by Tom Corbett
“I thank you for that opportunity by the way, father. Your wealth, and mother’s, gave me great opportunities.” Chris hoped his sarcasm was evident.
“I am sure you are very grateful. But yes, I have indulged my curiosity about many things, about amazing possibilities for the future. I am convinced we are on the precipice of great advances, my son.” The patriarch paused at this point. “I can see you are taken aback by all this.”
“Just a bit. I can admit to falling short of total omniscience. Continue, though.” Chris assumed his father used the term ‘singularity’ to signify man melding with machines one day to achieve a kind of immortality and not what happens inside a cosmic black hole where time stops.
“Let me get to the bottom line. I hope, someday, we might pick up on this again but, for now, let me just say this. Evolution is all about survival. That, we can agree on. The issue is who will survive. Species and peoples have been going extinct for thousands of years. We don’t cry over the losers, it is simply a natural law. I won’t sugar coat things. Life is struggle. Creative destruction is not evil but a necessary component of progress. Sympathy is for losers. I never want to be a loser. I saw, or was told at least, what happened to my native land when tougher and more purposeful men, the Russians and the Germans, simply came in and took over. I am never, never going to be on the losing side again. You can be damn sure that I am doing everything possible to be on the winning side. The thing is, most people hope to be on the winning side, they just have trouble deciding who that is. How shortsighted of them. I, and my associates, intend to be on the winning side because we will define what winning means. It is all so simple, really. And by the way, we also intend this country to be on the winning side, not the Chinese or the Japs or the damn Muslims. But to do that we must make sure our nation is…undiluted by weakness.”
“Father, what the hell does that mean?”
“Let’s not go there now. Just remember this: there is no point worrying about marginal people whose lives are about mere survival at best. You keep them alive for what purpose? Just to keep breathing, just to endure miserable and pointless lives, procreate and leave behind more useless beings. Now, before you get angry, I know you mean well but think about it, for what real purpose do you prolong their lives? Tell me, for what possible purpose?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
“Never mind. The point is that you should think about being on the winning side, being part of the future. We want the best and the brightest as we make the next leap. Just think about it. We have an opportunity that is unique, to move to the next stage in our evolution as a species. To do that, we need to guide people and we can do that now. Technology is an extraordinary opportunity. It gives us the means for leading the masses without them realizing it. We can now identify the weaknesses and fears and wants of the smallest groups while targeting appropriate messages to them.”
“Brainwashing!”
“Call it what you will. It works with some at least, way more than you might imagine. One other point to remember: most people want to be led. They want to be told what to do. Only half the people vote in presidential elections, for Christ’s sake. Americans want a strong figure to tell them what to do and run things with strength and a clear vision. Trust me on that. But I have talked too much. Your hero, Stalin, had a point…”
“Not my hero, for Christ’s sake,” Chris sputtered. “My God, you yet labor under the illusion that I am some goddamn communist.”
“Oh, I apologize, I still confuse socialism and communism, as if they truly are distinct,” the patriarch said in an unctuous tone. “Nevertheless, the so-called man of steel said it is better to listen than reveal what is inside. What do you think that I want, my associates want?”
Chris leaned back, considering the question. He had his thoughts, of course, but should he reveal them? His father was right about Stalin. Few know what lay behind those cold, evil eyes. After musing for a few moments, he decided to reply. “Fine, I will play the game. I think you are after several things. First, you need to wrap up the mechanics of government in America. You need the presidency and one more seat on the Supreme Court. You are also within striking distance of controlling 36 states, a magic number for passing constitutional changes. With the Koch brothers and their allies bankrolling the effort, you should make that happen with relative ease. Second, you need to dismantle what remains of this country’s democratic traditions and principles. You cannot win fair elections at the national level since your real agenda favors such a small slice of the population. No, you need a stranglehold, which will still be called democracy - an even more unfavorable electoral college that violates the one vote and one voter principle. Rather, the votes coming from conservative and easily manipulated rural America will count more. Then, with help from a solid Republican national government and thirty-six states, you can put in place the other vital provisions like appointed senators as we had up until the 17th Amendment and a much stronger presidency with unlimited veto power and the ability to govern through executive orders. Naturally, you will refine all the other strangleholds on voting such as gerrymandering, voter suppression, and outright tampering. As our mutual hero, Joseph Stalin was fond of saying, ‘It is not how people vote but who counts the votes that really matters’. Should I continue?”
“Please do, I find this fascinating.”
“With an unbreakable lock on government, abetted by the effective suppression of a free and independent press through monopolistic purchases and outright intimidation, you will institutionalize this, what shall we say, appropriation of democracy through what looks like legal means, through a constitutional convention that will be rigged and controlled. Just like Hitler first assumed power, and then total control after burning down the Reichstag, it will have the appearance of legality. But that is not the end game, oh no. The purpose of all this is to establish a kleptocracy, a few of the wealthiest will govern in perpetuity. I doubt that Plato would consider the men you have in mind to be philosopher kings but let us not quibble.” Chris paused.
“Finished? Charles senior asked.
“Not quite. You gave away the next step in the plan, so just like the Soviets you suddenly admire to have a plan. You have some natural allies in the world, other totalitarian powers such as Russia and China and even some oil rich Middle-Eastern regimes. You just need to take care of the European Union and places like India and Japan, and world domination is yours. That should not be difficult, merely encourage widespread migration of refugees to Europe to destabilize these countries, encourage internal dissent, and a simple divide and conquer strategy should do the rest. There are neo-fascist parties cropping up all over Europe. Get a nutcase like Trump in the White House and you can quickly emasculate the Western alliance. Then, you can make the rules for the world. Who could challenge you then? You would have all the money, or virtually all, and money is power.”
“That’s it, just acquire more of the same?” The elder man’s smile never wavered.
“No, there is more. Here, my crystal ball is a bit murky. But you mentioned evolution earlier…perhaps dreams of becoming supermen. Gene splicing, really creating a super race through advanced science, but just for the elect. That is very likely the end game. Then again, is that not the dream of all megalomaniacs?”
“Precisely.” The patriarch’s smile widened to an almost grotesque grin. He seemed to be about to continue when, at that moment, Beverly returned. Charles Senior for a moment appeared annoyed at the interruption and then relieved. He then rose to his feet, a signal that the visit was over. “Think about what I have said and, most of all, don’t do anything that will make things worse. For once in your life, think hard before doing anything foolish.”
“I will, of that you can be certain,” Chris said with conviction.
The patriarch took one last hard look at his son before quickly thanking his daughter-in-law and exiting.
“So,” Beverly asked. “How did it go?”
Chris looked at her without responding for a while. His words then emerged slowly. “I have no fucking idea. I think, I really think he was trying to recruit me. Can you believe that? I don’t think he has a clue about who I am. You know, as a kid he scared me. Now, I am an adult, and guess what? He still scares the crap out of me. Listen, I am going to just sit here for a while, look at the traffic below…and think.”
Beverly crossed the room and kissed her brother-in-law on the forehead. “Consider this, I put up with this all the time.” She smiled and started toward her bedroom. “By the way, thank you, I am grateful.”
“Grateful, for what?” Chris called out to her.
“That I am not cleaning up blood from my carpet. It is new and very expensive.” She smiled to indicate she was kidding about her concern for a material thing, though the carpet was new and very, very expensive. “I tried to leave you two alone. I was not sure about that, but I wanted to give the two of you some space.”
“Thank you, Bev.” Chris seemed distracted. Then he picked up his phone and dialed. When no one answered, he murmured “damn” in a low voice. Then, in a louder voice, “Kat, Chris here. I am in, you got me, damn it…but only if I get the family to agree. That would be a deal-breaker. Talk later.”
Beverly walked over and kissed him on the top of the head. “It will be nice to have you with us, even for a while. Kat needs you, I need you.”
“Tell me one thing, Bev. Please.” But then he said nothing.
“What, just ask?”
“How does he always get to me? Can you explain that to me? How does this piece of shit manage to squeeze my balls so hard that I am left screaming on the inside? It is like I am an eight-year-old all over again. All those years of education and experience evaporate and there I am, a fucking kid again. Does that make sense?”
“Chris, dear, that makes all the sense in the world. We never escape our parents.” She looked at him with deep concern, even pity. But he was looking at the ceiling, deep in another world. She quietly rose and went to her bedroom.
Much later, he was still sitting there. His mind and emotions would not turn off. He wanted another drink but had always disciplined himself in that regard. He knew there was a genetic component to alcoholism and he remained attentive to any hint he might be so inflicted. The images of his mother falling into decline and despair were yet real to him. And after all, he was convinced that he had benefitted from a disproportionate amount of her genetic contributions, including the bad stuff. He, and perhaps even Chuck more than he, had dipped deeply into the mysteries and menaces of their Celtic heritage. He loved to write, to dream, to weave fanciful narratives and worlds in his imagination. Yes, he was a member of that tribe from Erin.
But they also were cursed with a dark cloud, susceptible to morose bouts of brooding and always sensing disaster everywhere. That was what he kept buried under cascades of irrepressible humor and wit. For many of this lost tribe, when wit failed, alcohol became the last refuge. He had this theory he shared with all who listened. Alcohol was first developed in the Mediterranean region. So, those people had long experience with this toxin. Those members of local tribes who were more susceptible to the ravages of this poison tended not to survive. They could not hunt when hammered nor fight off the dangers around them. Eventually, only those not chemically susceptible to the scourge of alcoholism remained. They could drink but not become addicted. Thus, you did not find many drunks in southern Europe. On the other hand, it took a long time for this technology to make its way to the northern tribes, a long time. The Celtic tribes never had an opportunity to weed out those biologically susceptible to this drug. Yes, he had always been careful. Early on, he fought any tendency to see himself as more witty or attractive after a few drinks. So far, his discipline had prevailed. He would not relax now.
That always happened to him. When alone, his mind would drift aimlessly. He forced himself back to the issue at hand. Yet, no matter how he looked at the question, the answer was the same. After some time, looking out over the lights and the darkness, he knew. There was no need to turn it over in his mind one more time. He had made the commitment. He would return, at least for a while. He had no choice.
Beverly emerged from her bedroom. Her face was ashen. “Chris, I guess you turned your phone off. I just got a message, from Afghanistan. Something is wrong, very wrong.”
CHAPTER 9
OXFORD ENGLAND : A DECISION
“Stop fussing, you are like a mother hen.”
“And you stop complaining. If I thought that all my future patients would be like you, I would become an accountant. I think I liked it better when you were in a coma.” Azita finished checking her sister’s blood pressure.
“And if I have you as my doctor in the future, I will jump out the hospital window.”
Azita made a face at Deena. “Hah, you will probably be on the first floor, silly girl.”
Deena scowled back. “I knew it. I should have stayed in London with Karen. How did I get stuck with you anyways?”
“I, dear sister,” Azita articulated the words slowly, “am the only one who will put up with your crap. Besides, you were still out of it when the decision was made. Amar argued that we could give you better care at the university hospital in Oxford. She could look after your recovery and, at least until my classes started, I was assigned to give you tender, loving care, which I have at great cost to myself and, which, you obviously do not deserve. Karen is swamped with work and Kay is taking over a lot of your stuff at ISO. Unfortunately, I have time right now and Chris also has some spare time until the semester starts. He also looked after you when you were still helpless. That way, he could also get some writing done. Then you improved, and he could see very clearly what an obnoxious patient you would be. He is no dummy, he has fled to his office.”
“Hmm, I think he is the one that should always be my doctor. At least he is kind, and funny, and smiles a lot. I hope your classes start this afternoon. Where is everyone who was here when I dozed off?”
“Well, they decided to head to the Hairy Hare. They are still discussing our move to the States next year.”
Suddenly, Deena’s expression changed. “Oh…I keep forgetting about that. When I first heard it, I did not think it was serious. Of course, I was still having a hard time thinking at all. Sit with me, sister.”
Azita could now see uncertainty in her sibling’s face and sat on the edge of her bed. “Of course.”
Deena looked at her younger sibling through moist eyes. “The thought of you going to America, all of you going, hurts my heart. I feel so scared.”
“No decision has been made. Chris wants to but the rest of us…well?” Azita said in a soft voice, “Try not to think about it.”
“These days, I have too much time to think. I know I am getting better. Every day I feel stronger, remember more. They say a full recovery is likely, unless I murder my caregiver, which is a distinct possibility.”
“Aach, if only that evil assassin had been a better shot.” Azita held her sister’s hand.
“Azita, I am grateful that this killer, a mere child, shot me and not you. But that scene remains so hazy to me. At first, I could recall nothing. Now, brief images pop into my memory, still rather confusing.”
“Deena, I cannot get that day out of my head. We are not sure what was in his head. He was only sixteen or so. Some of the villagers believe that he may have been a child of one of the Taliban killed during our rescue.”
“Oh my, perhaps he was the child of the man I killed that day at the caves, probably just a baby at the time.”
“No one knows for sure. He may have been after me, for doing what they think of as man’s work. Most likely, he intended to kill both of us. That is what I believe. You turned to him and responded when he called out. Don’t forget, he used the family name, not Deena or Azita. My guess is that he shot at you first simply because you spoke up. But your movement saved you, the bullet hit a glancing blow which fractured
your skull but did not penetrate deeply into your brain, which would have taken you away from me.” Azita fought back a tear. “Then again, now that I think on it, a bullet rattling around an empty space would cause few problems.”
Deena half scowled but it faded to a grin. She recognized what her sister was doing. “You are a shit.”
Azita stroked her head. “You, we, are very lucky. It was still a very serious blow but not fatal, at least not immediately. It was the bleeding inside the brain that caused problems. Funny how things work out. Kay is a great trauma surgeon, most experienced at treating wounds. She is the one who could give you the best immediate care. And for some mysterious reason, she happened to come with us that day. Kay knew what to do immediately but, even more important, called ahead as we headed back to the base camp in our helicopter. She knew exactly what would be needed when we got back, timing was everything in this case. Another hour’s delay, perhaps less, and we might not be having this conversation.”
“Allah looks after us I think.”
Azita smiled. “Perhaps, or perhaps it is another kind of protector.”
Deena looked hard at her sister. “You have something to say. I can tell. What is it?”
In any case, I was staggered by that first shot, no one knows that since I stayed upright. It was as if I had been punched in the chest. Then, every instinct made me reach for you. His second shot missed my head by an inch, likely because I had moved toward you.”
“Then I did save you, in a way at least.” Deena tried to keep it light.
Azita did not smile. “Sister, that first bullet, the one that glanced off your skull. I think he was aiming at me. You ducked into it just as he fired, but it struck me in the chest.”
Deena looked at her without understanding. “That cannot be. You were never wounded. At least I don’t remember that. Did I forget? No, I would not. That I would not forget.”