccinated, as have your troops. You have compasses and can follow your feet.” General Kromack said.

“That’s true.” Mr. Hodges countered. “He’s got a point. I’ve been on the Pontibus when they’ve wanted rain. They allow the fog and humidity to escape controlled condensation.”

“It’s not a problem.” General Carlo said. “You don’t need to fear falling off a platform. Just keep walking without panicking.”

“Can we be so sure?”

“I tell you, he thinks his only problem is fuel.” General Kromack said. “He needs fuel to power his bioweapons deployment via small aircraft. We invade before he’s ready. The Company’ll collapse.”

“It would be prudent to deploy using aircraft too.” A short stocky MMIM general added. “We could be sitting ducks entering just at the several Pontibus feet, if our planning is off base.”

“The old government plans on doing that, Sir.” An OG liaison officer replied. “Large troop transports can’t land on those small jumper strips. The heavy hexagonalized larger strips alone can handle them. If they aren’t planning to use their large transports, for lack of fuel, they may plan to use them to block our aerial troop transports. We need intelligence as to the serviceability of those runways.”

“Who’s taking care of that?” General Trilate asked.

“Someone’s handling that contingency, General. It’s all under control.”

“There’s another thing to be concerned about, generals.” A black general from MMIM intelligence said. “My agents tell me that there is a rebellious group about to emerge that may give us some resistance.”

“Where is it coming from?”

“There are some disenchanted Company military Generals talking right now with the Company Chairman and his Logistics Director. I should know soon where they intend to hit us.”

“Can’t you get someone in that group to poison it & take out the Chairman?” General Trilate asked.

“We’ve done that General.”

“I hope you’re more successful than Mike’s been. He’s been trying to take out Aloirav for as long as Aloirav’s been out of prison and Otorp almost as long.”

“Just to set your mind at ease, General Trilate. They will never get those small planes off the ground for an emergency or anything else.” General Kromack said. “I’ve taken the initiative to send special Ranger units to every general aviation airport and hydrocarbon refinery. They will disable all the small aircraft, protect the large runways, and sequester the fuel. The Company dies tomorrow at 5 AM, serviceable runways or not.”

“Excellent!”

 

Make no little plans; they have no magic to stir men’s blood.                   D. H. Burnham

 

Chapter Seventy-Eight

 

As agreed earlier, General Aloirav met the Chairman and new Pontibus Governor at the Otorp module. He wanted to inform them of what he wanted them to think was going to take place. Times of actions also would not be accurate. Not confident his partners were reliable; the General felt now was no time to gamble on them.

Arriving, he confronted a drooling and shaking Abner Quake. The former Pontibus Governor was on a gurney beside a woman and small child. General Aloirav took one look at the gruesome threesome and went into the inner command domicile. He queried. “What’s going on out there?”

“Out where?” Mab Roth inquired, disingenuously.

“You wanted me to advise you as to developments. This is how you greet me? That garbage there!”

“We wanted you to see your handiwork up close. See what kind of pain it represents.” She replied.

“The guy’d be dead now, if it’d been up to me.”

“She’s right, General.” Mr. Otorp replied. “Your methods are just too awful. We’ve decided we don’t want any biological weapons used against the enemy.”

“Oh you have, have you?” The General replied, laughing. He ascertained the situation in an instant. “And with what do you propose to fight MMIM and the OG… Mabby’s fists?”

“Not just us.” Mab Roth replied. “We’ve been talking with some of the other Generals. They also oppose your plans and feel you are not up to the prosecution of a large conflict.”

“Oh, they do, do they?”

“Yes. We do have weapons. They say that you have been other than forthright with us. We can fight. The OG can’t destroy us without also destroying themselves.”

“Brinkmanship?”

“Yes. Perhaps. The USA used that strategy for years with the Soviet Union.” She said. “It appears you’re just a bit too timid. There’s a time to say, “Negotiation is over”.”

“That’s true.” He replied. “When you have everything under control.”

“You only negotiate when you have the upper hand, never from a position of weakness.”

“Normally, Mabby, I’d agree with you. As a business move, you’re right. However, this is war, and other rules apply. Camouflage, subterfuge, etc. It may buy us some time.”

“You got us into this problem and we’re going to get us out of it.”

“Oh, I did?”

“Yes. Your flaunting disrespect for morality and decent human conventions!”

“My refusal to genuflect and my incorrigible past.”

“Phrase it as you wish. We can fight tomorrow instead of “negotiating”! We aren’t scared!”

“By your tone, I’m to assume you feel that I am?”

“I don’t know, are you?” Mab answered in a feminine coy whine. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. We’re countermanding your orders. We do not intend anymore “talk” with the enemy!”

“Oh. Yes, you do.”

“Oh, no we don’t!” Mab Roth replied with heat.

Mr. Otorp was about to say something, but Mab Roth interrupted him, saying. “How do you think you’d fare if that woman out there learned what you did?”

“What did I do?”

“Oh come now. You’re denying it was you that maimed her father and that little boy’s grandfather?”

“No. Would you really do that to them?”

“If you force our hand.” Mab Roth said, misunderstanding the meaning of his question.

“Excuse me, but I don’t think you got my message.”

“What do you mean?” She replied.

“I wasn’t referring to offending their sensibilities, perhaps angering them enough to seek compensation.”

“Well then. What were you referring to, Aloirav?” Mab Roth asked, her disrespect showing in the impatience.

“You’re threatening to inform that woman that I debilitated her father with an illness. Aren’t you?”

“Not exactly, General.” Mr. Otorp wheedled, sensing trouble.

“Yes, you are!” He shouted. “Do so…NOW!”

“Why?” Mab asked.

“I want to see if you’ve the stomach for how I respond.”

“Rav.” Mr. Otorp replied, trembling. “I’m sure you do know that it will present grave potential difficulties for yourself and the Company.”

“How would you respond, pray tell?” Ms. Roth queried.

“I would have no alternative but to destroy them. The blood, and bodies, would be on your hands, in your module”.

They both paled, and he continued without giving them time to think. “Naturally, you would suffer the fear of embarrassment for but a moment. Your own existence would also end too soon to mourn.” The General paused to allow his words to settle in, and then he continued. “So, you’ve been playing at military things, have you Mab? I’m so pleased to learn I was mistaken about you two. Here, I thought you two were laying the entire war burden on me. Am I now to assume you’re ready to accept some of the spiritual responsibility as well?”

“What do you mean?”

“The prosecution of the war, of course. It’ll be so much easier knowing I’ve you answering for the blood too.”

“For what do we have to answer?!”

“What do you propose to do, Mabby, should they invade?”

“Stop them.”

“How? With whose weapons? There are no antiaircraft guns on the periphery. How do you expect to stop troop transports? We have no conventional arms other than pistols and rifles. Do you expect to hold them at the biometric machines, until they pass your immigrant scrutiny?! With such weaponry as we have, only superhuman courage could hold them off more than an hour, at most. Should they care to pursue their advantage, they’ll walk right over us. The carnage will be incredible if they encounter the slightest resistance.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“You think they’re just going to say. “Pardon us, Madam. We’ve been out of line. Please let us go back embarrassed that we called your bluff?”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Oh, Mabby. You are such a cherry!”

“No, no, General. We aren’t about to inform the woman!” Mr. Otorp said, showing his age, still multi moves behind the others. He shook his head in a symbolic attempt to make his moral dilemma go away. It was as if the problem was some fly buzzing around him. “We aren’t asking you to resign or give up any of your responsibilities. We just don’t want any biological weapons used. We also don’t want them to invade. We can’t countenance it under any circumstances.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for wishful thinking, Mr. Otorp. Leave Disneyland now, wake up! You cannot deny biological weapons. The OG invades tomorrow, and you have no other weapons from which to choose.”

“Are you dictating to us?” Mab Roth asked, recovering from her revulsion. The horror of being in such close proximity to a cold-blooded serial killer dissipated. Her courage returned in a burst. “And why do you say they will invade? You said you were negotiating to avoid that!”

“In answer to your first question. Yes.” General Aloirav replied. “I’m running the show now.”

“Like hell you are!” She shouted. “Who do you think controls the Directors, the Generals, and all the residents up here?”

“Why you and Mr. Otorp do, of course.”

“I’m glad you realize that.” Mab Roth said.

“And I control you.”

“Poppycock! All you control is a band of cutthroats and some exotic diseases!”

“My. My. We do think highly of ourselves don’t we? I must say. I never saw you and Mr. Otorp as cutthroats. Your status is improving. I must admit, I have always considered you an exotic disease, though, Mab. That much is true.”

“We’re still in charge here! If you try to force our hand, you’re fucked! ”

“And how long do you think you’d maintain your charisma if the truth came out?”

“What truth?”

“Why, all your people and the residents discovering how you broke Council Law.”

“How?” Ms. Roth squeaked.

“Come, come Mabby.” He ridiculed. “You need me to remind you of your little peccadillo again. You brought a Tay Sachs child up here, a Director’s child, your child. You knew, or should have known, it was a violation.”

Mab Roth paled, and Mr. Otorp said. “General! I…”

“Don’t talk too loudly, Mr. Otorp. I admire you and want to continue working amicably with you. I’m sure you’d find it difficult to explain how you raised your little jejunal occlusion up here.”

“That isn’t a proscribed malady!” He jumped to defend himself.

“No. It isn’t. Wouldn’t it go a long way, on the Evening News, towards reducing your credibility? How many Directors could you count on, if it became general knowledge? Two saboteurs, two breakers of Council Law, at the head of the Company! Tsk, tsk. Now, we’ve got to add to that, treason… T’snot all bad though. Might buy us some “negotiating” time, delivering you two.”

After having demolished the spiritual force of their planned offensive, the General said. “Now, let’s not hear any more talk of trying to stop me tomorrow. You wouldn’t last any longer than the firstsoldier, crossing the biometric machines. We’re going to allow them to come up and receive our “hospitality”. They will inspect and take what they wish.”

Thinking about additional persuasion, he squelched it. There was no need. It was obvious. They were beaten.

“Before I leave, I want the names of all the people, Company generals, and others.”

“What names?”

“Those with whom you’ve been conspiring.”

“Why?”

“I need to set their minds at ease about tomorrow. They must be disaffected for some reason, and I can’t have them interfering with my plans.”

“You plan on killing them?”

“Absolutely not! I admire their courage.”

Mr. Otorp said. “I can’t do that General. It would appear I’m informing on them to save my own ass. I’m no stool pigeon.”

“I admire that sentiment, Mr. Otorp. It’s gone too far for that too. There are MMIM spies in that group who plan on using it to sabotage me & destroy you.”

The two “would be” rebels looked at each other in dismay and said in unison. “How can you be sure of that?”

“Your spies are easy to turn, Mab, especially the ones that came through me in the first place.”

“There are a lot of names.”

“I don’t need or want you to divulge anything more now than the time and place of your next meeting. I’ll take it from there.”

The two gave each other meaningful glances and Mr. Otorp said. “Two o’clock this afternoon at Mab’s office.”

“That’s an hour away. Gotta’ run. Thank-you.”

Mr. Otorp gave Mab a quick look and, as General Aloirav stopped to open the door, he said.

“General.”

“Yes. What is it?”

“If we desist in our plans would you do something for us?” (Silence answered him, so he continued.) “We have something we’d like to ask of you.”

“What?”

“As long as you know and are planning on keeping it quiet anyway.”

“You mean about the defects?”

“Yes. You are, aren’t you?”

“If I don’t hear any more talk of mutiny.”

“Mutiny!” Mab Roth sputtered. “You, you…”

“Mab, please!” Mr. Otorp said, then turned back and continued. “We’d like to make a bargain with you.”

“What kind of a bargain?”

“We could make it very difficult for you, I mean, if we chose to do so. You might win the altercation, but it would cost you. With the free-hand you have now, anyway.”

“I’m listening. Go on.”

“In return for our compliance, we want you to do something for us.”

“I don’t feel any need to bargain with you. You’re at my mercy. And you know it.”

“To a certain extent, yes.” Mab Roth saw Mr. Otorp’s intentions, and interjected. “You don’t have legitimacy. And, you know that too! Without our compliance you will always play the parvenu.”

“I’m not saying that’s true or not. What is it you want from me?”

“We want a child together.” Mr. Otorp blurted out.

“So what do you need me for? You forget how to fuck?”

“You needn’t be crude.”

“Tit for tat, Mabby.”

“Mab doesn’t want her Tay Sachs recessive allele passed on.” Mr. Otorp interrupted, looking down at his interesting shoes. “And I concur.”

“You want me to triplex it out of the egg?”

“Yes.” He said, looking up from the general direction of his shoes.

“Can you do it?” Mab Roth asked.

“Depends.”

“On what?” She asked.

“On whether it’s done on my terms or not.”

“What terms?”

“The operation is done in my hospital, with my doctors, according to my directions. I run the whole show, a free hand in everything.”

“Of course.” Mr. Otorp said.

“I don’t know yet.” Mab Roth answered. “I’ll let you know.”

“Suit yourself.” General Aloirav said, as he walked out the door.

 

It was 2:10 PM at Mab’s office. General Aloirav’s miniature spy camera photographed all the people at the meeting. He, himself, was nearby in a special office. His listening devices recorded all words spoken. It was almost unnecessary, because all support for rebellion dissipated after Mr. Otorp said.

“Mab and I have decided not to pursue the subject matter of this meeting any further. Thank you for your support, but we are going to give our loyalty to General Aloirav. We apologize for any discomfort or danger in which we may have put you.”

A general got up from his chair and said. “I’m afraid I too can’t condone anymore of this treason.”

“What treason? He’s the Chairman. She’s Logistics Director. The treason lies with the ex-cons.”

“True enough.” A respected general countered. “However, the consensus, when we left General Aloirav’s meeting was that we would allow him to negotiate for us. To object then would not have been treacherous. Surreptitious objecting, after the fact, like this, seems wrong. I’ve thought about it too, and I no longer want to take any part.”

“I’m with the general,” another said.

“Will he be taking umbrage, if he knows what we’ve done, Mr. Otorp?”

“I will see to it that he does not, if it goes no further.”

The meeting disbanded. General Aloirav never showed himself. He was alone, wondering why the rebellion and its aftermath ended so easily. It was unsettling. What was he missing or… forgetting?

 

On rare occasions, the General visited the Company Headquarters module. He handled almost all his business at the hospital or elsewhere these days. General Aloirav was at Headquarters today after his meeting at the holovision studio. He wanted to speak in a private manner with the Police Chief. Gloria failed to meet him for coffee that morning, and it worried him.

As he approached the Chief’s hatch, a voice rang out. “Ravmond Aloirav!”

“What?” He replied, turning to see from where the voice emanated.

“Mr. Aloirav, you are under arrest for crimes against humanity.” A Japanese SWAT police officer riposted, holding a laser pistol leveled directly at him.

A score or more other Japanese and South African SWAT soldiers accompanied him. Numerous USA SEAL military now entered the office in a controlled yet rapid way. They handcuffed their prisoner and led him away. A few minutes later, he found himself bundled into a strato. He knew what was in store for him.

These special military were here after their former visiting group gathered intelligence on his life and habits. They were not acting with regular Company sanctioned permission. The bridges didn’t allow such First-Surface incursions. It could only have been by Mr. Otorp & Mab Roth’s fiat. He realized now what happened to Gloria.

They knew her absence would not go unnoticed. He would come looking for her. Their smartest move now would be to get him to the First-Surface rapidly. They would not want interference from the NS or any possible friends the duo might have. Gloria was probably in a similar or worse position.

In silence, he berated himself for being so slack with their security. He should have foreseen something similar. There was small hope for the Company without him. The next day would be nearly all positive for the enemy. He needed to stop them before they got him off the bridges.

He noticed that the soldier driving the strato was somewhat unfamiliar with its operation. It was one of the latest jumping models, equipped with telepathy-control technology. Vehicles containing such options were rare and far too expensive for the average First-Surfacer. The OG would never authorize soldiers to train with such expensive transportation. To be familiar with its operation, the driver would have to be a wealthy Pontibus resident or employee thereof.

Someone out here lent them the vehicle. The General would remember the fact and discover the treacherous owner someday. Meanwhile, he thought. “My captors, not even the average aerial resident or Company citizen, can know this vehicle’s capabilities. The strato’s telepathy program is still in operational mode. It might be my only prospect for a safe conclusion to the predicament. If I don’t do something soon any hope I might have for escape will be lost. Escape is always most successful the soonest after capture. ”

The General took the chance, assuming that the soldiers in the vehicle did not understand the strato’s telepathy control. With his mind, he flipped the recognition gate of the electroencephaloreceptor to select for his own brainwaves. There was a simple protocol to follow. Anyone, ever having used the technology, could program it in seconds. Now, after a particularly long jump, General Aloirav thought hard. The vehicle headed for a higher level with a sharp right turn.

It responded just as he thought it would. As one might imagine, the vehicles other occupants were much disconcerted. The General continued to force the vehicle higher. The occupants did not know how to reverse his manipulations. It was probably because they did not understand that it was he who was effecting it. A few select blows would have solved their problem.

After about a half hour of the nonsense, he forced the vehicle to a stop. Then he jammed the nose into a tetrahedron, until it appeared to be stuck. Driver and most of the other occupants got out to argue about how to handle the thing. One shouted into a cell phone in Japanese. A few minutes passed before the holophoner looked in at his prisoner.

The General knew that they were now aware of his ploy. Bemoaning the fact that he could not now use his captors to help him find Gloria, he abruptly accelerated the strato in reverse. A barrage of laser fire accompanied the escape. The one remaining enemy occupant fell forward with such force, it stunned him. The General pushed him out of the vehicle with his feet.

While the man fell to his death off the platform, General Aloirav manipulated the strato out of the vicinity. A few minutes later, the “boss” arrived at the hospital. There, Bacon helped him remove the manacles. As soon as he was free, he got his most trusted people around him. They discussed how the kidnapping crew accomplished what they did and where Gloria might be.

The OG people would most likely head for a Pontibus foot. The General gambled that they would not use parachutes but ordered sentries to report all jumpers. The OGs one other alternative would be a clandestine airstrip. Getting back to the First-Surface with Gloria would be of paramount importance to them. As an escaped convict and hostage, she was invaluable. General Aloirav put lookouts on all the borders and sent the military to scour the wilderness areas for new strips.

Older known strips got new and heavier guards. All outgoing flights found insurmountable problems. The OG sub humans would have to be very smart to circumvent his precautions…unless Gloria was already lost. He did not want to think about any such scenario. It was time to be more creative.

He had to be careful. It would not be wise to beat information out of Mr. Otorp or Mab Roth. They were still the legitimate Pontibus authority. It could backfire on him. Yet, he knew the two must be aware of something that might help.

They acquiesced too easily after their latest mutiny. That de facto coup d’état ended far too quickly. He visited them and asked what they knew of the situation. They gave him nothing he could use other than a good indication of prevarication. Mab did admit that the strato’s registration was to Adam Quake.

As Logistics director, her department controlled the former property of all deposed directors. General Aloirav acquired, for his family, Adam Quake’s cantilever, from that department. That car came through her. He was sure of it. Nevertheless, losing self-control enough to administer some painful punches seemed unwise.

There was nothing more he could do. It was nearing the time when vector deployment must begin. General Aloirav could not search every module and wilderness area of the Pontibus. The Company would be forfeit by such behavior. Time was running short.

He knew he needed to protect the special hidden crews from discovery. Gloria was resourceful. He would have to be satisfied with that for the moment. Too much was calling for his attention to do more. The General met with his special designated assassin.

“Colonel Qercua.” He asked. “Are your “serum crews” ready to protect my “hidden crews”?”

“Whenever the General wishes them, Sir.”

“The time has come. Put those I told you to designate “peripherals” at the outer airstrips. Send the “feet” to the Pontibus feet. Bacon will be at the Plymouth serum-humeal cantilever at 10 PM. He’ll answer any last minute questions you and your men may have.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good luck.”

Bacon arrived in Plymouth. He went right to the cantilever and met Colonel Qercua. The two men exchanged the information that needed exchanging and separated. Bacon returned to the General’s presence later than expected. He was not alone. Standing next to him in the doorway was Gloria.

“What the hell?!” General Aloirav shouted.

Before anyone uttered another word, she was in his arms, crying. “Oh, Rav. I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Gloria.” He replied, kissing her. “I never doubted that you would somehow escape, my love. It was the only emotion I allowed myself. I didn’t know what else I could do.”

“I know. I knew it was up to me. I figured they’d try grabbing you too. I learned from Bacon, I was right.”

“Yah, got away only because they were unfamiliar with Otorp’s technology.”

“Ironic. Isn’t it?”

“His treachery undone by his own technology?”

“Yes.”

“How’d you escape? They handcuffed me. I couldn’t deploy my vectors. Didn’t they manacle you?”

“Yes, they did.”

“So, how’d you manage to escape?”

“I anticipated that if they ever jumped me that might happen, so I hid the vials in my crotch. They stopped at a domicile to reconnoiter when they discovered your lookouts at all the borders.”

“Do you remember the coordinates?”

“No. I wasn’t that cool.”

“I understand. Go on.”

“I went to use the bathroom, taking a plastic bag with me. When I came out, they each got a tiny urine bath. About an hour later there was a recapitulation of the Grand Rapids Hall of Injustice interrogation.”

“They never knew you baptized them?”

“No. When they started slurring their words, I knew I was gonna’ be all right. The shakes started, a few minutes later, and they began pissing on themselves. I just walked out of the domicile. As I made my way to the nearest NS position, I passed one of the domicile’s outer perimeter guards. He was one of the first to absorb my urine. I got a bit antsy there, but his eyes were already crossed and his tongue hanging out. Bacon came and got me at the NS spray station.”

“We went back and dumped the entire bunch in the ocean, Boss.” Bacon added.

“Here I am.” She said, throwing up her hands.

“And I’m a whole man again.” The General replied.

 

“You wanted to see me, Boss?” Bacon asked.

“Yes Bacon.” General Aloirav replied. “Something’s come up, I hadn’t foreseen.”

“Really? That’s a switch. What is it?”

“Before they snatched her, Gloria told me my son, Larry, has aspirations of becoming a traitor.”

“No?!”

“Yes. He wants to return to the First-Surface to warn friends of our plans.”

“I’m so sorry, Boss. What’chu want me ta do?”

“Put a man on him. If it appears he wants to leave the bridges for any reason, interrogate him.”

“What if it appears he’s gone bad?”

“Then I’ve got a problem. He’s old and stubborn.”

“What should I do?”

“My first-born son, Bacon.”

“I can’t help you, Boss; if you aren’t sure what you want me to do.”

“I know, my friend. Women will not destroy what their womb spews forth. I see it every day. They even protect their trisomy 21 monsters! I can’t ask Gloria to do this terrible thing. I can’t even ask her advice. I hope she will forgive me, but I don’t know. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Do what needs to be done.”

“Please, Boss. Why me?”

“I’m not Ivan Vasilyevich, Bacon. Who else can I trust to do this terrible thing?”

 

Near midnight in the hospital, General Aloirav said. “Colonel Wilks.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Are the transports full fueled?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Unload the cargo holds.”

“What, Sir?”

“Take out all boxes marked vaccines. Put in, and evenly distribute, all the cargo marked with blue tetrahedrons. Colonel Qercua will be bringing some men by for you to manifest too.”

“But, you said…” He was about to object at the contradiction.

“What did I just tell you to do?”

“Right, Boss.” He said.

“Colonel Wilks.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The alarm showing on Colonel Wilks’ face grew, until General Aloirav noticed it and said. “You find my orders unwieldy, Colonel?”

“Yes, Sir. I do.”

“Why?”

“I heard, at the meeting. You were very explicit about wanting to reserve all our fuel for the small aircraft. Now you are countering that desire and jettisoning all the vaccines. I don’t understand.”

“I’m glad. You’re a bright lad. If you haven’t grabbed my subterfuge, then the other side won’t either.”

“What machination is that, Sir?”

“We have no need for the small planes to deploy our weapons. We’re using another method. My “small planes” investment was an expensive ruse. My concern was a diversion. The large transports are going to the Pontibus feet in Asia, South America, and the Pacific. They’ll be carrying redundant vectors and special troops.”

“Sir. Forgive me for saying so but they’ll be shot down!”

“I think not. Less than eight meters above sea level, most radar is blind. Special pilots have trained for months on the hidden runways for just this moment.”

“You’re leaving the vaccines here?”

“Yes. I know what you’re thinking. Forget it! We finished vaccinating everyone I wanted vaccinated over 3 months ago. Those crates contain just saline. They were a corollary diversion for Mr. Harcourt and General Kromack’s spies.”

Colonel Wilks’ demeanor and concerned physiognomy melted to a smile upon ascertaining the trick. The whole confabulation with the military about fuel shortages was just crop gas.

“I want those planes leaving as soon as it gets foggy. I can’t risk using magnelevs at this point. They’re too easy to derail with a bazooka or even a LAW. You’re sure the planes are all painted mist-gray?”

“I went over all of them, myself, like you ordered. They were blue till last week.”

“O.K.” He answered. “That’s what I wanted. I don’t need our people blown out of the sky. Have everybody in position by 0200 hours. The pilots have their destinations and ETAs.”

“Right, Sir.”

 

Invasion morning arrived with a dense fog spreading for miles around much of the Pontibus. For the past months, General Aloirav’s special pilots trained to fly off new sea level runways. The runways stayed submerged until the exact moment necessary. Then the hexagonalized calein panels floated to the surface over calein air bags. Compressed air was located in radio-controlled tanks sunk weeks prior at correct levels. General Aloirav wanted to minimize last minute emergencies. Runways, non-functional due to air lines struck by OG patrol boats, qualified as such emergencies.

Special, hinged & balanced, cantilevers descended to meet the floating runways. It was tricky engineering and even trickier pilotage. The descending cantilevers were narrow and the runways were slippery when still wet. All the improvisations were experimental & unstable. The transports must take off, flying ten feet over the swells.

Gloria and Elan were to leave with the transports. When the actual moment came to attempt flight, while avoiding enemy radar, three pilots resisted. Two were Company people and one was a Newer Society man. Mrs. Aloirav wasn’t sure just how much her great grandson should learn. What Elan saw during his youth determined the capacity he would show for compassion, ruthlessness, and objectivity later. His great grandmother didn’t want to brutalize the boy but neither did she want to be responsible for creating a little compassion vulture. She wanted her mate’s advice, so made one more phone call to him at the hospital.

“Hey, Aloirav.”

“What is it, Gloria? It’s 0210 hours. Are you off?”

“No.”

“Why, the hell, not?”

“Three of the fellows are holding us up. They’re complaining the fog is thicker than they expected. They say they haven’t trained enough for it.”

“Well? Are the co-fellows ready?”

“Yah. Are they just as capable of special navigation as the left-seaters?”

“Pretty much. Have ’em switch seats in front of the fellows. If that doesn’t work, dump ALL the yeller-fellers in the drink in front of everyone. I want no yellow son-of-a-bitch in my employ to live and tell about it!”

“I’ve got your grandson with me. You think it wise he see that?”

“I didn’t want him with you. You thought it best. Now you gotta’ live with that decision. Live with this one too.”

“See you later, Aloirav.”

“Right, Gloria… And Gloria.”

“Yes, Aloirav.”

“Don’t use any vehicle with a co-fellow at the stick.”

“You sure?”

“Yah.”

“O.K.”

“Good luck, my love.”

“You too.”

Transports left around 2:30 A.M, after some minor glitches. By noon, Gloria reported to her mate. All transports landed, and they deployed the troops and ordnance. The invasion had not yet begun there. General Aloirav expected as much, but he did not elect to chance being wrong. He delivered the submarine infrastructure to inoculate vectors weeks earlier. All “bugs” arrived at that time.

The transports were just for emergency or overkill. General Aloirav would leave nothing to chance. He saved the surplus vectors & men for the last minute, as an insurance policy. Colonel Qercua’s auxiliary troops were along just to reinforce others where it might be necessary. In case MMIM truncated his initial plans for the Company’s defense, the General wanted alternates.

 

Sr. Mendoza and Mr. Hodges met Heinz in his new Boston hotel room. Heinz left the Lafayette after the prison spur attack. The three were discussing a strange report from one of their spies. It was the penultimate hour before invasion. Mr. Hodges spoke.

“This is what we were concerned might happen, Heinz. You’ve really failed us.”

“Not yet, I haven’t!”

“No? Perhaps not, technically. What if this information is true? Your eventual success means nothing to us, if we’re all dead?”

Sr. Mendoza spoke. “The Ponteebus hass meeny bushes n’ monte.”

“I’m aware of that!” Heinz riposted. “Before he died, Carlo got copies of all Aloirav’s bugs. I was with him last week when he said so. I was with him in the old New Society. I believe him.”

“Then what do you make of this report that NS people are moving to the Pontibus feet?”

“If it’s so, I’m not concerned.”

“No. Aloirav vaccinated you for all his vectors. The rest of us have not been so fortunate.”

“Yes, you have.”

“Our vaccines came from bugs Carlo stole. We don’t know if they’re the real thing.”

“They’re the real thing! I assure you.”

“Why don’t I, personally, find that reassuring? Why did Carlo die?”

“Suicide. It was not from homicide or a bug.”

“We’re betting our lives on your assertions. You still haven’t removed Aloirav or Otorp. You assured us you’d get them too!”

“I will!”

“Aloirav is resurrected and dangerous again!” Mr. Hodges said. “He’s with his whore! That cunt is a holy terror. She’s more bloodthirsty for politicians, Japs, and racists than a shark. I’ve known Gloria Gold for decades. She’s behind the losses of all our best people.”

“Not necessarily true.” Heinz countered, ashamed of his failures vis a vis Mrs. Aloirav. “Hernan had a broad close to a guy. That guy was selling us out too.”

“Meester Leion.” Sr. Mendoza furnished.

“Mendoza’s right. The broad found pictures in this Leion’s module, implicating him as a double agent. Some of our best Company contacts may have been lost because of the guy.”

“Oh, si, Senhor Hodges.” Sr. Mendoza agreed. “He ees a traitor!”

“That information may have been planted.” Mr. Hodges said. “My money says the agent fingering all those Directors was Aloirav’s whore.”

“Then why did she convince Aloirav to allow the invasion?” Heinz said, regretting his words as he spoke them. “If she’s after power, she would have made the attempt to prevent it?”

“They could not benefit by our delay if this report is true. They would want to con us into coming up and getting dosed.” Mr. Hodges said. “Sitting ducks.”

“It’s a possibility.” Heinz said. “I won’t disagree. But the vaccines will protect us.”

“I sure hope you’re right. I don’t want to think about the alternative.”

“Rest easy. You’re safe.”

“So why haven’t you eliminated this Leion turkey?” Mr. Hodges asked. “Problems again?”

“No. He’s been useful since we turned him. We got to Otorp’s domicile and papers with the guy’s help. Lives next door. He keeps us posted as to the goings on at the Otorp place. If we get even a whiff of further treachery, he’s offal.”

“Mm.” Mr. Hodges replied. “I can’t help but believe we’ve got trouble. Aloirav and Gold appear to have the Company’s trust. They seem to control Otorp and the kike broad, what’s her name?”

“Roth, Mab Roth.” Heinz replied.

“The one Hernan was sweet on?”

“Yah.”

“That’s the one.” Mr. Hodges replied. “And what’s the scoop on Aloirav’s woman?”

“Wife.” Heinz corrected him. “They’re married now.”

“How did Gloria Gold go undetected so long?”

“Gloria Aloirav.”

“Yeah. She had another name there too. Living in a prison we control, I understand? Mendoza?”

“Si, Senor.”

“You said that prison spur was secure from Company scrutiny.”

Heinz, looking to keep Sr. Mendoza an ally, defended him, saying. “Goddamn Frye fucked up all the New Society personnel records. He was protecting the “Group” long after Aloirav fell. I was a long time just locating a few people from the old “Club”. Had to go to prison myself to find some by facial recognition.”

Mr. Hodges said. “Maybe he just got in the habit of protecting Aloirav and himself from Aloirav. Went on so long, he couldn’t stop when the need dissipated.”

“Maybe. Don’ know. When you ask why it took so long to find her out, that’s the reason. They incarcerated her under her real name. When she moved up to the cantilever penitentiary, they changed her name to Estelle Keatch. There’s still a woman in Spandau says she’s Gloria Gold. I checked. Frye was a goddam genius! He even spread rumors of her suicide – overkill.”

“Well whatever. If, as you say, we seem to have the upper hand now, God willing, we should prevail, right?” Mr. Hodges asked, searching for decisive confidence in the forthcoming action.

“I gotta’ be straight wiya.” Heinz said. “Even if all goes as planned, we could have trouble. If Aloirav is indeed back to full strength, we’ll have big problems. We could’a got a lot further discrediting Otorp, as I tol’ ya’ before. Ya’ shoulda’ got the pols to drop the taxes thing. At least, until I had time to wreck ‘im.”

“We’ve been through all that before, Heinz. You’ve had plenty of time. There’s the need for action, now!” Mr. Hodges said. “The decrease in aluminum sales and mining receipts can’t continue. Soon, it won’t matter how strong Aloirav is. And I gotta’ tell, ya’.”

“What?”

“My principals are not gonna’ wait any longer. If you don’t get Otorp and the Aloiravs soon, someone else will. If MMIM feels they have to do that, you’ll be on the contract.”

“I’ll get the targets. For your peace of mind, I don’t think Aloirav’s adequate for the situation. Just my gut feeling. Harcourt and my other sources tell me what others told you. Aloirav’s runnin’ scared, showing weakness, takin’ his cues from Gloria.” Heinz said.

“Si. Thee fat-ass, Leion, say hees bug outside Otorp module peeck up thee kike woman and Otorp talkeen’. They say how scared Aloirav ees.” Sr. Mendoza added. “The geeneralls are talkeeng seecreetly weeth theem. Eet ees not about how motch they agree weeth heem. Eet ees como hevolucao.”

“Really? Are you sure of that, Mendoza?” Mr. Hodges asked, not interested in hiding his encouragement needs. “The Commission’s concerned about MMIM’s going ahead with the invasion as long as Aloirav’s alive.”

“Leion’s eenformation ees alweeys good. He migh’ be playin’ both size again’ thee meeddle, but hee’s on toppa’ hees job.”

“That’s good to hear. It’s encouraging.” Mr. Hodges said.. “The Company is defaulting on all its loans, mortgages are a month in arrears. MMIM was contemplating foreclosure as an alternative. So weak, pathetic! But, I have a real problem with Aloirav. I don’t ever want to get into the position again of underestimating him. He’s fucked us, every time, because of our propensity to go by his direction. Similar information, coming from disparate directions, may in truth indicate he’s deteriorating. I want to think we’re acting with prudence.”

“Of course.”

“This report about Pontibus feet inoculating equipment is unsettling. However, it might just be a ploy of his to delay our invasion, frighten us into prolonging negotiations. We can’t let him intimidate us either. We must be circumspect. In failing to venture anything, delaying too much, we let him get stronger. That’s also self-defeating.”

“That’s right. If he is indeed his old self again, we’re beat before we start. It don’t make no difference how we go at him.” Heinz said. “It’s like voting. You never really know how bad they fucked you until six months after the election. If Aloirav’s beat ya’, ya’ won’t find out about it, until you’re six feet under. Too late to fight back or change your mind.”

“I don’t find what you’re saying now particularly encouraging, Heinz.” Mr. Hodges said. “What preparations have you made in case he tries anything more deceptive?”

“We’ve spies in every nook and cranny of his organization. What about the MMIM?”

“The Navy’s training radar and sonar on each Pontibus foot – over, around, and underneath the entire structure. They’ll never get those big blue transports off it. If they try, we’ll catch‘em and blow’em outta’ the sky.” Mr. Hodges said. “I’m sending special teams out in advance of our invasion troop movements to sweep for biological weapon equipment at all Pontibus feet.”

“There’s no way those transports can slip by?” Heinz asked.

“What pilot’s crazy enough to fly those huge transports 25 feet over the ocean swells? You might get one loco to do it, but a whole squadron? What’ll he use for runways? Never happen. Likewise, if there are people with “biobugs” at the Pontibus feet, we’ll find them and stop inoculation before anything “slips by”.”

“Si.” Sr. Mendoza added. “Freendly geenral teell us leetle planes no gonna fly. And, thee bodegas low on feewell. They neeveer keep mucho there ‘cuz theey mek so mucho een those beeg tanks. Cain’ geet thee leetle planes een thee air, flying dusting meesshuns over us. They focked. Not gonna’ be no combusteebley foah thee beeg ones. How they gonna’ supply t’other bridges over Asia and my peeples. Cain, y figh’ us too. We gah no problems theere.”

“Why d’you think he needs to supply the other Pontibi? Maybe they’re already supplied.” Mr. Hodges asked.

Heinz answered. “We got other people on his staff. They say he thinks he has to do one or the other, heard him say so yesterday afternoon. My man, Harcourt, checked out the hangars and said the large transports are loaded with vaccine. They can’t move it due to fuel shortage and our radar. He’s not even begun to transport vectors.”

“Then I guess we’re ready for him.” Mr. Hodges said, buying into a positive mindset.

A few minutes later, they received a holophone call from OG Headquarters’ spy network control (CIA). The Aloiravs were in OG custody en route to the First-Surface. The room erupted in a large cheer. A preponderance of information now showed the Company weak, approaching collapse. The meeting ended with confidence catapulting over doubt.

Mr. Hodges went back to his office to report to his superiors. He felt more confident about the decision for final go-ahead. Sr. Mendoza went back to his minions. Heinz returned to the tedious task of plotting his moves, ad infinitum. A man of small dreams, he was thorough.

Like a bulldog, Heinz held an idea to the end. No matter what the personal costs, he was tenacious. Heinz would do what they asked him to do or die trying. His greatest weaknesses located in his disloyalty and small spirit. Now, however, Heinz was thinking about another matter.

He believed that Mr. Otorp and the General were in possession of a commodity that he very much wanted, needed. Mendoza’s people did not find it at the Otorp module during the break-in. During the gas attack at the hospital, the special team, he sent, couldn’t find it. The Grand Rapids hotel basement was no longer a lab and didn’t have it. If it wasn’t somewhere in the factory labs, it must be in Andirobal. During the invasion, Heinz planned to be very busy.

 

There was much waffling during the last hour by MMIM generals. As a result, it was almost 9 AM, when the first regular enemy troops crossed the Pontibus feet. They wended their way up the tortuous paths with trepidation. Close to half of Mr. Hodges special bioweapon search teams did some searching. The remainder soon went incommunicado, however, and none returned to base with any information, positive or negative. Colonel Qercua’s serum crews took care of those successful at discovering anything of note. Teams met early deaths in the ocean.

The General was at the Provincetown Luz foot. He wanted Bacon at the Block Island foot. The rest of his most trusted people were at others. Many were at peripheral airstrips used by smugglers. De-fueled small planes blocked a number of runways against OG airborne troop deployment.

MMIM’s stake was greater near the New England Luz, home to the Pontibus Council and Company Headquarters. Therefore, as General Aloirav expected, the offensive began later in the southern hemisphere. MMIM placed their greatest concentration of military ordnance and manpower at Luz. They deployed on the Asian, Pacific, and South Atlantic bridges almost 12 hours later. Except for more rapes and looting, the latter offensives were more docile. There was much less physical confrontation and killing there too than on the New England bridges.

Gloria ordered one pilot destroyed. It was a Company man. The other two immediately found the necessary courage to fly the required low-altitude. Elan stood the test well. He neither moved a muscle nor said a word during the man’s destruction.

There were eleven anchoring feet on the New England Pontibus alone. Colonel Wilks, at the Boston foot, was General Aloirav’s liaison officer to NS generals. A number of former New Society people were with him as couriers. Gloria was at the South Atlantic Pontibus on the Buenos Aires foot with Elan. At least one experienced NS man was at each bridge foot.

Vector deployment & inoculation went forward, as planned. It was quiet and surreptitious. Fans and pressure tanks, concealed below sea level within the feet, spread agents into a large thin gas-mixing pan. They left here and went into atomizing vents. Funneling introduced them into delivery tubing. They left hoses in a fine fog-like spray.

Vacuum locks and venturi tubes controlled emissions to surgical precision. Tubing orifices were undetectable by either the officers in the strato cars or the pedestrian troops. The agarose & polyacrylamide-protected vectors now lay gentle on the morning mist. Colonel Qercua’s men made sure the only surprises were those planned.

Difficulties arrived later in the old-government and MMIM soldiers’ molestation of residents. The former afternoon, just before his kidnapping, General Aloirav was on the Company broadcast. He told residents about the negotiations. He said that if his negotiations broke down an invasion might occur. If so, he wanted them to resist only if their lives or families were in danger.

The Company would reimburse them for items stolen or destroyed. Mr. Hodges called the broadcast a prevarication by Company management. It was good for pacification purposes, however, so he kept his comments sotto voce.

The OG army got about two miles up before looting became rampant. There were isolated reports of fighting between residents and soldiers. It was a quiet pillage by historical standards. Violence, albeit sporadic, did occur. There was some gunfire. Some residents died. The behavior of the OG & MMIM troops caused the General a great deal of embarrassment. Many Company soldiers died trying to protect residents.

One of Lester Frye’s last orders was to deny commissioning various police departments around the bridges. He said he wanted no part of licensing thieves or establishing any group to “protect & serve” select people. Knowing how useless police are for regular folk, he commissioned just the Company Police. For this reason, the Company required Pontibus residents to keep personal firearms in their domiciles at all times. These weapons kept rapes and murders by the marauding & rampaging invaders to a minimum.

A number of residents were of the First-Surface “gun control” school. They wanted no part of Lester’s demand that every household bear arms. Even in the face of the Company’s refusal to employ police departments, these irresponsible residents felt the Company bore the responsibility to protect them. Brady-billed husbands, brothers, and fathers now found themselves in awkward positions. Gun control advocates never told them that one day there might be a real world to face. They now got to enjoy watching their wives, sisters, mothers, and daughters raped and killed.

Screaming just tantalized MMIM soldiers and OG troops even more. The fun-loving fellows ripped off clothing and forced apart female legs. Repeated ramming into available body orifices continued until every subhuman was satiated. Gun control domiciles reeked of sperm and blood when the merrymaking ended. For some it didn’t end.

Troopers carried the most attractive of the naked girls off, on their backs, along with non-living loot. They joined others making their way back down the walkways. Their packs were heavy, laden with sundry goods and articles. It never caused a hiatus in the pillaging. More troops appeared to take their place.

A small detail could have caused General Aloirav some difficulty if his strategy were not so comprehensive. Bioweapons would have accomplished the ultimate objective in time regardless. Nevertheless, his feigned cowardice made the outcome swift and certain. As the General predicted might occur, the OG did not commit all their troops to deployment at the Pontibus feet. They also used clandestine airstrip invasion routes.

Some large transport and helicopter peripheral debarkation also become apparent. The General could not place vector-inoculating infrastructure in these latter two areas. The reason was that he could not predetermine exactly where all landings might occur. General Kromack judiciously removed the small aircraft that Colonel Wilks placed there to block large troop landings. About a million troops thus eluded the NS entry inoculations in these alternate invasion routes.

The scenario could have meant a considerable delay to General Aloirav’s timetable. Sometimes such delays, small things in themselves, have far-reaching repercussions. The General might even have been re-captured. In this instance, however, the” apparently weak and ill-prepared” deception was well-rewarded. OG and MMIM Generals became lax, thinking the Company pre-beaten. Due to the Company’s contrived pusillanimous behavior, overconfident generals allowed looting. By such behavior, they inadvertently lost control of their troops.

Most booty-laden soldiers returned to the First-Surface via Pontibus feet, transport of entry notwithstanding. NS inoculations surrounded them on their way home. They helped infect others, going in the opposite direction. Bioweapon vectors consequently enveloped almost the entire invasion force. The strategy was successful. The cost was phenomenal.

 

What you cannot as you would achieve, you must perforce accomplish as you may.

Titus Andronicus, Act II, i, 106                   Shakespeare

Chapter Seventy-Nine

 

It was a shameful experience. Company generals were furious at the apparent display of cowardice by their Employer. Many spoke with force during the decision-making of the prior evening. They were very vocal in airing their feelings against not fighting the OG. Now, even more were joining the complainers. A score & more of generals went to Mr. Otorp and Mab Roth.

They begged to fight the virtually unrestrained rape, pillage, and murder. Mab told them she disowned the affair. Her advice to them was to go and talk to General Aloirav. Any changes in strategy were up to him. One disgusted general asked.

“How will that change things? He’s the one defending the disgraceful conduct.”

“We, meaning Mr. Otorp and I, have given him control over prosecution of Pontibus defense. It is in his hands at this point.”

“Defense! You can call this defense?!”

Mab was as frustrated as her generals. She knew, however, that they needed her restraint to maintain unity. A mutiny would counteract what little authority they still possessed. A civil war would serve no purpose. She would use the memory of his shame in the future to control if not destroy him.

The generals took stock of the situation. It was clear who was in charge. Gathering their courage, they went to the Level Twenty-Five hospital to confront the General. They wended their way carefully around wild-eyed old-government soldiers. Experiencing numerous indignities before getting there, they did eventually arrive at their destination.

Here, they discovered the General was not in his command center office. What a disgrace! The man was not even at his post when needed! The generals each gave their names to the attendant and waited. The attendant relayed the information to General Aloirav.

The generals never learned where he was. By now, there was no need for him in the field. Vector deployment ended long ago, and the bugs were spent, canisters empty. The General, informed of their desire to meet with him, returned to the hospital. Avoiding numerous troops intent upon his capture, he arrived, went to his office, and greeted them, saying.

“What can I do for you gentlemen?”

They looked back and forth at each other, until one spoke for the others, saying. “We’re disgusted and dismayed, to a man! The Company’s groveling response to this invasion is insupportable! We feel it is simple cowardice, what you are allowing. We want to fight back.”

“Why do you feel our policy craven, general?”

“The bastards are raping, pillaging and murdering our residents and we’re doing nothing! You had no backup plan should your negotiations fail. Worse! You’re still making the Company do nothing, due to … some perceived fuel shortage.”

“Or something else.” A hidden voice murmured.

“You don’t feel the policy is sound? You want to rush into battle, knowing we’ll be crushed without ordnance?”

“General!” Said a general. “There is no battle. We are crushed! Your very command center has been taken and searched 3 times. We may have to leave at any moment, should they return.”

“You’re making Company policy contingent upon your fear.” Another hidden voice said.

“Did all those years in prison make you soft?” A man, even better hidden behind others, whispered.

“You truly feel I’m afraid?” General Aloirav asked, having heard all the sotto voce, they wanted him to hear

“Yes, we do.”

“You have my apologies. I too am appalled at the extent of the pillaging. I expected some of what is happening to us, but I never intended for it to be as great as it is. I hope you understand that this is what we can expect forever if we do not rid these vermin from our midst.”

“And how are we to do that, pray tell, when we are defeated by our own volition.”

“If you do not know now, you soon shall. Yesterday, after my public statements to the residents, MMIM kidnapped me along with my second in command at Security. Some top Company management aided the OG soldiers. In the process of making our escape, much time was lost. I cannot duck my responsibility, but negotiations failed, largely due to my absence.”

“Who were the traitors, General?”

“That information shall remain with me for the time being. I intend handling their compensation, personally. I do want you to know that I appreciate your concern for the Company, as displayed by your presence here. If your names are not already on my attendant’s list, please add them to it.”

“Why, General?”

“I want to know who you all are. I wish to record all those who are opposed to my policy here.”

“What do you intend doing with the list, General?” A general asked amid murmuring.

“Ahah! Now who is afraid?” General Aloirav riposted, smiling. The Company generals said nothing, so he continued. “I would like to know which of my generals has had the courage of his convictions. Men strong enough to put their lives and careers on the line.”

“It sounds to us like you wish a “hit list”, to use to take umbrage.”

“I expect it does. Would you say that such a desire, should I wish it, is unreasonable?”

“Perhaps not.”

“Would you say such a desire is compatible with a brave man’s behavior?”

“Definitely not, Sir.” The men replied.

“I see. My behavior earlier also made you suspect my will and courage to do battle. Do you think it looked like cowardice to the enemy too? I’m speaking to all of you. You may be frank with me.”

“They must see what we see.” A general replied for all. “They’re emboldened very much by that perception. So much so that they’re making two, even three, trips into the same module! The enemy robbed us repeatedly, coming here to see you! As General Grady has already said, they’ve been by here 3 times looking for you.”

“Many more troops are coming up here than we expected. It’s because of our apparent cowardice!” A short, feisty little general shouted.

“Perceived cowardice, sir.” General Aloirav said. “The appearance of cowardice, as you say. It does indeed sound like we’re afraid and on the run, doesn’t it?”

“Yes it does.” They all said in unison while nodding their heads.

“Would you agree with me that they have us surrounded?” He asked smiling.

“Of course!” They replied, beginning to suspect his stability now.

“How many troops are on the Pontibus right now, pillaging and looting our people? Estimate.”

“On just the New England Pontibus or all of the bridges?”

“All of them.”

“Twenty or thirty million.”

“And those who have already left, satiated?”

“Perhaps another million or so.”

“Are they still leaving the First-Surface?”

“No. Except for those who’ve already left with booty, they’re all on the bridges. The invading stragglers are at Level-Two now.”

“Well gentlemen.” The General said. “I see your point. As I said, I appreciate your loyalty and courage. However, I must confer with my staff, before I make any policy decisions. Can you come back in an hour? I will have an answer for you. Don’t forget to put your names on the list as you leave.”

The generals and all the dissatisfied people left the room. General Aloirav conferred with no one. Gloria was still on the South Atlantic bridges somewhere with Elan. Colonels Wilks & Qercua were where he wanted them. Bacon was supposed to be at the Block Island foot, but there was no word from him for some time.

The General was worried. He waited for an hour, not knowing whether to anticipate his generals’ docile return or a mutiny. They returned as directed. As they filed into the room, he said.

“Welcome back, my friends. I count 26 of you. I have but 24 signatures here. How do you explain that?”

There was some harsh talk, some dissembling, and then the less courageous also signed his paper. He then said. “There were 29 of you here an hour ago. Now there are 26. My cameras do not lie. What do you expect happened to your 3 compatriots?”

After listening to the general mumbling, General Aloirav said. “I can explain their absence. If you hadn’t come here so angry, earlier, and returned, I would have doubted your zeal. The hour you have been away has been very useful to us. I expect those departed were not in the Company’s corner. They’ve escaped to the other side, made their treacherous reports, and are now with our enemies.

“You wanted them to do so, General? You wanted them to see our dissension?”

“Yes, very much so.”

“But whatever for?”

“It put the final touches on the picture I’m painting.”

“We do not understand, Sir.”

”I know. It’s too bad, but it was necessary.”

“Why, Sir?”

“To make their invasion, their commitment, a fait accompli. It also made your loyalty more visible.”

“I still don’t understand.” A general said.

“I wanted them to overextend themselves to the point of no alternative, no recourse. Now, they cannot escape.”

“General. No disrespect intended, but why would they want to escape? We’re beaten. They have all our aircraft, our fuel, and our few arms. Company Headquarters has fallen to them. Our troops and many residents are dead or prisoners. We never even defended our capital. OG troops are digging in. They’ve stations every 2 or 3 hundred meters. There are search parties looking for us, for you. They’ll be back here soon. How long can this ward remain hidden from them? We appear despicable! How can we appear otherwise?”

“I understand your dismay. Hear me out. Our Directors and upper level executives are still free. There are not enough enemy troops left to attack us.”

“They don’t need to attack. They have the objective. We gave it to them!”

“We’ve given them nothing but their deaths.” The General replied.

The generals were shaking their heads in disbelief, but one, the feisty little one, asked. “How are we giving them their deaths, Sir?”

“I will explain. First. Do you see any of my NS force here?”

“No. You are alone.”

“Yes. I am alone. You are many. I gave you a full hour to take action against me, should you have wished to do so.”

He didn’t waste his words. All knew he was showing them his courage. He continued.

“It is my opinion that you must feel I’ve taken leave of my senses. An hour ago, you believed me an extreme coward. It must seem to the perceptive, however, that my recent conduct belies that. You have not revolted. I don’t know how that makes me feel. You need not comment.”

“If the General has some secret plan, it would be nice to know it. I feel my loyalty to the Company, as well as to my compatriots here, demands my continued acquiescence. But, it is not easy, Sir.”

“I understand that, and I respect your forbearance. It has not gone unnoticed. You have a right to know. My loyalty too has been in doubt by you, as much or more, I fear, as has yours by me. You are aware of my former status as an incorrigible. There may be some among you that suspect my behavior is a poignant display of vindictive malevolence. It is not, but I’m also not looking to you for exoneration. My purpose in leaving prison was not just to be a free man. It was to save the Company. I have been expecting today’s events for over a year.”

“What ever made you expect such a disaster and why didn’t you stop it, if you were pre-warned of it?”

I have been privy to a dangerous state of affairs that has been growing here, out of control, for some time.”

“How is that, Sir?”

“As horrible as it is, the present invasion has saved us from greater subsequent disaster. If it did not occur now, it would someday have been necessary to precipitate it.”

“Whatever for, General?”

“The Pontibus, ever since Mr. Frye & I built the first sky house, has had one great defensive weakness, my friends . . .”

“Excuse me, General.” A general interjected. “I thought I just heard you say Mr. Frye and YOU built our bridges.”

“You heard me correctly, general.” The General replied, not adding anything to the interrupter’s comment. “As I said, our bridges have had one terrible defensive flaw. I’m sure you, being military men, must appreciate that. There are large areas where the Pontibus is vulnerable, impossible to defend without air power.”

“Air power is useless to defend us, without also destroying the structure.” A general interjected.

“That’s very true. There seemed no solution.”

“Where are those areas, you speak of, General?” They asked.

“The periphery.”

“Oh, yes. It’s always been a problem with us too.” A top-ranking general admitted.

“I needed a strategy to compensate for that frailty.”

“And?”

“Many of you are aware of my purging the Company Board of many directors. The directors, I removed, were employees of MMIM and the OG . . . traitors. It took me some time finding one escaped rogue that I was determined to execute.”

“Hernan?” A general interjected.

“Yes. Hernan. When I found him, the situation made that hole in my defensive planning poignantly clear. I needed to do more.”

“Which was?”

“As I said, and you are aware, the Pontibus is weak in tangential defense. It’s too big an area for effective policing. We have neither the manpower nor conventional arms to interdict a circumferential invasion. My particular defensive tactics, as most defensive positions, require minimal invasion routes left to the enemy. Except out past aircraft ceiling height, the Pontibus presents an infinite number of them. I learned long ago, in a little remembered war, to stay off the beaten path. Ambush, death, and destruction lurk there. They would have destroyed us, had I not tricked them into using Pontibus feet, almost exclusively. It may be too late now for them to change their attack’s direction. I think it is, but I felt a few hours more would be best, just to make sure, leaving nothing to chance. In a short time, we will know, positively. I gave you that last hour to allow our remaining traitors free access to their friends. I wanted them to seal the old-government’s fate forever. I can now risk showing you, how we are indeed fighting back.”

“Show us.” One of the generals spoke for all of them.

It was far more than they expected. General Aloirav enjoyed a reputation for loyalty and keeping his word. His cruelty was an aspect of regard they wished not to consider. His fame was bizarre but effective. They also did not want to doubt him, wanting but confirmation they were not impotent.

He took them to a hidden room, next to his J-ward command post. In it, there were a number of closed circuit monitors. The monitors were radio-linked to camouflaged video cameras that viewed Pontibus entrances, pathways, stairwells, and a few clandestine smuggling airports. NS people monitored the several cathode ray tubes.

General Aloirav waved his right arm at the monitors and said. “Gentlemen. As these monitors have just recently arrived and been set up, there may be some “bugs” that need flushing out. Please be patient. I couldn’t very well allow rampaging MMIM troops to see what they will display.”

After each man looked in the direction he indicated, the General said. “Please turn your eyes to the lower left quadrant of each of the small screens.”

As all looked, he nodded to a staff member across the room. The man turned a knob on a computer. The small monitor screens showed what appeared to be thick clouds of smoke. General Aloirav asked. “Do you see it?”

Some of the generals nodded. Others asked the nodding ones what it was they saw. The computer staff member began turning the control wheel back and forth. The generals looked at each other with puzzled faces. All, that is, except a man with red hair, moving closer to the front.

The room filled with excited voices, and the General spoke. “There were traitors among us to which I could not allow access here. There still may be. You impressed me with your courage, however, and I felt you worth the risk. You imperiled your lives & careers, fighting for that in which you believed. I have a list of your names attesting to your bravery. It was very admirable. It encouraged me to accept an unnecessary hazard likewise. So, I’m letting you see this recording. Most of you have not allied with Company enemies. Many of your colleagues, not making this second trip with you, are so allied. As I said, some of you never returned after our one-hour hiatus. ”

The generals stared at the screens, and one asked. “What is it we’re seeing on the screens, General? It appears just a video of moving fog on the platforms and the walkways?” No sooner did he finish his question than they all got excited and asked. “What’s in that fog?”

General Aloirav saw that their ignorance was upsetting them. Some were even getting angry. He was not sure if they would take his answer well. There were few of his personal staff in the room. It would not be easy to intimidate all the generals, should it become necessary. They could overcome his personal defense and deliver him over to the enemy with ease.

General Aloirav, believing himself never having made a decision out of fear in his life, replied. “Please look at the top right corner of the monitors. That area shows today’s atmospheric condition along the paths near the Pontibus feet. It does not correct for fog and natural water vapor. Top left and lower right show different perspectives of the same phenomenon but fog adjusted. What you don’t see there, and should not see, are small beads of polyacrylamide. They also form a smoke-like vapor. It’s the next stage in the art of warfare.”

“What do beads of polyacrylamide do, General Aloirav?”

“They form a coating that protects the delicate forms of quasi-life inside them from unwanted oxidation. It also obviates other environmental assaults, such as desiccation. Upon inspiration, the compound dissolves and releases the beads’ contents. ”

The generals stood as if glued to their positions. Their entire education, culture, and morality ran perversely counter to such a form of warfare. Ancient conquerors used primitive forms of the tactic. Their own morality allowed mass murder but flowed according to asinine rules of engagement formulated through custom and precedents resulting from past wars. It’s a common psychological – cultural disease among generals.

General Aloirav mentioned how the various vaccine inoculations over the past few months protected them. He assured them how they and their families need fear nothing. The group was silent for a moment. Then one asked.

“Biological weapons?”

“Yes, to be succinct. They can, however, be much more than that in the right hands.”

“What kind of hands?”

“That is not your concern. The OG troops, visiting us today, will soon retire. All day they’ve been working hard, for us, plundering our homes and offices. Soon those rapacious heads will be sound asleep. Many will never again find the wherewithal to awaken. More will awaken but not rise. Some will awaken, rise, and fall down dead. In three days, all capacity for any such behavior will subside, forever.”

The room hosted numerous gasps. The generals didn’t know whether to believe him or attack. He continued. “Our army will leave incarceration tomorrow, simply by walking away from it. You will be real generals again. Your hands will be full defending our Pontibus, as you wished. Order your troops to throw the sick and dying bodies of our enemies off the bridges. There will be people below in boats to recover them and bring them to the humeal factories in Plymouth.”

“That’s all we’ll have to do? There will be no resistance?!”

“None. But it isn’t as easy a job as you think. Not just the presently plundering troops will die. The First-Surface will be an even more unpleasant place to visit than on previous occasions. Those having returned there with their booty will give the disease in turn to their neighbors. Soon the price of fixed nitrogen and humeal will take a precipitous drop. Your troops will have their hands full subjugating what little resistance that remains in the great mausoleum that will soon exist on the First-Surface.”

“How many on the First-Surface will get the disease?” A general asked. I have relatives there!”

“I do too.” Another one gasped.

“Then generals, you should rephrase your last statements.”

“In what way?”

“It would be more appropriate to say that you had relatives there.”

“What are you saying?!”

“The Company gave you ample warning. We said. “If you have unvaccinated relatives on the Primary Substratum, they will not survive in the event of war. Choose a side and act accordingly.” Do you not remember that message, general?”

“Yes. But I thought we had more time.”

“I thought it was just propaganda.”

“You both thought wrong. You gambled and lost. You had no right to do that. You know the Company does not make superficial statements. Leaving results too much to chance is also a very bad quality in a general. Your relatives’ deaths are on your account. Dying will continue even after the contagion has no more proximal victims to infect. Cholera and typhus will take a sizable percentage from that point forward.”

“How many people are we talking about here?”

“How many people in New England?” The General asked.

“Why, I…I don’t know.”

“Neither do I, general. Neither do I.”

“General Aloirav. Is this going on just in New England? Or are all the Pontibus Communities around the World experiencing the same thing?”

“Almost everyone in the OG-MMIM invasion force today shall experience the death or dying phenomenon the day after tomorrow. The planet will soon be a much healthier locale. I expect at least 3 billion people will meet their death within the next 14 days. That is, those meeting their end as a direct result of our repelling their invasion and the immediate contagion’s aftermath. A few billion more will succumb from subsequent opportunistic infections. Infrastructure inadequacies will make great famines possible. Survivors too squeamish to learn anthropophagia will starve. I estimate half the world’s population will enter the humeal machines or rot in situ.”

There was one great collective gasp in the room. Experienced military men, one expects to be unsurprised at the extent of mega death in war, were aghast. General Aloirav looked around the room for faces hostile to him. He focused on the redheaded man near the rear, making his way toward the front. It was one of the generals who admitted to having left relatives on the First-Surface.

The generals were speechless at the unparalleled horror with which they now dealt. Perhaps, because they were a part of it made it just that much more intense. They met his gaze with short, staring nods and gaping.   The red haired man, working his way to the front earlier, now reached it. He was athletic, handsome, and sported a long auburn moustache.

The smell of Jade East surrounded him, as he shouted. “You are a godless monster! How could we ever give you our support!? Especially after what you are telling us we shall soon witness. You have made us unwitting accomplices in this horror! It’s diabolical! You are a war criminal of greater evil and magnitude than Hitler, Stalin, or Bush!”

The other generals got no time to reflect on what the man said, before General Aloirav withdrew a pistol from his pocket. He pointed it at the man’s face. The man turned pale and became incontinent. The smell of Jade East and fresh urine permeated the space near him.

General Aloirav watched the man’s uniform darken with perspiration & urine and said. “Gentlemen. This foolish man neglected to consider your needs, when he elected to die. Please remove yourselves somewhat, unless you wish to experience his offal on your clean uniforms.”

The immediate vicinity of the confrontation evacuated around the man with the unfavorable attitude. The generals never recovered enough composure to withdraw sufficiently before the General squeezed the trigger. The man crumpled to the floor, cranial contents splattering about the room and over the military men. Putting away the pistol, he turned his back on them, saying. “I trust you gentlemen can return to your occupations with your minds now at ease?”

The room was silent, until the other officer with family below said. “No, General. I can’t.”

General Aloirav turned to confirm who was speaking and said. “Ahh. I thought so. You wish to eschew some responsibility, Sir? I am to be the target, no doubt?”

“No, General. The responsibility is mine, as you said, but it is too much for me to handle. I had but one handicapped son. Now I have no one. You are not the target. I am. I just want you to see another death on your account.”

The despondent officer took his service pistol and, before friends could stop him, used it. The remaining generals left the room. Each stepped over and around their departed fellow officers. General Aloirav watched them leave. He took the list of names over to a lingering staff general and said.

“Please put checks here next to the two dead men’s names. Also, get someone to remove these bodies from the Pontibus.”

“Yes sir!”

 

The General received a message from Gloria. She was concerned about the death toll on the South American Pontibus. It was going to be much higher than expected. Many residents escaped vaccination.

He said. “What can you do about it, Gloria? We gave them every chance. Respect their tenacity. Their mistrust and fear of government were First-Surface residues. Animals learning fear of man must be similar, a Lamarckian inheritance of an acquired nature like immune memory, passing vertically. A habit, difficult to break. Regrettable. You’ve inoculated the old-government’s army with the vector repertoire, haven’t you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then what’s to worry? It’s all over but the tears.”

“Yes, but so many of our own people?”

“They were not our own people. They were sub humans looking to survive. They were the fortunes of war, Gloria, fortunes of war. There is a positive side. The Pontibus cover will grow faster with more nitrogen. More oxygen and habitat will be available for all animals. Module prices will drop, and living standards will rise. Good time to buy a choice piece of Pontibus. The prices will recover, and we’ll make a “killing”. Are you close to the transport?”

“We’re about a five minute jaunt in a strato.”

“We anticipated there might be this situation. Antibiotics, salt, and glucose aliquots are in the cargo. Remember, Gloria. Cholera will come soon with the bodies accumulating around you. Before you quit this evening, take some of those aliquots out of the plane. Have them at the ready. Vaccines against that new cholera aren’t always effective. That is particularly so when the infective agent, Vibrio cholerae, aloiraveae is serovaried & extensive. It will be so within the week. It’ll inundate you. Winds carry it aloft in dried shit. Be vigilant for signs of incipient diarrhea. Also, don’t wait for the desiccators and comminuters where you reside. Dump the bodies over the side. Boats are already circling to collect them.”

“O.K. Aloirav. How are you doing?”

“About as planned. Had an angry visit from the Company general staff today. They sustained a couple of KIAs. Could have been worse.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“Just one thing.”

Gloria held her breath before asking. “What is that?”

“Tell Elan his grandfather Larry died last night.”

Gloria said nothing for a few moments, and then she asked. “Did he know why?”

“No, my love.”

“There couldn’t have been a mistake?”

“No mistakes.” The General replied. “His death was swift and unexpected.”

“Who did it?”

“Not I. But, I cannot duck the responsibility, my love. I ordered it.”

“I see.”

There was silence for some time on the line. General Aloirav broke it, saying. “Gloria…”

“Do you remember our first days together, Rav?” Gloria interrupted him to ask.

“On Guanaja?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Do you remember our conversation that last day?”

“You think we’re paying for that girl.”

“I knew we would.”

“Forgive me. He was my first-born too.”

 

Colonel Qercua entered the command module and said. “General.”

“Yes, Colonel Qercua. What have you to report?”

“Most inoculations went as planned.”

“Most? Which did not do so?”

“There were seven detections.”

“Were they stopped in time?”

“Five were, Sir.”

“And the other two? Did the OG get the equipment?”

“No, Sir. All was destroyed.”

“So, your mission was a success?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Where did the detections take place?”

“Caracas, Fortaleza, Tenerife, Algeciras, Tahiti, Jamaica…”

“That’s six.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You said there were seven detections. Where did the seventh one take place, Colonel Qercua!?”

“Block Island, General.”

“No!?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Do you know…?” General Aloirav asked quietly after a few second hiatus.

“How he died, Sir?”

“He’s dead?”

“Yes. I just learned about it. None of the hidden crew survived the jump. My own man didn’t become conscious until a few minutes ago.”

“Go on.”

“The inoculations were going as planned, my man said, until some old blond guy entered the spray area. He started yelling to the troops to start searching. My man said that it appeared Bacon knew him. They started shooting, and we did too. My man said he didn’t know how many rounds hit Bacon, but it was considerable. The last thing my man saw, before disappearing, was Bacon strapping equipment to his back.”

“Did they take him?”

“No. He went into the ocean. My man said they made it to shore a few minutes afterwards. They were in the water near each other … spent the night hiding between some rocks. Both lost a lotta’ blood, and it was very cold. My man was unconscious when our people found him. Bacon was gone.”

“The blond guy escaped, I presume?”

“Yes, Sir. Just before my man jumped, he said, he saw him headed in the direction of the Company labs.”

“The enemy got nothing?”

“Nothing but one empty calein chamber.”

“Where was the other detection in which equipment was destroyed?”

“Tenerife, Sir.”

“Thank you, Colonel Qercua.”

“Will there be anything else, Sir?”

“Perhaps later. I’ll send for you. I’d like to be alone now.”

“Yes, Sir. There is one more thing, General.”

“What is that?”

“My man said Bacon asked him to give you a message if he survived.”

“Yes? What was it?”

“He said Bacon wanted you to know that he didn’t expect to find as good a friend as you the next time around.”

The General turned away, saying nothing in response. Colonel Qercua let himself out of the room. He did not see General Aloirav stumble to support himself with his desk.

 

The following day brought extreme terror to the people on the planet. The Company army regrouped. All day “flying dying” filled the skies, as soldiers pushed sick & dead OG troops off the bridges. General Aloirav went walking over the bridges with his NS Corps. Surveying the victory, he came upon some Concern soldiers showing mercy toward some dying OG men. He asked.

“What are you doing, trooper?”

“These men are sick and in pain, General, Sir.”

“Weren’t you informed that your job was to dump dead AND DYING into the ocean?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Is that what you’re doing?”

“No, Sir!”

“These troops were raping, robbing, and murdering us yesterday! Are you daft?!”

“No, Sir!”

General Aloirav turned to the NS man nearest to him and said. “Throw this altruistic vermin off the Pontibus along with our other enemies! Filthy “turn the other cheek” Christian scum!”

“Yes, Boss.”

“General Qercua!”

“Yes, General.”

“Mobilize all your men. Get all the NS, not involved in other battle activities, and scour the bridges. Each time they find scum like this turd, vomiting compassion, dump them over likewise. This war does not end until the OG cultural sewer is as dry as baked clay!”

“Yes, General!”

 

Earth’s primary surface began dealing with the tremendous numbers of dead and dying. Hospitals filled in minutes. They ran out of the necessary antibiotics, salt, and sugar-water, seconds later. Some cholera cases became sick in the morning and were dead by late afternoon.

Hearts just stopped beating without the blood fluidity. Summer flies brought the additional misery of typhoid and typhus. Winds carried the tremendous influx of germs from drying diarrhea heavenward. The mortality was higher than expected for more reasons than just opportunistic infections. Many people had refused prior vaccinations. Commission members counted among them.

Reasons stemmed from the fact that almost all Pontibus residents were still First-Surface refugees. Suspicion and fear of old-government democracy & MMIM migrated too. Many remembered the bogus vaccines for flu, AIDS and hepatitis. Some knew about the early 21^st century governmental depopulation schemes. Sometimes refusals even verged on paranoia. In addition, the bridges were home to many illegal immigrants. They also dared not come forward to get the vaccines.

The mega-dying continued for weeks. It spread from point of infection around the world. No treatment worked. Very few unvaccinated persons were naturally resistant. Moderately healthy as well as weakling died. An extremely small number of very healthy vegetarians survived.

People in otherwise perfect health got burning headaches with red inflamed eyes within minutes of infection. Cold symptoms with voice hoarseness grew worse. Chest pains compounded with uncontrollable coughing. Stomachaches were so bad, people vomited. The violent spasms, however, brought no usual subsequent relief. Retching continued unabated. Morbidity ran the gamut.

Bleeding throats and tongues made mouths crimson with gore. Breathing became strange, noxious. Pain intensified. Living became more difficult. Fevers held high.

Skin flushed, became livid, and produced pustules with ulcers. The sensation of even the most delicate of fabrics became unsupportable. Inner burning caused a mania for nakedness. Many dove into any body of water available to stem their unquenchable thirst. No matter how much they drank, like warfarin-poisoned rats, no relief came.

Altruists festered like inflamed abscesses. Attempting to nurse and administer medical treatment, they died in droves. Their behavior multiplied deaths. The disease appeared to have a vendetta against altruism, doctors, and doctoring.

Insomnia and restlessness ended after about a week of intense fever. Surviving thus far did not mean ending the travail, however. Ulcers and dysentery grew so intense many more died. Those recovering bore the marks of the disease with truncated noses, fingers, and toes. Unrecoverable memories blessed those with residual non-functioning genitals and leprotic extremities. Human suffering appeared to have gone beyond a capacity to endure.

Carnivores would not consume victim’s flesh. Many of those that did, died. Globally, birds of prey almost disappeared. A survivor recalled. “Vultures reproduced faster than rats. Snow white hatchlings turned black faster than a politician’s soul.”

Their dark hooded forms blessed terra firma and the nascent pre-humeal crop. Dying victims staggered in the streets, searching for water. People died tottering and reeling. Others heaped up bodies on the First-Surface or pushed them over the Pontibus’ sides. It gave a new meaning to the term “dropped dead”.

Poorer First-Surface residents usurped funeral pyres of the wealthier. Some rich survivor would acquire enough wood to build a pile on which to burn a loved one. Weaker people would toss upon it, theirs, or another’s, dearly departed. Even pyres already burning hosted new stranger’s bodies. Without ceremony, interlopers stacked private parties one on top of another.

The plethora of bodies extinguished many a conflagration. Incendiaries moved on, too weak to try again. Shortages of lime and cement developed within hours, and the stench became as ubiquitous as Yahweh. The most horrible effect was the resulting despair. Hopelessness further depressed resistance, increasing mortality of friends and neighbors. Gloria said to General Aloirav.

“All succumb with equal rapidity, rich & poor, good & bad, politician & human, Christian & living soul. Soon-to-be-dead grow indifferent to all legal and religious rules. Lawlessness of either Man or God, reaches levels, even for the First-Surface, I’ve never before seen.”

People feminized spiritually, spending whatever money they possessed on all types of frivolous indulgence. Just pleasure held value. Honor or having a future seemed too ridiculous to contemplate. No one believed they’d live long enough to experience either punishment or reward.

Gloria and Elan were busy for weeks, pushing bodies off the platforms. Company factory barges collected corpses from ocean boats. The barges were floating industries, turning cadavers into dried protein (humeal) for Pontibus farms and fisheries. Desiccators and comminuters on the land couldn’t handle the supply side. Get-rich-quick shysters peddled ersatz desiccating and comminuting equipment.

Most soon went bad. Others continued, crippled but operational. It meant too much lost in corpse currency to eschew such work. There were not enough investors to handle the tremendous humeal commodity storage & distribution costs. Dried protein powder accumulated under canvass and PHB plastic sheets.

Former churches became dead-dust warehouses. Sacks of humeal filled Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris within one week. People coming to worship encountered the new anti-superstition squads. They either left in a hurry or helped “fill” a church in another fashion.

Rains brought cadaver-concentrate spoiling smells and new putrefying gases. The ensuing amalgamated stenches soon became unbearable. There was nowhere to turn. All over the world bodies piled up, waiting for vultures, burning or processing.

Elan’s spirits kept up, surprisingly, considering the circumstances. Gloria advised him, days prior, as to changes that would occur. Scheduled stages in the mega death, when expected, were thus easier to handle. As the war continued, he grew psychologically. His demeanor developed, taking on the appearance of a young prince.

Elan said to his great great grandfather during this period. “The dying gain no special knowledge, over the rest of us, Grampa. Contemporary religious superstition regresses into greater ignorance and even older superstitions. The few survivors that develop immunity hold on to these superstitions. Sub-humans seem incapable of reason & spirit.”

Gloria also added to Elan’s knowledge of the past. He learned more about how his great great-grandparents, Lester Frye, and the New Society changed history once.

Gloria told him about the USA-controlled, death worshipping culture that needed destroying. She explained how they saved the human and sub-human race, other animals, and plants from extinction. Gloria related how the Company and the New Society fought mutual enemies over the years.

They discussed strategy and tactics. The young man learned he would rule the World someday. She presented many illustrated ideas and concepts young princes need to know. Her factual stories came from personal experience, packing her missed grandmother-hooding into their few weeks together.

Dying subsided after a few months, and the two made periodic trips back to the New England Pontibus. The Company was making a perfunctory attempt at getting invasion-pillaged belongings back to their rightful owners. The pillage-compensation promise-attempt was an exercise in futility. Most people engaged in First-Surface looting themselves, and only the very greedy pushed the General’s compensation promise. Pontibus residents were all much wealthier than before the invasion, and everything was humming along quite well.

It was a cold and windy day after Christmas. The tottering old-government mustered just enough survivors to contact the Company. Their unconditional surrender relinquished all outposts and lifted all sieges. Since none existed, the message was essentially gratuitous. All banks, to which the Pontibus was mortgaged, were now property of the Company, and all possible foreclosure jeopardy ended.

The powerful carrion merchant families were dead or silent. MMIM was broken, little more than a memory. Since the Trilateral Commission owned many modules on the Pontibus, the privileged prior immunization was available to them. Where members accepted vaccination, it was still intact. Membership rolls, depending upon caedere wealth, were secret, as ever. They would be a source of concern for Elan and the future Company.

General Aloirav said. “There comes a point in accumulating great wealth when its seekers lose sight of their goal. Caedere rich invariably forget to question when their ends no longer justify the means. They never get to see that point but rather fall into the trap…the “means trap”. It’s all that justifies their existence. They seek to acquire money for money’s sake. They do indeed acquire it. The disease is human and can strike anyone. It is more invidious than cancer.”

Higher living standards for Pontibus residents did not except the Aloiravs. General Aloirav took time off from work and helped move his descendants into new lodgings. The module complex the Aloirav dynasty chose belonged to a former Commission member. It was a raised star, centrally supported by 5 cantilevers, near the Martha’s Vineyard periphery. Gloria and Rav’s new domicile was beautiful, even for the Pontibus, and they discussed the future together there.

Conditions created multi-trillion-aires overnight. Their numbers got to be 200 times greater than before the pestilences’ advent. Former paupers lived in relative luxury. There were no more paupers. The new culture prohibited mendicants.

Elan visited the Andirobal enclave. Former inhabitants were all gone. The remaining sub-humans succumbed to the Company instituted epidemic. The Aloirav beachfront hotel was now Elan’s headquarters. He managed his patrimony from there.

Gloria and Rav wanted Elan to experience clearing the bridges in the southern hemisphere of anarchy. They felt anarchy to be but a few degrees less disadvantageous to the planet than the democracy curse. Returning to the area with high hopes and energy, Elan chose Company generals to accompany him. He picked those 26 most admired by his great great grandparents.

His authority was not yet absolute. General Aloirav and the Council expected him to follow their directions. The sparsely settled South Atlantic and Pacific bridges also did not need his newfound management skills. Once Elan felt comfortable responding to the various ambiguities, he knew he could expect a free hand. The young man dealt with emergencies, requiring judgment calls, by fiat.

His army accompanied him on visits to the First-Surface. General Aloirav wanted no residual problems with the remains of the OG or MMIM. South American governments were overwhelmingly socialistic before the war. The Aloiravs felt such machinations to be deadly for the planet. Along with their democracy progenitors, they wanted eradicating.

The extra-Pontibus First-Surface became an Aloirav fiefdom. Biosustainability reigned. Everywhere, without the human cancer, the planet responded to new lifefulness. Rainforests regained health and green flourished. Savannas began to grow into secondary jungles as primary reclaimed its former domain. Habitats returned and proliferated.

At times, Elan encountered poverty, and he acted quickly. Ascertaining its cause to be the usual, he never wavered in his responsibility. Wasters, nonvindictive, mentally retarded, alcoholics, addicts, and the superstitious did not escape his wrath. The portable humeal factories came when called, and he eradicated all the defective sub-human elements.

Just because one was not poor or morbidly rich did not mean instant well-being. Harboring handicapped and genetically deficient sub-humans precipitated an instant dismissal of life’s burden. These crimes, he defined as perversion. Perverts and missionless wasters entered the same humeal facility as the bio-freaks.

Great men are they who see that spiritual is stronger than any material force, that thoughts rule the world.           Emerson

 

Chapter Eighty

Elan left soldiers on the southern hemisphere First-Surface. They were to insure that poverty and the democracy disease did not revisit. He returned to the New England Pontibus for the holidays. His first stop after visiting his great great-grandfather was a visit to Brenda. On the way, he noticed that the Company was taking over all old-government ships, planes, and vehicles. OG ordnance fell into its hands without resistance.

All First-Surface procurement resumed. The current invasion of the Pontibus they now measured in metric tons of humeal. The Company never again paid another cent of tax money or interest. General Wilks found himself the new governor of the former territorial USA. General Qercua became his counterpart in Europe. With the reduced world population, feudalism returned. The Aloirav dynasty strengthened.

Other NS people, meriting rewards, also got choice positions of authority. The Company rewarded all the generals signing the “courage list” on invasion day, cashiering their former senior officers. The loyal generals became the top-ranking military leaders in the new World military. Most went with Elan on his anarchy mop-up journeys. He came to know and admire them all. Many became satraps and vassal kings in various former countries.

Heinz failed to immunize MMIM against the Pandora’s Box of General Aloirav. His very small surviving group of minions was all former New Society members, traitors, like him. A few days after the failed invasion, they made a coup against MMIM’s moribund management. Mustering his resources, Heinz took control for a short time. His loyalty weakness worked against him, however, and he lost power to a former MMIM director and a NS colleague.

The director was an immunized Commission member. Heinz rebounded from his defeat. No longer Chairman, the blond man and his entourage made a consolation trip to Andirobal, Brazil. There they met the satraps Wilks and Qercua, relaxing with their harems. The bodyguards of the two generals held Heinz’ group off for a time.

Successful in gaining access to the hotel’s laboratory for a few minutes, Heinz found some of the elixir clones. Having no idea how to culture them, for future use, the man did not despair. He drank what he found. To Heinz credit, just doing that was a feat.

No scientist, he had no way of knowing it was indeed the elixir. The container and the remembered appearance was enough to pique his interest. Tasting a bit, waiting, and then testing more were all the investigation he needed. Heinz lost years of aging in as many minutes.

The two satraps regrouped their forces and made a bold counterattack. They entered the laboratory and surprised the thief. He was still drinking, when king Wilks shot the Erlenmeyer flask out of his hand. There was none left to culture in another milieu. No longer feeling his presence required, Heinz escaped Andirobal with his surviving crew.

The General never needed his four reserve vectors. His own people never became restive. Except for unvaccinated residents, and some sporadic-violence victims, defense of Company & bridges was an unqualified success. Just pockets of idiosyncratic disease-resistant individuals or secluded areas remained here and there. One of those sequestered areas was in Mexico.

Gloria could never return to her progeny with vaccines and cholera antidotes before the war. The OG and MMIM’s interdiction prevented it. Smuggling routes were too far from Mexico to hazard the trip. For days, she and Rav were preoccupied over the situation. After one heroic attempt ended in disaster, almost costing Gloria her freedom, they desisted in further sorties.

The first chance her responsibilities allowed, Gloria returned with vaccines to her grandchildren’s mountain abode. She discovered all but one of her descendants survived the engineered epidemic. Cholera took two others. One of the dead was a child, the half-indigenous little girl that stole Gloria’s heart. The little angel would never again raise crossed baby fingers to her eye in hopes of forgiveness.

Rav was now even more convinced of the need to protect his remaining four viruses from illicit vaccine possession. His days of bioweapon invention were over. Experiences with Hernan and his own Mexican progeny now made some facts clear to him. As bad as his vaccines were to weather, they did protect. What was more, they affected the germ line. Transmission was Lamarckian. Elan would need those four vectors as his insurance against future sub human rebellions.

Although the species was returning to health, contagion was not over. Residual outbreaks continued to reappear for months afterwards, as isolated areas caught the epidemic. Pontibus farms prospered from low humeal nitrogen prices. Survivors collected and processed bodies. New humeal trillion-aires appeared with consistent regularity.

The Company bought and stored the product for planned outward expansion needs. Mr. Otorp commissioned a large new calein bodega just for that purpose. He located it in the warm dark green central interior. Here, with calein production renewed real estate prices grew cheaper by the hour. The central interior was not a good area for investment purposes except in biosustainability. The humidity was too high, but as habitat, it paid dividends by the minute. Human and other species were at last returning to evolutionary health.

One of the last directives General Aloirav gave the military before his resignation was. “Defective & excess sub-humans must no longer drag human and other species down the slippery slope to destruction. The handicapped & diseased must never again strangle out even one life. Life’s vicissitudes are traumatic enough without having to start out defective too.”

He put Elan in charge of a new eugenics system. They allowed no artificial means to prolong a newborn’s life. The child must be able to survive on its own with just the mother as food source. If it could not do so, it went to the humeal factory.

By February, there was over a quarter cubic mile of desiccated sub-human material available. Most of it rested in Mr. Otorp’s solar-energy refrigerated storage depot. By the time they spent it all, the Company no longer needed so much fertilizer. Nitrogen fixation advances answered those needs. The human race saw its numbers controlled at last. Pontibus residents, around the globe, watched the planet grow more beautiful & healthy every day.

Rav Aloirav built a special museum to commemorate his struggle’s cost & success. The human race needed to remember how close they came to bringing destruction onto themselves and all planetary life. The museum’s raison d’ etre was to insure that awareness. Uninhibited caedere greed & unrestrained human compassion must never again win the Weltanschauung battle.

As people entered the building’s portal, they read. “The sadness and despair incidental to freak & sub-human protection shall never visit the world again.”

Post war human pop grew to 7 billion in 7 years. As fast as the Pontibus grew, the planet absorbed those numbers. New habitats meant other species stopped dying. Oxygen, the most abundant element on earth, including her protective triplet layer, ozone, grew freer with each passing day. Global warming ended. Some species, thought extinct, even returned. A small frog, the world thought was lost forever, reappeared one day on a Pontibus platform. Human evolution too was back on track.

Mr. Hodges, Sr. Mendoza, and their minions never made it past the first wave of dying. Heinz, ever vigilant to his own safety, willfully neglected to immunize most of his questionable accomplices. He learned much about self-preservation, working with Mr. Aloirav. Returning to a minor leadership position in MMIM’s remains, Heinz collected allies among survivors. He now organized the sole effective opposition to the new MMIM chairman.

 

Mr. Otorp looked out his module’s porthole. He saw Brenda Jane walking down the Avenue, hand in hand, with Chairman Aloirav’s great grandson. Mr. Otorp was not fond of the match, but what could he do. They appeared to be in love. He didn’t believe in wrecking his progeny’s life & happiness because of his own personal prejudices.

Besides, Brenda pregnancy was obvious. Chairman Aloirav would never permit Elan’s statutory rape prosecution and still fix Mab’s ova. Statutory rape & heterosexual pedophilia were First-Surface crimes. Pontibus residents looked upon such prosecutions as discrimination against males. King Wilks would never push a prosecution against an Aloirav family member.

Incredibly, Mr. Otorp was still under indictment there. How could he make a complaint against Elan and assist the prosecution? He couldn’t. The Company still outlawed abortion doctors. So …what good would it do to fight the marriage?

He’d just end up alienating everyone except, perhaps, Mab. Chairman Aloirav was doing them a great favor. There was nobody in the world to manipulate DNA like he. If anyone could eradicate a recessive Tay-Sachs defect from a human ovum, it was that man. Mr. Otorp knew his own sperm would soon be going into one of those eggs.

Mab was giving him some very audacious ideas. She wanted their issuing child to start an Otorp dynasty. It was almost too good to be true. At his advanced age, he would soon be a father again and a great great great grandfather. With his work, no responsibilities to speak of, and his progeny, Mr. Otorp was happy. Being well off and famous, Mab felt he held everyone’s respect.

As age & affluence crept into his life, his ESP dreams faded. Work meant less and less. It was a shame too. He could get all the free research equipment he wanted. MIT lost its entire Khazar faculty in the war. His son was its new President.

Learning how Heinz’ Andirobal assault destroyed the last remaining elixir; Mr. Otorp wasn’t very disturbed. It just meant he should look forward soon to a normal death. He’d lived long enough. Without his dreams, responsibility faded.

Mab was outraged when General Aloirav told Mr. Otorp to resign as Chairman. Mr. Otorp complied. It was not just because General Aloirav demanded the position. Considering the General’s trouble in saving the Company, he deserved some consolation. In addition, there was that embarrassment over the OG’s kidnapping of the General and Gloria.

How Mab got them mixed up in that was hard to believe. How she escaped incorrigible status too, no one could hazard a guess. The new Chairman very much wanted the dynasty to be his own, Mr. Otorp knew. It didn’t seem fair anymore, fighting Elan and Brenda Jane’s marriage. Their love affair would keep Chairman Aloirav’s seed in the realm of the new nobility.

Union with the highest class on the planet, the Otorps, should defuse the man’s apparent jealous anger. Mr. Otorp would no longer object to the Anschluss. Of course, Mab and he would never let Elan rule the World. Chairman Aloirav could not be serious, demanding that. Intermingling with the Otorp name was enough.

Agreeing to perform the recombinant DNA operation with Mab’s unfertilized gamete was a victory for her. It was close to a “no go” for a while. For a time, the Chairman refused to agree to do it. Mr. Otorp and Mab Roth needed to withdraw objections to all Rav Aloirav’s desires first. Brenda’s pregnancy weakened Mab Roth’s hard line stand.

Everything moved forward after that. At Brenda Otorp and Elan Aloirav’s marriage, the Chairman presided. There was no need for the usual ritual. The most powerful man in the world made his own ceremony as he saw fit, saying.

 

“Enjoy each sentiment between yourselves. They are all too ephemeral. We are dirt touched by glory and soon will be dirt again. Our condition is a cruel joke. Set upon Earth with equally powerful drives, love & security, we must feed one off the other. Neither is possible without spending the other to achieve it. The amount of safety you desire is inversely proportional to your love of life. All men want love. They usually settle for respect. Existence is too precious to waste chasing refuge. Gaze & meditate on yourselves, the creatures, trees, sky, and sea. It gives the greatest happiness in life. Ask how and why, but even more, feel the greatness of life unmitigated by cheap pleasure. Let your bodies fill & feel until tears come to your eyes. Make the planet cleaner, healthier, and richer (in terms of plant & animal life) for your children to inherit. They may not understand your actions. So be it. Offer a positive denouement to your sojourn.   Earth and the human race have no direction. You must provide it. The direction needed flows with the courage to change others values. Direct them, come what may. Realize how much alike we all are and be kind to the planet’s life. Fear both the stench of conformity and the negative forces that can make you change your own destiny. Share the music. There are just so many people close to you to impress. Most human life is at a low level of consciousness and has meaning but in death. Nevertheless, do not ever let yourselves become death-worshippers. Make your own lives meaningful while you live. Give your lives to the planet.

Don’t deny it. Altruism is a primrose path, an absolute renunciation of life. No one has an inherent right to be weak. Nature gives no license to incapacity. Stay strong. Fight the motivation of anticipated glory resting with power. Accept the premise that most of your accomplishment must be post mortem. Your punishment will reflect the extent in which you try to do more for life in this world. Accept that punishment. It will make you stronger. Only those whose dreams were too small die satisfied with their accomplishments.”

 

Mr. Harcourt and his daughter survived the war. The Company found the girl in an MMIM safe house among many unvaccinated bodies. The Chairman returned her to his traitor minion. The man’s joy did not last long. He soon discovered his child was unfortunately in the final stages of leukemia.

“Am I going to die, Daddy?” She asked.

“We have some things we can do yet, honey. Don’t be sad.”

“I’m not sad, Daddy. I’m just scared.”

“I know, angel.”

“When I think that I’ll never see you again, I do get sad. I get so sad, I want to cry, and I do.”

“Me too, my love.” Mr. Harcourt replied, patting her hand. He went to the bathroom to bathe his breaking heart in tears. Later, he conferred with the doctor regarding her impending fate.

“She’s so small, so sweet. I cannot bear the thought of her so alone. Perhaps I should go along w/ her, at least to the Heaven turnoff?”

“Meaning by which, you feel you won’t be going there?”

“Oh, of course not!”

“Why do you feel you are so bad?”

“I’ve been in prison.”

“I see.”

“I’ve lived my life the best I know how, doctor, certainly not the Christian way. Never been a weak “turn the other cheek” sort’a guy. I’ve always been a man, always searched for the best path and followed it. They’d never let me in Heaven. Heaven is for soft naive spirits. I wouldn’t want to go there.”

“But you’d want your daughter there?”

“Yes. I want her in Paradise. I’m accustomed to hell. If she must die, I want her soul safe and protected. Not punished along with all those others who tried to make this a better world than we found it.”

“Those are not crimes, Sir, meriting punishment.”

“You don’t understand. Although I’ve always tried to do the “right” thing, I’ve never been very effective.”

“I don’t know. I do know that your daughter’s kidneys are gone. Her condition is terminal. Pontibus hospitals do not do organ transplants, only emergency surgeries. Take her to the 1^st surface, immediately.”

“The First Surface doesn’t do them anymore either.”

“I’m sorry. I forgot. You’re right. I can tell you though when I think she’s got about ½-hour left. You can pay your final respects.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

Mr. Harcourt left his daughter’s bedside to contact The Chairman. He explained his problem but met with resistance. The Chairman wanted no part of Mr. Harcourt’s state of mind. When the latter saw he was making no headway, he said. “Are you not willing to help me because of my betraying you? If that is your reason, let me say this. No matter how hard we try to do our best, Sir, it is never enough. We are wild mice in a glass cage, jumping to escape, like popcorn popping. We, who are but average humans, never get beyond the jumping. Our existence is futile, futile, futile.”

Mr. Harcourt returned to the hospice, very sad. He was not there for more than a few minutes, when a package arrived with Mr. Harcourt’s name on it. He took it into the bathroom. There, he carefully read & complied with the suggestions. As his daughter’s heart beat its last, he finished the prussic cocktail. Setting the glass on the bed stand, he embraced her, and together they entered the bridge.

 

Mab Roth lay in Chairman Aloirav’s hospital on a polymer coated calein table. A special suite of rooms awaited the forthcoming procedure on her. A johnnie covered her naked body down to the knees. The table polymer was tacky and pulled at her naked buttocks. She tucked the johnnie further under her to eliminate the discomfort.

How awkward and embarrassing, having a man one so despised looking at your genitalia. It was almost like his raping her. Mab felt so violated. First, he got to see her nude. Then, his body parts (hands) would enter her, taking out things.

She submitted but under coercion. Ms. Roth wanted assurance that she would never again feel concern for Tay-Sachs. Her offspring, and its, must never know the Tay-Sachs heartache. Chairman Aloirav promised to take out the defective alleles and replace them. Wherever they existed in the egg, he would replace them with good hexosaminidase A cistrons.

Whatever the man’s faults, she felt, he did know his work. Chairman Aloirav would also keep silent about it afterwards. In starting her dynasty, that would be of paramount importance. It was almost too good to be true. Of course, the defect might reoccur.

If so, it would not be her fault. A descendant might conjugate with a new Tay-Sachs carrier. The insularity disease of Jewish superstition would be to blame, not Mab Otorp. Mab need not feel concern about that aspect of her eternity. Precautions would insure against such an event.

Superstition was now a planetary crime. She couldn’t worry about every eventuality that might occur, anyway. Everyone on the Pontibus had such risks to contemplate. Remembering her discomfort, Ms. Roth thought.

“Why didn’t he want a room with stirrups for my feet? He would have so much better access to my vagina and cervix. I think he’s going to enjoy my discomfiture, and so he wants to prolong it.”

She asked for a regular doctor to remove the eggs. He insisted on doing it himself. Mr. Otorp agreed with Chairman Aloirav. So, to please her mate, Mab consented. Nevertheless, he wasn’t going to see her as she looked every day.

Mab insisted the nurse shave off every single pubic hair, before the man arrived. Now, if not for the past childbirth’s slight enlargement of her labias, she would almost look pre-pubescent. Her small nipples added much to that effect. Mab thought. “He isn’t going to get the pleasure, seeing me nude, he thinks he will.

For an astute woman, Mab was sexually quite naïve. Chairman Aloirav entered the room. He asked her how she felt and got the reply. “I’d feel a lot better if this could be done by a real doctor!”

Smiling, the Chairman said. “I know you would, Mabby.”

“You don’t even have a Ph.D.! Your pretentiousness is appalling!”

“You’re so right. I am appalling, and I do not have either an M.D. or a Ph.D. Please stand?”

She sat up; legs close together to swing them off the table. Not attempting to press his advantage, Chairman Aloirav didn’t attempt to see her nude. He didn’t touch her anywhere but motioned to the door. The man just said. “We’re going into another examination room equipped with stirrups. My colleagues seem to agree with you that it would be better.”

“No kidding!” Mab thought. “Why’d he want me on that cold table anyway? Just to add to the torment?”

She walked into the room to which the hospital orderly directed her. A few minutes after the door closed a female doctor appeared. She asked Mab Roth to disrobe and get on the stirrup table. The doctor was examining her, when Chairman Aloirav appeared. He received an angry glance from Mab and saw her about to reach for the johnnie.

It was too far away to grab and on the other side of the doctor. The examiner continued after a momentary deferential acknowledgement of his presence. Chairman Aloirav’s eyes took in every inch of Mab’s naked body. The examination terminated and the doctor left the room, saying that someone else would remove her eggs. The Chairman explained.

“I’ve got some doctors who are going to assist me in the procedure. Do you mind terribly?”

“Would it do me any good if I did?” Ms. Roth asked, humiliated.

With her knees and ankles still spread wide, the Chairman peered deep within her and said. “No. But I thought it would be civil to ask you for your consent.”

“Are you going to let me put on the johnnie or is my nudity still desired?” She asked.

“I prefer you to remain just so for a few minutes.”

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?”

“Very much.”

A new doctor appeared, and Mab endured an uncomfortable procedure. Chairman Aloirav stayed for the process, watching every move the technician made. After each, he recorded Mab’s reactions. Other doctors entered the room, and they opened her up further for their assessment. Her separated legs remained so far apart, and for so long; she got cramps in her hips. When it was all over, Ms. Roth felt certifiably violated.

When the eggs were in hand, Chairman Aloirav said. “You’re welcome to the johnnie now.”

She stood up and yanked the thin piece of material back to herself. Putting her arms in it, Mab covered her breasts and pubic area. She marched over to the nearest chair and, crossing her arms, sat on it. After a time, he looked at her as if with curiosity and said. “You may dress now, we’re all finished.”

Mab jumped up and said. “You won this round. I’ll not deny that. I’ll win in the end, you bastard.”

The Chairman smiled and said. “I’m very sorry you feel that way. We were as careful as we could be. I’m sure we’ll be successful. I know you must feel violated. For that, I’m sorry. I did enjoy seeing you naked. You’re very beautiful, and I would be disingenuous if I tried to pretend the contrary.”

She smiled and turned away from him to leave. About to open the hatch at the exit, Mab looked back in his direction. He was still watching her. There was a strange smile on his face.

 

A few hours later, Chairman Aloirav was in his new lab. Mab returned with a vial of Mr. Otorp’s masturbated sperm. She expected her egg would no longer produce the Tay-Sachs lipidosis. The woman was correct. The egg’s potential GM2 gangliosidosis, due to the absence of hexosaminidase A genetic material, no longer existed.

Contrary to Mr. Otorp’s & her belief, however, he never site-specifically mutated the eggs’ nuclear genetic complement. Of Mab Roth’s original eggs, essentially just her mitochondria survived. Viable enucleated clones now stood ready for co-fertilization and re-entry into her womb. She wanted to watch him fertilize her reconstituted eggs. It was the final procedure prior to introducing the chance of delivering a healthy child.

Taking the vial out of her bra, where it kept warm, Mab gave it to Chairman Aloirav. Taking it, he made a show of placing it inside an incubator. After closing its door, Chairman Aloirav turned to her and said. “Well you’re soon going to be a mother again.”

“Yes.” She replied, not expecting such a warm response from him. Looking down, so that he didn’t see either her vulnerability or gratitude, Mab said. “I’m afraid to let myself get excited.”

“Don’t be. Everything will be fine. I know what I’m doing. I’ve replaced many genes with other genes. I could almost do it in my sleep. It was a piece of cake. I guarantee just healthy hexosaminidase A cistrons will grow in your egg. As soon as I get fertilization, and know it’s dividing right, I’ll call you. You can come back, and we’ll get it attached to your uterine wall.”

It took some dissembling for her to believe she couldn’t stay and watch the fertilization. The man convinced her it just wasn’t going to happen. Mab resigned herself to waiting away a few more hours. She couldn’t resist saying. “I know you didn’t want this. You don’t like me… I want to say… anyway… Thank-you.”

Without any apparent animosity or regrets, he smiled and said. “You’re quite welcome.”

For a moment she wondered about something and asked. “When I was here before, you said, you found me beautiful. Why didn’t you ever find me attractive too?”

“You are indeed beautiful, Mab. And I always found you very attractive.”

“Why didn’t you let me know that? Why were you always so cruel?”

“Ah, my dear, that is another matter altogether.”

“What do you mean?”

“Beauty is so common.”

“People say Gloria was very beautiful when she was younger. Wasn’t her beauty “so common” too?”

“Gloria was beautiful. To me she still is. I forgive her that.”

“Forgive her! Her beauty?”

“Yes. It made her very feminine, illusory, masking her true value. I didn’t need her to be ugly to see that. She had something so many women do not have and never learn. She is so very special to me.”

“How is she so special?”

“I don’t think you could understand.”

“Try me.”

“She took her own counsel.”

“Many women do. I do.”

“No. You don’t. You take the counsel of your peers, parents …others. You …do not exist.”

She stormed out the door, thinking. “Oh, I hate that man! He gives me the shudders.”

Chairman Aloirav saw she was out of the room and returned to his lab. He locked the door and went over to the incubator. Taking out the Otorp semen, he held the vial up to the light. Smiling, he tossed it into the biohazard disposal bag, saying. “You’ve left enough DNA here, Mr. Otorp. Now it’s Lester’s turn.”

None of Mr. Otorp’s genetic line would be involved, and very little of Mab’s remained. Bending over the tissue culture well, Chairman Aloirav scrutinized Mab’s anucleate eggs and mitochondria. He then inserted one of Lester’s healthy sperm heads. Satisfied all was going well, the man walked into the bathroom and masturbated. Later that day, a number of Frye-Aloirav zygotes appeared. That vital twisted dying orgasmic moment of human reproduction occurred, muted and sterile. Except for Mab’s mitochondria, the zygote divided with Aloirav – Frye DNA alone. United in life, the two would now be together for eternity.

 

In surviving the war, Mr. Leion learned a great deal, but it shook him. There were still days when the overpowering wind-carried stench made him remember. The OG & MMIM soldiers beat and robbed him. He never kept loaded firearms in the house. The prison cabal never showed to protect their investment in him.

Seeing a mega death does strange things to a man’s psyche. Not all men react in similar ways to such phenomenon. Many become libertines and others get more sober-minded. Mr. Leion became more contemplative and now wanted to make the world a better place. He wanted to work to undo some of the damage his past greed and self-centeredness did. It wasn’t that he felt guilty. He just thought he could have done things that were more positive.

Walking down the path toward his ponds, he lapsed into a soul-searching reverie, thinking. “All that matters in life is how its active aspect shakes out. How my moment in space settles into time’s ultimate test is the real question. Why didn’t I see that earlier? Should I return, one day, will the world be a better place? If so, will it be, in part, because of me? Am I doing enough? Is my existence positive?”

Lying down on his pond’s grassy side, Mr. Leion continued his self-absorbed contemplation. “That’s what it’s all about. Like Otorp, I’ll spend my life’s finale in positive action. I’ll make a better world for children, and I’ll protect habitats”.

Mr. Leion’s interest in antiques pulled him away from his new aspirations. He was getting fatter, older, and more tired. Although the man wanted to do selfless work, the necessary energy was not there. He didn’t even have enough gumption to participate in the First-Surface looting. It brought frustration that compounded with his new penurious state & interpersonal pain.

Having associated with Sr. Mendoza and Hernan’s group ate at him. His perceived lack of eternal impact, loneliness, and guilt plagued him. He wasn’t a religious man. The war, however, made him much more spiritual, and Mr. Leion thought. “When you’re young you lose life’s blessings through fear & ignorance. When old you have to fight the sadness and regret.”

Mr. Leion couldn’t stop soul-searching, judging himself. “Am I a plus or a minus to the planet? Is humankind better or worse off for my having lived? These are the questions I should find of concern. Why am I forever tormented by other matters?”

The grass underneath him pricked his body, as his conscience pricked at his spirit. He felt a cold shiver, having nothing to do with temperature, run through his body. It was that trembling feeling the man sustained sometimes before the vision appeared. He often saw himself as an apparition, being watched.

It was as if he were in an imaginary police-questioning-room. There was an invisible curtain separating him from the police. The police were not police but spirits. It was a spirit world, outside the curtain. The spirits were watching him. He shook his head until the hallucination went away.

Personal introspection, his inner goals, and struggles meant more to him than larger human values. His mind filled now with uncomfortable questions. “What will my life have signified hundreds of years after I’m dead and gone? Will it matter that I was once famous for that marketing trick I invented? How important is it that I’m poor now and was once well heeled, thin, and svelte? Who will care if girls once considered me good looking? How far will it take me that I was a BMOC and on the rugby team? What purpose will it serve that my sex life was once exciting? That I enjoyed good meals and have good taste? What does X amount of pleasure and Y of pain, while living, count when one is dead & rotting? Six months from now? In a thousand years?” Rolling to his left, right hand dripping with water, Mr. Leion ruminated. “Nothing. Meaningless. All that matters is miles removed from all those things.”

He looked up, startled by a noise behind him. Next to the dwarf apple tree, obscured by a slight mist moving in, stood a blond man. They met once, on Invasion Day. Mr. Leion remembered and greeted the fellow. “Hello? Mr. Heinz isn’t it?”

“Yes. You have a good memory.”

“Thank-you. What brings you here today, Sir?”

“Business.”

“It appears my condensers are failing. I’m sorry about the mist.”

“Think nothing of it. I took the liberty of shutting them off myself.”

“You did?”

“Yes.”

“But why?”

“Fog suits my purpose here better.”

“I don’t understand, I guess.”

“I suppose not.”

Never having understood crime’s nether world of desperation, he just thought Heinz’ visit somewhat unusual. Lumbering to his feet, Mr. Leion walked toward the tree against which Heinz leaned. The two men talked about small things for a few minutes. Mr. Leion asked how long before the woman would return. Heinz told him she was dead, and they continued to talk.

Heinz looked around at the fog. It was much thicker than when he first arrived. They talked, until visibility went down to about ten feet. Heinz said. “We don’t need you anymore.”

“What? Why?” Mr. Leion asked, stunned at the sudden change of direction in the conversation.

“No one for you to watch.”

“Otorp? He’s still powerful in the Company, isn’t he?”

“Doesn’t exist.”

“Since when?”

“Since ’bout 15 minutes ago.”

“Can’t I do something else for you?” He asked, afraid even to think what a discharge from the cabal entailed.

Heinz pulled out a pistol and screwed on the silencer, saying. “No.”

Glancing once at the weapon, Mr. Leion remembered the accountant on the prison spur. Until Heinz appeared, it seemed long ago. Now it seemed like yesterday. Many thoughts that should have rushed through his mind right then didn’t. All he did was back away from the pistol with his arms at his sides.

Mr. Leion moved toward the fishponds with his palms facing it. Stumbling, he fell backwards into the pond. Scrambling to get out, he stopped. Heinz shook his head and said. “Don’t worry about it. Needn’t put yourself out. Stay right where you are. I can do what needs doing just as well with you there.”

Mr. Leion looked up at him, begging for life with his eyes, to no avail. Water dripped down his baldhead and onto his face. The pond water was indistinguishable from heavy perspiration. He said. “Please don’t. I’m sure I can be of further use. If you’ll just give me the chance. I’ll find something. Please don’t. Pl…”

The pistol cracked just once. A small blood ooze, emanating from between his eyes, filled some forehead wrinkles. His head jerked backward, as he slipped down into the water. The now ridiculously cross-eyed corpse stayed under the water for about three minutes. Then, Heinz bent over the pond.

He pulled the fat body out and laid it on the turf along the pond’s edge. Every inch the professional, he took out a knife and gutted the corpse like a fish. Removing the lungs from the carcass, Heinz separated them. Throwing each over the edge of the platform, he decapitated the body and removed the fingers.

The strabismic eyes appeared to stare fixedly at the hole between them. The gruesome head, he flung over the platform’s opposite side with the fingers. The headless, fingerless, and lungless body Heinz rolled to the edge and also pushed into the sea. It caught on a pier. Balancing momentarily, it soon catapulted after its missing counterparts.

Heinz watched for a second and said. “One less human being to parasitize the earth.”

He ripped out the platform’s plastic water feed tube, where it entered the fishponds. Putting his thumb over the tip, Heinz spray-washed the area. He washed blood clean from his hands, feet and the platform. When finished, the man replaced the tube and left.

The sharks off the Stellwagen bank would finish the cleanup for him.

Months passed. The Aloiravs were spending one of the last warm October days at their Luz module. They gathered on the garden platform for lunch. The old patriarch held his new descendant, while his proud great great grandson looked on with pleasure.

“Isn’t he handsome, Grampa?” Elan asked.

“He’s my Moorish nose and cheekbones. I have to agree with you.” Chairman Aloirav answered smiling.

“No prejudice there at all.” Gloria said with mock sarcasm.

“None at all.” Sue agreed.

Brenda came up to take the baby, but Chairman Aloirav held on to him. It was a little longer than was comfortable to the mother. Gloria saw it and said. “Aloirav, leave the baby be. Can’t you see the mother wants to take him? It’s October, and the child needs a sweater!”

Chairman Aloirav relinquished the child and turned to his grandson, asking. “How’s everything going now with you and the Council?”

“Fine, Grandpa. Your word was all I needed. They accept their position of fealty to the Company. Those papers and the war left them without doubts as to your prerogative.”

“Don’t you believe it! They’re out to get us. Remember that, Elan.”

“How can you be so sure, Rav?” Gloria asked. They always seem so polite and gracious.”

“You don’t know how hard they fought to keep me in the box, Gloria. You never would have even left Spandau if it had been up to them.”

“You’re right. I let just a little time pass before I was ready to forgive. Shame on me.”

“You can’t ever weaken like that, Elan.” The Chairman said. “The Company runs the bridges as a free-enterprise oligarchy. We use a de facto maritime law that comes very close to the definition of fascism. The Pontibus is an aristocracy, and it works. The human factor and entropy, however, have their say.”

“They accept my authority as Governor.”

“That’s all you need for now.”

“The NS gave me their allegiance last week.”

“That’s another matter.”

“Your involvement during the invasion and afterward got you that.” Gloria said.

“Saving your future wife’s life went a long way toward your acceptance their too.” Chairman Aloirav said.

“Aloirav! You’ll give him a big head.” Gloria said, turning to Elan. “Don’t forget, young man. Your grandfather’s reputation and character got you your position. These people are not squares. They smell weakness a mile away. If you ever show it, they’ll expect some coup, very soon, or be all over you.”

“I know, Grandma. I’ll not let you down. I understand the responsibility, and the need for ruthlessness. I won’t forget what you told me.”

“I know you won’t.” Gloria said smiling, patting him on the arm.

“Elan.” The Chairman said. “Those people in the NS section are small men. Men without missions, as are all sub-humans. Always treat little men with respect – they may prove smaller than you think. There’s a tendency to think that the entire human race are just scum – sometimes they surprise you…negatively. They’re far worse.”

“Does that include Andy & Qercua?”

“Absolutely, but remember their loyalty. Loyalty is very important. Little men can be as loyal or more so than people of greater spirit. With loyalty, however, you must decide if it’s loyalty to you or to someone or thing other than you. “

“And act accordingly.”

“Yes. You will need to hire a historian. Research methods that kings & dictators of the past have used to protect themselves from assassins & treachery. Do not get obsessive about it but remember it’s an ever-present adjunct to power. You must be prepared to go at any time.”

“I am, Sir. The war taught me something of the ephemerality of life.”

“Look into the history of men like Osman II. He couldn’t break the power of the Janissaries. Study how Omura failed to eliminate the samurai. You don’t want to end up like them. Then, there are other responsibilities you must keep in mind too, Elan. Don’t forget them.”

“What are they, Grampa?”

“My mind still feels young and fresh. The mirror, however, tells me my body is ready for recycling. I’m ripe. You must be ready, Elan. Soon you’ll be Chairman of the Company. Knowing & controlling yourself is as important as knowing & controlling your environment.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Never ever institute taxation, Elan. When taxes approach 1/3 of income, you have an effective socialistic-communist state, an insupportable tyranny. The bloody Christians and other superstitious death-worshippers will win; the battle for decency will be lost. Fight democracy, taxes, compassion, and religion as you would the plague. They are weakness, aspects of the missionless, dangerous to meaning & survival. They doom their enslaved to extinction. Our species is the advocate & protector of all other species. It’s our mandate until a more evolutionary successful group assumes the responsibility. Three alternatives for the excessively effeminate exist – politics, religion, and faggotry. Never engage in or allow them a foothold. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Grampa.”

“We arrive in this medium without memories from before to either inhibit or advance our work. For our search, we need these quasi robot animal bodies. We discard them when the job’s finished or too much exposure to the toxic environment occurs. Our souls return to another planet or dimension. Our programmed bodies receive daily only enough info to proceed with the assignment. Each of us has a mission. Those who feel no mission lack something and are either animals or detritus. Because subhumans don’t listen to the voice, they bring nothing but pain & sadness into the world. Treat them accordingly, but remember even these beasts merit your kindness where possible. What’s your mission, Elan?”

“To protect and advance life on the planet in General and human excellence in particular.”

“Correct. You’ve much to learn, my boy, but you may have the time to do so. Accept your mission with all your heart. Love & want it as you want your very life, because it is your life, your life’s meaning, and its eternity. Make it a burning sensation, your very essence. What you want most keeps you at its mercy, and so you shall triumph. Fight all attempts to diminish your control. Our species is too deficient to survive yet without help. It needs more time to develop & evolve. The war gave us some wiggle room. You handled the situation on the southern hemisphere quite well. Never again let the handicapped & socialist beasts get a strangle hold. Ferret out and destroy those who use these animals. Compassion is a narcotic and can soon control you. Do not ever let chronic diseases have their way. You must give our species that time, that chance. Never let known weakness come into your realm. You have the position and the power. You, and only you, decide where and when to use them. As I said before, there will come a time when the Council goes bad. The type of choosing they do has a great weakness.”

“What’s that, Aloirav?” Gloria asked.

 

Imagination, not invention, is the supreme master of art as of life…                   Joseph Conrad

Chapter Eighty-One

 

The Chairman answered. “Frye wanted the members picked by acclaim. I see no fault with that, except that acclaim comes very close to the democracy disease. Every democracy that ever existed rotted from within. They sacrifice the best people to the worst, assassinating decent people and running them out of office. The weak, stupid, and rapacious survive their terms of office. Few men are capable of governing themselves, almost none understand genuine custodianship. You are the beacon, Elan. They will look to you. All values must serve protoplasm. You must be ever vigilant with that mandate. Never ever let just herd esteem win a Council position. Popularity must never be a gauge to qualify for leadership. Majorities are always wrong, ALWAYS! The greatest good for the greatest number is a positive goal. The trouble is it always seems to begin and end with Homo alone. Celebrities are nonentities and can never produce the right combination of courage, nobility, style, compassion, wisdom, and non-religious piety. Pandering to the vox populi makes a pol… a whore – not a man – not a custodian. Get rid of pols and their sheep as you would an inflamed boil. Should the Council ever threaten to resign, en masse, allow it. Never re-institute it without removing its democratic-like aspects.”

“How can I do that, Grampa?”

“I don’t know. If I did, I would implement it immediately. “

“I’ll start thinking of plausible ways immediately.”

“Good. Stay above the popular press, Elan. The mendacity will sink you. Newspapers balance the depravity of the masses with the greed of the classes when peddling their lies. When they lose readership & advertising, they get withdrawal symptoms. The truth always suffers. Never allow them the freedom to criticize you against your will. In fact, you give them the criticisms you want people to believe about you.”

“Why not let them criticize freely, Rav.” Gloria asked. “If you’re right you have nothing to fear from the truth.”

“Sub humans can’t handle truth. Criticism will only increase the pressure and at possibly the wrong time. Your position will be a lonely one, Elan. Cultivate strength. Any one, wishing to make the world a better place must be very strong. At times, he must stand alone with the whole population considering him their enemy. That requires great strength of character. It’s why democracies and complete freedom of speech will never make things better.”

“Some NS people asked me how long the “reforms” and dehistorization will continue. I told them I’d talk to you about it.”

“Good answer.” The Chairman replied. “The “reforms” must not stop, ever. Weed out weakness wherever it pops up. Destroy it, even if evolving from your own loins, especially if it comes from you. We still have many enemies. If they should ever get strong again, your friends must feel you are stronger. Enemies can believe in your weakness, but never let them think you so weak it invites attack. “Reforms” are in the interest of biological sustainability and our survival. Never cease in your efforts to break the back of obscene caedere wealth. It translates into power, strength to use against us. It is the source of all injustice. Most of the planet’s sub human survivors still believe in the caedere definition of personal wealth. Such wealth is directly proportional to the amount of sickness and death caused to the planet. One amasses great personal fortunes nearly always only by harming life, converting Nature’s bounty into stone. It’s the residual of low self-esteem, moving subhuman society. Money & death symbols legitimize the underclass. The mistaken impression rapes Nature and diminishes the very society which has such a twisted idea of riches.”

“What about Mr. Gras, Dr. Fargen, and others who made much money from the Pontibus?”

“Mr. Gras died during the war. His children will squander the money away in a generation. Dr. Fargen made no money through caedere exploitation. The Pontibus and planet benefited from his behavior. Allow him to keep it. His descendants will give you trouble someday. Be prepared.

“What about rebels?”

“There will always be armed resistance. Preempt it at once. Nuclear warhead arming devices are available from OG dismantling. Use surgical nuclear blasts to promote culling efficiency. It will produce more mutants than normal Nature does.”

“We want mutants?”

“Yes. A controlled number will be useful. Our species must evolve to survive. Mutants are in some ways like incorrigibles. Incorrigibles are mostly negative but pristine DNA. They may someday provide species advantages. Most mutations too are negative. Pre-war “biologicals” were good examples. Deal with them as you would all negative mutations. Humeal. Should you discover a positive allele, however, introduce it into our dynasty. Biological methods exist to make transhumans more viable than what now exists. Let our human evolution proceed, even if it is we who make ourselves more than Nature intended for us. Dare the soul’s dominion.”

“What about special control, such as defense against treachery and disloyalty?”

“Use the NS as I have. Bioassassination is precise and effective. Just don’t forget that the NS & Qercua’s men are asocial and can themselves be treacherous. I showed you four vectors I’ve never used. Save them for a rainy day.”

“I will remember.”

“It may not happen for a thousand years. However, if the Pontibus growth ever slows, our species is at risk. Make damn sure our DNA is in whatever species, alien or mutant, that rises to dominance.”

“How do I do that, Sir?”

“For the time being, have many progeny. Keep the most perfect women, ages 12-30 years, for yourself and your own male children. World female: male ratio should stay about 5:1. That will keep the young women wanting sex and children. You need all the humans the bridges can support. Many will be lost to your eugenics policy. More life, more biomass, means more beauty. Never allow more humans than the bridges need to grow, however. If resources become a problem, get more stringent with your eugenics constraints. Designate more as handicapped “biologicals”. Continually test for the best sons to continue the dynasty & to administer the Law of One. Never hesitate to destroy your own seed should they prove weak, treacherous, or non-custodial.”

All three members of the conversation gave each other looks, saying much more than words. Chairman Aloirav continued. “Make Biological Sustainability High Priests of all your own non-ruling descendants. Use them as spies to ferret out malcontents and weakness. They can run schools, teaching the missionless sub-humans how to find their missions. Reserve polygamy for your descendants alone. No one must rule, ever, that does not come from our blood – the new nobility or High Priestly class. Read and re-read Plutarch and Plato. Plato was a wise man, living in an insane democracy.”

“Are we philosopher kings, Grampa?”

“Yes. Hoi polloi children should be artisans, soldiers, etc. Controlling the macaques and the cattle will take all your energy. They’re worth it. Cultivate kindness where the situation does not demand cruelty. Through the sub-human medium you can achieve your raison d’ etre.”

“How, Sir?”

“You must use your imagination. It’s the most powerful tool you have.”

“But you’re not the only one that has it.” Gloria added.

“She’s right, Elan.” The Chairman agreed. “It’s Promethean. Subhumans also possess it. Those without missions, who use it, may be enslaved or destroyed without scruple.”

“What about those with missions who use them to the planet’s detriment?”

“Or those who think their mission is to diminish ecological health?” Gloria asked.

“That is part of your mission, as a noble man. You must destroy those so missioned but in error. If the error is genuine, you will prevail. The struggle is Nietzschean.”

“Be careful which of your women you allow to share the elixir.”

“What is that?”

“I will show you. Only you, your great great grandmother, and I know it still exists. Gloria has a mission. She merits the elixir. Most women have only child rearing and mollifying their husbands as a mission. Gloria was of value to the planet all her life, after we met. I don’t know if it was because of her own will or I made it so. It was rare. Admire it. You cannot find a better model for the biosustainable mother than this woman.”

“Thank you, Rav.” Gloria said.

“No. It’s I should be thanking you, Gloria. I never had a better woman or friend. You were such a help to me.”

“You were the first man I ever met that didn’t make me feel my help was wasted.”

“I thank whatever I must for that… Elan.”

“Yes, Grampa.”

“I want you to come with me now. There’s something important I want to show you, alone.”

“Okay, Grampa. Just let me tell Brenda.”

Chairman Aloirav took Elan to a new garden on another Level. The Level was secluded in an area off the normal path. They entered one canopy of vegetation and then another. Underneath the green ground cover, over a platform, came a stream of clear water. The water fell into a 24 thousand liter pool.

“Do you see it, Elan?”

“No, Grampa.”

“In the water. Look down deep, beneath the air bubbles.”

“It looks like a tree growing, an apple tree.”

“It is an apple tree, a type of thorn apple. The apples are unlike any you’ve ever tasted. They’re the golden apples of the Hesperides. The secret for growing them is in this paper.”

The Chairman handed Elan a sheet of calein fabric and said. “Memorize it. Practice. Learn. Respect and fear them. When you feel you have realized enough of your objectives, put your most capable son in power. Give him the apples with your wisdom. As I’m doing now, to you.”

The Chairman gave Elan an apple and another calein sheet, saying. “Before you do, have him read this. I found it long after Lester died. He buried it in the stock papers he signed over to me, after I left prison. It’s my gift to you to keep with the elixir apples and the secret of their growing.”

 

My dear friend: A parting thought. Be careful how you use the elixir. It may be much more concentrated than we thought. There may also be other effects proportional to frequency of use or even concentration. Those who take it may get more than just enhanced longevity. It may affect will & dream realization.

Partakers of greater quantities accomplished much more with their lives, far more, than what was normal. You and I did much much more than we can attribute to simple enhanced longevity alone. You and I took the most. We used more will, realized more of our dreams, and accomplished more. Both of us went mad for a time. Otorp took less than we did but more than the others. Look what he accomplished in his lifetime without going mad?

I ran into a problem with my reasoning: Gloria appeared to accomplish less than we did, yet she took as much as you and I. Could my hypothesis be inaccurate? Gloria’s experience shatters it, I thought. Then I deliberated more. She too was accomplishing her dream, her will. Her dream was you, Rav. She loved you, lived for you. It was for you she did what she did and later she added to you your children. All of you survived beyond all odds, still do.

For a time, I thought I was going mad again. Then I contemplated on the madness. Is it a residual of too much burden, too much life? Could it be a result of too much elixir or elixir compounded with too much suffering from responsibility for life? Were you and I on a figurative liquid oxygen powered roller coaster?

I don’t know if you’ve also thought about these matters, but here’s something else. Something, I feel, may skirt the supernatural. The elixir may have a will of its own. No! Don’t reject what I’m saying out of hand, Rav. Listen to me.

Remember once you told me your thoughts concerning a planetary immune system? Could it be? Could the elixir be the Bible’s Tree of Life? Is it a fruit intended just for those motivated by pure positive life endeavors, a divine mission? Perhaps I alone found it, via a dream, because I dedicated more of my life to saving protoplasm on earth than others did. I gave it to others. Was my Promethean deed some kind of a violation? Did it hang me out to writhe in recompense, even retroactively? Did it punish me for possessing human morality? How much power does the stuff have? Is it alive? Where is it leading us? Is it God’s blood? Is it the Devil’s blood? Think about these things, Rav. Remember who cloned it.

 

“Who cloned it, Grampa?” Elan asked.

The Chairman just smiled, and they returned to the others. Brenda was in the kitchen when she saw them enter and called out to Elan. “Elan, I want to go. The baby wants a nap.”

“All right. I’m coming.” He replied.

“Elan. One more thing.”

“Yes, Grampa.”

“Many people in the world believed in the old USA because of its WWII image. The US abused everyone, because a false impression carried the day. It was unfair but real and biological. The same may happen to you. Age imprisons and liberates us all. A power, you don’t deserve, may carry you. As you grow older, you will also find it easy to accept much personal motivation coming from fear. Don’t yield to either force. The time will come when you have just your dreams to guide you. Remember you were beautiful once.”

They said their good-byes. Sue Aloirav & Elan’s father, Jason Aloirav and his wife, Gretchen and all the grandkids & great grandkids remained with the old couple. Jason looked like something was stuck in his throat, and Chairman Aloirav said. “All right, Jason, out with it. What the hell are you so sour about?”

“Tell him, Jason!” Sue said, nudging him forward with her right elbow, when he hesitated

“I will, I will!”

“We…ell.” Gloria coaxed.

“We’re…or rather, I’m concerned about something Elan told me.”

“What did he tell you?” Gloria queried.

“He told me he and Dad are planning to do something with the baby.” Jason said.

“And what might that be?” She said, looking at Chairman Aloirav.

Chairman Aloirav said nothing, so Jason continued. “He told me that Dad and he are plotting to marry the baby to Mab Roth’s little girl.”

“My stars, Aloirav!” Gloria exclaimed. “The child’s not even born, and you’re already laying out her future.”

“We were discussing it in passing, while going over the laboratory inventory. His molecular course and the vectors just brought to mind the dynasty.”

“Why of course.” Gloria said. “And I suppose that you discussed his embryology course too?”

“No, why?”

“It would just bring up the other fact.”

“What fact might that be, Gloria?”

“That the child’s bitch mother will be doing everything in her power to frustrate that eventuality. Otorp’s assassination gave his widow more time to plot against us and our position!”

“She hasn’t got a chance in hell of prevailing, Gloria. I wanted Elan aware of the damage she can do. Since he’ll rule alone someday, he must attend to all matters of control. One must not take descendants lightly. The girl has Frye-Aloirav DNA in her. She will be right for the family. If not one generation, then another. I want Lester’s DNA in the dynasty as soon as possible.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with it.” Sue said. “Jason must be stuck on bourgeoisie romantic love.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Jason asked.

“Not a thing, baby.” Gloria said. “It makes me happy you’re bothered by your father’s genetic avariciousness.”

“Bullshit!” Chairman Aloirav said, in mock anger. “Bullshit!”

“With you and me around they’ll be hard pressed to forget things that matter.” Gloria said, looking at Chairman Aloirav, and putting her arm around her son.

“Bullshit!” Chairman Aloirav said again, smiling.

All the Aloirav kin left soon afterwards. Chairman Aloirav and Gloria watched them go. When the old couple was alone, Gloria bent over to pick up the used glasses on the table. Chairman Aloirav interrupted the work, embracing her and saying.

“You know. Your talking about “what mattered” a few minutes ago started me reminiscing.”

“What about, Rav?”

“That time, after your first job with the New Society, when we went off together.”

“In Guanaja?”

“Yes. Our first time. Do you still remember it?”

She turned, looking up to answer him. “Like yesterday, my lo…”

The shots, cutting off her last word, rang out from the kitchen. She saw his mouth filled with blood and felt him draw her bullet-torn body closer to his. Blood and flesh spurted over the platform turf. The grotesque jerking continued until the rounds, entering their bodies, stopped. Blood & bits of flesh covered everything in sight.

A man approached the corpses. He moved each one with his foot. “They’re both dead, Mr. Heinz.”

“No shit! Over fifty rounds in each. Try’n get outta’ that prison, Aloirav!” The old man growled while turning to leave the module. The other three men, standing in the kitchen, followed him.

The glasses, Gloria almost picked up seconds earlier, covered the turf in shards. Chairman Aloirav’s remains crumpled in a heap near the overturned table. His right arm lay outstretched under Gloria’s left arm and head. Nestled in the crevice between his head and shoulder her still body rested. As on that day in Honduras, so long ago, when their love began, so now.

Having mingled for years in their children, their blood intermingled once again. Leaving their bodies, the little rivulets came together toward the edge of the platform. Spilling over the edge, they hit a lower platform. From there, continuing to the right, over another edge, they entered the wind. It carried the diminishing droplets, until they struck the water and disappeared.

 

Whatever you can do, or think you can do, begin it, for boldness has genius, power, and magic in it.                 Goethe

Chapter Eighty-Two
Epilogue
Elan G. Aloirav’s Journal Entry
2251 GT

My grandfather, the King, is dead. The greatest warrior, that has ever lived, is gone. Why was he so great? He fought harder, killed more? Yes, but more so, because he chose to fight the most dangerous enemy to ever exist… the missionless subhuman. He fought and conquered the politician, the socialist, the religionist, and the elite caedere opulent. He won the battle for human potential and our evolution. The foregoing has been his life, his story, and his dream.
Gazing at the evening sky, one speculates that a large paper bag encloses the atmosphere. Stars are but pinholes in that bag, letting light shine into our fishbowl. Like glorified tilapia, we creatures serve but as marionettes. Raw Nature appears cruel and merciless, but she’s mere mechanism. We are souls, put into a salt solution, sent to pluck a world out of the ether. Our ultimate question must always be…have we plucked well?
Dreams come from another planet, messages return in a similar manner. After transmitting daily events, mental tapes rewind for the morrow. Nightmares are adventitious effects of mission-perceptive machinery. Imagination is not, as love or hate, just another natural biochemical force. Hunches are messages concerning our mission.
Every generation has great souls affecting, with special knowledge, Nature’s meanderings. Our time technology is cumulative. It’s not so big a jump from the world inside us to the world of the molecule or the universe. The wave-particle light enigma is less recondite than the fate-chaos determinant of human existence. Recreating ourselves takes many forms.
Ever increasing cognizance accompanies availing ourselves of the future’s birthright. We must choose changes in ourselves, and our ancestors, making for a better world. Such is evolution, physically Darwinian, Lamarckian in spirit. Eddy currents, accumulating knowledge, shrink. Requisite collection pain diminishes. Kindness searches come to fruitful ends.
The hardest spiritual exercise is to imagine a universe of nothingness. Think beautiful thoughts. Dream wonderful dreams. The need for dwelling on ugliness will decrease.
Intron DNA allows interacting with past & future people & events. Reducing mean times between individual unit exchanges and reanimation means fewer errors. There was little editing time for my first conscious cerebral-cortical wave translation. We sometimes attempt practical application of new technologies under extreme pressure.
Time no longer seems boundless, as my present unit approaches the knowledge phase border. I’ve insufficient repose to record further recollections or programming particulars. Essential elements are in the message. They must suffice. The technical information will expedite developing the next organism most able to sustain improved calein DNA.
The world is not much less brutal than two millennia ago, but modern conditions enlighten and diminish planetary distress. Creeds are gratuitous, no longer ensnare. Religion, whatever form, is nothing but fear, superstitious excuses for irresponsibility. Churches are pavilions for the purposeless, repositories for the missionless, reservoirs for those without meaning in their lives.
What need do they fill, now that people have more control over their animal nature?
Christianity, Judaism, and Islam are insidiously pervasive swindles. The Christianity legend, cleansed of blind faith & ignorance opens for eradication. Ponder on the evolutionary advancement & opportunity lost by beliefs in Christ or “Allah”. Set aside those millions of lives destroyed by cruel discriminations, persecutions, faith wars, etc. Think just of all the lethargy, irresponsibility, and cowardice excused by blaming “God’s will” on imaginary demented deities. Lester Frye almost failed to save planetary life from ecological disaster due to apathy caused by such nonsense.
Evidence once but suggested but now makes it quite clear. Jesus Christ was a clever, if not demented, bloke. The quasi-bastard held a self-serving interest in people never “casting the first stone”. As other alleged pedophilic homosexuals, he operated behind a cloak of love sophistry. His celebrity status and evolutionary perversions pushed him into such tactics.
He proposed that “God”, “Yahweh”, “Jehovah” was “Love”. (Holy Bible, 1 John 4:8). The strategy worked. Long afterward, it continued to deceive the simple. Celebrity sex-crimes, pederastic priest’s trial defenses, Protestant church doctrine, etc. make that clear.
Reflecting on these latter similar unfortunate experiments of Nature, one is tempted to ask. “Are these perversions purposefully hereditary or are such individuals just environmental freaks? Are they even unnatural or criminal? Did they and pedophilia, at one time in the distant past, serve a species survival need? Was the pervert, Jesus Christ, just very affectionate? Or, did he indeed possess a bizarre gratuitous wherewithal to save an endangered race?
The most Bible-banging religionists today scream for depraved blood. These same intolerants would even choose to re-crucify their Savior – hero. How our roots do continue to manifest our animal nature! How little value exists in most trite morality!
A quick glance at the environment devastates Christ’s “God is love” hypothesis. Nature is amoral. Love chemistry holds small sway, serving but to annihilate species diversity in transient human offal. Imagination, another apparent mental-emotional phenomenon is much more powerful. A Christ not “mentally ill” might have chosen “imagination”, instead of love, as his “Father in Heaven”.
Granted, control signals, coming from a far-off planet, are weak. Reception is poor. Many never learn their mission. Yet, fragile as messages are, they, not love, rule the world. The music of our apotheosis is in our dreams. Imagination is not ubiquitous, omniscient, or omnipotent. Neither is the quaint vestigial bestiality called “Love”. Together, linked in service to protoplasm, they are supreme.
There is something intangible, sporadic controlling our destinies. We are puppets, manipulated brutally and ineptly within a toxic medium. Our cerebral cortex is analogous to a super-heterodyne radio receiver. Brain wave phenomenon corresponds in many ways to a master oscillator’s crystal frequency. Clarified audio is imagination.
There is no salvation. No matter what you do or say, you are but a slave. Your masters are in “Heaven”, another planet. They either quasi-control your cortex and your destiny or you are a wild beast. You are at best a radio-controlled macaque, a glorified computer disk – a CD. What is the birth – death experience? It is the manifesting or de-manifesting of a pre-programmed soul into, or out of, an animal body. Interplanetary travel occurs in birth, in death, and in other special times.
It’s not necessary to be a Jew, Christian, Muslim, or Buddhist to achieve immortality. You are doomed to eternity or until your usefulness to the masters is over. “God” is entropy, and the closest you will ever come to your “Creator” is blind obedience. Weak electromagnetic waves control you, an automaton minion.
Such new knowledge may seem heretical, even unbalanced. The sentiment is understandable. To the ignorant and frightened missionless, religion and condescension are the easiest behaviors to assume. The brain must face the emptiness of its existence.

Sic itur ad astra – so shall you scale the stars. Virgil

Now that you’ve read Luz-Bethel, you’ve shared my vision of a great habitat bridge for all life. Carbon taxes and other draconian measures to stop global warming will kill a billion people in the 3^rd and 4^th world. Rothschild et al may kill billions more in democides or engineered simian plagues. If you know of anyone that might wish to make a film out of Luz-Bethel or a YouTube promotion of The Pontibus Journal please ask them to consider it. It might be just the assist we need to save the human race from genocide or an ecological collapse. Could there be any better way to fill your last moments on Earth than with the knowledge that you did your best to save our planet?  I’m down to my last buck and getting old. We can’t wait much longer. Contact me at aloirav@gmail.com.  Do not come visiting unannounced.  I am still a fugitive from Rothschild et al. From time to time ill-wishers come looking for me in Amazonia. You may kill me of fright if you do not advise me first of your impending visit. A bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon would be a great help.

Larry Lee Slot

Copyright © 1995 by Larry L. Slot
Paperbound edition published 2000
Copyright © renewed 2004 by Larry L. Slot
Revised edition published 2005
Copyright © renewed 2010 by Larry L. Slot
Revised edition published digitally in 2010 by Astri – Amanayara Press
Revised edition published digitally in 2013 by Astri – Amanayara Press
Revised edition published digitally in 2014 by Astri – Amanayara Press

Revised edition published digitally in 2015 by Astri – Amanayara Press
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