by Martha Carr
“What made you choose the moment?” asked the minister.
“What?” asked Ned, nudged out of his reverie.
“What made you decide to finally unleash the virus and wake up all of us old farts? I’m not sure I would have known.”
“I didn’t decide, at least not by myself. Besides, there was no more time, and as a group we decided to act. That was at least one thing that I’ve determined to do differently than everything that came before us. We wanted to create something that could act as a collective, letting others have their say. No matter what happened, people would have the right to choose for themselves. A group conscience with everything happening out in the open. No more tiers, no more secrecy.” Ned could feel his heart beating faster.
“A wonderful dream,” said Father Michael, smiling at the young man but Ned was lost in a scowl.
“I’m not so sure,” he said, avoiding a slushy puddle. “If we’re lucky, a real democracy now has a chance,” he said, waving his arm, passion in his voice. “No shadow government behind the curtains and live or die, succeed or fail, every man and every woman and every child could decide for themselves!”
Father Michael shoved his free hand deep into his pocket. “But first the Butterflies need an idea that can not only stop Clemente before he takes over a natural resource, water, dictating who can have access, and who lives or dies. That I believe has always been his drug of choice. He likes playing the almighty and ends up imitating the devil.”
Father Michael was part of the White Rose Order of Resistance that was founded by Episcopal priests in Europe hundreds of years ago in order to keep the balance between the Circle and Management.
“George Clemente managed to make a deal with not only China, and most of the countries in Africa, but South Korea and much of Eastern Europe.”
“That’s why we pushed the button. The Butterflies. That’s why we stopped wondering what might happen and decided to trust that we’d work through whatever came next. The door was closing quickly to be able to ever stop him. If any plan was going to work, we knew we had to start sooner rather than later. And the only way we were going to come up with a solution was if the thousands of Butterflies spread out over the country worked together.”
“So you took away the underpinnings of society. Who owes what to who,” said Father Michael. “Brilliant.”
“It was a collective conclusion. The only thing that connected everyone was whether they owed somebody money or whether someone owed them. Easy way to tell if you were better than your neighbor, I suppose.”
“Debt as its own currency that crossed every border and affected every person, for better or worse,” said the Father, shaking his head. “Gives everyone a purpose and a reason to get up and go to work. People wanted to pay off the debt or collect a payment, or even get better credit and take on more debt like a house or a car.”
“Watch out,” said Ned, pulling back on the Father’s arm before he stepped into the street. A taxi coasted around the corner without even looking at them, its backseat empty. The driver wasn’t even looking for passengers.
“I wanted to give my generation the chance to decide for themselves. At least, as many of them as I could, and believe in something better,” said Ned.
He ducked his chin down, acting as if he couldn’t see what they were passing. A storefront was covered with plywood over the front window. Shards of glass were still sprinkled in front. Some had seen what happened as a chance to loot.
“You’re not responsible for what others do,” Father Michael said, as his shoes crunched over the glass.
“You know as well as I do, that’s not entirely true. We put something in motion. This was even a consequence we saw coming from a mile away. It’s just that we couldn’t put off doing something to stop Clemente just because there would be some who would see it as a chance to steal from someone else. I didn’t make that choice for whoever did that,” he said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder at the broken window, “but I set it up so they saw a chance and took it.”
“You know, it’s that attitude that will save us all,” said the Father. “Your group initiated something the rest of us weren’t even courageous enough to contemplate. Work together and treat everyone as a fellow among fellows. I’m not sure we could do that even now.”
“And then we created a virus.”
“Yes, the virus,” said Father Michael. “I see that as more of a messenger than a virus.”
Soon, the Butterflies had come up with a computer virus that learned as it infected other computers. The virus was able to disguise itself so it was seen as an original part of the programming of every computer system it entered. Eventually it worked its way into the mainframes through which every email, every command, every bank transaction passed through.
The biggest hurdle was getting the larger corporations, which had the strongest firewalls, to invite the virus into their system. It took the Butterflies a few days of crowdsourcing on Pastebin to come up with a solution.
“Get the virus to act like a cancer. That’s how we did it,” said Ned. “Identical to the host in every way except that it could grow unchecked, eventually smothering the corporate body.”
“For what it’s worth, you did the right thing. One very old man believes in you,” said Father Michael, looking down the block, trying to gauge how much further.
“You okay?” asked Ned. Father Michael vigorously nodded his head. Ned knew he was pushing it going on this long frigid walk but he understood the concept of cabin fever too.
He kept talking to distract the old Father on the rest of the walk.
“We waited for a little while, you know. It’s a lot. The unforeseen consequences. I still wonder. But George Clemente and the likelihood of what was coming. That helped.”
“I’m sure it did,” said Father Michael.
For a month the virus sat, waiting in hundreds of thousands of computer systems of every size for one last command. There was no way for the Butterflies to know exactly when the critical point would be reached. They ran different scenarios, putting the virus through every test, breaching the most formidable firewalls they could create until they could do it with ease, and undetected by a separate panel of Butterflies who were set up to watch and do their best to destroy the virus.
Eventually, they created a daisy chain of firewalls to see how fast the virus could leapfrog from one place to the next. This is what gave them their calculation and told them based on their experiments, the number of places they would need to infect when it was time to pull the trigger.
First things first.
Before they could unleash the virus, Ned took the billion dollars he’d stolen from George Clemente and used it to build a framework of loyal Circle operatives, including his mother, Wallis and his father, Norman. They would be ambassadors who would travel the world talk about a new way of life. It would be necessary to plant the idea quickly and convincingly that something new could be built with this opportunity. That there was no need for panic, that things were not coming to an end but a new beginning.
None of this would be easy, he knew that. But if they were to prevent George Clemente from coming up with a new plan, a new way to take over the world or to stop Management and even the Circle from regaining their recent glory then it would be necessary to destroy the old way of living.
“From the ashes, the promise of democracy will finally be fulfilled,” said Father Michael, picking up the pace. It was always a sure sign he had endured enough cold and was close to his pain threshold.
“You and your friends, Jake Whiting and those brothers who like to talk over each other, Will and Trey Schaeffer will lead the way!” said Father Michael, pointing at the sky. “And of course, Juliette,” he added, nudging Ned, who felt his face grow warm despite the cold air.
“So many families in the Circle were separated so operatives could take on new roles and head off to new locations to take on their mission.”
“Like your parent
s,” said Father Michael. “I imagine that was difficult. At least the lovely Juliette is nearby. We’re almost there, right?” asked Father Michael as he squinted into the distance.
Ned couldn’t imagine spending his life without Juliette. It didn’t matter to Ned that he had just turned eighteen years old and some might see him as still very young.
He had seen so much in the past few years and besides, he knew time could very well not be on his side. If Clemente ever got even a little proof that he could manipulate to his advantage and convince enough of the world that Ned had taken away their comfortable routines, it wouldn’t matter why he did it or what they were about to lose. Ned’s life would always be at risk.
Ned doubted in that circumstance that he would ever get the chance to tell his side or that enough people would care long enough to take it all in and understand.
“The bare truth that I’ve always wanted everyone to know was that democracy had never really existed and even worse, Clemente was about to bring it all out in the open with a power play to control the flow of water into everyone’s taps. Or not flow, depending on a country’s willingness to give him what he wanted, which has always been control, not money. Money would have been easier,” said Ned.
“My boy, I hope someday you can hear my voice echoing through your head. You did the right thing even though it came with some wide-ranging consequences. It’s frankly remarkable that it was the younger generation, what do you call yourselves? Millennials? That you were the ones who could take the long view and do what needed to be done. If any of us had been able to do that we probably wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Ned shook off a deep shudder that moved through his body as Father Michael looked over at him, at the same time pressing his hand against a nearby wall. His glove momentarily stuck to the frost.
Ned quickly looked away, focusing on the wide sidewalk to do a better job of navigating both of them safely to the small grocery store in the area. They were one of the few still opened and willing to barter for goods.
An old burger wrapper swirled around Ned’s ankle leaving a wet stain on his pants leg as he shook it off, letting out a frustrated, “Damn it,” before glancing down at Father Michael, who was now slightly shorter than Ned who had surprised everyone and grown to be just over six feet tall. His grandmother, Harriet had been right after all when she said he was taking after his grandfather, Walter.
Most of the stores along Michigan Avenue had signs in the window in black and white that had a splashy headline that read, ‘Closed Temporarily’. Ever since the Great Relief, as it was quickly coined, rolled out like a far-reaching wall of water across the entire map of the world, temporarily.
Temporarily had become the favorite word of politicians or clergy or corporate presidents. It was meant to be reassuring.
The pair ambling down the icy sidewalk were rushing to get what food they would need for the week, trying to stay out of sight. Too many eyes were looking for them and they made an odd pair. The priest with his black cassock that he refused to discard for something easier to disguise and the young man with his mound of auburn curls and a permanently serious expression that seemed to broadcast he carried the weight of the world around with him.
“If only the world knew that everything changed because of a thousand clever teenagers.” Father Michael gave a gentle smile to Ned Weiskopf, trying again to cheer him up. “You’re, what, only eighteen? Seems you should have had more of a childhood.” Father Michael was holding one eye shut as he looked ahead, the wind blowing straight into his face, making his eyes water.
Ned scowled and didn’t say anything at first, not making eye contact with the couple passing them, always watchful for who might be nearby.
“This isn’t a safe place to be striking up a conversation about the end of the world as everyone knew it,” he said with an edge to his voice, despite his efforts to sound calm and relaxed.
“Besides, King Edgar of England was only thirteen when he took over as ruler of an entire country and he managed to get everyone to work together. All I did was organize everyone to use their best skills and come up with a computer program,” said Ned, speaking in a low voice.
“Doesn’t the Red Line stop near here?” asked Father Michael, pulling on Ned’s arm as he slowed down. “We could take that home.”
“The walk to the El would be almost as long as the walk home,” said Ned.
Ned glanced down at the old priest’s twisted knuckles that were turning a bright red in the cold. The scar that wove across them stood out in a stark white relief. He tucked the old man’s hand under his arm, pressing it against his wool coat and slowed his pace. There was no point in insisting on a faster pace if Father Michael ended up having to sit for a while, or worse, fell and had to be helped up, drawing a crowd.
“Thank you,” said Father Michael, the words coming out haltingly, in between deep intakes of air. They had been out too long.
“Are you okay?” asked Ned. “You’re wheezing pretty hard there.”
Father Michael glanced up, trying to smile, opening his mouth wider to take in more of the cold air. “This frigid air is tough on an old man,” he said.
“Tell me again why I couldn’t go get the groceries by myself?” asked Ned. “This would have taken less time and we wouldn’t be so conspicuous.”
“Now is the time when we have to set the example. Act as if we see all of this as a good thing in the big picture. What do you think your parents are doing right now in Ireland? I know your mother. Wallis has started a Bunko game in the neighborhood and is talking about how to barter for goods while the value of a Euro dollar calms down.”
Ned felt the sharp, hard mound of grief in his chest that arose whenever anyone mentioned his parents. It had been months since he’d seen them in person. The last moments were in the airport just before they went through security. Just before the world started to become aware of the virus and how far-reaching it was going to be.
He had turned away when Wallis and Norman got in line, not willing to watch their backs disappear in the crowd and unable to watch his mother struggle to look strong as she waved and smiled at her son. Norman had hugged him tight and whispered, “Sometimes the worst day of our lives turns out to be the best. We will all be together again and in better times.”
Ned had swallowed hard and blinked back the tears. After all, they were supposed to look like they were going on vacation, and only for a week. They couldn’t broadcast to the operatives in Management, or worse, George Clemente’s rogue Watchers that they knew well in advance what was coming.
Clemente would suspect them all along but he would need proof to turn the world against them, and they weren’t going to make it easy for him.
Thankfully, the thousands of young members of the Butterfly Project still seemed to be protected by a veil of anonymity.
Once the Butterflies graduated from college, they were given the opportunity to serve within the Circle by infiltrating the ranks of government and corporations, or leave and never be bothered by the Circle or Management’s constant struggle, again.
Or at least, not in ways they would know, but they would have always suspected. Most of them chose to stay within the organization and with the only kind of family they had ever known. They kept tabs on unsuspecting Watchers and other Management operatives and hierarchy, reporting back as they went about building a normal upwardly mobile, middle class life.
Management was busy doing their own version of the same thing, offering scholarships to special seed schools to young boys and girls as they entered middle school. But, in their arrogance, they offered a route to a better life right out in the open, without stressing one of the more pertinent parts of the contract. The service was mandatory and there was no out clause.
Other than death, which in recent years had become more apparent to both sides as first a hidden civil war between the two shadow governments erupted, and then a fight instigated by George Clemente ate away at the delicate bala
nce.
Ned stopped at the corner and waited for the green light and the white ‘walk’ sign, more out of habit than anything else. Before the Great Relief there would have been a steady stream of cars working their way down every side street and a bustle of people waiting to cross, even in the cold.
Today, they were almost alone. It was as if everyone had burrowed into a hole somewhere and was waiting for someone to tell them what to do.
Ned and the other Butterfly members knew all along that was the most likely initial outcome. They had prepared for it.
Ned was anxious to get to the store and get back to the cramped apartment he shared with Father Michael to check on the progress. To check on his parents as well, and see their faces, even if it was only on a computer screen.
Finally, the light changed and they worked their way across the street. Ned stepped into a shallow puddle of slush and quickly lifted his foot but not before the icy water seeped into the seams of his boot. He grimaced but said nothing, choosing to focus on getting to the store faster.
But Father Michael had other plans and stopped Ned at the corner of the building before they could be seen through the plate glass window of the grocery store.
“Either we believe that goodwill will win out and we keep going about our business or we start arming ourselves so that we can at least maintain order,” said Father Michael, as if they had been talking for the last block.
Ned’s face showed the strain of what he had done, canceling out all the debt in the world. “I know that,” he said quietly, “and if all we do is take up guns and protect what’s ours then all of this was not only a waste of time, it was an enormous crime of historical proportions.”
Father Michael pursed his lips as if he was trying to decide what to say next but Ned interrupted him just as he opened his mouth to speak.
“You don’t need to inspire me to some greater height, Father. I realized all of this before I gave my vote for the go ahead that set all of this in motion. We all knew it and talked about it. It was no secret.” Ned hunched his shoulders against the cold that seemed harder to bear when they stood still. “We set our course and we have a plan to let everyone rule themselves. A messy, chaotic democracy in as many places as we can help it to take hold. A real one this time, instead of the pale version everyone had before and didn’t even know it. No more shadow governments or legacies or systems to get ahead that are hidden from the world. Not the Circle, not Management.”