Solstice

by David Hewson

  Jimenez sniffed the air. He could always tell which SWAT people wanted to cross into plainclothes work. They were so friendly. 'Can't even smell the fucking cat, Vernon,' he grumbled. 'And I got a sensitive nose. That cat never even lived here, if you ask me.'

  Vernon Sixsmith wished Jimenez would shut up about the cat. He stared at the floor: bare boards, looking a little pale, unpolished for years. Something on a single, slightly raised nail. He bent down, picked at it. A piece of red fabric. Sixsmith stared at it closely, then pulled a plastic bag from his pocket and tucked it away for later.

  'Someone had the carpet up,' Sixsmith said. 'Took it away.'

  'Maybe the pussy peed on it. Maybe the fucking cat peed all over the place and that was that, they just had to move out and get things fumigated. That would explain why I can't smell nothing.'

  Over in the corner the PC started whirring, coming to life.

  'Shut up, Pete, for chrissake.' The Screensaver disappeared, to be replaced by a small yellow circle.

  'Jesus Christ,' Jimenez said. 'What the hell is that?'

  The SWAT man, still trying to be friendly, shrugged at him. 'The screensaver shit they get on these things right now, who's guessing? I bought my kid some PC for Christmas down at the Good Guys. Two weeks later he's knee-deep in beaver shots. The Good Guys? I ask you. And him ten years old.'

  'Some of us started at nine. Early developers.'

  'Yeah.' The SWAT man laughed, and Jimenez thought it could be real good fun to jerk this one around a little.

  Sixsmith glanced at the computer. The image had changed. It was bigger now.

  'Say,' Jimenez said, 'you heard the one about — '

  'Shut up, Pete.'

  'Okay, you're thinking. I recognize the signs.'

  The cat bothered Sixsmith. 'What did that photographer tell me about the pictures he took of that cat, Pete? Remind me.'

  'He told you he took 'em and delivered 'em here. Two weeks ago.'

  'Yeah. And Pascal made out like she moved out of Sunnyvale three weeks before that?'

  Jimenez paused, puzzled. 'Yeah…' Then looked at the computer. It had changed again. The image had grown. It was now clearly a medieval sun, with a face in the centre. Not a pleasant face.

  'So,' Sixsmith said, 'she had the picture taken, went back to Sunnyvale, and put it on the shelf, even though she wasn't living there.'

  'Guess that's the sum of it.'

  He thought about the bare floorboards and wondered aloud, 'Now, why would she possibly want to do something like that?'

  And the SWAT guy looked at the computer and said, 'Ugly or what?' The image filled the entire screen. It was the colour of gold. The face was huge and full of apocalyptic fury at its centre. Vernon Sixsmith suddenly felt hot and cold at the same time, stared down beneath his shoes, and said, 'I think we'd better get the fu — '

  Then watched the earth erupt at his feet.

  CHAPTER 19

  Tina Blackshire

  Yasgur's Farm, 2304 UTC

  'Smile for the camera, Charley.' Tina Blackshire ran around Charley Pascal with the little Sony video camera, crouching down to the level of the big wooden couch where she sat, almost regally. Charley Pascal hadn't wanted to be filmed in the wheelchair. This wasn't a matter of conceit, she said. They had to be careful not to give anything away.

  'When do we do the real thing?' Tina asked. She had a plain, blank face, almost unintelligent, Charley thought, although this was deceptive. She had been with them almost a year. She knew Unix. She knew the Web. Tina could handle low-level hacking tasks as easily as someone else might set out a spreadsheet. And she had no family, no friends. She was like everyone else inside the Children: alone, unattached. Capable, Charley thought, of putting that distance between your puny, temporary body and the greater, everlasting glory that lay beyond.

  'Joe said after,' Charley replied a little sharply, not wanting questions just then. 'You have to be patient, Tina. He just wanted me to try the video out. Get some shots they could splice in if they needed them.'

  Tina nodded, a broken, fragile expression, the invisible bruise of the gentle rebuke hidden somewhere in the pale, flat contours of her face.

  Charley wore a plain white cotton smock. She smiled. Tina always made her smile, even when she had this infuriating childishness about her. She was twenty-five or so, had worked in database programming for Oracle in the big black buildings in Redwood City, just down from the San Francisco airport, until she threw in her job and came to join the Children full-time. She had a high-pitched, girlish Valley accent that broke into falsetto too easily when she became overexcited. She was slim, almost without breasts, and nearly six feet tall.

  Once, Charley had taken her to bed, just out of interest, boredom maybe, knowing that Tina would never dream of saying no. They had tried this strange, half-serious mix of sex and affection, all tentative fingers and gentle probing, no passion, no excitement, just touching, feeling, sensing. Afterward, when Charley questioned her about it, Tina said she was a virgin. These things hadn't happened in her life. There was always some work to be done. What social contact she got was through chat forums on the Net, not in the real places of the world that Charley, before she got sick, had frequented. There were so many like that in the Children, it only seemed fair to Charley that she should spread her own experience among them.

  In time, she had thought, she would take Tina back to bed, pushing it all the way, as far as she wanted, seeing how long the fragile smile stayed on the plain face when the question of penetration, of real fucking, arose. Somehow it never happened. Over the past year, Charley had screwed almost every member of the Children. Most had enjoyed it too, though some were uncomfortable, merely submitted themselves. This was part of the sharing, part of establishing the relationship (of love, of control too). She was their mother figure, and their leader. She knew their bodies, the taut, anxious ones, the slack, frightened ones, she had tasted their sweat, their semen, their salt hair, consumed them with her love, her passion. But never Tina again. It made her wonder.

  'You look so lovely,' Tina said, then touched her hair, sexlessly, reached for the mirror-backed brush, stroked gently, fine bristle moving through shining black. The bright reflections of the hot day skittered around the room as she moved. Charley closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation. This was the world slowing down, she thought. Every day is a winding road…

  Joe Katayama walked through the door. She looked fondly at him. The rest of the family were still outside, crowding hopefully behind.

  'They want to watch,' he said.

  Quiet Joe. Loyal Joe.

  'It's not possible. You know that. Too many risks. If someone were recognized…'

  He nodded. 'Okay. I'll tell them.' Then he went out and closed the door behind him, returning shortly afterward. She didn't need to ask their reaction. People followed Joe, as they followed her, and, when she thought about it, this could annoy her. In their passivity, which was part of their innocence, lay some streak of laziness, something that might one day pass for a lack of resolution, cowardice even.

  'Tina,' Charley said, stopping the brushing with her hand. 'Joe and I need a moment alone.'

  'Sure.' She looked so happy. There was a radiance in them all, she thought, now that everything was going so well.

  Joe watched her leave. 'How do you feel?'

  She thought about it. 'Strange. A little elated. Some trepidation. But not frightened, no. I don't believe I could be frightened with you around.'

  He just looked at her, said nothing.

  'Joe?' It was hard to extend any depth to these conversations with him. Intimacy didn't frighten Joe, she thought, it was simply something that he didn't want to embrace.

  'Yeah?'

  'Do you remember a point where this all turned? Where you knew what was happening? And you couldn't go back?'

  'No,' he said immediately.

  'When I quit Sundog, left the job, moved in full-time with the family. That happened for
me. There was a day when I woke up and felt this thing moving through me. We were talking loose stuff at the time. Thinking about little things, small acts that no one would ever have noticed. And I knew we could do more. That it was down to me, to lead us through it.'

  Her head was fuzzy from the illness and the dope. 'You were there then?'

  'Yeah,' he replied. 'I remember that time. We were waiting for something to draw all the threads together, Charley. You did that. Don't ask me how. I'm not that bright.'

  She held out her arms, he bent down his head, let her embrace him. 'You're bright, Joe. Bright and loyal and true. The best lieutenant I could ever ask for. Even when it gets hard.'

  He kissed her softly on the forehead, pulled back from her body. 'I can do it, Charley. I thought about these things a lot. And no, I'm not bright. But I know you got things worked out.'

  'That's her strength, Joe. Gaia did that.'

  'Right.'

  'And you remember turning that corner?'

  He thought about it. 'No. I remember feeling lost, wondering whether there was any purpose in anything. And then coming round to realizing you did see it, and it all made so much sense. You got the revelation, Charley. For the rest of us, it all came a little more slowly. We didn't have the gift.'

  'No,' she said, and thought: Someone has to lead, always.

  'You're sure about this?' she asked. 'We ought to be sure.'

  He nodded. 'I'm sure.'

  She stared at the closed door. 'I think I knew already. Intuitively. But there was something that prevented me seeing it. This is a human condition, Joe. One of our failings. The animals know better how to trust their instincts. Perhaps we can relearn these things when the world gets to start anew.'

  'You're right,' he said, and she watched him thinking wordlessly, realized there was something of the animal, feline and strong, inside Joe Katayama all the time.

  'Everything else is there?'

  'Sure. The Web page just needs the movie in it and we'll upload it. We're planning to shift the address constantly. They'll see it, but they won't see us. No problem. We'll be like a TV station with a broadcast to the world, but no one will have a clue where we're coming from.'

  'Good.' And this was the moment, she thought, much more than the time they pressed the button on Air Force One. This was when the awakening, the rebirth, began.

  'Let's have this done,' she said.

  Joe Katayama went out and came back after a minute with Tina Blackshire. The girl looked radiant. Her eyes shone, were a little misty. Beyond the door, before it shut, Charley could just make out a small crowd of figures, waiting.

  'You'll let me watch?' Tina asked breathlessly.

  'Yes.' Charley nodded. 'We need you, Tina. We all need you.'

  The pale, vapid face looked puzzled, but flattered too. 'I never dreamed I would be part of this…' She came over, touched the white gown.

  'You brushed my hair so beautifully, Tina.'

  'It's like being there,' she said, her voice trembling into falsetto. 'Like watching the Sermon on the Mount, or seeing Buddha or something.'

  'I'm not a god, Tina. None of us are gods.'

  'No,' the girl said, kneeling at her feet. 'I know. You said. We're all part of the greater god. Gaia. And the spirit of the earth.'

  'We come from the earth, we return to the earth. You know that, don't you?'

  'Yes,' she said quietly.

  Charley reached forward and touched her, felt her breast. The nipple was hard. Tina looked at her, wide-eyed, not knowing.

  'It's the feminine within us that is the source, Tina. It's important to remember that. The masculine is important, but only as a facilitator. It's the feminine where the godhead lives, for all of us. We ignore that and we cease to be alive.'

  'Yes.'

  'The world springs from the female, which tames, humanizes the male. Creation is joy, the start of the cycle. You know about creation?'

  'Sure.' Her eyes looked as if they might pop out of her head.

  'And you know about our unmaking? How the cycle ends?'

  'Yeah,' she replied softly. Then jumped. Joe Katayama had turned on the video camera, which was now attached to a tripod. It had burst into life with a loud mechanical crack.

  'You know what you're going to say in the broadcast?' she asked, wanting to change the subject.

  'I know.'

  'You have no notes?'

  'I don't need them.'

  'Wow. You want me just to sit here? I'll be in the picture?'

  Charley smiled. The girl took her hand. 'Be brave, Tina. We all have to be brave.'

  'Sure.' Joe moved the tripod a little closer, played with the viewfinder.

  'It's on,' he said. 'Don't worry if you make any mistakes. We can edit it on the machine.'

  'Yes,' Charley said, and closed her eyes. She wanted to feel the planets whirling in her head. She wanted to see the trails they made through the stars. But they weren't there.

  Charley Pascal opened her eyes and said to the camera, 'The earth doesn't belong to us. No one gave it to mankind, no god, no creature from outer space. There are no explicit mysteries, there is no deus ex machina. We are what we have become, we are what we have made ourselves. And the earth is what we have made it too. That's the implicit mystery. The earth is its own spirit. It loaned itself to what we call life, not just man, but the animals, the plants, the birds, the creatures of the seas. And only man betrayed this earth spirit, which we call Gaia. Only man.'

  She licked her lips. They were dry. Tina Blackshire's hand squeezed hers nervously. 'This cannot continue. You know this yourself. If you look in your heart of hearts, you understand this world, the world man has made, is unsustainable. We destroy a little more each and every day, and the cycle of that destruction increases each year. We extend our own lives upon the planet unnaturally, and destroy it as we do so. The world is soiled by our presence. We have squandered the gift that Gaia gave us, and for what reason? Greed. Insanity. The thrusting, covetous male principle that has come to live unchecked inside us. We are out of balance, and we have spread that imbalance to the earth.'

  Charley Pascal looked into the dead eye of the camera and tried to imagine the world listening to this message, relayed by the TV stations posted across the Internet, stopping the traffic, halting the conversation in bars everywhere.

  'We live temporal lives with no view to the future, no appreciation of the past. And if you think about it, you know that we must be reborn in the fire. This isn't a new beginning for our race, we're not butterflies emerging from the chrysalis. Our place is here. On the earth. But as part of a different order of things. We must destroy to create. We must go back to go forward. We must dismantle this false fabric of civilization and return to another time, when humanity was young. I need to open your eyes and I know this will be painful. Some will die. You shouldn't think of yourself, but of your children's children. Of the world they will inherit. Without greed and fear. Without oppression and pollution. The world Gaia granted us, and we, in our foolishness, destroyed.'

  She waited, and Katayama closed in with the zoom until nothing but her face filled the lens. Her expression was hard and cold and threatening. 'We have the power of the sun in our hands. Ask your governments. They will deny it, but they know this is true. We have killed the President of the United States, we will give you more signs so that you can prepare. And prepare you must. This is a new era. This can be a new beginning. We will, for a short while, have the chance to throw off the shackles that bind us. On the zenith, when the sun is at its peak, the sky will burn. We will destroy this artificial fabric of your lives. We will raze cities. We will sear the artifice of man from this planet. And in its place we will put truth. Nature. Reality. Don't look to the TV stations and the newspapers to tell you what to do. They won't be there, not for a while. Look to yourselves, your own hearts. And afterwards, when the governments and the dictatorships have no chains around your legs, when the sky is clear and blue, and the air is fit
to breathe, you will thank us. You will rebuild humanity, and the world we inhabit, and you will do it well.'

  In our memory, she thought. She smiled, then beckoned to Katayama to pan out, move slowly back in the room. 'This is yet to come. There are evil men who will try to seek us out and kill us to prevent this happening. This is pointless. There is no time. And we have right upon our side. They infiltrate their agents in our midst. Thinking we are some kind of god, they try to plant a Judas among us.'

  She bent down, awkwardly, toward Tina, felt her hair. The girl looked at Charley, looked nervously at the camera, lost for words.

  'This isn't going to happen,' Charley said, and motioned for Joe to cut the video. There was an awkward silence in the room. Tina broke it with a pained smile. 'That was great.'

  'No,' Charley said, gazing into her face. 'Are you one of us now?'

  'Oh yes!' Tina seemed lost.

  'Can you feel Gaia? The mother?'

  'I guess so,' she said quietly.

  On the other side of the room, Katayama had parked the camera, leaning on the tripod, taking in the whole scene at the sofa, the two women, one still, one crouched awkwardly on the floor. Charley Pascal looked across at him; he nodded. She touched Tina Blackshire's face. The skin was hot and pale and damp.

  'This isn't for any reason of betrayal,' she said. 'Not for that at all.'

  Tina Blackshire blinked. 'Betrayal?'

  'You don't need to say anything, Tina. It doesn't matter. None of us matter as individuals, only as a whole, as a family. And you are a part of that, whatever has happened between us.'

  There were tears in the girl's eyes. She didn't know where to look. Joe Katayama was moving across the room, taking care to keep out of the way of the camera.

  'I don't know what you mean, Charley. Betrayal? I…' She wiped at her face with her bare arm. Her eyes were glassy. 'I didn't like making it with you, Charley. It was nothing personal. That's all. I didn't really want to do it.'