Seventh Age of Man: Regeneration

by Kevin Gordon

Brian thought about staying home from Scott, away from friends who might ask the wrong question or touch on the rawest nerve, but he decided he would rather go there than spend the day alone with his parents. He got on the bus, as usual, and within minutes the old man came and sat next to him.

  “Hello there, young man!” He was obnoxiously chipper, and for the first time, Brian wanted to forcibly make him shut up. “Where’s your sister?”

  Brian gazed abstractedly out the window. “You know, I saw a bird the other day.”

  The old man paused, the smile still hanging on his face while confusion consumed his mind, for lack of something better to do. “A bird? Really? Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. Me and one of my friends saw it at Scott. It was blue and white, and it flew away . . .”

  “Well, yes, I suppose there are a few coming back.”

  “Where do they come from?”

  The old man gazed perplexedly at Brian. “Where’s your sister?”

  Brian let out a long sigh, almost a whimper. “Dead.”

  The old man whistled, and patted him on the knee. “I’m so sorry. So, so sorry. What happened?”

  “She had sex, then found out she was sterile. The doctor . . . killed her.”

  “Why’d he kill her for that?”

  “The official paper said she would be a drain on the resources of the Homestead. My dad thinks the doctor wanted a payoff.”

  The old man nodded to himself. “I’ve heard some rumors, yes I have.”

  “What have you heard?

  The old man took a whiff from his canister of air. “Well, —and this is just hearsay, mind you, but the doctors have slowly been getting more and more power. They are the final arbiters of life and death. It is they who decide who gets medicine; they who decides whom to operate on. Medical care may be a provision guaranteed by the charter of the Homestead, but the quality of that care is completely up to the doctors. Did you know that no one can contest a doctor’s decision? No one can bring charges against a doctor? Well, the doctors are getting a little tired of living in a house next to corpse removers, driving the same car as them, eating the same food. So they have started demanding extra, and we aren’t in any position to refuse.”

  “But my dad didn’t know!” cried Brian.

  “Are you sure? I hate to sound harsh, but doctors don’t really want to go around killing healthy children. They only do it as a last resort, only to make a point. You’re one of the prototypes—I can tell. I’m sure your father has stuff to bargain with, I’m sure the doc knows that.”

  Brian sat back, thinking. “Dad’s no damned saint. He trades in my extra food, and so does mom. If they wanted to, Iris would still be alive.”

  The old man patted him on his knee. “It’s best not to dwell on things you can’t change.”

  “But . . . I can. Or at least, the time is coming when I will be able to change things.”

  The old man nodded. “I have a lot of things to tell you, my boy, my young ‘Alexander,’ who dreams of taking over the world, for all the little peoples’ benefit! Why don’t you come by my house? I can give you a great deal of information.”

  “Why? Why do this for me?”

  A wrinkled, simple smile graced the old man’s aged face. “‘Cause I like you. I think you have a compassion that the other young shits don’t. So stay on for one more stop. I don’t live far from the station. It’ll probably only make you late an hour or so.”

  Brian looked out the window. A crop duster was flying low, spraying petrolatum over the grey fields in a vain attempt to keep the water in.

  “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

  The old man led him to a house just over a five minute walk from the station. It was small, and cramped, but Brian knew the old man was lucky to get even that, as he seemed to have no special skills, nor any children.

  “Come on in, come in!” cried the old man, as they passed through the door. “You’ve got a laptop, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve got about a dozen DVDs filled with information.”

  “What kind?”

  “I know every member of the Homestead council. I know all that they’ve done in the past! I even have records of the naughty things they’ve done now. And you asked about that bird? Well, that is a very tasty secret indeed. Come on, it’s all in the basement. I keep it tucked away, just in case.”

  They passed through a large room filled with shelves overflowing with books. Brian paused to gaze at their titles.

  Plato: The Republic. Hume: An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding. “You like philosophy?”

  The old man paused, standing next to Brian, a gentle twinkle in his wrinkled eyes. “I’ve always been a philosopher! I need to know how the human mind works, need to understand our motivations, our desires. To me, it is the philosopher that is the soul, the conscience of humanity, challenging him to do more, shining a spotlight into the murky doubt of man.”

  Brian stood a moment longer, looking over the immense wealth of knowledge. His eyes fell on a gilt plaque that bore a picture of the old man as a precocious child, and his name. It began with a ‘K,’ but he couldn’t figure out how to pronounce it. He passed over it, amazed at the quantity of books before him. “They don’t teach philosophy at the Academy.”

  The old man nodded. “And that is a shame. How will anyone question their actions? What will govern those who govern? It all needs to be written down, in black and white, if any code of ethics is to be followed. Man is a tempestuous, passionate beast, which must be reigned in if society is to survive. The philosopher is the bravest of all human creation, for it is he that must stand against the knife, against the gun, armed only with his mind and his mouth, to tame the beasts that circle around him. Come—there isn’t much time.”

  The old man led him to a small, white door, with paint chipping off. Something inside Brian balked at going through the door, even after the old man opened it and invited him in.

  “What’re you waiting for? Oh, did you know ‘bout the archetypes?”

  “What?”

  He grinned with glee. “I’ve got schematics of the device they’ve got installed in their brains!”

  “A device?”

  “Yeah, yeah, how else do you think the Homestead has kept a bunch of teenagers in line? It’s a device that releases a small amount of THC, a cannabinoid, every time they come in contact with one of your group. It gives them a slight high, and ensures loyalty to the ruling class.” He motioned Brian down the steps. “Now come on—you haven’t got much time.”

  Absolute loyalty? He thought back to Gustav, how eager he seemed to please Brian. I . . . control them? It was all that was needed to convince Brian to go down the steps into the darkness. And as he started down the stairs, the old man locked it behind.

  “Go ahead, young man. I’ll get the light switch.”

  The instant he flipped on the switch, about twenty old, wrinkled men could be seen standing around the perimeter of the room. Their eyes bulged, their mouths twisted in evil grins.

  “What the—”

  They were on him in an instant, grabbing his arms and legs, pulling him down to the floor. While he would have been able to fight off two or three, he was powerless against their combined strength. They dragged him over to a bench, made him bend over, then shackled his hands before him, and his feet behind. The old man stood in front of Brian, who now managed to look up.

  “What are you doing?!”

  He cackled with laughter. “What do you think? I thought it was the most hilarious thing, when you thought I wanted your sister. All boobs and no brains? I think not. Me and my friends like something . . . firmer.”

  Brian could feel his pants being pulled down, along with his underwear. He squirmed to try to stop them, anything to hold onto his clothes, but the hands that pulled were bony and strong, and would not be denied.

  “Stop! I thought . . . I thought you were someone to trust—a man of the mind!”

  �
��I am of the mind, my dear boy,” he said, as he unbuckled his belt. “I have many needs, many desires, many dreams! It is the strong who uses, or abuses the weak, and you just didn’t see my strength.”

  They all laughed around him, and he could feel their wrinkled hands run up and down his legs.

  “Scream, my boy, scream as loud as you like! No one can hear you, down here. Now don’t worry, we’re not gonna kill you. And what I said was true—you’ll be able to go back to work in little over an hour. But as for that hour, well, we do have some definite plans.”

  Chapter 14