The Victor's Heritage (The Jonah Trilogy Book 2)

by Anthony Caplan

  "The man who dared to torch the halls of the Senate? We made the wrong choice when we spared his life."

  "We call him a prophet of the new world order. One of the Founding Brethren."

  "Corrag, I hate to tell you, you've been brought up in a backwater. The world is definitely not going the Federation's way."

  Corrag held her tongue. Beithune, like her, only half-believed everything he said in defense of his country. In his spare time he was cultivating a freer, more iconoclastic world view that was setting him up for an inevitable confrontation between what he truly believed and what he was expected to espouse. It happened sooner than anyone could have predicted.

  Beithune came to her one night and said he needed to talk to her about his gaming. Having been with him at the Sandelsky office and the successful barrier challenge with Shulder, she was privy to an aspect of Beithune he kept hidden from the world of the Hunnewell farm and its subsidiary businesses. He had the latest headset, a Weimar 2.8 and a spare, an old Oculus that he synced to the gaming cube he had hung on the back door of his clothes closet. He invited her in and they sat together on his bed late at night while the rest of the house slept.

  The two of them scrambled over the wreckage of an air strike looking for survivors among the Supermen. Corrag quickly became adept at listening for the sounds of groaning and reaching for limbs. But the stench of rotting flesh was a shock to her, and she could barely keep herself from doubling over and retching.

  She found the heat imager before Beithune. He came back to her and they both ran up a side street with a little boy in front of them leading the way. She could sense that the point of the game would have nothing to do with the ideology of the Supermen or the Law but simply survival and being on the right side when the final strike came down. Beithune had her along as an ally and to see how she handled herself. So she stuck by him.

  An outside observer would have seen the two of them sitting upright against the headboard side by side without touching, watching the space ahead.

  On Sundays the Hunnewells went to the church in Hanover, the Unitarian Church of Her Lordship. This was a novel experience for Corrag, who had been brought up in the strict, secular world of a leading family of the Federation, where mention of religion was inevitably followed by talk of jail time. But here in New Albion there was a wide assortment of religious choices, from militant atheists to a temple of the New Israelites.

  The Unitarian Church of Her Lordship's pastor was a young man, the Reverend Shellay Hustice, and a Sunday late in the summer he spoke of Her Lordship's exhortation to seek out the truth for themselves.

  "'Can the blind lead the blind?' asked Our Lady. And of course the answer is not. You need training to be a leader, and where do you get the training? Through the right connections. Which is why we work so hard to afford the very best augmentation we can get for ourselves and our loved ones! We trust She is showing us the way hard work and the grace of the right connections can pave the way to eternal satisfaction. And so we end our ceremony, brothers and sisters, with the following hope. May your week be filled with productivity and may you bear the good fruit of the righteous in the unified way of our Republican heritage. Amen."

  "Amen," responded the congregants.

  After a final hymn and the exit of Reverend Hustice, the Hunnewells shuffled out the church door into the bright sunshine of a cloudless August day. Wennill smiled at some friends and Beithune held his breath until they could get to the corner where Jeoff had parked the family portagon. In the car, Jeoff praised the sermon. He had found it very moving. Nobody else said a word, not even Joan. Finally, Jeoff asked Corrag what she thought, hoping to get some support from a neutral party.

  "It was okay. I don't really understand the point, though. We’re supposed to praise an individual's effort, but if we're all individuals, why do we have to get together once a week rain or shine to remind ourselves of the importance of maintaining our individuality?"

  "It's because, like Her Lordship says, we need the right connections to be fruitful, but we still need to be strong and respect an individual's rights," said Jeoff.

  "That's ridiculous," said Beithune quickly. "It's because we like to belong to something that reflects well on us. But that Reverend Hustice is so lame, Dad."

  "He really is. Why can't we try the Baptist church like you promised? The entire crew team goes there. At least they have good clubs," whined Wennill.

  "Maybe. Maybe we will," said Joan, trying to still the turbulent water that Corrag's response had seemed to set in motion. Jeoff exasperatedly overrode the driving function from the portagon, screeching the wheels too fast on the winding road back from the town.

  Once in the house, the Hunnewells retreated to their respective rooms. Corrag went outside and played with Teddy, tossing him a beat up, old racquetball she found with her foot under a pile of molecular compost in the rose bushes. At least the dog seemed clear in his affections and motivations. She couldn't say the same about the Hunnewells that owned him. Jeoff came outside, still in his Sunday clothes, a lightweight PET outfit that did little to hide his gut. She wondered why he didn't have remedial surgery. In the Federation it would have been mandated for someone in his position, and his diet and exercise regimes would be supervised until he could bring his weight under control.

  "How are you?" asked Jeoff.

  "Fine, I guess."

  Jeoff nodded. "Feel like a walk?" he asked.

  "Sure," said Corrag. He seemed lonely, isolated in the family, and she felt suddenly sorry for him. She could see in her uncle some of the traits she found so exasperating about Alana -- the stubbornness, the yearning for some completeness that was never quite there, the lashing out in quick anger that only fed unhappiness.

  They walked down the hill towards the conservation land that was administered by the New Albion Land Trust. The leaves in the beeches, maples and oaks were beginning to turn, and some of the bottomland trees in the beaver swamp were already flush with vivid shades of oranges and reds that Corrag loved with a strength of feeling that was mysterious to her.

  "Nice here, isn't it?" said Jeoff. He seemed calmer. The walking did him good. He was a man of action, when all was said and done. Limbs moving meant the world was under control.

  "It really is."

  "The seasons are a constant. For about ten years we saw some dieback in the forest, especially the birches. Don't see as much damage the last few or so. They seem to be adjusting. Even moose numbers are coming back thanks to the rebound in the wolf population. That's somehow counterintuitive, but you know about the way the ecosystem operates."

  "Yes, the Gaian paradigm is something we learn in grade school."

  "You tend to stress the role of human stewardship while we understand the deeper symbiosis, but never mind. It's splitting hairs, isn't it, Corrag?"

  "Well, those things are important."

  "You're like your mother. She was a true believer. We're more pragmatic in the Republic. Getter done and all that. And at the same time we trust our ancestral intuitions about the deeper meaning of it all."

  "Yeah. I can see that. There's something to be said. And yet, it does allow for more misery. We don't tolerate misery well. It's smile all the while in Democravia, Uncle. That might seem trite. It used to be for me, but now ... I don't know. I'm not so sure of my former certainty."

  "You miss home, don't you?"

  "A little."

  "Well, I think you've been a great emissary. If that helps."

  "I suppose. This will get me on the track again for Augmentation."

  "That's important. If it’s what you want. Do it for the right reasons. Plenty of people get augmented but the underlying reference points are all wrong, and it gets them nowhere. Your thought determines your actions, Corrag. If what's in your mind sets the course for you, it's most important to put the right thoughts in your mind. Don't let anyone else put them there for you until you know what's there first."

  "But how do you know?" />
  “Know what?”

  “What to put in your mind?”

  "By contact with stimulus that brings about awareness. Life experience and struggle with adversity. That's why, in my opinion, Corrag, the Republic will reach star exploration first. Our way is clearer. Buy the augmentation when you're ready for it yourself, not when some council determines you are fit for it because you suit their purposes."

  "I like that, but I just see the unhappiness that results from the adversarial system, the lack of planning, and I'm ... well it makes me sick sometimes. Honestly."

  "Unhappiness is just a cloud, Corrag, a passing cloud. Don't think that the clouds block the sun. They pass.”

  "Well, that's easy for you to say."

  "How is that, Corrag?"

  "You have it all. You're one of the lucky ones."

  "Lucky. That's not the word that I would use. We worked hard for everything. The grace of Our Lady comes to those that contend, Corrag."

  "Everyone does in their own way. It is a common struggle. 'The cause of humanity lifts all boats.'"

  "You like a good quote, don't you? 'The stars are for the victors.' That was also Tracy Durkiev, right? We only have so much time. Use it wisely."

  They walked on down the hill, winding until Corrag had the sense they were facing back into the hill, as if corkscrewing into themselves. There was a cascade of water coming off some rocks and ferns and brambles lining the road under the shadow of the giant trees. Corrag had the sense that she was a part of everything that she had ever seen, as if the true augmentation was just being alive. As if everything that had evolved had been designed with her in mind for that very moment. She recognized this as the illusion of singularity, an example of a fault in the hard wiring of the human brain that could be overcome with augmented life-long education, but still the pleasant sensation lulled her as she listened to Jeoff and walked along in the strobing shadow and light of the dappled forest.

  "... And then when you get married and start a family it's all about the children and there's no more time for yourself. That's the time in my opinion to get augmented. That's when you need it."

  "For yourself?"

  "Of course."

  "But augmentation means you lose individuation. That's what I learned from Shearstein in the remediation process. The higher you go, the more you turn over to the Cloud. Isn’t that true here also?"

  "Who told you that?"

  "My attorney."

  "That's a strange thought. Of course here in Repho we believe the individual should always maintain control. The privacy safeguards to any augment are ironclad. No matter what company you opt for. That's one of the control mechanisms we still hand off to third party non-profits."

  "What are they?"

  "Third party non-profits are appointed by the executive by two thirds majority," droned Jeoff. "They are made up of retired executives who volunteer. It's considered an honor. My father-in-law, Joan's dad, Peter Stirling was on the Milk Board, that's a third party non-profit that drew up the list of rules for feedstock certification back in the 2020s."

  "So there's still oversight."

  "Of course. And there still are criminal abuses of the system. Some things are never going to change. My best advice to you is to be conservative. Don't go for the flashiest augment outfit. Some of these kids trying to prove themselves end up slaving away for the outfits they buy into. The back doors can be impossible to see. Make sure they're as transparent as possible."

  "In the Federation there is only one augment. That's the Democravian Mind Ministry, the DMM."

  "Yes. You know what you're getting with the DMM."

  "Top quality access to scientific culture."

  "Pretty bland stuff if you ask me. There's no art, no crossover, nothing dangerous or unconventional. Believe me there's a lot of the Federation elite that swing on the Repho augment when they get a chance."

  "How?"

  "Brazil and Alaska. The cartels that cater to vacationers, hook them for a fee and a three-day sample. They've perfected the cookie wipes using nanobots in the bloodstream. You get an IV transfusion on the last day and away you go back to San Jose and no-ones the wiser."

  They walked back to the house. Corrag forced herself to put the conversation with Jeoff out of her mind, stored away for another, more reflective moment, purposely focusing on the details in front of her -- Teddy's dash across the grass, the housebot's confusion, Wennill's cry of exasperation. She had a sudden sinking sadness in her gut. The day had wound away again and she was no better off, no closer to clarity. She excused herself from Wennill and Jeoff. They were looking at the summer science camp art project Wennill had assembled on the picnic bench, a polymer foam model of the tides. The housebot had retrieved the wrong kind of glue from the laboratory, apparently, and Wennill was dramatically inconsolable about the impossibility of ever getting it right in her life. Corrag couldn't help thinking she was overly dramatic.

  She had the sense of having outgrown some of the melancholy of her own adolescence. She looked out the gable window of the guest bedroom at Jeoff and Joan in the yard with the housebot circled around Wennill as she finally pumped the right kind of glue from the glue gun. They tried so hard to please her. Corrag was reminded of her own parents and the ways she had disappointed them. Maybe Joan was right, maybe the Hunnewell genes were stronger than any child-rearing techniques or beliefs. The best outcome from her travels might be to instill a sense of duty, thought Corrag.

  She was reading a book from the library called Conrad, a historical romance of the Scottish Highlands. In it, the warrior clans united behind Conrad, a time traveler from the future, as they battled the English troops under General Cromwell. Cromwell was depicted as suffering from severe self-doubts and an inferiority complex that led him to torture his enemies as a way of self-soothing, a sort of monstrous addict. Corrag lost herself in the words of the story as the daylight faded and the lights of the bedroom automatically increased their diffusion. Was she like Conrad, she wondered, forever wandering, unable to find pleasure in the small moments of life? In the end, Conrad came back to himself in his former life and was reawakened to the possibilities and mysteries of the ordinary world.

  She lay her head back on the pillow and put the book aside. The days were getting noticeably shorter and there was a chill in the air, more like a bite really, once the sun went down. Corrag got up and went over to the closet and wrapped the wool shawl Joan had placed there around her shoulders. A knock sounded on the door. Such an old-fashioned sound. Corrag still marveled at it, the knuckles against wood that conveyed so much more information then the nanowall at home in Edmundstown. By this particular rap she knew it was Beithune, and by it's exaggerated, leisurely one-two she also knew it was important.

  "What are you doing?" he asked after she opened the door. He was disheveled, as if he'd been sleeping all day.

  "Just reading. What about you."

  "Can I come in?"

  "Sure."

  Beithune stepped inside the room and looked around, scratching his head. He seemed uneasy, but he looked at her with a determined glint in his eye.

  "Tonight it's on. Are you up for it?"

  "Do you think we're ready?"

  "I think so. It's a big step. This new game is supposed to involve a new kind of biological augment. I've held off, but I want to try it. It's a challenge, a real challenge."

  "Do you know the setting?"

  "No."

  Corrag paused, thinking. A biological as opposed to chemical augment sounded scary but she was definitely interested in trying the new game. The top of the line Repho gamers were hired for the Sandelsky design teams, and gaining access to their thought system had to be an asset.

  "What’s the downside, Beithune?"

  "Losing. That's always the downside. Once out of the ranks, you will never be invited to another opening. The discussion boards will be closed to you forever."

  "However, the augment goes away if you lose, right?"r />
  "I think so. The truth is nobody knows if there is even such a thing as a biological augment. I did an analysis of the in pills."

  "And?"

  "There are polymeric nanocarriers that may be able to overcome the subcellular bottlenecks. CMD comes to mind, but so far none have yielded gene expresion in any reported findings. But there's always a chance that Sandelsky may have hit on something and are taking it to the field."

  "So you think it might work."

  "There is a carboxymethylated dextrans in there."

  "It couldn't be that big, then."

  "Yes, it could. There are Japanese nano designs that unfold once they get released into a solvent with the reticulocytes of normal red blood cells."

  Corrag paused to think hard. Doing the right thing was important to her future. On the other hand, taking chances was the hallmark of winning any game. The question of a contraband augment, in the Federation's eyes, hardly bothered her. The Council would certainly be disapproving, but that was the point of having envoys, to bring back and incorporate difference. The core of consciousness was an acknowledged mystery still. She felt confident in its ultimate safeguard capabilities.

  "Okay," she said at last.

  "I need you with me as a tether just in case. Are you sure?"

  "Yes. Let's do it."

  "You could just belay me without the in pill."

  "No, I want to go in."

  "Then here."

  Beithune pulled the vial he'd received from the Sandelsky giant from his pocket and shook out two pills into the palm of his right hand. He held it out. Corrag took a pill. Beithune took the other and put the vial back in his pocket.

  "We'll take it now, and after dinner I'll meet you."

  They looked hard at each other and both swallowed their pills together. There was a slight bitterness that lingered in her throat. She felt immediately queasy and sat down on her bed. Beithune walked out and closed the door behind him. The dizziness ebbed, as did the ringing in her ears. Eventually she stood up from the bed. The solar-electric stored heat had come on, and the wood floor was warm under her bare feet. She wrapped herself in the shawl again and looked at herself in the mirror. She could hear Wennill's voice and the housebot as they descended the stairs together. It was time for dinner. She had a strange fear of taking a step outside the room, and her depth perception was slightly skewed. She held the old book she had been reading in front of her face and attempted to read from the page. The words registered but then somehow vanished from her mind instantly. Then she put some music on her emosponder, picking a song she knew always got her into a dancing mood, Carnivaleo by Tizziano Pellegrino, to check her emotional responses. The song came on and she felt a strange nostalgia for the past and a desire to be in the dark. It was very strange.