by Edge O. Erin
Surely the new Grace and her team of royal bitches and sycophants were developing a contingency plan to replace Tiot or even vault another candidate above the existing Prometerian Triumvirate of Abigailius, Wezer and herself. Thankfully she still had a covert connection to Ruprecht, Jop, and Yazmin, and if she couldn’t find out anything through regular channels, she would find out by other means.
Ruprecht was her first contact of choice, mainly because he wasn’t crafty enough to hide anything, but there was no reply, not even a read receipt. She did a trace on him and discovered his tag was aboard Yazmin’s flagship. Now why on Earth was that? It did, however, give her further cause to reach Yazmin.
“He’s not my man any more, so I’ve no idea why he would be on the vessel, but I can check into it. More importantly, all remaining menhanced units were delivered on schedule to the Biodome.” Pressing her for other news was not dignified with a response. Just then Abigailius informed forwarded her a snippet of an older briefing relating to the escape:
Outbreak orchestrated by MEM. Security Chief Jop Baturu-Heim was seriously injured but is expected to survive.
“Son-of-a-crotchless whore anyway!”
Wezer jerked his head up from a book he was reading in their “Quiet Room”.
A “Not you,” moved Wezer back to reading, and she went back to cursing, but with her inner voice.
***
With Tiot gone and not enough time to design a host-specific chamber for another PIP’d-up clone, the Ghans decided to approach Yazmin to see if she would go and oversee the Military and Security portion; answerable only to Abigailius. Riot, Wezer, and Abigailius would handle policy and planning and day-to-day operations.
Initially, Yazmin demurred, so they asked what more she wanted. She listed her significant demands:
Her father, Emaris Yugon, was to be jailed for life, two billion credits, and five-hundred ounces of gold were to be enclosed in a module capable of making the return to Earth ten years after the ships landed.
Finally, her ten-year-old stepdaughter would join her in stasis instead of being one of the Wakees. Having insufficient faith in Abigailius, Wezer, and Riot, they agreed to it on condition that Menhance processes, procedures, and brain-trust be given over to the Government.
The deal agreed on, steps taken, and preparations made, Yazmin and stepdaughter were en route to the Biodome with an armed escort.
Yazmin looked out the window, supremely satisfied in the bargain she had brokered. In the distance, she saw a group of Empire Logistics shuttles on their way to the city.
She smiled wryly and thought, Dear old Dad, that may be a large shipment, but will be nothing compared to what I will bring back regularly from Prometer.
But then the image of the shuttles changed… and a single massive cruiser materialised. An immense phantom shade had hidden the colossal ship. The cruiser’s side-doors opened, and dazzling light blinded them fractions of a second before complete annihilation.
***
The Grace heard about the development moments later, and the Government convinced themselves that Riot, Wezer, and Abigailius would be up to the task if additional experienced personnel were added. In truth, there was little traction for going after Emaris; the collateral damage would be immense. The incident was swept under the rug, with the only official announcement being a change to the Wakees.
“We must announce a replacement for Seqa Ghan as she will not be making the journey to Prometer. Her replacement will be Gert Rolsyk-Ghan, whose choice became obvious given his astounding intellect and the need to task boys with the repetitive, mundane, but essential management, maintenance, and monitoring of the ships propulsion systems.”
The decision on the replacement was not made mandatory viewing. It was delivered the morning after a massive MEM-orchestrated demonstration had closed a prominent business district that also happened to be home to the Bien Good Institute.
Two hundred thousand people, mostly men, had toppled the security fence between Lower and High Town and made it impossible for elites and bureaucrats to leave several “Ghandominiums”, save via a narrow corridor that forced them to walk through the Fountain of Youth garden dedicated to Bien Good. Security forces could only contain what was, beyond the fence-toppling, a peaceful demonstration, and Redshirts were held back from methods that would’ve dispersed the crowd, for doing so would’ve resulted in an official Ghan Garden being destroyed and potential injury to elites.
The crowd retreated but vowed to return in even higher numbers the following day. Private communications and negotiations ensued, and a statutory holiday was inaugurated for the next day to placate the masses. A gate was hastily installed in the restored fence, and passes were provided that would allow fifty thousand people to not only visit the Fountain of Youth and garden dedicated to Bien Good but enable the visitors to affect a picnic and peaceful demonstration on a clean portion of the seashore. The selection of Gert Rolsyk-Ghan had not been negotiated, but it was met with widespread approval by those who journeyed forth to celebrate “Bien Good Day.”
***
Nearly ten minutes of gliding along the edge of the drop-off finally paid off; the spear flashed from his hand, and the cord attached to his wrist played out. The beautiful blue-finned, yellowish-green fish quivered briefly and then surrendered its spirit to the Water Gods. He gave thanks by thinking the words, Thank you, mahi-mahi. May your spirit swim through the river of stars and be reborn in the eternal sea.
He rose slowly to the surface and, holding his meal aloft, floated on his back and basked in a rare blue sky as gentle waves took him to shore. It was the first time in years that he had some days off. He sat waist-deep in a tide pool, and as the waves washed around, and at times, over him, he remembered.
The retaliation for the village supplying one of their own to the Yugon search vessel was swift and merciless and incommensurate to the perceived violation. The elders tried to explain it to the Redshirts disciplinary force that the boy was naïve and did not know what he was doing. Of course, they were unaware of Emaris’ overtures to the Ghans, the ultimate ramifications of which would’ve been beyond their understanding. They did not even know where the boy was; he had run off, scared by the gunboats and the big, angry-looking men. The Redshirts didn’t, or couldn’t, care; they were under orders to “Cleanse the village of its saltwater superstitions” and make sure the survivors remembered that a permit was necessary for any of them to leave the restricted zone made exclusive for those of their ilk.
The simple wooden structure where they kept their carvings and sacred relics, which the Redshirts incorrectly called “idols”, and where they had ceremonial feasts and celebrations, was burned to the ground. The totem of the Water Kings that was out front was pushed over; he had seen this himself as he peered through the pile of ropes and nets under the overturned boat.
Some berated the Redshirts, and one old woman hit some of the men with birds’ eggs. They shot her. His father ran over, hands up, to try and calm the wild men. They shot him too. He wanted to crawl out and run over to his aid, but it was like a giant hand was pressing down on his back, and strong ropes had fastened his legs to the oarlocks. He struggled mightily but could not move.
Some of their huts were burned, and some pigs and goats were killed. The violent men rolled the totem over the herb garden and pushed it over the hill, and he heard it crash through the brush as it fell to the ocean below.
It was dark before the hand that held him down finally let off, and he walked to where his dad had fallen, but he was gone. He went to the family dwelling, and his dad was there, with his mother and sisters crying beside him. They looked at him with anger and shame, though his mother finally came to him and wiped away his tears and brought him over to sit with them as they mourned.
They all worked hard to rebuild the village, but the fishing was terrible, and a mysterious disease was killing the livestock.
“The spirits have abandoned us,” they said. “Maybe i
f that boy weren’t around, things would be better.”
They had meant him, of course, but his mother, Aomi, was stubborn and dedicated and would not let that happen.
One day, a man came; a rich man, at least by their standards. He was ashamed that his family was responsible for so much damage and loss of life. He furnished the resources to rebuild their ceremonial house and raise the totem of the Water Kings. His name was Joriel Ghan, and his mom fell in love with him.
It was said Joriel’s family was outraged, and the villagers, while appreciating what he had done, were dismayed and disappointed. In time he noticed his mother’s belly swelling. The new couple increasingly spent more and more of their time away, and in his mom’s absence, he did his best to help his sisters. One day his mom and Joriel returned with a child, Bien. He was cute. Even his sisters loved him. He had no reason not to love him, and in fact, the boy smiled when he held him.
More and more people, including one of his sisters, moved to town to survive.
He thought of doing the village a favour and swallowing water during a dive but lacked conviction and courage. The same hand that had held him down when his father was dying was now hauling him to the surface for air. He might not make it and stretched his hand towards the surface… he gasped. Moments later, he lay in the bottom of a boat and was staring up at Emaris.
A big wave overwhelmed him and his remembrances, and after he gathered his faculties and his fish, he made his way up the hill to the village.
Much had changed for the Bajausy and little for the better. Few of the people could stay underwater for more than three minutes. The Totem of the Water Kings, which he had laboured to restore, was in desperate need of care. There were few new carvings and fewer still that evidenced the skill, love, and commitment of the previous generations.
He had been here for two days, and no one told stories or danced by the fire. Tonight, it would be different.
Even at his age, he made for a commanding presence. The scared youngster was long gone, save for the traditions burned into his soul, and the faded tattoo. Now he was the forceful hand.
Wide-eyed children followed and chattered excitedly:
“That’s the biggest mahi-mahi ever! How much does it weigh? It’s huge! My father caught one long ago! Where did you catch it? It’s supposed to be very yummy! Can I touch it?”
The innocence and wonder coaxed a smile from his grim lips, and finally, some words, “You will all get to taste it, trust me.”
He marched to the ceremonial firepit and, under the watchful eye of some elders, expertly cleaned and prepared the fish.
It brought joy to his heart when a young man spoke the old tongue in asking, “Do we give additional thanks at this time, or afterwards?”
An elder whispered to him, and the budding apprentice understood.
As he was fortunate enough to provide a fabulous meal, the honour of being Storyteller for the evening was his. They ate wonderfully and lived grandly that night. It had been a long time since the people had heard many fantastic stories and myths. Three children, including the young apprentice, begged him to tell some of the stories again the next morning, and he was happy to oblige.
Another day passed, and he was finding it very hard to go. But duty called. Before he left, the young apprentice repeated two myths and a poem word for word. His heart was gladdened. The tradition had a chance to continue.
The Sea Shaman, an elder he knew as Kehler, placed a necklace of barracuda teeth, octopi beaks, and seashells around his neck. He was forgiven, and all of him smiled.
***
“We found no evidence of an intruder, insect, or other foreign matter, but…” The doctor paused.
“But what? We’re talking about my manhood here, doc!”
“Well, we did a full range of tests, and I’m very sorry to say it’s a form of klebsiella granulomatis, and it’s untreatable.”
“Club-seller what?”
“‘Kleb-siel-la gran-u-lo-mat-is,’ it’s a rare bacterium that infects the skin around the genitals or anal area. It usually causes lesions, and skin disintegration as the flesh effectively consumes itself. Most known strains can be cured with antibiotics, but what you have we have never seen before, and as I’m sure you’ve already noticed, there is already some, ah, disintegration.”
“There must be something we can do!”
“We will keep trying, but as fast as it is spreading, we have to consider amputation lest it spreads further into your body.”
“Amputate Brute, I mean, no way am I going to do that!”
Two short weeks later, despite various efforts to halt the spread of the disease, Jop sat looking at a flexible tube coming out of his groin where his penis used to be. The aggressive antibiotics had all but halted the natural healing of his burns, and gangrene had set in. It was scheduled that the next day they would be removing his left foot and two fingers from his right hand.
The flesh-eating bacteria had spread into his groin, but they thought they might have come up with a regime of antibiotics that could potentially save his life. He shrugged and spat his chew on the new carpet they had just put down yesterday to try and pick up his spirits. Losing some fingers and a foot he could live with, but losing his manhood?
He got up from his chair, too quickly, and tore a bandage off his side. “Goddamnit!” He painfully stumbled and bumbled out onto his balcony. “Why me?” He yelled at the sky, shook a failing fist, and promptly, though not athletically, stepped over the rail and jumped.
Mrs Klark-Ghan both heard and smelled, Jop whooshing by. So, the job was done. Nearly a year had passed since she had collected his chew-saliva from off her balcony railing. Sequencing it and designing the microbots to infect and spread the disease had been the work of her godson. “Goddess love and protect you, my Jon, wherever and whenever you are,” she said aloud. A look of satisfaction moved across her wrinkled face as she finished watering her plants and flowers.
***
Mary mentored Tiot, and Cheriot supported them both.
The new sunroom afforded each of them their own space, but just as often they could be found in the common room, playing cards or talking about what bird they just saw or how fast the carrots were growing. The Mariot was to visit them, accompanied by Claire and her husband.
Beyond all there was to be thankful for, there was much to discuss. MEM personnel and some experts provided by Five Fins renovated the basement, and it had become a think-tank and operational centre for collective resistance to the World Government.
It was a two-day walk to the sea, and they became welcome visitors to the village.
***
When a strange contagion began to sap the Ghans’ strength, other seats of power positioned themselves to make calculated stabs at greater and even universal control.
The Yugons were flexing their muscles, and leaders of the Eastern and Western Blocks of the Government made peace overtures even as they made teasing forays.
Riot, aided by Riot Junior and Dana Troublesworth, surreptitiously escaped from the Biodome for a day. Drawing upon funds made available by Abigailius Ghan, Riot brokered a deal with the Yugons. There was a common desire to destroy the consolidated Menhance and Cheriot Wheel facility and all its “products”.
When asked if any should be spared, Riot said, “Kill them all, even Riot Junior.”
The Men’s Equality Movement fragmented into splinter organisations. Each had lofty goals but uniformly were vulnerable and answerable to the demands of their region. Keeper kept a core group together, but would it be enough?
As humans’ relationship with the biosphere reached an inflexion point, the Bajausy focused on the old ways.
Despite all the advance hype and propaganda, the ships departed for Prometer with little fanfare and optimism. To the host of microbots that went along for the ride, such considerations were meaningless. The collective did deem it important to abide by rules of conduct that would see them gain knowledge and “do no ha
rm.”
***
Keeper opened the front door of Jon’s former home, and the Grand Lady stepped in.
“Aunt Klerky?” Claire could scarcely believe it.
Rising from the couch, she raced over to the door and threw her arms around the old woman.
“Careful now, I’m a bit wobbly on my pins.”
Claire stepped back but kept her hands entwined with those of the Grand Lady. She couldn’t help but notice the exquisite red-coral-and-gold necklace she wore.
“Wow, that’s a beauty!”
“Thank you, dear, I only wear it on special occasions.” She took it off and put it over Claire’s head.
“You can have that one.”
“No, I can’t, it’s too much.”
“Claire, I’ve missed your birthday for so many years now. Call it a partial payment.”
“Thank you, Auntie.”
“My pleasure Claire. You and Mariot were the best part of my years at the Ghan Estate. Did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Well, you were. I took a lot of joy and inspiration in watching you two grow. You were a wonderful distraction from the arrogant creatures I thought were my friends.”
“You inspired us with your honesty and compassion. And you did a wonderful job on the Red Articles.”
“Thank you, but to be honest, I think most of the pages from that book could be torn out and used as bum-wipe now.”
Everybody laughed at that one.
“Oh, Auntie, I love you.”
“I love you too, dear. By the way, do you like this place?”
“Yes, Jon had a beautiful home. We know how much your godson meant to you, and we’re very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. Jon was a remarkable person and gave so much of himself. And he continues to give, for you see, he willed this to you. Please accept his house as your new home.”