by Hannah Ross
"I would appreciate a glass of water, if you would be so kind," she said, her voice faint.
"What happened?" Rebecca asked from the kitchen as she took a pitcher of cold water out of the refrigerator and poured some into a glass.
Thelma waited for her to return. "Vincent contacted me again," she said, accepting the glass and taking a shaky sip. "I'm not sure what you did, but he sounded quite desperate, and dangerous. He threatened to hurt my family if I don't get him another copy of the information I previously obtained."
Rebecca's heart did a somersault, though she did her best to keep her face expressionless. "Does it mean he lost the first copy?"
"It sounds as though he did. I'm not sure how that could happen, he had always seemed so…so calculating and careful. I told him that it's not in my power, that I was fired and no longer have access to Professor Keller's documents. I told him he can have his money back, all of it, but he said he doesn't care about that. 'The money isn't mine,' he told me, 'and neither is my life.'"
"The person he was working for," said Rebecca.
"I suppose so."
"What do you want me to do, then?"
"Nothing. Nothing, really." Thelma, set her empty glass down on the coffee table. "I just wanted you and Professor Keller to know that I'm going to the police."
"What!? But…no, you can't do that!"
"I know Professor Keller wanted some parts of his research to remain secret for the time being. And I'm…I'm truly sorry for what I did. I should never have agreed to what Legrand wanted in the first place. But this is out of my hands now. I must make sure my family is safe." Thelma got up, smoothed her skirt, and forced a wan smile. "Thank you," she said, and quietly slipped out the door.
Minutes later, Rebecca hailed a taxi to Professor Keller's office, where she sat in front of him and explained the state of affairs.
"…and if the police get wind of this leakage, the White Tower will find out in no time. Then you'll have inspectors and security officers swooping down on your laboratory, to ensure nobody else gets their hands on the formula. It might cause a great many problems, Jonathan."
The old man smiled serenely. "I didn't intend for anyone to find out about the destruction of the formula while I am still alive, but what does it matter, after all? All the documents have been destroyed. I located the deleted scans and file on Thelma's computer and wiped them clean. The formula no longer exists…" he tapped his forehead. "…except in here. My affairs are all put in order. My bills are paid, a couple of farewell letters written and ready to be sent. There is nothing anyone can do to harass me. My stores of NOAGE are at an end. I've taken the last injection and from now on, the clock is ticking more rapidly than ever toward the inevitable end."
Rebecca wondered what to say, but it seemed the professor did not expect a reply. "You have done well, and I'm extremely grateful. The dangerous knowledge has been destroyed. All will be well." He patted her hand to reassure her.
Rebecca nodded. There was a lump in her throat, and she blinked rapidly to dispel the tears that threatened to cloud her vision. "This isn't goodbye yet, is it?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"No, my dear. I hope we will meet again before the time comes for me to depart forever from this world. Please, there is no need to look so mournful. I assure you I am quite ready."
Rebecca stepped through the sliding glass doors and stood motionless and silent, enveloped by the hum of the cars and buses and people rushing by. Though she tried to stop them, hot tears swelled in her eyes and ran down her face. She noticed some people turned their heads to stare and furiously swiped at her tears with the back of her hand. None of us have limitless time. Not even Professor Keller.
Then she made a decision and began to walk. A bus would have been easier and quicker, but walking helped her settle her mind and compose her thoughts. Soon, the impressive building of the Urban Observer loomed ahead of her.
She said hello to the receptionist and went up to see Natalie, who, as usual, was on the phone, but as soon as she saw Rebecca, hastened to say goodbye. She stood up, her hands on her hips, looking furious.
"There you are! About time! Have you finished working on that story yet?"
"No. In fact, I haven't even started."
Natalie mouthed soundlessly, like a goldfish out of water.
"Sorry, Nat, but I don't think I'll be writing for the Observer anymore. I'm resigning."
Natalie quickly came to her senses. "If you need some time off…"
Rebecca's smile barely curled the corners of her mouth. "I'm afraid I need the rest of my life off."
Natalie shook her head. "No. You're just in one of your moods. I know you."
"I'm not. Really. I've thought this over. This is what I want. I'm going to work on my books and live very quietly."
Natalie's face scrunched as she stared. After some seconds, she gave a resigned sigh. "You're going to join the throng of starving authors. There are hundreds of them in this Urban Area alone. And we have some fantastic stories coming up. There are some great changes happening in this country. The rumored expedition across the Boundary, the search for the orphans who allegedly live in the ruined cities, so many good stories."
Rebecca tried her best to remain impassive. She knew she could never cover the subject because it touched her so deeply. But she could not discuss it with Natalie. "I'm sure I'll enjoy reading all about it in the privacy of my home."
Natalie came closer. For a moment, she looked like she wanted to knock some sense into Rebecca, but then the two women hugged. "Good luck, Beck. You know what, I envy you a bit. I'd quit too, if only I could."
"Yeah, I'm sure you will…" Rebecca grinned. "…in fifty years or so."
The next couple of days were uneventful until a small headline and story caught Rebecca's eye.
Suicide of Unknown Man. The body of a man in his mid-thirties was found yesterday in Urban Area B. It appears he committed suicide by shooting himself in the head. As he carried no identifying documents, his identity is unknown. If someone you know has gone missing, the police request you contact them to provide a description.
Rebecca lifted her head from the paper, startled. She had no way of knowing for sure, and she was afraid to raise Natalie's suspicions by asking too many questions, but this seemed like too much of a coincidence. He sounded quite desperate. Thelma's words rang in her ears again. Could it be the threat was lifted?
There were other interesting headlines in the following weeks.
Government Moves From Zero Growth To Minimal Growth Stage
Reproductive Sanctions Lifted: Bonuses for Childlessness Replace Fines for Illegal Reproduction.
Reading them was bittersweet. If only this could have happened earlier, when Benjamin was born, or when he was still in school, so I could have brought him home. But now seventeen years of heartache have passed, seventeen years of feeling the loss over and over again every single day.
The next day, when Daniel returned from work, he was startled to see Rebecca moving the armchairs and coffee table.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm trying to see whether we can fit a convertible couch in here."
"A convertible? Why?"
"For Benjamin."
He spluttered for a few seconds, but then his expression softened and he came nearer and took his wife's hand. "Rebecca, nobody really knows yet what's become of the children across the Boundary. The legal situation…"
"I don't care," she snapped. "I can feel where the wind is blowing, and our son will be back. It's late, I know. Seventeen years late. But I hope we'll have a chance to redeem ourselves in his eyes even a little bit, and give him some part of what should never have been taken from him."
"Rebecca," Daniel said, taking her hands, his voice soft and gentle. "You don't know where he is. The country is enormous, and the children might have gone anywhere… If they managed to survive."
Her eyes flashed. "Benjamin is alive! I know he is! He will be found,
and he will come back to us. I know it. I know it."
She said it over and over again, aloud and in her thoughts, repeating it until she believed it because the alternative was too unbearable to contemplate. But no matter how hard she tried, she could not banish a thought lurking at the back of her mind, a thought that was more disturbing than the possibility of unthinkable horrors happening to her son. Benjamin might be alive and well, but will he forgive us and want to come back to us?
23
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The wheelchair glided noiselessly down the many carpeted corridors of the White Tower upper section – the holy of holies of the government's top echelon. If the country were a ship, this was the captain's cabin, inaccessible to all except two dozen or so of the most privileged mortals on the face of the continent, or what remained of it. This was a place of secrets, classified documents, and confidential work, and gaining admission as a visitor was almost unheard of, but the old man in the wheelchair did not seem to care one bit. His eyes were closed and his face was upturned, basking in the shafts of sunlight that slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The warmth and light seemed to transport him into a world of his own, far beyond this place where power games were hatched and turned out.
The elegantly dressed top-level assistant, whose sharp stiletto heels padded silently against the plush carpet, raised an expertly-manicured hand and knocked on a heavy, dark door bearing a simple, unpretentious brass plaque which declared the room to belong to Frederick Pearson, Presidential Office PA. The thin, balding man who opened the door looked harried and exhausted, as if he had not slept in days.
"Mr. Pearson? Professor Keller is here."
"Thank you, Emily. That will do. I will take him to the President myself."
Pearson watched Emily retreat until she turned a corner, then cleared his throat. "Professor Keller? You are at the top level of the White Tower now. I am going to take you to your appointment with President Dahl."
The ancient man opened his eyes slowly, and an ironic smile twitched one corner of his mouth. "Appointment, huh? That's rather a euphemism, but I suppose I have nothing more pressing at the moment."
Once more the wheelchair rolled on, a short distance only this time, until it stopped in front of another office. Its door was taller, wider, and more highly polished than that of Pearson's, and the silver plaque on the door bore no other words than Alexander Dahl, President. Pearson knocked, hesitating before he did so, as if it were the first time for him to intrude upon President Dahl in his inner sanctum. The flat, cold "come in" heard from inside the office made him tremble.
Alexander Dahl, in the luxurious leather armchair behind the scrupulously arranged mahogany work desk, was like a king sitting upon his throne - a wary, weary king on the verge of losing all the advantage of a crucial conquest.
"You may leave us, Frederick. If Professor Keller or I want refreshments, I will ring."
This was singular. President Dahl usually required Pearson to attend every important meeting for record-keeping, but this time the tone of his voice invited no questions or doubts. Pearson placed Professor Keller's wheelchair so the old scientist was face to face with the President, and retreated with no more than a murmured assent.
There was a minute of silence, during which Dahl remained in his chair, stony and unmoving. With his impeccable crisp suit and tie, platinum watch, and dark, silver-tinged temples, he was the picture of man at the height of power, but a mixture of anger and despair was etched into the lines of his face.
Keller, on the other hand, seemed unconcerned. He closed his eyes again, though there were no beams of caressing sunlight in the presidential office, which was shaded by heavy curtains and illuminated by artificial light day and night.
The president broke the silence. "Professor Keller. Do you know why you are here?"
Keller's eyes opened. With a soft sigh and a nearly-vacant stare devoid of all curiosity, he let them wander around the various objects on the desk and in the heavy wood bookcases behind it. He looked just as much at ease – and just as indifferent – as if he were in his own living room. "Because you sent for me," he replied in a voice devoid of any expression.
Dahl sat still, but a vein began to throb in his temple. He mastered his anger, however, and went on in a flat voice to match Professor Keller's.
"I'm sorry to disturb you while you are unwell."
A faint smile touched the professor's thin lips. "I am well enough for the purpose, Mr. President. Please, let's get this over with."
"I received a report of certain proceedings, but it was too preposterous, too impossible to believe. I intend to clarify this, and you will assist me, Professor Keller. You will tell me the truth."
"The truth." The professor nodded. "Certainly, if you wish to know it."
"What I wish to know," Dahl said stiffly, "is what the hell really happened in your office. Was there a break-in? Did someone attempt to steal the formula?"
For the first time, the old man seemed genuinely amused. "A break-in? Oh, dear, no. I can't believe the White Tower's investigative team did such a botched job. There was no break-in. There was no theft. No. I, and I alone, was responsible for the annihilation of my research, my discoveries, my entire life's work."
Dahl paled, though whether with surprise, fury, or fear it was impossible to tell. His cold, clear, powerful eyes bore into Keller's old and tired ones. "Do you take me for a fool, Keller?"
"On the contrary. I have the sincerest faith in your intelligence, which is why I speak in the plainest, most straightforward terms. The much glorified NOAGE is no more, and this was done by my own hand."
Dahl's jaw was clenched so tight he could hardly speak. In a dangerously low voice, he said, "And why on earth would you do something like that?"
The professor smiled again, and there was something very much akin to pity in his face, as if he were speaking to an over-excited, blundering child. "I could try to explain, Mr. President, but I doubt it would do much good. You see, you and I think so very differently on this particular matter that all arguments would be a needlessly tiresome waste of time... time being the one resource I am quickly running out of."
Dahl seemed to lose his composure. His eyes flashed with a perilous blue fire and his fist pounded down on the desk, making his ashtray, whiskey decanter, and glass rattle. "You could have had all the time in the world. We could have had all the time in the world. It was there, right there at our fingertips."
"Yes," the professor said patiently. "But would that really be a good thing? Try to think of it rationally for a moment, Mr. Dahl. Try to appreciate the blessing of mortality, which allows the world to turn round and change and makes us, on a basic, fragile human level, all equal."
But Dahl was not given to philosophical musings. In one swift, smooth movement he got up from his chair, walked around his desk and leaned on the handles of Professor Keller's wheelchair, towering over the old man and staring him straight in the eyes. "Damn it, Keller. I don't know what exactly happened, what fit of madness possessed you to do that, but even if the materials were destroyed, the knowledge is still there, right there in your head. You can reconstruct it all. I know you can do it and you will do it. You will because I command it."
Keller looked impassive. "It is too late."
Dahl trembled with fury. "I said you will get to work on NOAGE, starting from this moment. You will reconstruct your research and improve the formula, and you will do that under strict supervision of my people. If you refuse, I..."
"My dear Mr. President," Keller said in his politest, best-bred voice. "How many more times do I need to repeat this? It is too late. Too late to begin the work anew or threaten me with the consequences. There can be no consequences for me, save one, and that one is completely beyond your control. I am a quickly dying man, Mr. President, and there is nothing you, or I, or anybody else can do about it."
Dahl took a step back, lean
ing against his desk in bewilderment. "You actually did it," he muttered before he groped behind him for the glass of whiskey and drained it in one shaky draught, "You are going to die. I am going to die. But why? Why? I don't understand."
The professor gave a slight nod and softly said, "No, Mr. President. You wouldn't understand."
At that moment Dahl knew it was useless, all useless. He could no longer bear looking at the ancient face, which was a taunting glimpse of the future he hoped to avoid and was, for too brief a time, so very sure he had evaded. He pressed the call button on his desk. "You can come in, Pearson. Take Professor Keller out."
24
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Sidney held out an apple in the palm of his hand. He stood very still, careful not to make a sudden move or sound that might startle the animal. The young horse stretched its neck in his direction and neighed softly. The foal made an uncertain step, then another, and finally, the velvet-soft lips briefly brushed against his palm as the horse took the apple. It hastened to back away, but it was a start.
"You're definitely getting on with him," Elisa said across the fence, her face glowing with enthusiasm.
"I thought I'd be able to pat him by now. Maybe tomorrow he'll let me touch him." He slipped out of the corral.
"How did you become so good with animals?"
"If you call this good…" Sidney's modest shrug made her smile. "Honestly, I have no idea. There aren't many animals in the Urban Islands. Few people keep pets, you know. Living space is expensive, and so is food. In the Country Islands, you can find the farm animals, of course, but the dairies and the coops are all commercial, closed-up. There isn't any space for animals to roam freely. Or for people, either. There are no horses left except in the zoo."
"That's a pity. I remember we were taken there once as children. Poor horses. I felt sorrier for them than I did for us." They started walking in the direction of the house. "I think I'll pack lunch and head out with the goats. I can gather some grass for the horses, too. Give me that sack, will you?"