The Boy Who Would Rule the World

by Brian Toal

  "You should already know the reasons for that, I would think."

  "It didn't want me coming back, right?"

  "Something like that." His Uncle was unwrapping the tape that bound the hood over their shoulders.

  "But, I know what’s wrong with its plan. I know what others before it have done and I know why they failed."

  "Oh, you won't be going far. We don't want to waste that valuable store of information you have collected."

  "But that’s exactly what’s wrong with what you’re planning. You’ll remove what is truly human about us all. The ability to make individual choices, based on intellect and emotion."

  "Individuals will still be free to choose. What we are creating is a business and economic structure that can facilitate the growth and development of all of the world's resources. Everyone will benefit."

  Chris groaned as his Uncle rolled his mother on top of him, pulling at the tape that bound them together. He gasped out the words as he struggled for breath. "No, they won't because your corporation will be economically invincible. Your directors will be recruited from all the corporations of power. No company, not even a government could survive your attack. You will become dictators because of your economic might."

  "We have already begun, even without your help, and already the benefits are apparent. In a few years, all the major corporations will be linked and their goal will be development of the world's resources for optimum distribution to all the people of the world. There will be a world-wide revolution in the equality of life and civil obedience."

  Charlie yanked his upper body off the ground again, pulling another round of tape from his neck and shoulders.

  “Yes, but our own leadership will no longer be free. Our government and our lives will be directed by individuals without human understanding or compassion. We will all be enslaved by a demonic democracy."

  "Which is better than the false democracy most enjoy now. Continents will be combined, regions united, poverty eliminated, civil disobedience and petty wars crushed by alliance and benefits rather than force. The world will be governed through economic opportunities rather than political affiliations."

  "No, it won't! It’ll be governed through fear." Chris protested as loud as he could within the confines of the hood. "Look at me. What am I? I’m a monster capable of controlling everyone around me. Just by existing I remove all choice from anyone I meet. I cannot be dominated. I have invulnerable power. Free human spirit is condemned when confronted with manifestations such as me."

  A defused light entered through the bottom of the hood where his Uncle had removed some of the tape. Charlie rolled the two of them over again. "Free human spirit is not something the world needs any longer. It has been corrupted and dominated for centuries by men governing with only their personal agendas to be fulfilled. We have no interest in status or personal gain, we are united only to achieve our common goals."

  "Right! The goals of a machine!" Chris yelled his pre-adolescent voice cracking from the strain.

  "Well...in a few minutes our rational won't be troubling you anymore. Alright!" He felt his Uncle's hand grip his shoulder tightly. Someone else grabbed at his coat. "We are going to stand you both up now. Help us if you can, otherwise it’s going to hurt."

  Bending his knees, they pulled them into a kneeling position. "Now on three. One, two, three..." Chris and his mother grunted and strained, pulled from above, their faces pressed together within the confines of the hood, standing eventually on unsteady feet.

  "Sharon..." Charlie addressed his mother. "Don't let him fall, we’re going to walk him forward."

  He felt hands pull at his coat and arms. Carefully, awkwardly he moved forward, bound to his mother by his wrists, hand-cuffed behind her. "All right. Good enough." Charlie spoke from behind him. "I want to get the last of this tape off."

  Chris felt the sticky material pull at his coat and the hood that covered their heads. Around and around, several layers deep. Fresh air was creeping in under the free edges, cool oxygen soothing his tortured lungs - and light. The dim electric light increasing as his Uncle loosened the covering. His mother's long red hair and pale skin appearing only inches away.

  She saw his eyes move and smiled at him. "It won't be long now, Chris." She whispered. "Soon we can be together again."

  And then he saw it. The small round scab, high on her forehead, just under her hairline.

  And he knew it had won. His mother was part of it. He was part of it. There was no stopping it. It would conscript thousands to its will. Destroy entire cultures. Remake the history of mankind. There was only one thing he could do...

  Invisible behind him, his Uncle stepped back, the blackjack raised high.

  In a flash of visions he pulled a final picture into his mind - felt the machine react with stunning speed, smashing through the barriers of his mind - but, he held the picture steady for that crucial second and then...

  Made the change.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ONE

  Lisa Hill had worked for the Nanaimo school board for the last six years. All six of those years she had taught grade five and she couldn't think of a better grade to teach. At ten, children were just becoming aware of their aptitudes and the intellectual pleasures life could provide.

  She loved her job - although today had definitely not been one of her better ones.One hundred and fifty grades five and six children from Nanaimo and its surrounding communities had taken the early morning ferry across to Vancouver. There, they had spent the entire day at the Downtown Science Center, exploring its various themes and science attractions.

  Keeping track of her twenty-six charges within its bewildering array of corridors and levels had been impossible and when two-fifteen had come, she had just been thankful they had all arrived back at the buses - and on time.

  One more hour, and they would be in Nanaimo, and although she loved them all dearly, she would be glad when this day was through.

  She turned to the window, watching the shores of the mainland pass by in the far distance as, beside her, two girls from her class read a book from the collection she had brought along.

  "Mrs. Hill?" A little Native girl stood in the main aisle on the other side of her two charges.

  She turned away from the window. "Yes, Melody?"

  "I want to go to the cafeteria with Sherri and Cathy and get something to eat."

  Lisa nodded, pleasantly. "Yes, that’s okay. I don't mind if you go to the cafeteria."

  "Yes, Mrs. Hill." Melody agreed earnestly, "but I’ll need my insulin."

  "Oh..." Melody was the second diabetic child Lisa had taught and although children with diabetes rarely got into medical difficulties - by the time they reached ten, most diabetic children understood the disease better than she did - it was a health concern she constantly had to be aware of. "Where is your insulin?"

  "I left it on the bus in my backpack."

  "Oh, dear. Do you really need to get something to eat?"

  "Ohhh...Mrs. Hill I want to. I'm hungry."

  "More likely you just want to go to the cafeteria because Sherri and Cathy are going."

  "Oh, Mrs. Hill...please!"

  She really couldn't deny her the right to join her friends or punish Melody for leaving her insulin on the bus. It just meant she had to leave the comfort of her seat and walk down three flights of stairs. Inconvenient - but she should check on the whereabouts of her other charges anyway. She smiled. "Okay, we’ll both go down to the bus and get your backpack."

  "Thank you, Mrs. Hill." Melody smiled her gratitude and waved to her two friends waiting outside the cafeteria entrance.

  "Well, I’m certainly getting my exercise today." Lisa said as she caught up to Melody, waiting on the landing above the lower deck. "This is my third time up and down the steps on a ferry today and all that walking at the Science Center...whew. I'll have to start joining you all in gym class."

  "You can!" Melody agreed excitedly. "We wouldn't mind." />
  "Oh sure..." Lisa laughed "...you’d all be running circles around me. No, I think I’ll leave gym class to Ms. Hodgins. She knows how to tire you guys out."

  Melody jumped ahead of her and ran down the last flight of stairs. "I'll open the door for you." She called from the bottom, pulling on the handle of the steel door.

  It took both of her hands - it was a heavy door - and as she pulled it open a little wave of gasoline poured in across the sill.

  Terry Gowers had been a Captain for six years. She had worked for B.C. Ferries for fourteen. Ever since she had been a girl growing up in the tobacco belt by Aylmer, Ontario, she had wanted to be a Captain of an ocean-going ship. Her mother and father had appeased her interest as best they could, taking her to the small harbors on Lake Huron, in Goderich and Southampton, where she could get close to and sometimes actually touch the steel plates of freighters docked at the piers.

  Of course, they had thought it was just a peculiar passing phase. One that had lasted for years, but a foolish wish all the same. Women did not go to sea; surely Terry would eventually realize that and investigate other careers more suitable.

  Even in high school, when she was seventeen and other girls were preparing for nursing and secretarial studies - and some of the more daring, law or engineering - Terry confidently announced to her guidance counselors she was going to be a Sea Captain. Then after graduating from high school, she had moved out to British Columbia in order to be closer to her ambition.

  She couldn't prove her ability in any of the usual ways, by working in the close confines of a fishing trawler or tugboat. The few times she had inquired about work on a fishing boat, she had immediately been offered a job, but they hadn't been interested in any skills she might have had at fishing or navigation. They wanted to hire a whore.

  She applied at The Pacific Marine Training Institute, and surprisingly within a week she had been invited to an initial interview. This was quickly followed by a second, and before she knew it, she had been accepted, graduating a year later as a Cadet Officer.

  B.C. Ferries had already interviewed and hired her before she graduated - possibly because there were few women officers in the service, but that didn't matter. What she had now was an opportunity to prove herself and after eight years she had become a Master Mariner - a Captain.

  She invited her parents out to British Columbia to ride with her on her very first run as a ship's Captain. They had humored her and, awe-struck with their first visit to British Columbia, had retired in Nanaimo six years later.

  Indeed, it was a wonderful place to live, Terry thought, as she watched the snowcapped mountains pass by about fifteen miles away on the starboard-quarter. At thirty-four, she still enjoyed the skiing, the sailing, the hiking - all the activities that B.C. had to offer. She couldn't imagine living in anywhere else.

  "Oh, my goodness!" Lisa exclaimed, standing beside Melody on the landing into the ship's hold. "The whole floor is covered with gasoline."

  "Isn't that dangerous?" Melody asked brightly, watching as the gasoline flowed and eddied around the tires of the vehicles in front of her.

  "It’s more than dangerous, it is absolutely unsafe. Someone should know about this." Lisa stood stunned in the doorway, her mind racing with the unthinkable consequences of this hazard.

  "Do you want me to get the vice-principal? I could run back upstairs."

  "No. No, I don't!" Lisa pulled Melody back away from the door and let it slam behind them. "We need to find a member of the ship's crew. This is very dangerous. They need to do something about it before someone comes down here with a cigarette." She pushed the little girl towards the steps. "Come on! This time both of us will run."

  As they pounded back up the stairs, the hold continued to fill with gasoline. Six metal valves lay on the deck underneath the tanker. Sheared cleanly off the outlet pipes, like a demented steamfitter had cut them through with a high-speed saw. Gasoline poured unrestricted from the openings, as the tanker creaked and groaned - its thousands of gallons of fuel emptied upon the steel decks of the ferry and swirled among the parked cars and trucks.

  The bridge towered over the front of the ship. Tall windows angled outwards from the bottom surrounded all four sides of the bridge, allowing the bridge crew to visually maneuver the ship's great bulk tight against the vehicle-loading ramps at each end of its voyage. To the rear of the bridge was an interior walkway, providing access to all of the decks - and more importantly - direct entry to the cafeteria.

  Terry checked the ship's course and speed and then picked up the VHS phone that linked them with Vancouver's Marine Traffic Control. "Vancouver Traffic Control, this is the Queen of Selkirk. Come in please."

  There was a moment's pause. "This is Vancouver Traffic Control. Go ahead Queen of Selkirk."

  "We have reached our mid-point and are proceeding at 21 knots. Our ETA in Nanaimo is fifty-five minutes."

  "Understood Queen of Selkirk. Out."

  Terry hung up the phone and peered at the radar screen, checking for nearby ships. Maritime law dictates that all ocean-going vessels must have an Emergency Distress Beacon that would float to the surface and broadcast a continuous distress signal if the ship sank. None of the B.C. Ferries' fleet had Emergency Distress Beacons. The Canadian Coast Guard only allowed for this infraction, providing that each Captain contacted the Vancouver Maritime Traffic Control halfway through each voyage. Consequently, if there was a problem, no more than one hour would elapse before a ferry was listed as overdue. For the last twenty-five years this procedure had worked without a problem.

  Terry turned to the First Officer. "I’m going down to the cafeteria to get some dinner, then I'm going to my cabin."

  "Okay." First Officer Riggins nodded as he made some notations in the ship's maintenance log. "I'll have these service reports finished by the time we make Nanaimo."

  "Great." Terry responded, just as the crew phone from the second car-deck rang.

  "Captain." She answered, straightening her uniform in preparation for her journey down to the cafeteria and into the realm of passengers.

  "We need help here!" A woman's voice shouted over the phone. "There’s gasoline all over the place."

  Terry's head jerked in surprise, both from the volume of the woman's voice and the terrifying knowledge of what this could mean. "Where is there gasoline? And who are you?" Terry commanded, her voice hardening with years of learned experience in dealing with disorderly crew and passengers.

  "There’s gasoline pouring all over the floor on the lowest deck." The voice shouted again.

  "Where are you?"

  "Ummm...I'm on the second car-deck. We were running up the stairs and I saw this phone and I hoped that..."

  "You say there is a spill of gasoline on the lower deck?" Terry interrupted. "How much?"

  "I don't know...gallons and gallons. It’s running all in between the cars."

  A ship's crew dread few things. But those they do fear are catastrophes of major consequences. Collisions with unmarked rocks or shoals. Collisions with other ships. Storms of overwhelming magnitude. And explosive substances. Uncontained explosive substances, flowing and swirling about in a cargo hold. Terry could be facing the most difficult crisis in her entire career. The decision that she made now could affect the lives of hundreds and possibly thousands of people. And the person at the other end of the phone wasn't even qualified to assist her.

  She hung up the phone.

  THIRTEEN - TWO

  The white Tilden truck parked in the middle of the lower deck rocked slightly on its springs.

  Inside Sharon knelt over the legs of her son, her hands on his ankles, holding his feet firmly to the metal top. Charlie sat on the boy's stomach his hands pressing her son’s wrists tight to his chest. He was awake now, having recovered from the relatively mild tap his Uncle had delivered to his skull and every few seconds his body would spasm underneath her as the machine worked deep inside of his head. Sharon knew he had to be aware in order f
or the machine to properly trace the multitude of pathways it had to disable.

  It was doing so now. In the electric light she could see under the wide hood where her son’s head was held in place by metal clamps. His milky white eye glistened on his cheek, the long blood-red tendons and vessels pulsing in time to his heartbeat. A single golden tube, penetrated the thin membrane behind his eye, hidden under the shallow pool of blood that had accumulated in his eye-socket. She watched, as it moved, adjusting its position slightly, and she pressed down harder on Chris’ legs in anticipation of another set of convulsions.

  "I’m going to check on this gas smell." Beth announced from beside them. "It’s much too strong, just to be car exhaust."

  "Be careful when you open the door.” Charlie said from atop Chris’ chest. “I can't leave the boy and if there’s another crew member down here they may spot us."

  Beth nodded and pulled up the back door of the rental truck, standing transfixed on the tailgate, not in fear, but in shock at what she saw. "The entire floor is covered in gasoline." She announced

  Sharon knew what she said must be true, the fumes rolled inside the truck, partially blinding her.

  "This is very dangerous." Beth spoke again. "I think there is an extreme risk the ship will catch fire."

  "I don't know what would have caused this." Beth answered and Sharon knew where the question had come from. "But we are in great danger."

  From within the box under her knees Sharon felt the vibration of a new set of motors begin and from beneath the hood there was an explosive scream.

  "Close the door. We need more time." Charlie said as he adjusted his position, raising himself up on his knees as the boy fought below him. The whine from within the box increased in volume and as Sharon redoubled her efforts to hold her son down, Beth pulled the tailgate closed.

  Captain Gowers stood beside the phone for less than a second, her thoughts racing with possible choices of action. She called across the bridge to her First Officer. "When was the last time the crewman on the lower deck checked in?"

  "Ahhh...I'm not sure." He answered hesitantly. "A half-hour ago maybe. Maybe longer... Why?"