“We have a few hours until the sun comes up, when it will be too hot to do this,” Aunty said. “But if we remove some of the center panels, we can create a runway using the panels we leave as demarcation and guidance. And after it is clear we can wet our runway down to soften the earth beneath.” She took a deep breath. “Might be the best we can do.”
It took about three hours, two tankers of water, and all the energy a geriatric workforce could manage, but they had a runway and a rising sun to reflect off the remaining panels to serve as a guide into a safe haven. Now all they needed was a plane.
IT WAS LIKE a game played by giants in a hurtling subway car, but X and John were able to rearrange the train passengers for their next move, and that had to be soon because there would be no way to pull off this maneuver in daylight.
The I train came to a stop about five hundred feet from the platform for the AirTrain monorail for the airport terminals and gates. Dr. Walters told the babies that they would eat soon, and as if they understood her, they all settled into the huge arms that held them.
In between the I train and the monorail was a circular ticket booth filled with cops. The Dyscards would need the dark for what they had to do, and because of the blackout, the platform was empty, the train at rest. The only sound the I train made was a gentle sigh as the doors parted and the Border Patrol spilled out. The guards stormed the ticket booth in much the same manner they had the subway station back at One Hundred Third Street. As before, the baby brigade of the Border Patrol followed and boarded the monorail car. Once the precious cargo was stored and accounted for, the remaining refugees followed. X and John and the train driver all held hands as John led them to the front of the AirTrain.
“Ever drive one of these?” X asked as the driver settled into the seat.
“If it has an accelerator, steering, and brakes, we’ll be okay,” the driver answered. X and John believed him.
THE CAPTAIN OF the Galaxy had lined the cabin of the C-5 transport with as many blankets as he could. He wanted to insulate the cabin from the air temperature outside and to cushion the cargo plane for its special passengers. The captain had lowered the emergency exit stairs in the rear, as it would have taken too long to operate the nose doorway of the plane. He had nothing left to do but turn on the engine. He thought it might be a waste of fuel to do this, with no one there, but he decided he would just follow the instructions even if they did come from a kid. He checked his watch one more time.
“Where are they?” he said as he flipped the ignition switch on the main console. Nothing happened, and the captain was glad that there was no one there to see. He stood up and cursed at the battery pack beneath his seat. He sat back down, cursed again, and retried the ignition switch.
The propeller coughed and belched a gray cloud of exhaust.
“I know how you feel,” the captain said to his old friend.
The air cleared as the propeller spun and the engine settled into a steady hum.
THE BLACK TOWN car with the tinted windows cut its lights as it pulled into the parking area just in time to see the Dyscard Border Patrol storm the ticket booth and assault the AirTrain. Christine was cheering in the backseat while Dee was busy calculating time and distance. The chairman’s driver was just trying to catch the train as it approached the terminals. The town car ripped through the hurricane fence between the parking lot and the monorail.
X saw them and tugged on the hand she was holding until John saw the chairman’s town car too. She could see the old transport at the end of the runway. X hoped she wouldn’t cry.
“Look, it’s your sister,” her friend said, and X looked back at the chairman’s town car with her sister waving out of the back window until someone pulled her in. The AirTrain made it to the terminal, the car stopped beneath the monorail, and the C-5 transport still had to be two hundred yards away.
There was no way the town car could help with that many people. The Border Patrol started to rappel from the train with the babies swaddled inside their coats. They were followed by the remaining guards and refugees, with X leading Ichabod and John at the rear. Everyone was running toward the runway and the old plane.
THE CAPTAIN PICKED up the binoculars he kept in the cockpit and watched the debarking operation at the AirTrain. He saw the black town car idling nearby. And then he saw the flashing lights and the convoy of cop cars turning toward the airport exit.
THE DRIVER OF the town car backed into the opening at the fence.
“Get out,” the driver yelled at Christine and Dee. He had seen the cops’ flashing lights too. Christine and Dee froze; he yelled at them again. Dee opened the door, stepped outside. “Go,” the driver said to Christine. She still didn’t know whether she could trust him or not.
“What are you going to do?” Christine asked.
Dee was calling her name.
“Somebody’s got to take care of the chairman,” the driver said into the rearview mirror. He winked. “Go ahead,” he said. And she did.
THE CAPTAIN WAS having trouble hauling in the emergency stairs by himself and he didn’t have much time. It would have to do, for now. As soon as he got back to the cockpit, he released the emergency brake and put the C-5 into gear. The Galaxy started to roll for the first time in months. He hoped the tires would hold out and pointed the plane toward the approaching crowd. He would need a slow approach because of the tires, and he didn’t want to suck anybody into the draft created by the huge rotating propellers. He was holding the throttle back, and the fuselage shook in complaint.
SOMEHOW THE BORDER Patrol wrapped around the baby brigade kept their tight formation as they ran toward the approaching plane, because even these badass soldiers were petrified as the C-5 transport aircraft bore down on them. The band of Dyscards had almost reached the plane when the cop cars turned into the opening in the fence. It slowed them down to go through the downed fence and then around the chairman’s car, but no one was about to tell the chairman to move.
THE CAPTAIN KNEW he would have to turn the big C-5 around to provide better access for his cargo and to position the plane to make it for the runway. He made the turn as quickly as the wheels would allow and cursed because he would have to set the brake to run back and drop the stairs. The light on the console indicated the stairs were down.
“They must have dropped when we made the turn,” the captain said out loud. He hadn’t secured them properly and he hoped the staircase was still there. The captain opened the intercom and heard voices shouting, “Go, Go, Go.”
“Would the kid in charge report to the cockpit, please,” the captain said into the intercom. “And anybody back there who knows how to secure the emergency stairs and close the hatch, do it. The rest of you may want to hold on to one another. Enjoy the flight.”
Dee knocked on the cockpit door. “Descartes de Kant,” Dee said. “Just make it Dee.” And Dee all but saluted the captain.
“Good,” the captain said. “Ever copilot a plane? Never mind. Have a seat.”
“I am a fast learner,” Dee said.
And then the Galaxy lurched into gear.
“Rear hatch secure,” John said. X patted her chest. She still had the pendant, secure, through all of this; she still had her X wrapped in the band of gold, protecting her heart. Through all of this she remained X. She took John’s hand. She had come through this with him too. She put his hand to her chest on the other side of the pendant, and welcomed him to her heart.
“Medical personnel on board,” Walters said, and tapped Gabriel on the top of the hand that rested on her shoulder.
“Me too,” Christine said as she moved up next to Gabriel and Dr. Walters. She linked her arm through Gabriel’s and said, “You know…”
Gabriel did.
There was something about this girl that reminded the captain of someone. He couldn’t place who, and didn’t have the time to think about it. He smiled anyway.
The cops were trying to overtake the transport and block access to
the runway but the C-5 Galaxy was picking up speed and drawing the air along with it.
THE DRIVER OF the chairman’s black town car watched it all from the front seat behind the tinted glass. The police cars had all raced around as if they knew that the party boss was watching. The driver leaned over to the hands-free mike and said in his best chairman’s voice, “Terminate the chase. Repeat: terminate the chase. They’re not worth the risk to our men or equipment. Let them go. Let them go.”
No one wanted to argue with the chairman, or the approaching C-5 transport. The cops pulled back, and the Galaxy lifted off the runway, the plane a silhouette in front of the morning sun.
Landing
Even though Aunty and Dr. Dunne knew it might be dangerous, practically everyone who could make it from the camp gathered around the makeshift runway. The community had come to a compromise and given the airfield plenty of room. George couldn’t wait to find Patsy, but it shouldn’t be much longer. He planned on taking Christine with him. They would all be together soon, he thought.
A collective buzz sounded when the plane finally appeared in the cloudless sky, but everyone fell silent as the big plane made its descent. The captain of the Galaxy was depending on the big plane’s giant wingspan to glide the aircraft to safety, or at least to the runway.
The captain pulled the wheel and pointed the nose of the plane toward the strip. It was clearly indicated and the captain was impressed.
“Nice job on the runway,” the captain said to his new copilot, Dee, “but way too short for this big bird. I am going to need your help.”
Together the captain and Dee cut the steering hard to the left once the wheels were on the ground. The captain knew the tires wouldn’t withstand this, and they didn’t. He just hoped the rest of the Galaxy would.
The big plane did a 360-degree turn, sending solar panels flying, before it came to a complete stop. The captain opened the cockpit window and gave a thumbs-up sign, even though he felt like taking a bow. The crowd that had gathered answered in spontaneous applause, so the captain got up from his seat and took his bow.
Dr. Dunne motioned George and the rest of the rescue and recovery crew ahead of the crowd. George was glad for the direction, as there were too many possibilities for him to know what he was supposed to do. He didn’t want to think that his granddaughter might be hurt, or that his wife was close by and needed him.
George wondered if it was because he was thinking of Patsy that he thought he saw her walk through the open door and descend the stairs of the big plane. He realized it was Christine and she looked to be all right, but what had struck him was that she looked just like Patsy had at that age. It was her motions as well as her looks, the way she shaded her eyes as she surveyed the crowd.
When Dr. Dunne reached the plane, the Border Patrol came out and down in the same determined formation the patrol had when they had left Ward’s Island. They were ready to hand over their special delivery and close their end of this transfer. Everyone’s attention was focused on the babies’ safe passage. At the end of this line of Dyscards was another girl who looked like Christine. Even with the short cropped black hair, it could have been Patsy at just about the age when George and Patsy met. “Ximena,” George said. For the moment George wasn’t sure where he was, and then, seeing his granddaughters, it was as if he were watching the story of his wife before him at different stages of her life, all at the same time. He couldn’t wait to tell all this to the real thing.
That was when Christine saw her grandfather. She waved like she had when she was a little girl. She had recognized him right away and she went to her sister and pointed out their grandfather. X put her arm around Christine and started waving and walking toward him. George noticed two young men with them, following behind. He had to laugh, as that looked like Patsy too, except he had been that young man. They all came toward him.
There was almost too much to tell them, too many questions to ask, for George to know what to say. He held out his arms to his granddaughters, one for each. They pressed their cheeks against his chest.
George stepped back and took a good look at them. “Now all we need to do is find your grandmother,” George finally said. But the girls were looking over his shoulder.
“Grandma?” his granddaughters said.
George turned around and there at Dr. Dunne’s side was Patsy.
“George Salter,” Patsy said. “It’s about time.”
Acknowledgments
While writing is a solitary act, it takes a collaborative effort to produce a book. I have been most fortunate to have had the help and support of many terrific people in publishing The Age of the Conglomerates. These are a few:
I’ll start where everything begins: to Debbie and to Aimee, Lisa, and Sarah. Thank you for sharing your life with me.
To my two brothers, Pete and Bob Nevins. And to Jim Fay, thanks for being a friend.
To Terry and Tom Magluilo, my other mom and dad, thank you!
To Random House: I am honored to have a part in the house that Bennett Cerf and Donald Klopfer built.
To Kate Medina: for her time, talent, and encouragement, and for giving me the opportunity to fulfill a dream. I will always be grateful.
To Gina Centrello: for her support, her kindness, her vision and leadership, and for the outstanding team she has assembled, some of whom worked with me to produce this story. I would like to thank the following: Dennis Ambrose, Debbie Aroff, Camille Dewing-Vallejo, Sanyu Dillon, Debbie Glasserman, Kim Hovey, Bara MacNeill, Shauna Masi, Kathleen McAuliffe, Elizabeth McGuire, Brian McLendon, Gene Mydlowski, Jack Perry, Abigail Plesser, Robin Rolewicz, Kelle Ruden, Jennifer Smith, Thomas Beck Stvan, Jane von Mehren, and the members of the Random House sales department.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
THOMAS NEVINS has been involved in the book business for most of his life, and is currently employed as a sales representative for Random House. He lives with his family in Brooklyn, New York.
The Age of the Conglomerates is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A Ballantine Books Trade Paperbacks Original
Copyright © 2008 by Thomas Nevins
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
BALLANTINE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Nevins, Thomas.
The age of the conglomerates: a novel of the future / Thomas Nevins.
p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-345-50948-2
1. Depressions—United States—Fiction. 2. Political parties—Corrupt practices—Fiction. 3. Social problems—United States—Fiction. 4. Social control—United States—Fiction. 5. Old age—Economic aspects—Fiction. 6. Older people—Social conditions—Fiction. 7. Women geneticists—Fiction. 8. Grandparent and child—Fiction. 9. Political fiction. I. Title.
PS3614.E558A7 2008 813'.6—dc22 2008021003
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