Barriers

by Patrick Skelton

  “Right.”

  Nathan grabbed the remote and scanned the stations. ESPN27 was airing a rerun of last year’s World Series. It was the 7th inning of the final game and the Royals were down 7-3. They didn’t win the game or the Series.

  Nathan changed stations. Fourth quarter of the Chiefs vs. Raiders game. The Chiefs were getting annihilated.

  “Great.” He pressed again, changing the channel to a black-suited magician standing next to a glass box. He announced that we were in for a real treat; he would be revealing magic’s biggest secrets.

  “Keep it here,” Ian said. “He’s going to show us how that trick is done.”

  Nathan turned the volume down and pulled a chair next to Ian’s bed. “Listen to me, Ian. Your mother and I are doing everything we can to get you out of here. Okay?”

  Ian blinked and looked down.

  “Your mother says you’ve been giving Angelina a hard time when it’s time to eat. Is that true?”

  “I don’t know, I never feel like eating.”

  “You need to eat what Angelina brings you, Ian. Is she bringing you three meals a day?”

  “The food here is nasty.”

  “You can’t afford to lose any more weight. Promise me you’ll stop being so picky?”

  Ian half-nodded.

  Nathan put his hand on his boy’s shoulder. “I have to tell you something, Ian.”

  “What?”

  “I have to go away for a few days, but your mother will be here every day while I’m gone. I promise.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To our family’s cabin in Alaska.”

  Ian’s eyes lit up. “To meet with Gramps?”

  Nathan forced a smile, then looked away. He and Sarah had chosen not to tell their son his grandfather went missing weeks ago and was presumably dead. They hated keeping him from the truth, but it seemed like the lesser of two evils, given the circumstances. Their son didn’t need anything else to crush his spirit.

  “Are we singing ‘Goodbye, Girl’ again today?” Ian asked. “You stopped in the middle last time. Remember?”

  Nathan reached for his guitar. “How about another song you like instead?”

  “I guess.”

  He tuned and began strumming another popular tune. He did all the singing—if it even counted as singing.

  By the third verse, Ian was asleep.

  Nathan caressed his son’s forehead and put the guitar back in its case. At least his performance had been soothing enough to coax him to slumber.

  What now?

  He picked up the TV remote and turned up the volume. The magician was still on, discussing magic’s biggest secrets. Too bad the man couldn't work his magic through the satellite transmission and make Ian disappear from this awful place.

  Nathan tapped the power button on the remote. He rubbed his forehead and told himself to look on the bright side: At least he wasn’t obligated to butcher any more pop songs today.

  He picked up the guitar case, adjusted Ian’s blankets and kissed him on the forehead. “God protect you,” he whispered.

  He left the room and stopped Ian’s doctor in the hallway. “How long does my son have before you take his life?”

  The doctor looked up from his SyncSheet. “Sanctuary Admin notified me this morning that Ian’s Bedside Compassion date has been bumped up to ten days from now.”

  Nathan’s pulse quickened. “What? I thought he had at least eighteen more days?”

  “As I’ve said before, I have no say in the matter.”

  “I want to leave with my son right now…how can we make that happen?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Gallagher, I can’t allow that.”

  Nathan moved closer. “Would ten grand wired to your account this afternoon change your mind?”

  “That’s illegal, sir. I have to decline.”

  “How about forty grand? That’s all I have in savings. Take it and let me leave with my son.”

  The doctor hailed a nurse exiting another room. “Get security.”

  The woman bolted and disappeared around the corner.

  “I’m afraid it’s time you left the premises indefinitely, Mr. Gallagher.”

  Commotion at the end of the hallway.

  “Call off security and let Ian leave with me,” Nathan pleaded. “Kids sneak out of their rooms from time to time, right?”

  Two guards turned the corner and grabbed Nathan’s arms.

  The doctor addressed the largest guard, a meathead with a neck as wide as his face. “Escort this man from the hospital immediately. See to it he and his wife never have clearance to enter again.”

  “No!” Nathan begged, attempting to jerk himself free. “My son needs his mother. Please don’t ban her—”

  “Shut up,” Meathead interrupted, gripping Nathan’s arm tighter.

  The doctor glared at Nathan. “I will follow the law, Mr. Gallagher. Now go home to your comfortable Barrier and don’t come back.”

  11

  “Flight 1023 to Anchorage will be delayed due to a mechanical issue with the solar shielding,” the gate attendant announced over the airport’s intercom.

  Bennie twisted in the seat beside Nathan’s, smacked his lips and continued snoring—louder and with more vigor.

  Nathan downed a mouthful of coffee, then glanced at a flat screen across the corridor. The volume was low and captions were scrolling.

  Dora Cachin, President of American Sanctuary Relief, was interviewing Mervin Wermter, longtime mouthpiece for Rankcon Corporation. From what Nathan gathered, the broadcast was a PR effort on Rankcon’s behalf. Public concerns over the issues facing the Sanctuaries were on the rise.

  “Why won’t Rankcon Corporation release its patent on Barrier technology?” Dora asked. Nathan had always appreciated her tenacity; being compassionate didn’t mean you had to be a pushover.

  Mervin smiled, looking fit for a man pushing sixty. “Our patent assures our 3.2 billion customers that their safety isn’t compromised in order to meet a competitive price point.”

  “Roth Report and Welsh Consultants have both demonstrated that the price of your services could be slashed by seventy percent. Your cartel of investors—a.k.a. the Intergovernmental Congress—would still be exorbitantly rich,” Dora countered.

  “I’m highly skeptical of those studies,” Mervin said calmly. “Even if the costs of building and maintaining Barrier infrastructure could be reduced, how would such an undertaking be financed? Economies in the Sanctuaries are virtually non-existent, nor are world governments in any position to subsidize new Barriers. The Great Reconstruction bankrupted every government on the planet and many are still recovering. Barrier technology is a luxury and must be financed by citizens with proven economic stability. Our customers are vital to the survival of the human race. This isn’t a matter of greed, Miss Cachin. It’s a matter of life and death. Do you understand that?”

  Dora pursed her lips. “What I understand, Mr. Wermter, is that your firm’s product is grossly overpriced according to these studies. Entry into a Barrier city is nearly impossible if you’re born in a Sanctuary. In fact, it’s almost forbidden.”

  “The Rankcon Intergovernmental Partnership offers Barrier maintenance internships to residents in every Sanctuary. Millions of residents each year benefit from these programs.”

  “Less than one percent are selected and relocated to Barriers after working at minimum wage in your Barrier maintenance scams,” Dora snapped. “And they’re usually required to leave their families behind in the Sanctuaries.”

  Mervin shifted in his seat and adjusted his tie. “Rankcon Corporation believes our outstanding services are affordable to those with stable, viable incomes. Our firm is responsible for the continued preservation of humanity and we don’t take that responsibility lightly. Rankcon Corporation wishes it could assist every struggling person in the world, but it simply cannot.”

  “You mentioned the Rankcon Intergovernmental Partnership. Let’s discuss t
hat in more detail, shall we?”

  “If you wish.”

  Dora re-crossed her legs. “What’s your opinion of the Partnership’s refusal to erect more agriculture Barriers? Surely your cartel has made enough money to commission a dozen more agriculture Barriers to alleviate the vegetable and grain shortages in the Sanctuaries.”

  “No comment.”

  “It isn’t about lack of funds at all, is it, Mr. Wermter?”

  “No comment, Miss Cachin. Rankcon Corporation is not in the business of speculating the motives of the government entities we partner with.”

  “But you are,” Dora said. “Why do you think the United States refuses to withdraw from the Intergovernmental Congress and deem your infinite patent on Barrier technology illegal and unconstitutional? We’ve got a hundred million legal U.S. citizens imprisoned in Sanctuaries. That doesn’t sound like the land of the free to me, Mr. Wermter.”

  Mervin grimaced, but kept silent.

  Dora leaned forward. “Our leaders have finally found a way to keep violence and poverty far from our great cities, haven’t they, Mr. Wermter?”

  “No comment.”

  “The whole Barrier system is really just a gentleman’s agreement between every country in the world. Isn’t it, Mr. Wermter?”

  Mervin stood. “I’ve had enough of this interrogation.”

  “I’m not finished yet, sir. Rankcon Corporation agreed to a thirty-minute interview.”

  He removed the microphone clip from his collar and tossed it aside, then stormed off the stage.

  The broadcast changed to a female news anchor. She explained that the interview was recorded the day before. Rankcon Corporation had released a formal apology for Mervin Wermter’s behavior. No word yet from American Sanctuary Relief.

  Nathan took another swig of his coffee. Well played, Dora. Time would tell if the interview cost Dora her livelihood and possibly her life.

  He stared blankly at the waiting jets outside the windows of Concourse B, thinking about his recent actions in Sanctuary 87 and if they had sealed his son’s fate. Ian was locked inside that horrible hospital and Nathan had no way of getting back in.

  Sarah was devastated, even angry when she found out they were now banned from the hospital. She burst into tears when he shared what had happened, then she slammed the door to their bedroom and refused to talk to him the rest of the night.

  She was right. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so impulsive.

  _____

  Leland Kronemeyer's helicopter approached the Intergovernmental Congress Session Chambers tucked in the southern range of the Andes Mountains. An important, last-minute session had been called. Urgent matters involving Rankcon Corporation needed to be discussed. Leland knew it was related to the disastrous interview with American Sanctuary Relief. He'd kiss up and tell the Intergovernmental Congress that the interview should have never happened, and Mervin Wermter had been terminated. The bureaucrats didn’t know a thing about running a global corporation, and hadn’t made any meaningful contribution to humanity in their entire lives, but what could he do? He needed them and as much as they needed Rankcon Corporation. That's the way things had been since the inception of the Partnership forty years ago, and that's the way it needed to stay.

  The helicopter descended into a valley surrounded by snow-capped mountains, and landed outside the dome-shaped building which was protected by a Barrier restricting its occupancy to a few hundred global elitists. Today, out of obligation, he was one of them.

  “Wait here. I don't think I'll be here long,” he said to the pilot over the whir of the blades.

  The pilot nodded, along with two bodyguards in the back seats.

  Leland stepped off and groaned as the brisk Chilean wind smacked his face. He reached for his cane. Who did they think they were, anyway? At eighty-two years old, he’d grown weary of climbing on and off helicopters whenever they beckoned him. The sooner he got it over with, the sooner he could get back to his tower in the Manhattan Barrier where he ruled.

  A military officer greeted him with an emotionless “This way, sir,” then escorted him to the entrance. They entered a glitzy lobby where Leland swiped his thumb, was given the all clear and escorted to a glass elevator. The blurred panoramic view of green valleys and dark mountains turned to gray concrete as the elevator plummeted deep below ground.

  The elevator stopped and the door opened. He followed the officer down a bright, echo-filled hallway to a metal door. The officer gave a verbal command and the door opened.

  “You're free to enter, sir,” the officer said, motioning with his arm.

  Leland entered the dark Session Chambers and the door closed behind him with a loud thud.

  “Leland Kronemeyer has arrived,” the House Speaker announced. His Russian-accented voice reverberated through the room. A massive glossy table encircled the Session Chambers and positioned the attendees ten feet from each other. Shadowed faces sat around the table, their shiny gold nameplates displaying their titles only. And they were always addressed as such.

  “Fools,” Leland muttered as he hobbled through the darkness, his cane clacking on the marble floor. They thought they were maintaining anonymity, but he knew who they were, where they lived, and how much they made. He should—every one of them held substantial investments in his corporation.

  He located his seat on the adjacent side of the room. It had been his spot for thirty-two years.

  The House Speaker leaned toward his microphone. “Mr. Kronemeyer, will you kindly inform the Intergovernmental Congress why it was not notified of the American Sanctuary Relief interview prior to it being aired?”

  “My people sent the Intergovernmental Congress a memorandum explaining that the interview was a botched PR effort,” Leland said. “Did anyone here bother to read it?”

  “Rankcon Corporation violated the contract,” the House Speaker said, “which specifies consultation with the Intergovernmental Congress for all public relation campaigns—particularly interviews involving sensitive Sanctuary matters.”

  Leland felt the vein in his forehead start to throb. “The interview was supposed to be about Rankcon’s forthcoming pro-bono Barriers. The Partnership’s image needs some sprucing up, but what would you people know about branding? If you cared about public perception, you would have commissioned pro-bono Barriers years ago and shouted it from the rooftops to our three billion customers.”

  “That’s enough, Mr. Kronemeyer,” the House Speaker said. “Need the Intergovernmental Congress remind you that your contract with us is up for renewal in ninety days? You do wish to renew the contract, don’t you?”

  Leland sneered. “Is that a threat?”

  “It’s a simple question requiring a simple response,” the House Speaker said.

  “Sounds like a threat to me,” Leland snapped. “You people know that when Rankcon Corporation succeeds, you succeed, right? It’s not rocket science. Everyone in this room holds significant investments in my firm and you wouldn’t dare disrupt our sweet little arrangement. I hold the cards here, understand?”

  Leland was balancing a tight rope here. He always was. It’s the way these meetings went since the start of the Partnership forty years ago. His father had sat in the sessions for the first few years before getting shot in the head by a social justice radical, allowing Leland to take the reins.

  The House Speaker pointed across the room. “Director of Global Partnerships, will you kindly activate the revised contract for Mr. Kronemeyer to sign.”

  A holographic contract appeared in front of Leland.

  “I’m not signing anything without my lawyer present.”

  The House Speaker leaned into his microphone. “The Intergovernmental Congress is certain you have the aptitude to review the revised contractual obligations without counsel. Do you wish to cause further complications with our agreement, Mr. Kronemeyer?”

  Several hundred shadowed faces turned toward him, awaiting his reply. Leland hated them all.

>   “What kind of obligations?” he asked.

  “Scroll to Section 807.28.1. In lieu of recent events, a necessary contractual obligation was added.”

  Leland scrolled using his finger to find the section in question. After reading it, he stood. “I’m not signing this.”

  “Sit down now, Mr. Kronemeyer,” the House Speaker belted, his voice echoing through the chambers. “You will comply if you expect to keep your contract with the Intergovernmental Congress.”

  “This contract is unreasonable,” Leland retorted. “It states that the Intergovernmental Congress will take control of Rankcon Corporation if such an incident happens again. I think not.”

  “Then don’t allow such an incident to happen again,” the House Speaker said. “Simple, is it not?”

  Leland pounded his fist on the table and cursed. After a moment he held his breath and signed with a scribble of his finger.

  “Thank you, Mr. Kronemeyer,” the House Speaker said. “The Intergovernmental Congress appreciates your cooperation.”

  Leland stormed toward the exit, his cane tapping the floor in frantic rhythm. He stopped and turned. “Why not cease with this silly façade and admit what your main concern really is? Dora Cachin was right. If you really wanted to solve the global food-shortage crisis, you would have commissioned more agriculture Barriers twenty years ago. But that costs money—money you’ve been siphoning from your generous portion of the Barrier taxes for decades. If you wish to trim the fat, then simply trim the fat and be done with it, and stop dragging me into your duplicitous meetings.”

  The big metal door closed behind him with a thud.

  _____

  Assistant Director of South American Sanctuaries concealed her grin. This was Ashlyn Catterton’s second session and it was far more entertaining than the first. Like her mother, she despised Rankcon Corporation, and seeing its abhorrent CEO put in his place in front of his equally abhorrent peers…well, it didn’t get much better than this. Her mother would have appreciated the scene. Too bad she was millions of miles away, and they hadn’t talked since she left Earth fourteen months ago.