Opalescence

by Ron Rayborne

  “Yes, I, I guess I did, uh, Dietrich is it?”

  “That’s right, Son,” he answered, “Dietrich to you. Or, Mr. Jaqzen. Or, Sir.” There was an awkward pause. Then Dietrich laughed and elbowed Tom, almost knocking him over. “Hey, lighten up. Seriously, this will be a great adventure for Jewels. She’s going to have the time of her life. I guarantee it.”

  “All right, sure.” Tom looked over at Julie, who had a surprised look on her face. “So you’ll be watching over my Julie,” he said, as if to correct the too familiar “Jewels”. “Do you anticipate any problems?”

  “Problems? Heh. Not a one. This thing’s going to go over easy as pie and she’ll be back home safe and sound. Okie dokie?”

  “Okay. That sounds wonderful. Thank you,” Tom said, coughing.

  “Oh no, thank you!” Jaqzen replied, amused. Then he turned to Julie, and touching her shoulder, said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jewels, got to go. Nice to meet you, Tommy,” he chuckled, then waved, walking off toward his vehicle.

  “‘Jewels?’” Tom repeated.

  “That’s what they call me around here,” Julie replied, unconvincingly.

  “Hmm. And does he have a pet name as well? Maybe something like ‘Goliath’ or ‘Godzilla’?”

  Julie laughed. “Don’t be jealous, Sweetie. That’s just him. He’s actually a really nice guy.”

  “The guy’s a tank. Do they really think you’ll need that much protection?”

  “Honey,” Julie said, while putting her arms around him, “I really don’t think it’s going to be that hazardous. But, just in case, Deet will be there watching my back.” Right, Tom thought, but said nothing.

  “Just think of him as our life insurance policy. Another one that will probably never be used, but there just in case.”

  “Baby, I could take care of you. Give me a gun and I’m as strong as that guy. I doubt he’s going to be relying on his brains to fight off the beasts.”

  “I know you could, Sweetie,” Julie agreed. “And believe me, I’ve asked. Problem is they won’t stand for it. I don’t know why.” Tom was unconsoled. “Don’t worry, Honey. Everything’s going to be fine. I promise.” She kissed him lightly on the lips. Then they walked toward the car. Neither of them noticed the man who had been watching them all from behind darkened windows.

  Chapter 6

  Tom was playing the piano when Paul Kiley, the affable Irishman who owned the club, suddenly set a glass down in front of him, startling him. He looked up at his boss, then down and continued playing.

  “Looked like you could use a drink,” Paul said, a note of concern on his face. Tom said nothing, then, “Thanks.” He took a slug, then went back to playing.

  “Something wrong?” Paul asked. Again Tom was silent, only his fingers moving over the keys. It was a beautiful tune, yet strangely like a dirge.

  “Cause you look like your mother just died or something.”

  Tom shook his head. “What could be wrong?” He asked disingenuously. He waved expansively at the barred window near where he sat. Paul looked out. People shuffling past in the stifling heat, dejected, aimless, dirty and disheveled. And, with mandatory food rationing based on a person’s worth rating, in addition to normal rationing, always hungry. Many looked sickly. Most had given up hope. Had given up the fight. What was the point? Living on GAP and old movies, people no longer tried to keep up appearances. The brushed hair, trim clothes, and phony smiles, affectations people had always associated with “success”, weren’t fooling anyone anymore. Trash blew in the streets. Old cars parked in public places left to rust. Traffic laws rarely enforced. Broken windows in businesses patched up with tape and boards. The sidewalk tree that Tom remembered green and alive. Its long struggle to hang on to life. Branch by branch it succumbed. Now it was dead and bowed, like an old woman. And over everything, a stinking, yellow-brown pall. Everything yellow-brown. The color of smog, of dying skies.

  Still, buried deep in the human psyche, on the edge of extinguishing, a tiny spark flickered, sputtered, refusing to be snuffed. Hope. Hope, when there was no reason to hope. Hope, when all of naked reality bore cold witness against it. Hope, that tiny, internal flame that had kept humankind marching all through the long ages. Never quite giving up. That deep, instinctual conviction that if one can just hold on a littler farther, can swallow the pain a littler longer, then, maybe then, finally then, peace would come. Peace, and maybe even happiness. But it had proven to be a slippery, elusive dream, like a mirage which he’d walked toward, reached out for so many times, only to find it evaporating in his grasp.

  Had it all been a delusion, a phantom? A lie based on nothing more than wishful thinking, this hope for a better world, passed on from mother to daughter and father to son for hundreds of thousands of generations? A hope finally encapsulated in religion, in myths of heaven when people despaired of ever finding Eden on earth?

  Eden. Julie had spoken of it. A place where man, woman, and nature all lived in harmony. The quaint stories of primitive peoples. It was never mentioned anymore, perhaps too hard to imagine. Or perhaps its loss too painful to remember. Paradise lost.

  “Tom!” Paul snapped. He jumped. “Man, where were you?” Tom looked down at the keys. Then up again. The club was quiet, as all eyes were upon him. Then, smiling crookedly, he set to playing again.

  “Sorry, bro,” he said lowly, coughing. “It’s just, well, something’s happening right now.” He shot Paul a glance.

  “What is it, man? Can I help?” Paul asked kindly. He was like that, which was why Tom worked for him rather than his strictly business competitors. They’d tried on more than one occasion to lure Tom away with offers of more money. This place, ironically called the Oasis, wasn’t fancy; in fact, it was barely above being just another dive, but it was clean, it had atmosphere, and it had quality people. Employees chosen over the years for their character as human beings, in addition to their work abilities. Paul paid everyone every dollar that he could, while he himself lived almost a pauper’s life. He knew the score, knew that this old world did not have much longer to go. His values were his people. And he loved his business, lived in a couple of rooms just above the place. Had been its sole proprietor for twenty-three years. Tom thought of Paul as a brother. He’d never dream of playing anywhere else.

  And now he wanted to talk to him, confide in him, tell him what was going on. Almost did, then he noticed a man watching him from one of the booths. Intently, it seemed. He held the man’s gaze for a moment, the other never blinking or looking away. Finally, Tom did.

  “Thanks, bro, but I don’t really want to talk about it.” He picked up the drink and downed more.

  “Suit yourself, but you know my door’s always open. If there’s trouble or anything, I know some people.”

  Tom knew that what Paul meant was that among his customers were government types who kept running tabs at the Oasis. Tabs only occasionally squared with Paul. But they paid in other ways, smoothing the regulatory hassles he sometimes encountered, such as when they shockingly acquiesced when he requested, half jokingly, to start an alcohol delivery service. In the past, that kind of commerce was strictly prohibited, and had he been caught doing it would have resulted in the likely closure of the Oasis and jail time for Paul.

  Now, though, they merely inquired about the greater societal benefit. A surprised Paul explained that people needed something to soften the hard edges in their lives. He felt that home delivery would keep people at home rather than wandering the streets in a state of drunkenness. He further cited the value in petrol saved. One vehicle delivering liquor on a route calculated for maximum economy would save a lot of fuel over the long run. A final benefit then, Paul said, was the creation of a new job: deliveryman. Still, many drinkers simply walked to the club and home again with their crutches in bags under their arms, or sagged in doorways and drank themselves to sleep. Only the rich could afford to drive anymore, and they tended to, even if it was only across the road. They tipped, how
ever, occasionally.

  The truth of the matter, though, was that, except for acts of subversion, few in regulatory positions much cared anymore, while the government at large looked the other way at the relaxing of certain rules. It was an extension of the general Libertine policies, or at least the perception of such, that the Feds had tried to foster. Would an Orwellian government be so generous?

  But Paul’s contacts tended to be lower level civil servants, and Tom knew, that were there a problem his boss needed help with, they would be of little use to him.

  “I know, man,” he replied to Paul’s offer. “I wouldn’t say it’s really a problem. Just some extra goings on with Julie and me lately.”

  “Oh, well, yeah. Can’t do much about that. Sorry. Sure hope it works out, though. Julie’s a great gal, a great catch,” Paul said, suddenly embarrassed for having butted into a family matter.

  “No, it’s nothing like that.” Tom stole a glance at the man sitting in the shadows. Then something caught his eye. A glint of reflection. Something on the music stand in front of him. It was at the bottom, tiny. Had it not been for a single shaft of light from the passing sun falling at just the right angle on the stand, he might not have noticed. He reached for it, and it came off easily in his hand. Small, circular, flat. Like a battery with perforations on one side. He turned it over in his hand, puzzled.

  “What’s that?” Paul asked, reaching for it.

  “Don’t know.”

  Paul took it and paused, inspecting it. “What the...” He took out his reading glasses to get a closer look. “Huh?” He thought for a moment. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say this is a bug. And actually, I don’t know better.”

  “A mic?” Tom took it back again. “Yeah, you’re right. But why...” He suddenly looked up, toward the man in the dark suit. He was gone. “Uh, Okay...” he said.

  Paul followed Tom’s eyes, then back, then down at the bug, and back again at his friend. He paused, then dropped the bug into Tom’s glass. It sank quickly to the bottom with a “tink.”

  “Don’t drink that,” he advised.

  “Yeah, thanks,” Tom replied.

  Paul regarded the empty booth. “There was a Suit sitting there a little while ago.”

  “Yep.”

  “You, um ... in some kind of trouble?”

  “No, but I can’t really talk about it.”

  “Hmm. Something’s going down. Blast, does it have to do with the Oasis, ‘cause I got nothing to hide,” Paul said, though he wondered nervously if his good luck with the authorities had run out.

  “No, like I say, it’s something to do with Julie and I. Nothing bad ... I don’t think. Can’t talk though. Maybe later. After.”

  “All right, all right. You can’t tell your best bud, I understand,” Paul said. Tom smirked.

  “So you’ll inform me ‘after.’ After what?” Paul pressed. Tom just looked at him.

  “Yeah, all right. Just watch your back, man. I’m serious. Do not mess with these people. They’re trouble, and I might not be able to help.”

  “Yeah,” Tom answered him.

  “Yeah. OK,” Paul said, staring at his friend a moment longer, then heading toward the bar. He went back to serving customers, periodically glancing in his pianist’s direction. Tom, for his part, went back to playing his slow, melancholy tune. His mind, though, was racing. Why had they bugged him? Did they think that he was going to blab everywhere? And if he had, what would they have done? Why was this assignment so secretive? The incident shook him. He vowed to be more careful.

  The next week was a flurry of activity. Julie and Tom had been moved to a small cottage on Institute grounds. There was instruction for Julie and Deet in various new instrumentation, in first-aid and in certain new medications, should they prove necessary. One concern was the possible disease issue due to insect bites, particularly from mosquitos and ticks. It was surmised, based on research, that the climate in the Miocene was both hotter and wetter, more tropical, and that these two pests would be prevalent. Though Julie was a specialist on the time, she wasn’t on the entomology. Others were consulted for that.

  Some believed that exposing the team to pathogens the human race had not co-evolved with, and thus developed an adaptation to, could be especially dangerous. Others felt that, given the long history of primate evolution, it was likely that some sort of adaptation was already incorporated in our DNA. There, they suspected, it lay dormant, waiting re-exposure to reactivate them. A long wait, indeed. Still others felt that there would be no threat from that quarter, as humans had never been exposed to those pathogens. They simply would not “fit” with our physiology and would be no more dangerous than exposure to diseases from other species of animal normally would have been. These latter were in the minority, however.

  In any case, it was deemed prudent by everyone that every precaution be taken. Thus, standard repellents and nets would be deployed. Further discussed was an experimental toxicant, a pesticide, to be administered intravenously, which, though said to be harmless to people, would repel or kill biters before they had a chance to transmit disease. Julie decided against it for herself, while Deet accepted. Leeches, chiggers and sundry other tropical parasites were also on topic.

  The time came for Julie to train Jaqzen in what to expect as far as the larger predatory and other animals, so a few hours were set aside for a short introduction. The projector room was used and depictions of the various beasts the two might encounter were displayed. Barstovian mammals, she explained, were big and burly. Covertly, Julie watched Deet’s reactions to the images. Huge animals that could maim or kill with even an accidental impact. Deet observed the screen intently, his attention complete. If he felt fear, it was not apparent. Instead, he seemed to be sizing each animal up as a professional fighter would a prospective opponent, Julie thought, taking notes even when she was not speaking, his eyes narrowed and mouth set.

  Julie hesitated, troubled, suddenly worrying that, for Deet, this mission was not just about protecting her. He was a hunter. A game hunter primed for the kill. A frustrated Nimrod in a world that had little wildlife left to finish off. Ah, she thought, is this is to be your secret, privileged safari? Are you planning to use at least some of the month we will be there waylaying the local fauna for sport? That, Julie would not have. This was not to be another exercise in man’s inhumanity to nature; our malignancy exported to a world still innocent of our atrocities. The same arrogant speciesism that had succeeded in driving the race and the earth itself to the dire state it found itself in.

  She had to know. Julie paused with Jaqzen awaiting the next slide, then decided on firmness.

  “There will, of course, be no hunting,” she stated matter-of-factly, and waited for Deet’s reaction. He’d evidently not been expecting that, for he continued staring at the screen. Then he blinked and slowly turned around, looking at her without saying anything. Julie shifted some notes in front her as if there were no question about it.

  “Come again,” Jaqzen inquired calmly, as if perhaps he’d not heard right. Julie glanced up, her hand on the clicker, ready for the next slide.

  “Excuse me?” she looked at Jaqzen innocently.

  “You just said something about hunting ...” He pressed.

  “Hunting?” Julie recalled. “Oh yes. There will be no hunting on this trip. It’s strictly scientific.”

  Jaqzen looked down, then smiled. “All right then, how do you expect us to eat? Or are we going to bring along a month’s supply of canned food and carry it wherever we go?” Then, having felt that he’d easily disposed of Julie’s inane notion, he turned back around in his seat, ready for the next image. In front of him, unknown to Julie, Jaqzen had been writing the particulars of each beast with a small check mark next to the names of those he planned to target. Big, beefy animals, any one of which could provide enough meat to see the two of them through the mission.

  Julie felt her temper rising. I have to choose my words carefully, she thought. A
bit of compromise.

  “Of course. You’re right,” she began.

  “Damn straight!” Jaqzen spit out. That wasn’t so hard, he thought.

  “The taking of small game,” she continued, choosing that word, “game,” deliberately, a word Jaqzen understood, “will, of course, be permitted, just enough to see us through.” She didn’t mention that she was a vegetarian, and she needn’t; Jaqzen had noticed in their lunches that she never ordered anything containing meat. “But I expect that we will find plenty of non-animal nutrition available, especially since, in the more tropical world of the Miocene, it should be present for most of the year. We will find fruit aplenty, I would think.”

  Jaqzen grunted, “Fine. You eat your fruits and veggies, and I’ll eat what I want.” Then a little less audibly he repeated Julie’s ‘permission’ with derision.

  “Mr. Jaqzen,” Julie said, more forcefully now, “I said that small game is fine, enough for our needs. But this is not a trophy-hunting safari and you will not be killing for sport. The purpose of this mission is clear - it is scientific. We are going there only to collect data while leaving as little impact as possible on the surrounding environment. Is that understood?”

  “Ms. Pine. I am a hunter. That is what I do, and do well. I was asked to join this mission because I have skills unmatched by anyone else. I’m good with guns. I enjoy using them. I will be using them to keep your pretty little ass safe. I will also be using them to provide us with food. And if I decide to use them for sport I most certainly will be doing so, and no one,” he said, now pointing at Julie, “no one, will tell me otherwise. Is that perfectly clear?” Then he added, “NEXT!”

  “Mr. Jaqzen. I don’t think you understand. While we are there, there is a possibility that our presence alone may be enough to disrupt history. We don’t know all the perturbations that led up to us, the human species. If somehow we do something that changes something else which in some way influenced our evolution, that could radically alter our future. Therefore, we must endeavor to minimize at all costs our impact on that prehistoric world. Now do you understand?”