Survivalist - 13 - Pursuit

by Ahern, Jerry

  “Why? Because it’ll keep us together? We would have stayed together anyway.”

  “Well —I know that, but — ” She hugged his arm more tightly now. “What are you going to do about — ahh —about Natalia?”

  Rourke didn’t look at his daughter. “I don’t know. I can’t be unfaithful to your mother —at least not in fact. I don’t know. Wish to God I did —now change the subject or be quiet.”

  Her grip on his arm relaxed an instant, then resumed its tightness — Rourke focused his concentration on the three guards, on the questions he would ask the woman who called herself the President of Iceland, on the wisdom of leaving his M-16 with Paul and Natalia at the helicopter —on anything but Annie’s question …

  It was the building at the far end of the grassy strip from which Natalia had plucked him with the helicopter, the rather imposing, official-seeming building.

  They began mounting the steps. His watch showed nearly two in the morning —perhaps not Icelandic time. But the lavender grow lights made everything bright as day.

  The plants grew twenty-four hours a day here, produced oxygen, used up carbon dioxide.

  The steps were low, more for decoration than for

  getting someplace, and at the head of the steps he saw a woman. Was it Sigrid Jokli? he wondered. Madame President?

  She was dressed similarly to Annie — peasant blouse, ankle-length print skirt, a shawl about her shoulders. No jewelry that he could detect from the distance. Her age seemed indeterminate. She was at least his age, perhaps older, perhaps quite a bit older. Her pale blond hair was braided, the braids entwined at the crown of her head, themselves forming something like a crown. He wondered absently if such a hairstyle were perhaps at the origin of the old phrase about hair being a woman’s crowning glory. Etymology had always fascinated him, but not to the point where he had pursued the discipline to any great degree.

  She had a pretty face —the kind of face that men came home to, the smile warm seeming if a bit reserved. Under the circumstances, with armed invaders ascending her Capitol Building, which he assumed this to be, he couldn’t blame her.

  As they ascended, nearing the height of the steps now, he could see her eyes —green, pretty.

  She started down the steps, the fingers of her left hand touching at the fabric of her skirt, raising it, her right hand extending toward him. Rourke stopped as she stopped, clasping her hand. “I am Sigrid Jokli.”

  “I’m Dr. John Rourke.”

  “A doctor?Of what discipline?”

  “Medicine, ma’am.”

  “And this girl —she is your daughter?” The voice was soft —a melodic soprano. “But you are too young, sir.”

  “It’s a long story —but I’m more concerned with hearing your story first. I understand one of your policemen saved my daughter’s life. I’d like to have the opportunity to meet the gentleman so I may personally thank him.”

  “Certainly — Bjorn will be called for.”

  “No need to awaken him” Rourke smiled.

  “Our law enforcement personnel have not slept since the alarm was sounded.”

  “Let me apologize — and I realize that in itself is inadequate. But we’ve undergone some trying times recently and I was concerned that my daughter might come to some harm here.”

  “We have all undergone trying times, Dr. Rourke — please. Although the hour is somewhat bizarre, would you and your lovely daughter take refreshment with me?”

  “Thank you,” Rourke said. She seemed very nice, honey-coated at the edges, the eyes warm-seeming and alert. But he had no intention of consuming anything here until he first had some answers.

  She offered her arm, Rourke taking it, his hand to her elbow, Annie still on his left side as they ascended the rest of the steps …

  The interior of the building —she had explained it was analogous to the White House, both residence and office —was simple, almost to the point of being spartan. But it was a style of decorating he had always liked, the Scandinavian style which this at least emulated, perhaps perpetuated.

  They had passed through a long entry hall, the three policemen passing through the wide doorway behind them, a woman who was apparently a housekeeper holding the door on the left, the right-side door remaining closed. Sigrid Jokli had spoken in Icelandic and the three guards had fallen off, Madame Jokli leading them along the hall, stopping before-a second set of double doors, sliding them apart into the walls, then passing through the doorway. Rourke kept Annie beside him as he passed through after Madame Jokli.

  The room seemed at once library, conference room,

  and den. There was a hearth, massive, of flagstone like that used in the path, but the hearth was still and the logs inside it on the brighdy polished brass andirons seemed more for appearance than for heat. About the hearth in a pleasandy disorganized manner were placed chairs, the frames of polished and rubbed wood, the wood gleaming, atop the wooden frames comfortable cushions. Beside each chair was a matching footstool.

  Books lined the walls, the walls reaching some twelve feet high, he judged. Ladders were spaced along various sections of the shelves. The portions of the walls that were not covered with bookcases were darkly, richly paneled. It was a man’s room, and Madame Jokli, so feminine-looking, sounding, acting, seemed somehow at once both out of place and perfectly at home.

  A conference table, spartan-seeming, straight-back wooden chairs on all sides, dominated the far end of the massive room toward the forward section of the residence.

  “Please —sit down, be comfortable. The young lady’s name is Annie?” And she smiled.

  “Yes ma’am,” Annie told her, perching on the edge of one of the chairs, folding her hands in her lap.

  Rourke waited for Madame Jokli to be seated, then took a third chair, leaning back into it. It was comfortable—in the extreme, he thought.

  Annie removed her shawl, folded it, set it over the arm of the chair, then replaced her hands in her lap. Madame Jokli spoke. “I understand your motivation in coming here. I called you to speak with me because you are the first visitors from the outside world — which we had thought ceased to exist — since the great fires of five centuries ago. If there are people such as yourselves in the world today, we wish to know.”

  “You have no weapons — beyond swords,” Annie said suddenly. “I’m sorry —I was just kinda curious.”

  “A good question,” Rourke nodded, approving.

  Madame Jokli nodded, her smile vanishing. “We saw no need for weapons. The swords our law enforcement personnel carry are carried as a badge of office, much like the green uniforms they wear.” Rourke turned quickly toward the still-opened door —a small dog, a puppy.

  Rourke looked at Madame Jokli. “You have — “

  “Dogs,” she smiled. “Cats. No rats —we eliminated them centuries ago. We have some few horses in the hope that someday the climate will warm to the point where they could be extensively bred. They would be useful transportation” — she smiled again —“and besides, they are so pretty, I think. We have domestic livestock —a source of meat protein, milk, wool, leather. We love cheeses here —I could have a cheese board prepared!”

  “Ahh —a bit early in the morning for me, ma’am — thank you.”

  “I like cheese,” Annie chimed in.

  At that moment the housekeeper who had held the door —white hair done in a bun at the nape of her neck, a dark gray dress, long white apron, her back slightly bent, shoulders slightly stooped — entered to just inside the doorway. She addressed Madame Jokli in Icelandic, the two conversing for a moment, the woman curtseying, leaving, drawing the doors closed behind her.

  “I asked for coffee for you, Dr. Rourke—you look like a man who enjoys coffee. I’m having coffee as well, though I prefer tea. But I assumed you perhaps wouldn’t drink something that I wasn’t drinking — although I seem to remember from some of the old novels of espionage and high adventure I read as a girl

  that someti
mes coffee cups or glasses for alcoholic beverages could themselves be coated with some poison …” She shrugged, smiled, then looked at Annie. “And I ordered cheese for you, and hot chocolate—I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

  Annie looked at Rourke, then at the woman. “Thank you very much, ma’am.”

  “May I ask concerning your English, ma’am?” Rourke began.

  “Yes. Before I became President of our little republic, I worked as a scientist, and although my presidential duties take me away from my first professional love, I still ply my trade, so to speak. Among the scientific community, English is quite common simply because so much of the scientific literature is written in the language and translation is sometimes so subjective. We have videotapes of English language films and audio cassettes that are used with our language classes. I must confess, I developed a fine taste for American westerns of five centuries ago, but I had to switch to detective stories because I was using ‘ain’t’ all the time when I spoke your language. Aside from Icelandic, most members of our scientific community speak at least two other languages, from among English, as I indicated, and German, French, Russian, and Japanese.”

  “Akiro should be pleased.” “A Japanese, Annie?”

  “Yes, ma’am —he was a Japanese naval lieutenant.” “Ahh —he can help us if he will. The writings of Tokugawa —” “The physicist?”

  “Yes, Dr. Rourke. You are conversant with the science of five centuries ago?”

  “Only modestly,” Rourke smiled. “You’ve explained the languages — but your very existence? You con

  stantly allude to five centuries ago …”

  “Yes,” she smiled. “Don’t I? If you are conversant with the science of the pre-Conflagration epoch, then you must be aware of the fact that Iceland was a world leader in the use of geothermal energy, as was Japan by the way.”

  Rourke only nodded, wanting a cigar, but not impolite enough to light one.

  “At any event,” she continued, arranging her skirt, refolding her hands in her lap, “some scientific researchers gradually came up with the idea of utilizing a verifiably dormant volcano as a massive geothermal-powered, environment-controlled garden. Previously, we had utilized conventional greenhouses heated with hot water pumped from geothermal wells. Much of our conventional heating for buildings and dwellings utilized this resource. The thing to do of course was come up with the proper volcano. That took several years and detailed studies. At the time, there were approximately two hundred volcanoes of varying size in the country. Eventually, Hekla was settled upon because of size and dormancy. The project was not kept particularly secret, but there were some proprietary processes involved that there was apparently some concern over—regarding the processes being copied, as the story goes. So, no announcements were made of the program. It was simply begun with the able volunteer assistance of university students and even some private individuals who had helped finance the project. It was a hands-on affair. It took many years. It was all but complete when the war between the United States and her allies and the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics broke out. Some wise men —and women too, I hope” — she smiled —“took it upon themselves to alter the original plan. Livestock, medical supplies, persons even brought their dogs and cats, the ancestors of those

  you will see about our land here. Approximately two hundred people moved here to work and to prepare in the event that environmental catastrophe should result from the war —as it did. Many more moved in as the situation worsened around the world.”

  “But how did you survive?” Annie began. “The sky— I was a little girl when it happened, but I watched on the television monitors Daddy had — “

  The woman’s hands shook. “You were a little …”

  Rourke licked his lips. “I told you —a complicated story.”

  “But that is impossible,” Madame Jokli said softly. “Human beings cannot live — it — it’s — “

  “It is at once impossible and yet perfectly explainable,” Rourke smiled. “Cryogenic sleep chambers developed by NASA—the United States National Aeronautics and Space Administration — for use in deep space travel, coupled with a special cryogenic serum which allowed the reawakening of the subject by preventing a type of brain death. I was born in the middle of the twentieth century, as were the others with me with one exception: the wife of my son, Michael — youU meet her. She is perhaps the last survivor of a survival community that subsisted beneath the surface for five centuries. Her name is Madison.”

  “Those lights in the sky —the high altitude — “

  “It was called the Eden Project, ma’am — originally one hundred twenty persons of all races and from all free nations. A preparation for doomsday. You are not alone on the earth.”

  “But we had thought — ” The doors opened, Rourke looking toward them quickly. The white-haired old woman entered, pushing a teacart, then closed the doors behind her and pushed the teacart along the polished wooden floors. Madame Jokli spoke with her and the woman curtseyed and started away, reopening,

  reclosing the doors. Madame Jokli said, “I told her I would serve.”

  “Ohh —can I?” Annie asked.

  “Yes — certainly, my dear,” Madame Jokli smiled. She leaned back in her chair —rather heavily, Rourke thought. Annie poured the coffee — Rourke didn’t know if Annie genuinely wanted to play tea party at her age or simply wanted to make sure her father didn’t get a mickeyed cup of coffee. There was also the gambit of poisoning both cups, or entirely poisoning the contents of the pot and the person doing the poisoning prearranging to take the antidote — and then calmly poisoning himself—or herself.

  Rourke took the cup from Annie. There was what looked like fresh cream and sugar. Madame Jokli used the cream, Annie pouring for her. Rourke decided that Annie really had wanted to play tea party. Lastly she poured herself hot chocolate, the smell of the fresh cocoa almost overpowering. She passed around small plates, Rourke taking one just to be pleasant. Annie sat beside him again, studying his face. He shrugged —he sipped at his coffee, smelling it as he brought it to his lips. It smelled like coffee. To be doubly certain, he asked Annie to pour a bit of the cream into it. The cream tasted and smelled like cream —it was cold and fresh.

  “How did you survive here?” Rourke asked the woman again.

  She sipped at her coffee, Annie nibbling at a piece of cheese. “Through force of will and God’s Providence we were spared —His Providence allowed us to plan ahead, and the combined wills of our people allowed us to meet the hardships and not only subsist, but thrive. Our scientists have since discovered that a bizarre variation in the magnetosphere combined with an anomalous relationship between the Van Allen radia

  tion belts and the aurora apparently constructed what was, in essence, a particle shield preventing the normal process of atmospheric mixing. What destroyed your earth saved ours. I’m not a physicist, but rather a biologist, our most common discipline here. But should you care for a more accurate and detailed explanation, I can arrange for you to meet with specific members of our scientific community and they can offer their interpretations. Suffice it to say, we almost literally watched as the sky took flame. Rings of flame surrounded us here for days, as the accounts go. There was nothing to do but pray, to spend the last moments with loved ones, to weep for those beyond the pale of our land.”

  “All of Iceland?”

  “Yes. Iceland was spared. But with the burning of the skies and the planet shift —there was one, I’m sure you knpw —the cold gripped our land as never before. This was the time of greatest sorrow. There was famine; nothing that ran by fossil fuels which had been imported prior to your war could run now. No food products could be wasted in the production of ethyl alcohol. The community here strove to produce as much food as the land would allow, because this was the only available land. A man rose among our people —he was known only as Pjetur. The people listened to him.” Her eyes were filling with tears. “He preached a gospel of wha
t was called ‘scientific survival’—that only the most fit should be allowed to live, those who were too well advanced in age or physically or mentally afflicted should be euthanized. Our church spoke out against it. So did our scientists. There was revolution, begun by Pjetur. There was civil war. Our home here became a citadel, a safe haven for those who believed that the philosophy of Pjetur was anathema. And there was a final battle. By that time, our

  population of some quarter million had been thrice decimated, and when that last major battle was over Pjetur’s forces were defeated. Some hundred thousand of us were alive two decades later. The birth rate was voluntarily reduced. Within fifty years, the food shortages, the hardships, the reduced birthrate, had lessened our population to some fifty thousand. The standard of living was slightly upgraded, but still there was not enough food and there was voluntary rationing. There was voluntary birth control. Within fifty more years, our population was twenty-five thousand. Still, there could be no means to make the land beyond this volcano and some few others workable. A great conference of scientific, religious, and political leaders was held —here. It was determined that the land beyond the pale of the volcanoes would be abandoned. It was called the Migration of Sorrow. Our people went to the volcanoes. Hekla is the capitol. There are five other city-states, all of them smaller. In this building, our parliament meets four times a year. Travel beyond the volcanoes is arduous, so rather than a parliament of older men and women, the Althing, as it is called and has been called, of necessity is young. Perhaps our ideas are young too. I am fifty-three — old for someone in government.”

  You look marvelously young,” Rourke told her truthfully. “And very beautiful, ma’am.”

  Sigrid Jokli smiled.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  There were two bands of personnel from Hekla who regularly left the warmth of paradise for the cold of the glaciers and the snowfields — the law enforcement and the miners. Mining was an intermittent occupation, only done for the raw materials for steel-making, itself an intermittent occupation, a cottage industry. What was built, was built of granite blocks, and with voluntary population control, there was never a need for additional housing. The cottage industry, practiced by those same persons who mined, was the fabrication of edged weapons, for ceremonial use, for decoration, for beauty. These same persons fabricated laboratory equipment for research.