“This is amazing, Kaider. Your people created this?”
“It was a school project actually. We all do stints as instructors, though we don't have many children. Earlier topside travelers were irradiated, rendering us sterile. The Plebs destroy most embryos because they consider them foreign tissue, so our birth rate is very low.”
“What about my father? Did he have any more kids, besides my sister?”
“All he had with him when we found him were your sister’s twins and five neighbor children. They’re grown now, of course, but they’re also sterile.” O’Brien picked up a twig and began breaking it into smaller pieces. He was troubled by the memories the conversation engendered.
“I need a favor.” O’Brien said.
“Sure, anything.”
“When you go back, look Jess up and bring her to me. She'll understand when I give her the letter we’ve written to us. Kind of selfish, but I’ll want to inoculate us with the Plebs. I’ll entrust the remaining seventeen doses to you. I’m not sure I could be objective enough. As to whomever else you give them to, choose wisely. The gift is permanent.”
George nodded. He had suspected O’Brien would ask that very thing. He would, in his place. “I’d be glad to.” He rubbed his chin and adopted what he hoped was a bemused look, but it morphed to one of introspection. “If this stuff works as well as you say it does, why aren’t you in perfect health? You looked fine at the medcenter.”
“The limp?” O’Brien interlaced his fingers behind his back and rocked slowly, his eyes closed to narrow slits. He gazed up at the rocky outcroppings. “I didn't want your first impression of me to include a physical weakness, so I toughed it out at the medcenter. Had you fooled." He winked, then frowned. "All of us originals, those of us who were here in 2057, received only a very tiny dose of the Plebs. It has staved off the outward appearance of aging, but our organs haven’t been so well protected. I have a condition called Phlebitis, which causes blood clots that block my capillaries. It’s getting progressively worse.” Talking of his infirmities made him uncomfortable, something he spoke of only with Jessica and Linda. “Anyway, there are more important matters for us to discuss. Shall we head back? Your parents are waiting to see you.”
“Sure, I’d like that.”
A sense of urgency infected them as they returned to the gravcart. The machine rose and sped from the arboretum.
“What was the deal with Hanover?” The thought struck George before the doors whooshed closed behind them.
O’Brien snorted and stared straight ahead. “We seeded a number of our people among tribes throughout this region...to be there...to help you on your journey to Nayork. Most were benevolent, but Hanover, we discovered, had a mean streak. We didn’t find out until yesterday that he and others were quietly organizing many of the tribes to prevent you from reaching Slinker.”
“You're on good terms with the tribes living nearby?”
“Some.” O’Brien snorted again, and as quickly regretted his unguarded reaction. “By that I mean we’ve had little direct contact with them for a long time. There are those who believe religiously that God will someday restore Earth, but there are numerous bandit groups called ‘patrols’ who’s seers teach that the devil will rise from the ocean aboard a giant stingray and join with us in Nayork to create hell on Earth. As if it weren’t already so.”
“Why haven’t they attacked you?”
“None venture this high into the mountains. They're afraid of us, though we’ve never taken up arms against them.”
“Since they pose such a threat, why, with all this technology, why didn’t you just meet us with the time travel machine when we came ashore?”
“We couldn’t risk it. Even when the Professor figured out how to back-step without altering time, he discovered that the intervening years weren’t immutable. Sometimes Hanover murdered all but you. At other times you and Baider made it, which is why we assisted you only when your journey was nearly at an end. Since Owen and Don were doomed to die, we saved them to convince you of our sincerity. And to answer your unspoken question, saving Wendell and Heather always resulted in failure. At least a dozen times, we sent a party to meet you when you came ashore, but that always ended in your death. No matter which factors changed, only you making it most of the way to Nayork on your own brought the desired results.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“There’s a greater power at work here. Each time one of us back-stepped, we saw a vision, a countenance. The Professor, along with the majority here, believe it to be God. I’m not sure what to believe, but we concluded that certain steps had to be taken for all this to work. Ah, here we are.”
The cart slowed and came to rest before a set of wide double-doors. Unlike the pastel greens, yellows and earth tones adorning the corridor, the doors were a shocking blue.
“Beyond is the lab where your father constructed the time machine. To the left is the doorway to your mother and father’s private quarters. Gwyndolin refused to allow us to move them to the medcenter.” O’Brien smiled sadly and offered George his hand.
Reluctant to end the dialogue, George took it, pleasantly surprised by the strength in O’Brien’s grip. Hardly what one would expect from a three hundred year old man.
“If you will, Kaider, answer me one more question.”
“If I can.”
“Your people have lived over three hundred years. You’ve built quite an Eden here. Why would you want it all to end?”
O’Brien pulled his good leg under him and faced George. “Paradise can be extremely limiting. We all miss the freedom inherent above ground and we’ve all lived satisfying and productive lives here. But we cherish the thought of reliving our lives under a real sun and blue skies. Some of us want to explore the solar system, raise children, give to the world of our knowledge and experience.” O’Brien looked away, troubled. “We’ve accomplished more than any of us believed possible, but we can't do any of that here.”
O’Brien adopted a bemused smile. “Consider the Plebs a reward for saving mankind. Only a few of us ever want to live this long again. I...I think that there is much left for me to accomplish and I can't see myself doing it alone. Jessica, though reluctant at first, agreed that she would join me. Providing an accident doesn’t take us sooner, there will come a time when we will have to consider the time and place of our demise. Living forever would be far too much of a burden. You’ll see what I mean when you’ve been around a few centuries.” O’Brien gripped George by the shoulder and gave him a firm shake. “For now, go see your father and mother.”
“Just one more question...for now.” Though George wanted to know much more, there was only one question he could easily lay voice to. “What of the structure, that monolith we found when we came ashore?”
“Another school project. Once we narrowed down the time when you would arrive, a student suggested we leave something to guide you. They built it several years ago. The holoimager was my idea. You may not have recognized the figure, but you will. Now, go. Final preparations must be made. When you’re ready, just step into the corridor and call ‘transport’.”
“Kaider, thanks. Thanks for everything. I mean that.” He stuck his hand out and O’Brien shook it firmly, but mindful, not vigorously.
“My pleasure. And I mean that.” O’Brien winked, and for a moment the old fire that drove him this far burned brightly. His leg ached and he needed to rest. They had paid a steep price for living underground these past three centuries. He would as soon trade it all for just a few hours under a pale blue sky and a yellow sun.
George stepped out of the cart and faced the doors. He sucked in a deep breath and let it go, then moved closer. The doors shushed aside. Would his parents recognize him? He still needed to brief Don and Owen and Baider. Time, he now realized, was of the essence.
O’Brien watched the doors enclose George before ordering the cart to the medcenter. He had to check on Doomes busy preparing his troops, see t
o the loading of the time machine on haulers, and touch bases with Linda...an endless list. This was the culmination of everything they worked for. The final back-step. He looked upon the corridors of Nayork, saddened that this time line would soon end. Still, another chance to live the life they should have, brought on a deepening sense of elation. No secret in Nayork that the odds were stacked against them, but the decision to proceed had been unanimous and repeatedly reaffirmed by those who called the techno-city their home. Most would die in the attempt, but the alternative, unthinkable. He considered telling George just how ‘iffy’, but in the final analysis, it would do no good to burden the good captain with that particular albatross.
Chapter Sixteen
07:28 Hours July 23, 2386 - Earth
Conversation ended as the gravator wisped its cargo upward with quiet efficiency, lending calm to the ascent. In the gravcart’s back seat, George slouched to ease the pressure on his side. Though the bandages were off and the once swathed flesh a healthy pink, it would remain tender until the nerves came to terms with the regeneration. It was just as well. He needed a distraction, something to give him an edge. Pain kept the eyes clear, senses alert, and shadowed images he couldn't suppress.
As the sleepless dawn had approached he wanted, then craved, a line of coke to steel his nerve, another to forget and another to make it all go away. But the lives of billions rode on his shoulders and a hauler load of white powder wouldn’t change any of that. The memory of a long ago day intruded. Wired on coke and sloppy drunk, his trawler battling forty foot combers on Lake Superior, George got the credit for saving the boat and crew, but it was the bosun, a seasoned salt, who kicked his sodden butt around the bridge, then forced him to do what had to be done. Not a single crewman had come forward to condemn their dead captain or the coked out first mate. It was that night, once the trawler was safely tethered to a Duluth pier, that George attempted to kill himself with booze. In a senseless rage, he stabbed a drunken boilerman with a broken bottle. After being patched up, the seaman had ended up in the drunk tank beside him. Three hours later they made a pact to swear off drugs and hard liquor for life. A week later, he learned the boilerman died in a brawl, but George held to the pact anyway – penance for his misdeeds.
The gravator shushed to a stop at the upper chamber. Though he had expected as much, the scene’s controlled frenzy surprised him. All about, flat-bottomed skimmers, sleek flyers and broad-beamed haulers readied for the journey to the coast. Though outwardly festive, tear-brimmed eyes darkened many a smiling face. To one side, over two hundred men in gold-trimmed black body armor geared up while half that many in gray jumpsuits labored to secure the tubes, supports and sundry equipment that made up his father’s invention. After seeing the miniature Typler's cylinder in his father’s lab, George figured it would consume much of Slinker’s cargo hold. With transport supports however, it filled three haulers.
George marveled at the massive and meticulous effort that had gone into the preparations for this day. He remained circumspect, though Colonel O’Brien had cagily dodged George’s often pointed concerns about the strength and numbers of their adversaries while expertly maintaining an air of utter honesty. The trek to the coast would not be a ‘cruise around the harbor’, as Baider would say. Though never stated, he assumed there would not be the luxury of a second chance.
Willard slung an arm over the seat back and offered a feeble grin. “You guys ready?”
“In a word, no,” Don grumbled. Usually irrepressible, Don's pessimism heightened George's mounting anxiety.
“Out there," Don grumped, "it's freezing and armed men are waiting to pick us off. Trading this underground paradise for that...well, let's just say I’m not thrilled.”
Owen gripped the back of Don's neck good-naturedly. “Ease up, man.”
George knew advanced lasweapons and shielding gave Nayork’s defenders the edge against projectile weapons, but as Doomes’ capture of the Cargan spaceship proved, overwhelming firepower could not assure victory.
Linda, blonde tresses shimmering in the refracted light, turned and flashed a disarming smile, usurping the moment. Casually attired in a white silk blouse and midnight blue slacks, she seemed somehow virginal riding with the camouflaged Slinker crewmen. “Please don't think that way. What you're doing is so important. It's been decades since we last talked of the way things were. You’ve no idea how hard it’s been to keep hope alive.”
“Well, I guess I should feel good about this,” Don gave her a penitent look. “but it’s too much like being kicked out of Eden.”
“Come now.” Linda radiated confidence and good cheer. “You’re heroes to us, the instruments of Mankind’s salvation.”
“When you put it that way...” Don nodded slowly and returned her smile.
“Gentlemen.” A harried young officer met them as the cart wisped to a halt beside a transport bulging with equipment and munitions. “If you’ll board, we’re ready to leave.”
Brows knitted and favoring his mended limb, Don pushed up and out. He shook his head when Owen, left arm in a sling, offered to help, and climbed aboard the loading riser.
Off the cart, Baider hesitated and awkwardly stuck out his hand. “Thanks for saving us out there.” Though sincere, Baider stood ridged, blank faced. The past few days had revealed emotional facets of the seaman heretofore hidden beneath a tough guy persona. A glance around lent George to understand that the others saw it too.
With all the grace of a queen, Linda stepped off the cart and took Baider’s hand in both of hers. “It was our pleasure.” She rose on her toes and pecked him on the cheek. “God willing, you’ll see Heather soon enough.” Eyes glistened. Her confident smile slipped. She squeezed his hand and let go.
“Willard.” Solemnly, Baider turned to O'Brien's adjutant. It wasn't like Baider to confide in anyone, but the two men had shared much in quiet conversation. George wondered if the bond between them would survive the back-step, then dismissed the thought. They wouldn't remember each other, and a chance meeting would be remote. They shook hands.
“Take good care of the Doc, okay? She’s a keeper.”
“Don't I know. Been married to her for nearly three centuries. Now go. You’ve a new future to write.”
Baider nodded, turned haltingly, handed up a lasrifle to Owen, and laboriously boarded.
Willard pushed the riser aside and leaned up against the hauler. “Remember, gentlemen. The haulers are double shielded. You’ll have to be at least six feet outside the force field before you can fire your weapons. Just so you don't accidentally fry our own guys, I’d suggest you turn off the biofinders. And keep the range, sweep and energy settings on auto until you get the hang of it.”
Baider frowned. “Your guys have IFF chips in their suits.”
“That’s true, but in a fight they can be damaged. That said, have a safe and uneventful trip home.” He smiled ruefully and stepped back.
Don gave him a thumbs up. “We’ll look you up.”
“I’m counting on it.”
Feeling like the odd man out, George, the last to leave the cart, decided against offering a flippant observation. It wouldn't do to reveal the flood of conflicting emotions tumbling through his mind. Gripping his lasrifle across his chest, he bowed slightly to Willard and Linda, then struggled to say something of historical relevance, but drew a blank. “I’ll see you soon,” he offered lamely.
Linda smiled. “Hope so.”
Willard shook his hand. “Take care.”
George frowned. “Shouldn't Mr. Tammer be here? Being a vid barker I assumed he wouldn’t miss this.”
Willard slipped his arm into the crook of Linda’s elbow and gently pulled her closer. “Linda and Tammer’s adopted descendants spread his processed remains in the arboretum day before yesterday.”
“I’m sorry. I should have mentioned it.” Linda wiped away a forming tear. “Our dear friend spent the last few weeks virtually incapacitated with a viral infection. Despite every
thing, he never felt his contribution was enough and continued to direct the dissemination of the Cargan database until mere hours before he died. He passed peacefully.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No need to be.” Linda smiled uncertainly. “We honored Tammer frequently. Despite his gargantuan ego, he professed it to be enough.”
“That’s good to hear. O’Brien told me that without Tammer, they never would have made it back to Earth.” George stepped back, bowed slightly and faced the hauler. “I...we better get going.” If the time machine really worked — George still had his doubts — would he come to know them again? What of the other Nayorkians? Oddly saddened, he boarded the hauler.
Willard touched Linda’s shoulder. "I suggest we get to the command center, dear."
“Just a little longer,” Linda squeezed him tighter and rested her head on his shoulder. “until they’re gone.” She smiled sadly at George, though he could see her thoughts were already turning to other matters.
“Not a moment more.”
“Of course.”
George assumed an estimated death toll had been determined. Was she thinking of the friends she would lose this day? People she worked with and cared for all those hundreds of years, the children born into her hands.
He waved goodbye, not sure he could trust his voice. During the lengthy briefings, and later, in O’Brien’s quarters, he’d come to admire these futuristic cave dwellers. When they met again, how different would they be?
Powerful nitrogen turbines whined to life and the massive polyfiber gates rumbled open. A blustery wind coursed through the portal and in single file, the haulers, skimmers and flyers departed. Aboard the last craft, George looked back and saw Linda press into her husband. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks. The hauler surged over the threshold and dipped, and they were lost to sight.
09:31 Hours July 23, 2386
Mankind's Worst Fear Page 39