Robyn's Egg

by Mark Souza

  Moyer felt the same way and held the same hope.

  The giant continued, “But I can’t hide while the rest of the world falls into ruin. Something has to be done, and the time is now.”

  “But –”

  Nastasi waved Moyer off. “If we do nothing, they will find and destroy us. You know it’s true. I saw it in your eyes when we first talked of it.”

  Moyer nodded. He knew Nastasi was right. He’d sensed Perko’s fear and the urgency in his desire to find and destroy Begat. Perko knew that hidden somewhere was an idea, a truth, that if ignored, would germinate and spread until it brought down all he had built. He would stop at nothing to root it out and render it to ash. One natural childbirth in the city, witnessed on the net, and his empire, all he’d worked for would be gone.

  “I tell you this so I can warn you,” Nastasi said. “The seeds of oppression are scattered far and wide, even among the righteous. Even among those who dwell in this valley with us. I think it is the nature of man.

  “There are those in Begat who believe we should live under the strictest interpretation of The Bible, that it is the only way to do His will. Though they are not evil people and desire only to do what they think is right, they aim to control what people can think, what they can say, and how they conduct themselves. To this end, they are no better than Perko, than the regime they’ve worked so hard to escape. They would do here what Perko has done everywhere else, only in the name of God. They don’t seem to understand that God gave man free will for a reason. Faith is a choice. It has no meaning if mandated.

  “It is vital that there be reasoned leadership after I am gone, lest we repeat the mistakes of the past,” Nastasi said. “Can I count on your support?”

  “But I am no leader,” Moyer replied. “No one here is interested in what I have to say.”

  “Judge Hawthorne thinks otherwise and I have come to respect his opinion. He says you have psychic abilities that could prove invaluable.”

  “But I’m not a believer,” Moyer said. He cast his eyes down, unable to meet the giant’s gaze.

  Nastasi rested a hand on Moyer’s shoulder. “None of the twelve apostles started out believers either, and it was they who spread the Gospel throughout the world. Faith will come to you in its own time. And when others see your transformation, knowing where you started from, it will affirm that what they believe in is right. It will strengthen them. I have faith.

  Nastasi’s expression shifted to concern. “I have watched your skills applied as you led your crew to bring fresh water into the homes of the valley. You are a talented man with a great deal of technical savvy. But I must advise you to limit how much you improve life here. There is a benefit to hardship. Families must work together to survive. The community must work together. If you improve too much, families no longer need the help of the community, and the community breaks down. Then what we have here will be no better than the city. There is such a thing as too much independence, too much self reliance. Can you see this?”

  Moyer was at first stunned. He cast his eyes at his feet. After the initial sting he realized Nastasi was right. He hadn’t considered that there might be negative implications to his improvements. “I promise to be more careful in the future,” he said.

  “Do you know who your allies here are?” the giant asked.

  Moyer nodded.

  “Stand with them. Keep the cause going. Spread the word and make the world see. And when the time comes, step forward and lead. We are the new disciples.” Nastasi stood, his eyes fixed on the dead goat. He sighed. “Sacrifices have to be made. This is the will of God.”

  By the time Moyer returned to the house, Robyn was awake and getting dressed. She initially recoiled when she noticed the blood running down his shoulders and arms. “Are you hurt?” Moyer stripped out of his stained shirt and hurled it at the floor.

  “Wild dogs got into the goat pen,” he said. He jerked open a dresser drawer, pulled out a fresh shirt and wrestled it on.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Moyer considered for a moment then shook his head. He wasn’t ready to talk and wasn’t sure Robyn was ready to hear it. He started to leave and Robyn stepped into the doorway and blocked his way.

  “Talk to me, Moyer. What’s going on?”

  Moyer studied her face, the determined expression, the worry in her eyes, and the resentment at being excluded. Maybe it was time she became involved. Maybe it was time she knew the breadth of their new lives and the yoke they were expected to bear. “Brother Nastasi and the Judge are leaving today for CapitalCity to confront Viktor Perko and they aren’t coming back.”

  Robyn’s face went slack. “That’s why Betsy has been crying. She knew.”

  Moyer nodded. “They’re bent on proving that what is shown on the net is a lie. They plan to make an appearance in the city and will be killed for it.”

  “You must stop them.”

  Moyer wagged his head. “I’ve tried. I have spoken to both of them and it’s no use. Deep inside I know what they are doing is noble and right, but I can’t bear the thought of losing them. It isn’t fair.”

  Robyn wrapped her arms around Moyer’s waist and pressed her cheek into his chest.

  He said, “If this is the way their God works, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust Him.” Moyer’s breathing became ragged as he fought back his emotions. “I just spoke with Brother Nastasi down by the creek. He was so calm. He warned me of oppressive elements here in Mannington and was concerned about what would happen after his departure. He asked me to take on a leadership role here.”

  Robyn pressed away. There was doubt in her eyes. He might have been hurt if he didn’t feel the same way. Leadership was not a quality he saw within himself.

  “The Judge warned me once,” Moyer said. “He told me to read their Bible and take notice of what happens to their deliverers and messiahs.” He noticed the look of concern on Robyn’s face. “Don’t worry, I’m a long way from being either.”

  Monday evening, residents of ManningtonValley collected on the train landing to see off Brothers Nastasi and Hawthorne. Children remained at the church under the watchful eyes of the valley’s teens. Most didn’t know the purpose of the trip, though some had guessed. Only the elders and Winfields had been told. Betsy Connors remained stoic as long as she could manage and then covered her face with her hands and quietly wept.

  Nastasi stretched out his massive arms to gather the attention of the crowd. “Brother Hawthorne and I are about to embark on a revolt to free humankind from the lies and tyranny of the corporations. It is doubtful we will return. What we do now we do in the service of God. It is not enough that we in this valley merely survive; we must spread the cause of freedom and the word of God until it sweeps the globe like a cleansing fire. This is the word of God. Always remember, to not work in the service of God is to work in service of His enemies.”

  Hawthorne stared into Moyer’s eyes, his face stern, mouth drawn into a tense line trying to convey a warning. Though Hawthorne agreed going into the city for this confrontation was the right thing to do, he did not condone the idea of open confrontation against such long odds. If Begat was perceived as a real threat to the corporations, those corporations would spare no expense to hunt them down and eradicate them. Annihilation would end their cause, and with it, any hope for change. He hoped Moyer knew this.

  Hope relied on patience, on waiting for circumstances to align like a line of dominos, where only a small effort was needed to start a cascade, a chain reaction. Hawthorne hoped returning to the city might start the process; that his life would end with meaning in a brilliant supernova-like flash, rather than the slow dim to black of some unnamed star no one remembered. Part of him suspected Perko would withstand this initial assault, though it might serve to start aligning the dominos into a neat row for those that followed.

  The gloaming in the West faded to a weak glow. Some cried when they heard the news. Some reacted by turning away wagging the
ir heads as if they had been betrayed and didn’t understand. Most waited to shake Nastasi’s hand or hug him, offering support and messages of thanks for what he had done. Hawthorne’s hand they shook out of politeness, offering either a smile or a “God bless you.”

  Moyer offered a hug, and Hawthorne leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Be careful. After we’re gone, you may have to be the voice of reason around here. Don’t let them act like lemmings. It won’t do any good. Keep them on track.”

  “Lemmings?” Moyer replied.

  “Go to the library and look in the encyclopedia. You’ll understand.” As he hugged Moyer, Hawthorne considered his decision, and for the first time it seemed a mistake. Was he ready to give up his life so soon after it had become his? Couldn’t he spend just a little more time in the library with its treasure trove barely explored, and with the bright eyed children that hung on his every word when he read to them?

  In the distance, the rumble of the train grew louder. Hawthorne pulled away from Moyer and waved feebly knowing what he must do and why. There was no point in striking the iron if it wasn’t hot. In a few more months, no one might remember the name John Hawthorne, and why seeing him alive in Freedom Circle had any significance.

  Against a sea of gold maples and through the shadows, the train was almost invisible, betrayed only by the churning swell of fallen leaves caught in its wake as it approached in the dim evening light. The train slowed with the piercing, metal squeal of automated brakes. Hawthorne lifted a bag containing a smoked venison sandwich Mrs. Connors had prepared for him, a black market transit card for the tube, and a book Moyer had picked out for him. As he stepped into the railcar behind Nastasi, he patted his coat pocket to reassure himself his pistol was where it should be.

  He sat by the window nearest the crowd on the landing. As the train slowly pulled away, his cheeks began to ache and warm tears spilled down his face. He opened the window, pushed his arm outside and waved goodbye until he knew no one could see him. After raising the window and facing Nastasi, he dried his face with his hands. “I don’t know when I became such a sentimental fool,” he said. Nastasi nodded without raising his eyes from the floorboards. Hawthorne sensed Nastasi was fighting back feelings of his own.

  “It’s ironic I guess. That stupid bomb actually did kill me. It just took a few months.”

  Nastasi raised his eyes, “It’s the same for everyone. The fuse is lit the day you are born and you never know when it’s going to go off. If you are lucky, you go out on your own terms and your life has some meaning. I don’t think it does for most.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Hawthorne said. “Have you ever been married?” For a moment he regretted asking, but it was one of the last conversations he’d ever have. The time for worrying over crossing boundaries was over.

  Nastasi furrowed his brow and for a moment Hawthorne thought the giant might not answer. After a thoughtful sigh Nastasi said, “No, but I was in love once.”

  “What happened?”

  “She died in prison. She was more passionate about the cause than me. I regretted bringing her into it. I asked her once to marry me and she wouldn’t. She thought it might soften us, or allow our enemies to work one against the other. How about you, Judge?”

  Hawthorne wagged his head. “No, I never married and was never in love. I thought I had to devote myself to the law and that there would be time later. What an idiot I was.”

  “You have regrets?”

  Hawthorne looked up and nodded. “More than I can carry. I see what the Winfields and Connors have and I would trade places with them in a heartbeat. If I could do it again, I would live simply; love and be loved, have children, and be buried anonymously in a field when it was all over.”

  “It sounds tempting,” Nastasi said, “but I don’t think that is our destiny. We were chosen for something else and have the opportunity to change the world.”

  Hawthorne nodded as if he agreed. There was little point in arguing with a man entrenched in his beliefs. To Hawthorne, it seemed as if their destiny, their opportunity, was the penance for having squandered their lives and placed selfish goals above love.

  Outside the car, it grew dark. The rattle of steel wheels over track provided the only sense of speed, momentum toward their chosen destiny and their destruction. Hawthorne felt drained. He curled onto his side, pulled his feet onto the seat, and tried to sleep.

  Wednesday, 18 October

  A hand jostled Hawthorne. He opened his eyes and saw Nastasi’s albino face and weariness settled over him again.

  “Hurry, we only have a few minutes before the train leaves for the return,” Nastasi said.

  The station was dark and the air frosty. Hawthorne stretched to loosen kinked muscles knotted by the unforgiving bench. He buttoned his coat, picked his bag off the seat and checked his pocket for his pistol before climbing onto the landing.

  He followed Nastasi down the stairs and along the path away from the station. They marched along the trail bordering the edge of the solar panels and behind the cement buildings on the Ring of Fire. Nastasi pulled back the chain link blocking the way to Michigan Street, and they both slipped through.

  The streets were dead. Nothing stirred in the sallow light raining down from the streetlamps. And why would there be? The tube was shut down for the night and wouldn’t start up until 4 a.m. when the day would begin again with laborers making the long trek into the city.

  Nastasi grabbed Hawthorne’s arm and pointed down the street at a shiny black sphere mounted to the top of a tall metal stalk. “Cameras. We need to stick to the shadows. Security will dispatch agents if they spot someone on the street at this hour, even if they aren’t looking for us anymore.”

  Hawthorne sized up Nastasi and doubted they would ever make it to Freedom Circle. How could Security Services possibly miss them? Hawthorne blended in easily enough, but not in the company of an albino giant well over two meters tall. This was a mistake, a zealot’s ill-considered fantasy. And for this he had left his library of books, and a clutch of wide-eyed children waiting on his every word.

  Nastasi edged as far toward Michigan Street as he dared and slumped to the ground dragging Hawthorne with him. “We’ll wait here until the commute begins and then blend in with the crowd. It won’t be long now.”

  Blend, Hawthorne thought, right. That he wanted to see. Sitting with his back to the wall, he dug through his knapsack and pulled out the sandwich Betsy made him and peeled back the wrapping. He offered half to Nastasi who declined. He retrieved his book and read, nibbling at the sandwich. As last meals went, it wasn’t what he might order in the city, but it was good and made him happy.

  After an hour or so, people started filtering out of the housing blocks to queue up for the tube. Hawthorne guessed they were at least half an hour early. Early guaranteed the first train and maybe a seat for the long ride in. Nastasi pulled his brown tunic off over his head. Underneath he had on a khaki military uniform with the name Johnson stitched across his chest in black letters. Hawthorne now understood how Nastasi would blend. Being soldier class was out of place only if the clothing didn’t match expectations.

  Nastasi bundled his tunic into a tight ball and stuffed it in his rucksack, then beckoned Hawthorne to follow. Hawthorne tossed the last of his sandwich into the grass and dog-eared the page to mark his place in his book.

  They walked briskly to match pace with laborers trying to secure a place in line for the tube. The first train came and went putting them near the front for the next. On the next train, Hawthorne found a seat while Nastasi stood nearby holding a handrail.

  Hawthorne cracked his book to where he’d left off and Nastasi nudged his leg. When he looked up, Nastasi subtly wagged his head. Hawthorne scanned the car. Not a single passenger besides him was reading. It made him stand out. For a moment he considered defying Nastasi and taking his chances. This was, after all, the last book he’d ever read. It was wrong to deprive him of that. Reluctantly he closed the
book and stuffed it inside his coat. He liked this mission less and less with each passing minute.

  At Freedom Circle, Hawthorne followed Nastasi who moved at a brisk military pace. Light shone out on the dark bricks from the windows of the few businesses surrounding the Circle that opened early to pull in revenue from labor commuters.

  Nastasi went inside a restaurant named The Red Eye Café and took a corner booth at the back. A young black girl wearing a red tee bearing the café logo approached. Her smile practically glowed against her coffee-colored skin. Nastasi asked if he could use the remaining credits on his transit pass. “Better they go to you than expire,” he explained.

  She smiled again. “Of course.”

  Nastasi ordered Buffalo wings and coffee off the video menu wall. Hawthorne had the BLT and a Coke, and paid double to have real bacon.

  “You can read now if you wish,” Nastasi said. “Just keep your book low, and stay alert. We don’t want to draw attention, not yet anyway. We have a couple hours before the commute peaks.”

  Hawthorne opened his book below the level of the table, and was so distracted he jumped when the girl brought their plates. Nastasi ate heartily. Hawthorne picked at his food still full from Betsy Connors’ sandwich. In his book, the one Moyer had picked for him, Randall McMurphy was undergoing a lobotomy. He hated the way the story ended. He had come to like McMurphy and felt pangs of guilt. When he had been a prosecutor, and later when he sat the bench in district courts, he had put a great many Randall McMurphys in jail. The world was decidedly short of them now, and it seemed as though a McMurphy was needed to lead the world away from the crushing oppression of corporate dominance.

  Outside, the sun had risen. Golden rays cast long shadows across the Circle through the gaps between skyscrapers. People crowded the walkways zipping past the windows going this way and that, as if the café had been transported atop a giant ant mound. Nastasi stared at Hawthorne, a small grin on his face, blue eyes placid and calm. And why should he be scared? In his mind he was headed to Valhalla, or whatever idea of perfection his strange beliefs promised. Hawthorne wished he could believe in something so improbable, wished he could attain that kind of peace.