by Mike Arsuaga
The rumor persisted that the prescription drug arm of government health care had run out of money and would have nothing more to dispense until the beginning of the next fiscal year, or in six months, so people were trying to stock up.
Ed pushed back the cloth vertical blind shielding his window from the outside to see what Lorna referred to. “Seeing this, I understand why the Regional Attorney General tried to sue us to supplement their health care program.”
Lorna’s eye came to rest on a threadbare woman in the line. Two small children, about the twins’ age, stood by her. Her solemn gray-eyed stare seemed to be able to penetrate the tint of the car window to engage Lorna. One of the children, the boy, had vivid red cheeks, a sign of pneumonia.
“Can we do anything for them, Ed?”
“I’m not sure what. Even the corporation has limits.”
“There must be something,” Lorna insisted.
Ed shrugged, picking up the car phone. “I have an idea.” Seconds later he spoke to the director of the company clinic. “That’s right. Send five thousand penicillin prescriptions to the Semoran Station. Tell them the donor wishes to remain anonymous.”
After he hung up the phone, Lorna asked, “Why be anonymous? With all the bad press the media gives us about conspiring to abandon humanity, we could use the good publicity.”
Ed turned toward her. “If the media learns what we did, they’ll stir up controversy regarding the motive. What made them favor this location above the others? Are you aware you’re helping so-and-so’s re-election? We live in mean times where no good deed goes unpunished.”
At the reception, Cynthia’s presence overwhelmed the scene. Floating among the knots of guests, she wore a tight black gown, leaving enthrallment in her wake. Since the crisis on the island, she’d begun to experiment with different hair coloring. A bright gold streak ran the length of her otherwise black mane. By her own admission, Cynthia’s desire to separate herself from comparisons with her namesake grandmother provided the motivation.
“Why don’t you stay a few more years?” Lorna asked. With the party winding down, they stood alone together. “Your projects to restore the Everglades are just showing results.” Cynthia had fulfilled the promise she’d made after all the troubles and Bobby’s execution. She’d developed a talent for organizing successful causes.
“I know, but our future is on Mars.” Her bituminous eyes stared from a milk-white face. “Out there, I think we can use what we learned from restoring the honey bee here on Earth.”
“You and your grandmother are indeed two of a kind,” Lorna said, raising her face, for Cynthia in heels stood nearly a foot taller. Sensing the younger woman’s annoyance with the comparison, Lorna added. “You’ll be an important aid to Uncle Charlie.”
“Yes, if he’s able to get an expedition together to explore Jupiter’s moons, I’ll be there to hold his coat.” Brushing back a strand of glossy hair, she appraised Lorna’s supple form. After a second, she smiled suggestively. “You know, you might consider trying something different. If you’re ever in the mood…”
Lorna self-consciously smoothed her skirt against slim, rounded hips. “No deal, dear,” she retorted. “I love you like a daughter, but I want mine without breasts.”
Cynthia smirked. “Your loss.” And the languid, exotic mechanism named Cynthia May departed to bestow her presence upon another appreciative group.
* * * *
On the ride back, Lorna asked Ed, “Did you know she was a lesbian?”
Appearing as a large dark shape, he sat in the corner beyond the orb of the convenience light. “Not really,” he replied. “I suspected so when she never kept company with males during her first decade.”
“Well, you know, she could also have just been discreet.”
“Yes, of course…”
The subject of Cynthia’s sexual preference brought Valeria to mind. Ed had taken her death, along with the circumstances—those of betraying her community—hard. Lorna surmised the disillusionment must have been daunting for him, and decided the issue should remain one best not brought up until he was ready. Almost six years after the event, not a word had passed between them about the matter.
His answer from the darkness changed that.
“To me, the memory of Valeria will remain that of a wonderful, loving child. I’m sure her dalliance with Cynthia was experimentation. At her age, I also had interesting urges.”
Lorna reached across the seat, lightly holding his extended fingers. “You don’t have to talk about all that.”
“No, enough time has passed.” Shifting position, he faced Lorna, remaining in the dark. “I judged her harshly for what she did to her own kind. Did you also know she helped Bobby escape from the compound?”
“Yes, I did,” Lorna replied.
I wasn’t sure if you did.
“She did,” he continued. “And put her kind at risk. As I said, at first I condemned her, but through you, I’ve seen firsthand the effect love has. The experience allowed me to understand why she betrayed us.”
“What did you learn?”
Ed clasped her hand tightly. “To be of value, love is a gift that must be given freely, without reservation. If you’re fortunate, the beloved cherishes the offering, returning in kind, but often the greatest gift one being can offer another is used selfishly. Valeria loved Bobby. I see that now. What she did for him, she did out of love. The poor child stood no chance against his manipulations.”
“No chance at all,” Lorna agreed.
“We are blessed. Our love has done so much good, not only for us, but for all of our kind.”
Lorna placed her other hand over theirs, smiling at the angular profile of the sometimes childlike, often brilliant, firm of conviction, always loving man she’d married and created a family with. Her heart ached, about to burst with joy.
The car slowed. “What’s happening?” Ed asked the driver.
“Nothing, sir,” the driver answered. “A routine roadblock.”
Lorna peeked outside. They were on the outskirts of town. Utility caps had turned the streetlights off for the evening. Dark rows of dilapidated houses lined the street on both sides. Their stucco walls long ago faded to a dull gray overlaid by a film of mold blending them into the night. The frantic wink of red and blue police car lights provided illumination for the scene.
A uniformed officer approached the White convoy. He spoke briefly to the driver of the lead vehicle, directing them to turn down a side street on the right.
“There’s a riot at the Waterford Health Care station,” the driver of their car reported. “Medications ran out. They learned Semoran received a full compliment. We’re asked to take a diversion.”
Ed shrunk back into the seat. “Follow the police instructions,” he ordered.
An explosion about a quarter mile away lit up the sky. The rumbling sound followed a few seconds later, shaking the car. The driver spun the steering wheel, putting the glare behind them. Ed glanced out the back windshield at the fading orange light.
As they approached the first security gate at Rocket City, Ed’s private phone rang. “Edward White,” he said in the level, noncommittal voice of a CEO. With the phone on speaker, Cynthia’s excited, youthful voice filled the compartment.
“Oh, God, Uncle Ed,” she said on the edge of hysteria. “I have terrible news.”
“Calm yourself, child,” Ed replied. “Take a breath and tell me.”
After some static, someone else took control of the phone. Thomas was on the line. “I have some grave news,” he said, trying to sound calm, but not succeeding very well.
“Okay, Cynthia told me this much,” Ed snapped. “Get to it.”
“Brother, Grandmother Samantha had a stroke.”
For what seemed like forever, Ed did not respond. Outside, clumps of palmettos and hyacinth-choked ponds flew by in alternations of spindly, fan shapes and flat darkness. In the distance ahead, a cluster of orange lights marked the inner check
point. Because of the perilous times, Lorna and Ed had broken tradition, building their home inside the second perimeter.
“How bad is she?” he finally asked.
“I’m told she’s fighting for her life,” Thomas said.
Lorna gasped. Fate had cut the female icon of The Others down with the casual indifference of taking a stalk of wheat at harvest. Life could be fragile.
“What happened?” Ed struggled to keep emotions together.
“She was gardening in her parcel at the hydroponic station with some of the great-great-grandchildren,” Thomas answered, an obvious tremor in his voice. “Witnesses say her eyes rolled up in her head, and she fell over.”
“Are the little ones all right?” Ed asked.
“Yes, thank goodness. There were others close by. Only because of them is she alive. Little Eliot called for medical help.”
“How is Great-pop doing?”
“He’s by her side, from what Ethan tells me. He keeps repeating something about God trying to reclaim perfection for Heaven.”
Ed leaned forward, resting his forehead on a clenched fist. Lorna thought he might cry. Then, remembering Thomas still remained on the line, he said, “Thank you, my brother,” and hung up. Alone again, he continued. “I don’t understand. Great-mom was young, barely two hundred.”
“Was? She’s not dead yet. She’s a tough little bird. Don’t count her out.”
The car slowed for the checkpoint. Ed attached his stare to the security guard who approached the lead vehicle. “Now things will become complicated for us,” he said at length.
“In what way?”
“Nobody beat Great-mom at getting things done. After she and Great-pop arrived, the colonies did better than they had in the previous thirty years. Even better after she became mayor.”
“But Ethan and Toby are there. They can run things.”
“There’s a problem. Like here on Earth, working together proved impossible. Great-mom understood this. Letting each work alone in fields he knew best, she utilized Toby and Ethan the same way.
“What about Claire’s son? Having colonized the place to begin with, must be of some help?”
“Charles is the consummate explorer. Since his children emerged, all he thinks about is leading a mission to the moons of Jupiter and Saturn. Some show promise of being habitable, you know.”
“If Samantha’s unable to lead, you believe things will fall apart?”
Ed grimaced. “I hope not, but I know my sons.”
Lorna regretted never having met Grandmother Sam in person. With fondness, she recalled the circumstances under which Great-mom learned they’d named the twins after The First Parents.
“You understand there’ll be consequences for violating our wishes in this matter,” she’d said to Lorna, face deadpan over the Space Stream.
Lorna took her seriously. “We meant no disrespect, but your names should live on.”
Samantha beamed at Lorna from the benign, loving face generations of The Others carried in one version or another. “You’re right, dear. We are flattered, actually. Now, let me see them.”
Lorna held up the male first. “I see a lot of you in him,” Samantha pronounced. “As well as some of Jim, too, but most of all, he resembles my son Louie.” Lorna had to think for a second to remember Sam and Jim had had a second litter. They’d died in the Plague of 2026.
Lorna lifted baby Sam for inspection. Samantha gave out an involuntary gasp. “She’s Cassie’s twin. Oh, thank you for showing me my dear, sweet Cassie lives on.”
As the car hurtled through the night, silent tears of regret rolled down Lorna’s face, regret about the opportunities she’d ignored over the years. There were holidays, birthdays and special events, but there could have been more. Now all chances might be gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sam didn’t die, but recovery took time–time the relocation project lacked. While she fought her way back into the world, reports of rivalries generating power struggles came to Ed and Lorna. Toby and Ethan gathered most of the colonists into rival factions. Charles, following his own agenda, remained aloof. His segment of followers contributed to, rather than ameliorated, the problem.
Lorna paused at the doorway to Ed’s office. She exchanged smiles, in passing, with the attendant who dropped off coffee in a silver-plated set. Basking in Ed’s admiring smile, she warmed inside at his momentary appreciation of the trim arrangement she presented. Then he returned to the monitor screen he was reading and the pleasant expression changed to one of intent.
“They’re fighting again,” he said. “This time over when to put the electrolysis plants down for maintenance, and in what order.”
“They can’t agree on small details like that? Sounds like the Brazilian legislature to me,” Lorna said in disbelief.
Ed smirked at the quip about Brazil. “No, they can’t seem to keep their egos out of policy making.” Pouring each a coffee into two tiny, china cups, he followed up with two sugar cubes accompanied by a splash of milk.
Lorna winked, taking the cup he passed across the broad desktop. “I’ll say again, dear husband. They need you to get the operation back on track. Mother Sam is still recovering. She can’t help. Without you, the whole project comes apart.”
“Not if I have to desert this family.” In speaking he displayed the beautiful set of mouth and jaw she loved so.
“At least visit Mars. Maybe you can do something,” she suggested.
* * * *
In the summer of 2106, he made the trip, staying an extra three months. Mismanagement of the electrolysis units had caused a failure of the corn crop. Rationing, augmented by supplies sent through the Space Gate, averted a famine. Grandmother Sam would not have let such a thing happen.
Lorna appreciated the frailty of the Martian settlements. The accelerated buildup of population reduced the margin for error. The colonies were three islands of life in a hostile toxic ocean. From the beginning, she understood Ed was conflicted. The Chairman side sought the best solution for the flock, while Shadow Ed—having assumed more prominence in recent times—would choose to stay with her and the children. The sadness of it was that she, too, could see both sides of the dilemma.
A few years earlier, they’d almost decided to leave the children behind for 2107. Other couples in their position had made the choice. Logically, if 2107 proved the year of destruction, the children were doomed either way, but in the end, neither of them could leave.
The debate continued through the beginning of 2107.
* * * *
The moon shuttle rose slowly on an orange feather of flame, the last mission until after 2107, assuming anything remained. An ever-widening plume of white smoke trailed behind. The remainder of the Moonbase crew would embark the passengers on this shuttle for the trip to Mars, join them, and close the door behind.
Will the last one out please turn off the lights?
A dispirited Ed was a passenger on the shuttle. Inch by inch, they’d arrived at the decision. After all the gains Shadow Ed had made in emerging into the light to blend with his alter ego, in the end, Chairman Ed carried the day. Lorna took bleak comfort in the fact he did so reluctantly. In fact, she had herself to blame that the decision had gone the way it did. Deep inside, the logical, chairman side of her understood there was no choice. The guilt of betraying Shadow Ed after all the efforts expended in cultivating him would linger for a long time.
“Either you go straighten the place out once and for good, or there’ll be no open arms in this room,” she told him at one point.
“You’re not making sense.”
“I’m making perfect sense. If the sun-thing hits, we’re all dead here. If not, you come back to a loving family. What’s there to think about?”
Like a large dog, he’d shambled off to think the issue through. Later, he returned in a tense silence. To Chairman Ed, there was no debate. Convincing took not as many repetitions as she’d anticipated. With her backing, the cha
irman side won, leading his alter-ego joylessly into the shuttle. Assuming the earth survived, Lorna hoped the other Ed wouldn’t come to hate her.
It was for the best, she kept reminding herself.
The nearly deserted observation lounge had never seemed so large. A few distant relatives, accompanied by the usual curiosity seekers, saw the shuttle off—those who didn’t believe the end of the world lurked around the corner. A ray of morning sunlight slanted in, yellow on the dusty tabletops. News reports about the increased solar activity murmured from most of the monitors. One of them broadcast an old animated movie, capturing the children’s attention.
Lorna stared at the bright actinic sky, at the diminishing orange light carrying Ed away, maybe for good.
“Mommy,” asked Sammi, turning away from the movie. “When will Daddy be back?”
Lorna beamed with love at the oval face framed by auburn hair that gazed back at her with Ed’s eyes. “Soon, baby,” she said, fighting back tears.
A waiter cleared away the lunch dishes, before presenting the bill. Lorna sighed despondently. Jimmie’s eyes were riveted to the monitor. His shiny, dark-brown hair matched hers, along with the round head. Lorna placed a corporation platinum card on the plastic-bound folder alongside the bill. The waiter snapped it up with a well-practiced swipe on his way by the table.
“Come on, Jimmie. Time to go.”
“Aw, Mom. Just a few minutes. The program’s almost over.” In fact, the movie had another half hour to run, but she didn’t have the will to argue. Being Friday, Headquarters was nearly empty for the early weekend, a popular practice since time had become so precious. Most of the familiar faces had relocated to Mars. Their replacements, while dedicated and competent, hadn’t bonded with her. After Cynthia’s departure, Lorna, Ed, the kids, and Thomas became the last on Earth. Before Ed left, they’d made a point of having dinner together at least weekly. She promised herself to continue the routine, and resume the effort to find and gather up Cassie’s daughter, Sadie.