by JC Ryan
"I'm not sure who you're talking about, old friend. Do you have any notes about it in your office?"
Nicholas shook his head, sighed, and tried again. "She said, that day. Something wrong with Eighth Cycle."
Now Sinclair was a bit worried. Was Nicholas talking about the day of his stroke? He didn't want to bring it up. But Nicholas was insistent on getting an answer. "That day," he repeated.
"Do you mean the day you had your spell?" Sinclair asked, hesitating to name the stroke for what it was, in case it upset Nicholas. However, the old man was made of tougher stuff.
"Yes, day of stroke," he answered. "Girl, telling me something wrong with Eighth Cycle."
There it was, confirmation that something a researcher said contributed. Sinclair didn't want to pursue it. Another stroke might kill his old friend.
"It's okay. We're learning all about it. They had it good at the end. Nothing was wrong."
"Why ca-cly?" Nicholas demanded. Cackle? What did he mean? Sinclair shook his head, indicating he hadn't understood.
"Crash! Why crash, cycle?"
Oh, Sinclair realized. Why did they have their cataclysm, if everything was so wonderful? Good question, and one no one had thought to ask, as far as Sinclair knew.
"I’m not sure. We haven't gotten that far in the records." Unable to resist, Sinclair asked a dangerous question. "What did the girl say?"
"Brave New World. Good movie," Nicholas answered.
Sinclair remembered a movie being made, but didn't think it had high ratings. "Do you mean it was a good book?" he asked.
"Yes, yes, good book. Bad society."
That was true. Sinclair gave a shudder. Big brother watching you, and all that. People had been saying that about the internet for a few years now. Then it clicked.
"The researcher told you the Eighth Cycle reminded her of that book?"
"Yes. True?" Nicholas looked worried, so Sinclair hastened to reassure him.
"Oh, I'm sure that wasn't true. But I'll look into it. Will that make you feel better?"
"Feel just fine. Let's have a drink," Nicholas said, grinning.
"Next time I come, I'll try to sneak in a flask, old friend. You be good and don't harass these young nurses, okay? They aren’t good for your blood pressure anyway. Now, I need to get back to work."
***
As soon as he left Nicholas, Sinclair went straight to Daniel.
"I need to know which of the researchers was with your granddad when he had his stroke. He's just told me what she said. If it's true, it may give us a hint of what JR should be looking for."
Surprised, Daniel gave him the name. "What did she say?"
"She may have hit on the key to their Utopia," Sinclair answered. Privately, he thought, 'or dystopia.' He wasn't ready to reveal his hunch. It sounded too pessimistic, especially when everyone was marveling at the perfect society. With the hint of extra longevity, many speculated that it was a natural extension of age and therefore longer productivity, even wisdom, might be the answer to the perfection. But, what if the perfection was the result of some kind of social engineering?
Sinclair went from Daniel's office to the research department and found the girl. After assuring her that she wasn't in any trouble, Sinclair insisted she follow him to the canteen, where he bought her a soda and asked what she'd said to Nicholas the day of his stroke.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she remembered the old man's reaction. "I'm afraid to tell you," she whispered.
"Don't be afraid. I'm prepared, and I think I know anyway. Besides, I'm perfectly healthy. It's not going to shock me into a stroke."
With fresh tears at the implication that she'd caused Nicholas to have a stroke, she barely managed to stutter out the words. "I t-t-told h-him they sounded l-like." She took another deep breath as Sinclair waited for her to finish her sentence. "L-like B-Brave New World," she finally finished.
Sinclair sat back. "You mean that a central government was controlling everything? That's what the Eighth Cycle material reminded you of?"
She nodded. "I didn't mean to upset him."
"Don't worry lass. Nicholas was sick before you said that. It was only a matter of time before something happened, and at least this way you were there to get him some help immediately. He's going to be fine."
"I'm so glad. I really like Dr. Rossler."
"I need to ask you why you told him you thought the Eighth Cycle was like Brave New World."
"He thought it was a movie," she said, twisting her hands together.
"Yes, but his brain was a little mixed up. I'm more interested in what you thought. And whether you still think so."
"I do! I mean, not everything was alike, but they like, controlled all the information. It's all in the records. You don't even have to read between the lines. This guy, I guess the one that left the foils, left a letter that said it." She'd become very earnest, now that someone was listening to her.
"A what? A letter, you say?" Sinclair couldn't believe his ears. How had this been missed?
"Yes, sir. A letter that was a warning for whoever was left, he said. That's what I was trying to tell Dr. Rossler, when..."
"Yes, of course. And did you bring it to anyone else's attention?"
"I tried. My lead said to move on to something more concrete. And of course, Dr. Rossler hasn't been here." She frowned. "Should I have tried harder?"
Sinclair thought maybe she should have, but he wouldn't put that guilt on her. She'd been through enough trauma when she witnessed the stroke, and it was really the team lead who'd dropped the ball.
"No, lass, you did fine. I'm glad I've asked, though. Do you think you could find the letter for me?"
"Yes, sir. I kept a copy in my cubie. Do you want it?"
"Aye that I do. Shall we go and get it?"
Chapter 32 - We gave away our blood
The young researcher, whose name Sinclair now learned, was Aubra Dennis, eagerly led the way to her cubicle. On the desk space were a workstation monitor, wireless keyboard and some knickknacks that revealed her interest in Ancient Egypt and cats. Sinclair couldn't understand why everyone was so enamored of cats these days. Pesky beasts wouldn't follow commands and weren't good for protection; what good were they, anyway? He suppressed his opinion, though, as Aubra picked one of her figurines up and handed him the pages underneath. Without conscious thought, he took the rolling chair in the cubicle and sat down to read. Aubra found an unoccupied chair in a nearby spot and pulled it near to wait.
The translation read:
Person of the Future,
I have very little time. I beg you to read this letter entirely, I beg you to heed the warnings in this letter and to take all action to stop this evil from happening ever again. I beg you to not ignore this – we have met our end because we did not pay attention, we gave away our freedom, we gave away our blood. We became slaves because of our unwillingness to give up our decadent life of luxury and carelessness for our fellow humans.
The end is near and I do not know whether I will be able to complete my task. With this letter, I leave a brief history of the end times of our cycle, so that in the event someone from a distant future, or a distant world, may find our remains and wonder, they shall be warned. You will find our history locked up in The Room of Knowledge on the 4th floor of this place of all evil. I beg you to find it and to read it and to learn about us.
Our world has developed out of the ashes of the cycle before us, after their destruction by fire from the sky. Our world has long been stable, it was perfect, with no dissent, no war, no disease and no poverty such as in the old days. We should be happy, but we are not. We have no freedom, we are oppressed, we are controlled because they have our blood. I beg you again read and be warned! The Council of Selected provides us with all our bodily needs but they own our spirits and our thoughts. Our happiness, our being belongs to them. We are their servants, because they own our blood.
Within my lifetime, a movement has arisen to throw o
ff the yoke of thought control imposed by The Council of The Selected. At first, known dissenters were taken away and re-educated, to return and recant their subversive opinions. As more dissenters appeared, a mysterious illness began to befall them and many died. A fearsome beast was released against all citizens. We learned to guard our words carefully, lest we be among the victims, yet growing displeasure with our way of life made more and more speak out as more and more died.
That was where the translation ended. Sinclair glanced at Aubra, his brows raised. "I see what you mean about Brave New World. But where is the rest of the letter?"
Aubra responded, “It is here on this disk. After what happened to Dr. Rossler, I was too afraid to continue with the translation. Look at what happened to him!”
“My dear please don’t blame yourself,” Sinclair said. He continued, “Dr. Rossler did not have his stroke because of what you showed him that day. The doctors have confirmed that he has been having mini-strokes for a long time, but on that day he had a major one. You had absolutely nothing to with it. It has been building up for a long time. Please stop beating yourself up about it.”
Sinclair had a bad feeling about all of this. Daniel needed to hear it, in detail, along with the partial translation of the letter. He took the disk from Aubra, thanked her for her excellent work and reassured her again that she had nothing to do with Nicholas’ condition. And then, he headed for Daniel’s office.
Sinclair had seen many ancient texts warning of global disaster, including the ones in the Tenth Cycle library. Where once he might have found such a letter the product of a paranoid mind, he had no such feeling about this one. How unfortunate that it had gone unrecognized since the girl, Aubra, found it, because of Nicholas's stroke and her fear of repercussions. However, what was done was done.
If this letter was what it purported to be, they had no time to waste, they had to get the rest of it translated immediately.
***
Daniel was immersed in something he would later have no memory of when Sinclair reached his office. As he looked up at his visitor, the look on Sinclair’s craggy features alarmed him.
“Sinclair, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Aye, and I may have. The ghost of the Eighth Cycle,” Sinclair answered, with a grimace Daniel took to be an attempt at a grin.
“Sit down and tell me what you’re talking about, old man. You’re scaring me.”
Sinclair sat heavily. “You recall I went to talk to the girl who was there with your granddad when he fell ill?”
“Of course.”
“Did you talk to her, afterward?”
“I did, yes. And Sarah, too. Why do you ask?”
“Did she not tell you, lad, she’d found some disturbing material about the Eighth Cycle?”
“Yes, she said it reminded her of Brave New World. That bothered Sarah, as I recall.”
“As well it should. Did she show you the letter?”
Daniel’s interest sharpened. “What letter?”
“Another letter from the man who left us these records, I suppose. In any case, it was a dire warning. Here, here’s a transcript.” Sinclair handed the paper to Daniel, who read it quickly.
“What’s all this about blood?” he asked. “And where’s the rest?”
“The wee lass was frightened to continue, after what happened to Nicholas. You agree it is important?”
“Hell, yes, it’s important! We need the rest of the translation right away. But, Sinclair.”
Sinclair had already risen from his chair and was preparing to leave and handle the emergency right now. “Yes?”
“Let’s keep this under wraps. I don’t want anyone going off half-cocked. Could you fill Joseph in and have him do it himself? Make him understand it’s eyes-only, okay?”
“Sure, Daniel.”
Sinclair was privy to almost everything going on, but he hadn’t seen the latest news from Salome. Something about what she’d most recently reported to him was bothering him. He wanted to know what it was before a wider alarm was spread.
“And, one more thing, Sinclair. Get with Raj and make sure there are no other copies of that, either translated or untranslated, on anyone else’s desk or workstation, okay?”
“You’ve got it. Anything else?”
“No, I’ll fill in Salome myself; see if she has anything to say about it. Thanks for bringing it to my attention, Sinclair.”
The older man saluted Daniel like a military man and hurried away. Daniel gathered his thoughts before getting up and walking to Salome’s office.
***
Sinclair took his mission as urgent and called both Joseph and Raj to the small conference room to show them a copy of the letter and convey Daniel’s directions.
Raj, seemed to take it in stride, and left immediately to carry out Daniel’s wishes. He wouldn’t be able to vouch for anything they had printed out on paper — that would be Salome’s job. But Sinclair was satisfied that he’d make damn sure not a shred or particle of it would remain anywhere but where it was supposed to be; on the servers or on Joseph Yazzie’s personal workstation. And the former would be encrypted so no one else could accidentally access it.
When Raj had left, Sinclair turned his attention to Yazzie, whose expression was troubled.
“What are you thinking, my friend?”
“This is very disturbing, Sinclair. Once I translate it, I may need a ceremony to restore my spiritual balance.”
Sinclair looked at Joseph in surprise. “I thought you were a Christian, Joseph.”
“I am, but nothing in the Christian faith requires me to abandon those of my people’s beliefs that go hand in hand with Christianity. An Enemy Way ceremony helps remove negative emotions caused by war or other trauma, and restores balance. Just as Catholic confession offers absolution for sin, our ceremonies return us to a state of harmony with the Creator.”
Sinclair hadn’t been to Mass in years, but the words resonated, even though he suspected the Church wouldn’t necessarily agree with Yazzie regarding heathen ceremonies. He let it go, but asked, “What makes you think you’ll be that damaged by translating the rest of this letter?”
“Revelation 13:16-18 And he causeth all, both small and great, rich and poor, free and bond, to receive a mark in their right hand, or in their foreheads:
And that no man might buy or sell, save he that had the mark, or the name of the beast, or the number of his name.
Here is wisdom. Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is Six hundred threescore and six.”
A shiver passed through Sinclair as Joseph’s voice fell away. If anything in the Bible could have reminded him of the police state found in the novel Brave New World, this was it. Some kind of mark imposed on everyone who would enter commerce and provide for their families summed up nicely the understanding that Biblical times peoples would have had of a police state. Could the well-ordered society described in the Eighth Cycle material that had so far been translated have been bought at the cost of personal freedom? It was a chilling thought.
***
While Raj was getting started on his practical chore and Joseph was scaring the daylights out of Sinclair, Daniel had made haste to Salome’s office, where he handed her his copy of the letter. His sense was that, while important, the letter didn’t change anything that would pose an immediate threat to the Foundation, or indeed to society in general.
Nevertheless, he wanted Salome’s take on it, and to see if she could identify the cause of his strange feeling about it. While his rational mind told him there was no threat, his subconscious insisted there was something he was missing. If it were a security threat, Salome would be able to identify it, he had no doubt.
“What do you make of this, Salome,” he said, holding the paper with the translation out for her to take. “It’s a translation of a letter from the Eighth Cycle materials.”
Salome took it and read it
quickly, then frowned and read it again. She looked up at Daniel with troubled eyes.
“What’s all this about giving away their blood? The writer repeats it several times, so it must be important. But what does it mean? Where’s the rest?”
“The girl who translated this took it to Grandpa on the day he had his stroke. In fact, she was in his office at the time. She was so afraid of what had happened that she buried this and didn’t want to translate the rest of the passage.”
Salome’s eyes grew round. “So… she thought this was what caused the stroke?”
“Yes, apparently. We’ve assured her it wasn’t this, but in any case, it just came to my attention. What is it that bothers you?”
“Something about all these references to blood. I almost think… But, no, I’m just being paranoid. It’s nothing.”
“I have the same feeling, that there’s something I’m missing. I can’t quite grasp it.”
“So, what are you thinking, Daniel. What do you want me to do about this?”
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. But, I can’t help thinking that it’s relevant to now, and to your study of what’s going on in the financial and industrial worlds. Somehow, it’s all tied in with stuff I’ve been mulling over for a while now.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“How dependent we are on being connected to electronic networks.”
Salome encouraged him with a gesture, and he began to tell her of the thoughts he’d been having even before she brought the behind-the-scenes wheeling and dealing in financial markets to his attention.
The seeds were sewn early in the century. A computer on every desktop was the goal. Thanks to advancing technology and the tendency toward smaller and smaller devices, it took only a decade to reach the goal in every modernized country. By then, a teenager could easily afford a device the size of an old-fashioned matchbox or smaller that would store recordings of every song they ever bought, far more than their fathers and mothers had ever owned on the bulkier vinyl recordings, tapes, even CDs.