Reconception: The Fall

by Deborah Greenspan

  The man was like a huge upright lion, sporting a mane of shaggy hair that started at his head and continued on down his back. He was pulling at the door of the van, all the while talking with his two companions. The smallest of the men, dark and slender, climbed onto the roof of the vehicle, while the third, as drab in appearance as the other two were interesting, went around to the back.

  Evie, aghast, clutched at Garret, whose own trepidation seemed to freeze his blood. She knew he had reviewed their options in the same split second that she had, and she knew that they had arrived at the same conclusion. While her heart raced with fear at these wholly unexpected events, her mind was satisfied, and elated, to find that the supposition on which they’d based the last year's work, had been correct.

  There were people who had been able to survive the plagues and pollution. Even in terror for her life, she couldn't quiet her scientific curiosity. How had they survived? What was different about them? How would this affect their research?

  "Should we face them now, or wait until they're more vulnerable?" Garret whispered.

  She smiled. "We'll have to just walk over there and see what happens."

  "I knew you'd say that," he smiled, hoping his feeble attempt at humor would bolster her. Actually, Evie was okay. If anyone was having trouble with the circumstances, it was Garret. Evie was able to suspend her fear in intellectual wonder, but Garret was not.

  Reaching for each other's hands, the two scientists stepped forward and into the visual field of the lion man, who was just about to thrust a small boulder through the glass viewing port of their land vehicle.

  "No!" Evie cried as Garret hurled himself forward to prevent the action that might mean their death.

  The man stopped, the rock poised to strike, and turned his head toward the sound of Evie's voice. Garret, trying to prevent the destruction of their vehicle, almost had his head crushed by that same rock as he lunged into the man. But the man took the body blow as Garret slammed into him, stepped back, and dropped the rock to the side. Garret fell forward and landed on his knees.

  For a moment there was complete silence. Then everyone started yelling. A sound akin to a roar from the lion man brought the commotion to a halt. When all eyes were upon him, he spoke. "Who are you?"

  His words were English, but with an odd inflection. Looking at him more closely, Evie saw that the man's 'mane' was actually his clothes, which were made of twisted rope, shiny beads, and long lengths of homespun, woven together so that the ends of the cloth and the rope trailed down his back like coarse hair. "We're scientists from East USA. We're on a rescue mission to the Southeast habitat," she said, while Garret got to his feet and brushed the sand off himself. "My name is Evelyn Chandler and this is Garret Walker."

  The three men were silent, waiting for more. Garret, surprised, noted that the small, dark one was not a man, but a woman. He stood straighter, and continued where Evie had left off. "This is our vehicle. We need it to survive out here."

  The woman, brushing black hair from her face, moved closer and fingered the material of Evie's jumpsuit. "Plastic," she spat, and brushed her hand against her side as if it had touched something dirty.

  It wasn't technically plastic, Evie thought, but a complex organic molecule engineered from petroleum, that was similar to rayon but longer wearing. All their clothes were made from it. She was about to say this when she realized that, as a generic term, 'plastic' was as good as any.

  The lion man observed this interplay and made no comment. Studying the two strange ones and listening to them, he felt oddly moved. He felt no evil from them, yet their clothes and their vehicle indicated that they were involved with great wickedness. Intrigued and mystified, he motioned for them all to sit down.

  "I am Eye of Eagle of the Mountain people and this," he said, pointing to the woman, "is Teller. The man is Cries at the Moon. You are not ... of the Earth?"

  Teller looked up sharply. What a question. Did he think they were from another planet? She knew who they were. Obviously, they were survivors of the Evildoers, those who had disappeared when the works of their hands had caused the Great Disasters of the last century and their own present misery.

  Garret tried to make sense of the question. "Not of the Earth? What do you mean?"

  "I mean," answered Eye of Eagle, "are you of Earth or are you other? Your clothes and vehicle indicate 'other,' yet I feel no harm in you."

  "We are of the Earth," Evie said. "We are scientists and our work ... "

  Teller interrupted, "Scientists are pawns of the Evildoers."

  "But we are New Scientists," Garret said, thinking quickly, "Our purpose is to restore the Earth and repair the damage done by the Evildoers."

  Eye of Eagle mulled this over as he chewed on a blade of grass. "You are descendants of these people." It was not a question.

  Neither Evie nor Garret knew what to say. Cries at the Moon, dull though he was in appearance, suddenly uttered a sound of such intensity and dimension that it momentarily darkened the sky (at least that was Evie's impression). "Why do you need that wheeled thing?" he asked when the last echoes of his cry had rebounded off the rocks.

  The man has an incredible voice, Garret thought—like warm faux-chocolate sauce. "We can't survive out here. We carry food, water, and clean air. We'd never get back home without it.

  Teller laughed bitterly, "What's wrong with this air?"

  Evelyn looked her in the eye, "We're used to breathing purified air, with more oxygen, less CO2, and no pollutants. Besides that there's the ultraviolet ... and it doesn't look like there's much food to be had ... "

  Teller narrowed her eyes and almost hissed, "Where do you come from?"

  "Underground," Evie said.

  Eye of Eagle, watching intently, whistled softly, "So that's where they went. We thought so."

  "We mean you no harm," Garret said. "After our people went underground, they changed. They realized what they'd done, and began the search and study of methods to undo the damage. Unlike the scientists you spoke of who were pawns of the Evildoers, New Scientists are trained in holistic thinking. Our purpose is benevolent."

  Eye of Eagle, his blue eyes thoughtful, sighed, "Sometimes, our finest dreams generate our worst nightmares." He shrugged, "Where were you going in your fine vehicle?"

  "Southeast sector has lost their food supply. We're bringing emergency rations and replacement producers." At the puzzled look on their faces, Garret added, "Producers are microbes that turn organic material into edible protein."

  "Organic material?" Eye of Eagle questioned.

  "Yes, organic waste, petroleum and so forth."

  At this, first Eye of Eagle, and then the other two Mountain people began to laugh uproariously. Garret and Evelyn looked at each other in wonder and waited for the outburst to subside. Eye of Eagle tried to explain, "We find it very funny that you say on one hand that you are so different from your ancestors while at the same time you use petroleum to make your food. This is a contradiction."

  When Evie thought to argue this point, he added, "There is waste from your food production, isn't there? Some kind of, I'm sure, completely innocuous, chemical by-product?" From the look on her face he saw that he was right, "You contain it of course," he added, his face a study in seriousness with a hint of merriment behind it.

  "We do," Evie answered.

  As suddenly as the laughter had begun, all signs of mirth disappeared from Eye of Eagle's face. "You are not of Earth," he said, getting up. "You are other."

  Teller and Cries at the Moon also got up and Evie and Garret jumped to their feet. "Wait," Evie cried, "Wait."

  Eye of Eagle looked at her and waited.

  She reached out and took his big, rough hand in her small, soft ones. They both studied the contrast as she spoke. "Perhaps we are 'other' as you say, but it is not by choice. Garret and I cannot help it if we came from underground. When we were only eight we discovered an exit and stepped upon the surface of this beautiful Earth. Since th
en we've worked every moment of our lives to try and find our way back, to heal this world of the sickness our fathers wrought on it. We cannot change who we came from, anymore than you can change your history. Please, help us. We don't want to be separate. We want to be of Earth."

  Eye of Eagle heard the passion in her voice and nodded. "We are dying," he said, "every day another man discovers a cancer, another woman miscarries an obscenity, which, thank the Mother, does not live, or it becomes apparent that another child is retarded or otherwise mentally deficient."

  "You created this world!" Teller cried.

  Tears coursed down Evie's cheeks, and Garret stepped in to support her. "Not us," he said, "we didn't create it. We were born into it just as you were."

  "It's so," Eye of Eagle said. "They're not responsible. They are as much victims as we are. Perhaps more so." He took Teller's arm, wiry and taut with anger, and spoke directly to her. "They're not tough enough to survive here. When they die, they won't return to the Mother, for they don't know her. They're alone, cut off. We should pity them." To Evie he said, "Forgive Teller, she's lost many children."

  Evie spoke softly, directly to the despairing woman, "I'm not permitted to have children."

  Despite herself, Teller felt sorry for the woman—living underground, locked away in the dark. She is a pretty woman, Teller thought, more than pretty, with golden hair and soft brown eyes, but so disconnected somehow. Evie did not know life, the woman realized, but wanted to know it. Understanding liberated Teller as she let go the unreasoning anger she'd felt since spotting the van an hour ago. Her dark eyes glowed with maternal compassion, and she stepped over to Evie and took her hand.

  "None of us is to blame for what our ancestors did. Eye of Eagle is right, and perhaps, we should not judge you so harshly."

  Evie studied Teller's dark eyes. She was not a pretty woman, not in any sense that Evie had been trained to appreciate, but she had a presence. Her features were strong, angled, sharp. She did not look soft or vulnerable in any way but savage and beautiful, as if she could wield a knife as readily as she could suckle a babe. She was primal, a mother-goddess, definitely of Earth, and everything that Evelyn knew she was not. Evie moved toward her; reaching out, she took Teller’s hands. Teller started to withdraw, but then, looking into Evie’s eyes, let go the last of her fear, and they hugged each other, woman to woman across the gulf between worlds.

  East USA Habitat: 2128

  John Morgan had made a startling discovery. His research in atmospherics had virtually come to a halt, and when questioned, his answer was that he was hoping to reach a breakthrough at any time. Scientists require a lot of time for thinking and no one could know that the thoughts on Morgan's mind were of destruction, not creation, or that his data bank research was not in biology but in politics and nuclear proliferation treaties.

  He was looking for warheads, nuclear weapons, missiles with directional capability, and, it had taken some time, but he'd found several. A bomb, strategically placed would begin the job he had decided to do. The next one would finish it. A couple bombs aimed one after another at the New Mexican desert would open up one unholy can of worms.

  Stretching his arms over his head, Morgan punched a few more buttons on his computer and got the exact coordinates of the missile base. Although these warheads had supposedly been disarmed in the early 21st century, Morgan's dedicated research and careful manipulations of certain people had broken into classified material. It was within this databank that he'd made his discovery. Ripley, the computer whiz, had been right.

  Ripley was not a new scientist. He was just interested in computers, nothing else, and no amount of persuasion could get him to study anything else. He could get into any databank, break any code, sidestep any firewall. He liked to do it; he liked the challenge. Ripley essentially got off on only one thing: solving puzzles. He had only two emotions, confusion and completion, and he bounced back and forth between these two parameters like a ball in a rubber room, never suspecting that there might be anything outside.

  When Morgan wanted to study classified material, it had been an easy matter to get Ripley to break the codes. He'd simply said, "Ripley, I have a problem and I need your help. I need to get into old classified military documents." Ripley did not ask why. The puzzle was interesting. The solution was elegant.

  The bomb was well within range of the land vehicle that had been constructed to travel to Southeast sector, and upon its return, Morgan intended to use it. He had hoped to be able to launch the missile electronically, without leaving the safety of East USA, but there were certain mechanical operations that had to be initiated before the warhead could function. He intended to take Jersey Lipton with him, and as he sat before his computer console working out the details, he thought about the tactics he would use to convince Jersey to help him.

  Jersey was a brilliant man, a physicist. Although he was qualified as a New Scientist, he wasn't really at ease with anything that didn't have the clarity and precision of mathematics. He thought in eloquent computational terms. His dreams were of geometric forms and spatial relationships rather than people. Words bothered him. He thought of words as deceptive and misleading, thus he was a quiet man who lived in his laboratory and spoke only when spoken to. His relationships were only with those who could communicate on his terms.

  What could a man like that want or need, Morgan wondered? How could he be recruited and convinced to help launch the missile. The more he puzzled over it, the more Morgan thought he should find someone else. Jersey was immune to most forms of coercion. He needed nothing except to continue his research. A lightbulb flashed at the idea, and Morgan realized he'd found the handle he'd been looking for.

  "Jersey," he said, entering the man's laboratory, "I'm sorry to interrupt you, but there's a problem."

  Jersey looked up from an intricate mass of wires and coils that sprouted from the banks of machinery lining the walls, and studied Morgan with complete abstraction. Morgan felt that he might as well be a table for all the emotional content that Jersey expressed. The seconds passed and then the minutes. The physicist turned back to his work, having decided that the intruder was of no apparent consequence.

  "I said there's a problem," Morgan repeated. "We're going to have to close down this lab." That would get his attention.

  "What?" Jersey said, "This is my lab."

  "Not any more. Atmospherics needs the space. We've got priority over ... what is it you're working on?"

  "It's pure research. I haven't any results to publish yet."

  "I guess that's why we have priority. Anyway, you'll have to move."

  Jersey knew that he didn't stand a chance against Morgan. The man had a reputation. "Where am I being moved to?" he asked.

  Morgan smiled to himself. This was going to be easier than he had supposed. "I don't know," he shrugged, casually walking through the lab and fingering first this piece of equipment and then that.

  The physicist's anxiety rose in direct proportion to Morgan's nonchalant handling of his life's work. "I don't think there is any other space. That's why we're taking over this one."

  "But I have to continue my work!" Jersey cried. "I can't stop now. I'm so close!"

  Knowing the impact his offhand manner was having and timing his response for maximum emphasis, Morgan waited. He marveled at the passion residing just under the surface, which his actions were so accurately eliciting, and watched, elated, as Jersey began to emotionally unravel. When the physicist's anguish reached exquisite heights, Morgan stepped in to save him.

  "Calm down man," he said, "if it's that important maybe there's something we can do."

  From there it was an easy matter to gain Jersey Lipton's undying devotion.

  Mountain People: 2128

  Evie and Garret drove their vehicle slowly and carefully over the rutted road. Ahead of them, Eye of Eagle stopped and gestured for them to go to the left. Garret couldn't see any road but he followed the directions of the big man and turned. H
e and Evie had hardly spoken since their meeting with the three mountain people just two hours ago. They'd agreed to go with them to their village and had gotten the van turned around and had driven off the road. From then on there'd been little to do but drive and watch the scenery. They had a million questions and nothing to say.

  The countryside was not as barren as it looked from a distance. Many small plants and grasses hugged the ground, holding the remaining soil together. It was not quite desert but close enough to make Evie wonder how the mountain people were able to survive. Obviously their bodies had adapted to the ozone and CO2 in the air, but what about food, the ultraviolet radiation, water, heavy metals? Relax, she told herself for the third time in as many minutes, her excitement nearly beyond control. All questions will be answered in time.

  Rounding a knoll, the van moved ponderously over the rocky ground. The sight which greeted them was like nothing they had ever imagined. Eye of Eagle signaled for them to get out of the van and they did.

  "This is our farm," he said, sweeping his arm across the scene. "From here, we feed our people and our animals." It did not look like any 20th century farm. There were no orderly rows of grains and vegetables, all alike, but clusters of many varieties of useable plants, including small trees and bushes.

  "It doesn't look like a farm," Evie said doubtfully.

  "It's what's known as sustainable agriculture," Teller explained. "Different varieties of foodstuffs grown together support the soil and eliminate the need for artificial fertilizers and pesticides."

  "But how?" Garret wanted to know. "How is it possible? It looks more like a garden or a forest than a farm!"

  "It is more like a garden. We've encouraged the growth of a great variety of plants, trying to get it as close to a natural system as we could."

  "But what about the ultraviolet radiation? What about water?"

  "Most of the monocultures they used to cultivate at the end of the industrial era were too weak to withstand excessive UVB, but these plants were not. Our people have been here for a very long time, you see—over a hundred years. They chose their seed carefully. Many of these crops were originally weeds. They're strong and adaptable.