by Steve Shear
He hurried back to his office and checked the supply train schedule. One was due in at six in the morning. That meant it would be out by seven, giving him less than an hour to sneak on. How was he going to do that?
Less than fifteen minutes later he was back at the apartment trying to think it through while rummaging through drawers looking for the most important things he could carry in a backpack. Time was running out and he knew he wouldn’t be back. They could trace him to his scud if he used it. He left it on the nightstand, which meant leaving his credit-app, his only source of ready cash. He would have to get new papers, a new scud with a credit app tied to the new papers, and a line of credit. He would for sure need Juliette for all that.
By the time he packed, the lack of sleep dominated his thoughts. He faced a long day and still hadn’t figured out how to steal his way onto the supply train. He looked at his alarm clock. It was now almost three o’clock. He set the alarm and closed his eyes.
Seconds later, it seemed, the alarm woke him out of a pleasant dream, his sister’s wedding day at the Rose Garden in DanSheba. That’s where most DanSheban weddings took place. As comforting as the dream was, he had to shrug it off, quickly. How was he going to get onto that train? He’d have to wait and see.
As he reached the service yard carrying a bulging backpack, the train was just floating in on a stream of compressed gases. Hidden behind a low fence, he counted six cars quietly drop to the ground on wheels that were rarely used. He remained hidden within the shadows of the fence watching only the last three being unloaded. Both local staff and train people from Beijing surrounded the cars making it impossible to get close without being seen. Just when his stomach became hostile, he noticed the rusty orange crane behind him. A huge dark green metal bin of trash dangled from its long arm at least thirty feet from the ground, and no one was around it. While constantly keeping an eye on the activity around the train just over the fence line, he backed up slowly, jumped onto the crane, and looked for some type of release mechanism. It had to be the shift to the driver’s right. He pushed it forward and jumped from the crane as the bin fell. Crash. A billow of smoky dust filled the yard, allowing him to return to the fence without being seen. At the same time, everyone from the train hurried to the crane.
Jonathan raced the other way, reaching the last car while the dust settled. He climbed in and rushed to one end, where he found large empty containers stacked on top of one another, hopefully left there for the return trip. After working his way through and behind them, he crouched down and waited. He could only imagine sneaking out from the car when it reached Beijing and into the hands of the Cūtocracy. They would shut him up for good, and generations of people to follow would… He couldn’t go there. It was too frightening.
From behind thick layers of cardboard he could hear the final call, then the door slamming closed and locks sliding in place. All those days and nights, the sweat, the highs and lows. Just when he began feeling sorry for himself, he realized what he had done—had been part of—and he did everything to keep from vomiting into the boxes that held him captive. Fortunately, the need to sleep calmed his stomach and overwhelmed his sense of guilt.
Once the train arrived in Beijing, the downward thump of its wheels onto the tracks below woke him from a momentary snooze. He easily escaped without being detected through the crowds at every platform. He had changed his clothes on the way and blended nicely with the civilian population. With the little bit of paper money he scrounged up in his apartment, he purchased a scud. Minutes later, he made his way toward the seedier part of the city and found a cheap hotel near the Beijing Amusement Park. For the next couple of hours, he talked several times with Juliette and another DanSheban living in Beijing, a professor of Far Eastern Studies at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem on sabbatical at the Beijing Institute.
Three days later, Jonathan DeCarlo and the professor sat across from one another in Jonathan’s hotel room. He hadn’t left there since talking to his sister. The professor gave him a passport in the name of British businessman Raymond James, an airline ticket to New Delhi and then Mumbai, credit issued by a bank owned by the DanShebans, and additional paper cash. The flight was leaving the next morning and the professor would pick him up at seven sharp. In the meantime, the professor took the Top Secret Diary and Smotecal Decretum Jonathan had stolen from the safe and passed them on to another DanSheban with instructions to make sure they reached Juliette. The next morning, right after Jonathan was safely in the professor’s automobile heading to the airport, he called Juliette to let her know.
****
Beautiful Juliette Shiffler was tall, thin, and not quite as black as Jonathan. She was also seven months pregnant. On a cold dreary afternoon in Firenze, sick with worry, she stepped into the Banco Monte dei Firenze holding a leather valise and hurried to the vault doors. She hadn’t heard from her brother since the call he made from the automobile heading to the airport and tried calling him and the professor continuously but to no avail. Heartsick or not she knew the valise and its contents had to be locked up for safe keeping. What was to become of the information Jonathan stumbled upon would have to play out later.
She approached the vault door, dialed in a code, and looked into a dual eye scanner while pressing her right hand against a palm reader. A green light beam flashed past her pupils followed by the lock clicking open. She hesitated, studied her surroundings wondering who might be watching, then entered and quickly went to her safe deposit box. Again, she looked around. She was alone near the back of the vault. No one seemed to be paying any attention. She withdrew from the valise the red diary containing the Smotecal Decretum and placed it in the box. Once she made sure the box was locked in place, she left the vault and passed through the bank lobby trying her best to avoid eye contact with the bank manager who now stood nearby staring at her.
“Thank you, Ms. Shiffler,” she heard him say as the main doors automatically opened. After stepping around dying bodies on the sidewalks and streets and making sure she wasn’t run over by paramedics speeding from one emergency to another on cushions of air, she managed to reach her own vehicle. During that ordeal she passed window after window containing large screen displays reminding people that a vaccine was coming. Pamphlets with the same message littered the streets. On one corner in front of a government building she practically walked through a hologram the size of an elephant declaring that the Coalition United for Theocratic Oversight was beginning to manufacture the vaccine.
Less than an hour later, Juliette Shiffler found herself at home in Greve, around thirty kilometers south of Florence, staring down at nothing in particular, Jonathan’s favorite book clenched tight against her chest as she stood on a cold stoop leading up to the stone house. She glanced toward the rooftops in the town square, barely visible beyond the trees, although impossible to see through the wetness that filled her eyes. “Water, water, everywhere, and all the boards did shrink. Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink,” she mumbled, loosening her grip on Coleridge, dropping it from her hands onto the pavement below. She sobbed. Many of her dear, dear friends gone, as if whisked away by the hand of a vengeful magician. And her brother, where was he? The plague swooped in and took few prisoners. Juliette, one of the lucky ones residing in Greve, managed to survive. Other towns and cities throughout the world may have fared better, especially the larger cities, but none escaped the touch of death—none escaped the albatross.
Juliette Shiffler thought about all the publicity on the upcoming vaccine and then about dear Jonathan’s discovery. She had reason not to be immunized. The next morning, she packed her things and went into hiding, back to DanSheba, praying she would soon hear from her brother.
****
It was summer in Italy which meant Smotec Innocent, the Supreme Minister of the Ecclesian Church, was vacationing in in the Smotecal Palace of Castel Gandolfo. That meant High Minister Charles Sheen would be there also, even though he hated the place. He also hated this
whole business having to do with the Smotecal Decretum. He wished he had been allowed to vote yes at the last Cūtocractic meeting in Rome, but Smotec Innocent could only be pushed so far by the Cūtocracy.
Minister Sheen knew that the conservative agenda of Smotec Innocent, and the Cūtocracy that the Ecclesian Church bankrolled, limited and reversed most of the technological advances made in the last several centuries. After all, he came into office as Smotec Innocent’s first lieutenant fifty years earlier. At the moment Sheen happened to be in town sitting on the patio of an outdoor café overlooking Lake Albano. With a cup of coffee in one hand and his scud in the other hand, he listened with tight jaws, then abruptly barked out his demands.
“Enough excuses! I need to know how it happened. You already told me it was the Cūtocracy, but who, damn it? Well just get back to me with something positive.”
The Minister disconnected and called his server over for another cup of coffee and some sweets. He was procrastinating. The smotec said he was available all morning and the morning was almost gone. After drinking a third cup of coffee and leaving most of the sweets, he paid the check and hailed a taxi. Within fifteen minutes he stood in the palace drawing room waiting for His Sacredness to appear. Hopefully the smotec would be in a good mood he thought as he tapped on the golden chest covered with rubies and emeralds he used as a crutch to help him stand straight and remain confident.
“So?” the smotec snarled after entering the room, even before the door behind him could close. Clearly, he was not in a good mood.
Sheen hesitated and before he could respond, the smotec held up his hand in a gesture of silence. “I know, stolen by the Cūtocracy, but that’s not enough. Why would they?” Innocent was referring to the Smotecal Decretum he had executed to make it clear he was not going along with the Cūtocracy’s insane measure they passed at the last council meeting.
“To hold it over you. At least that’s what my informants tell me.”
“And now some people took it from them. Do you realize what this could do to the Church, to me?” Merely uttering those words caused Innocent to swipe a tightened fist across the closest vase. The priceless relic crashed to the floor.
“Apparently, one person. A Jonathan DeCarlo. We could go public with the Cūtocracy’s plan?”
“Are you crazy? We were part of that plan, or at least we financed it. No! Find the Decretum and do whatever it takes. This Jonathan DeCarlo and anyone else who’s seen it must go. Is that clear?” Without another word, Innocent stormed out of the drawing room. He left his top minister shaking as he picked up the broken pieces of vase. Sheen knew in his heart that the smotec was thrilled with the plan they had voted against but didn’t want his fingerprints on it.
****
Jonathan DeCarlo did not make it to the airport with the professor. Just before arriving, and after each one disposed of his scud, they were picked up and thrown into an icy dungeon deep within the heart of Beijing. Through days of brutal interrogation, he maintained his innocence, insisting he didn’t know what they were talking about. He had no knowledge of a missing diary. Then, suddenly, the interrogation stopped. He was left alone for what seemed like days, in the dark, with only a pitcher of water and cracker crumbs that became magnets for rats the size of cats. Throughout the ordeal he thought about the professor and prayed he didn’t talk. What could he say? They didn’t have the diary or the Smotecal Decretum. Juliette did. Then it hit him far worse than all the pin pricks, water-soaked rags, and chain marks across his back he managed to survive. If the professor told them about Juliette, she was in danger!
“Christ, what did I do?” he blurted out. Hopefully she had the sense to get the hell out of Italy and return to DanSheba. Hopefully!
The next thing he knew, several of his captors dragged him up hundreds of crumbling steps past cells reeking with the rancid prophesy of death. After being passed off several times, he found himself on a super transport flying several inches above its tracks at well over three-hundred kilometers an hour heading toward…where? He wasn’t sure. The two soldiers who never left his side carried nano-wave cadmium blue super-laser guns hidden within the breast pockets of their maroon and gold uniforms. Normally, such hideous firearms were reserved for much higher-level officials in the military and only on a need to have basis. In the case of the two soldiers, they carried them legally, or so he was warned, due to the importance of their mission.
After transferring trains three times, they arrived in Italy, then into the Rome station during the early morning rush. A General Somebody had joined him on the last leg, and both were greeted on Platform 23 by a civilian official the general clearly didn’t like. He was there to pick up the prisoner for the Cūtocracy, the official exclaimed harshly as a man who thought he knew how to take charge might.
The official then turned to the prisoner. “Jonathan DeCarlo?” he barked in a high-pitched voice that contradicted his large frame and heavy beard, a voice that gave Jonathan confidence.
“You know who I am, you bastard.” Jonathan stepped toward the official with his cuffed hands raised, causing the general to step between them. Rather than wait for a reprimand, the prisoner spit in the general’s face, something he had been waiting to do to someone ever since they dragged him from the dungeon.
The general stepped back, slammed Jonathan across the jaw with the butt of his super-laser gun and wiped the spit from his face. The next thing Jonathan knew, a long, narrow barrel pressed tight against his temple.
At twenty-four years old he stood six feet three inches, extremely tall for his people, and like many claiming an Ethiopian ancestry he had dark eyes and dark hair that seemed to blend seamlessly with his coal black skin. What he didn’t have was a red bound diary of sorts and a certain document the authorities desperately wanted.
The civilian official pushed the general away. “Are you crazy? We need him alive.” The general shoved the official back and raised the butt of his gun threatening to use it once again. The two soldiers stepped in to keep them apart.
Seeing his opportunity, Jonathan slithered down the platform like a lizard on flat ground dodging crowds of passengers stepping off and on recently arrived and departing trains. Zing, zing, zing, he could practically feel the rays of blue light shoot past him as both soldiers took aim. Poof, poof, poof, passengers on his left practically disintegrated. He had often wondered why those C-B super-laser guns were outlawed. Now he knew. And that made him race even faster into one of the standing cars after wedging between exiting passengers. Once inside the train, he plowed through standing humanity to reach the last car and escape out the back. By then, the two soldiers were in a good place to take aim and began firing once again. By the time the official reached them, a side wall of the caboose dripped with melted metal. More people died, including the train’s conductor.
Jonathan jumped onto the stairs of a bridge draped across the tracks between adjacent platforms and raced over it. He could hear the two soldiers close behind, but with his hands cuffed, it was hard to run much faster. They were closing the gap, but no longer shooting. Just when he thought they were going to reach him, he leaped onto the far track ahead of a train that he didn’t see coming. Wham.
Chapter Two
More than a century later
Meta was cleaning the dinner dishes from the night before. Yennie had driven down to Greve during his visit to Florence. They spent the evening talking about family and friends, and home. Both were black Jews of Ethiopian heritage living far from DanSheba. Yennie wasn’t one to boast but rather downplayed his accomplishments. Later that night, after a bottle of wine or more, Meta understood fully the powerful position he held in the American government. But then it wasn’t until around three in the morning, well after he had returned to Florence, that she realized how opportune that could be for the plan she had been hatching over the past dozen years. The problem had always been how she would start, who she would need, and how anyone could believe such an outlandish story, especia
lly considering the world didn’t even know her people existed. In the middle of the night it occurred to her. She was about to give birth to a plan and hoped the elders would approve it.
By eight in the morning, she carefully placed the evening dishes in the dishwasher, then stopped what she was doing and looked for her scud. Within minutes she heard Yennie at the other end greeting her, then raised him onto a holographic screen that projected from her scud.
“Yennie, are you leaving today or tomorrow? I forgot what you said.”
“Actually, on Thursday. Why?”
“Do you remember our discussion last night about my great granduncle, Jonathan?”
“Meta, you didn’t get me drunk. Of course, I remember it. But you never explained exactly what got him killed other than he stole some sensitive documents.”
“Do you have a minute, right now?”
“As you can tell, I am in a very long line waiting to see Michelangelo’s David. I’d say I have more than a minute. What’s on your mind that we didn’t discuss last night? Wait. Let me call you back on a secure line. When the call comes in it will ask for a code. Type in the name of the high school I attended back home.”
He called her back; she entered the name of the high school, then proceeded to tell him exactly what got Jonathan DeCarlo killed and her plan in fair detail. She saw on her holographic screen he was skeptical at first, but warmed up to the idea after overwhelming her with question after question.
“This is our chance, Yennie, finally. Can you help?
“Truthfully I can’t say. It won’t be up to me. However, I think the president and her press secretary may be willing to listen if I catch them at the right time. Why don’t you come into Florence tomorrow and we can continue this conversation here?”