“It’s all over. It’s the last days before the finale, the shit-kicking showdown, you guys,” said Ricky.
“Whoa,” said Ben. “Who’s fighting?”
“You should know that Ben. The usual suspects,” said Ricky. “Look at you,” he said to Hera. “She’s grown so much, Corrag.” He shook his head in amazement. “Where does the time go?” he asked.
“What about the book, Dad. Did you find it? Does it have anything to do with this? With anything?”
“Not yet,” said Ricky. “But don’t worry, Corrag. This isn’t another foolish, quixotic quest of your father's. I expect it will explain the manner of this strangeness we are in,” he said, sweeping with his arms to include the avenue and all the people swarming in and out of the bars and cafes, accompanied by the music of pachanga and the din of electric motors.
Ricky seemed weak, suddenly lowering his head and staring at the ground.
“What’s wrong?” asked Corrag.
“The time is slipping. There must have been a date. I haven’t found the book, but I think I know what happened. There must have been a date, a slippage of time. It’s lodged in the dreams I have of doubles, twins, two old ladies giving birth, two swords hanging in the air. It’s in my mind, but that’s why I can’t ever go back and find the same people. They are all in my dream. They slip away. You guys are the only ones that have come back. That’s why this place is a refuge. Life has gathered itself here in a final pool to make a push, to make a leap to the next time pool before it’s too late. Life has a heads up on the schedule. Don’t know how that works, yet, but it does. We’re the seeds that have been produced and the belly will split, sending us forth.”
“But what’s the Augment got to do with it?” asked Ben. “Surely that’s who the battle will be with. The Repho and the Augmented. Their elites and the minions, the chimerae, the bot hybrids,” added Ben.
“All of that is a separate pool, Ben. It’s a dead end. Yes, it’s the mechanism whereby life brings itself to a close in this dimension. But that’s all. It’s a trap. We are part of the eternal loop. The augmented have taken themselves out of the loop and created a separate closed loop. They will attempt to feed on us to keep themselves alive. But they are essentially doomed for the reason that they are a closed loop.”
“What can we do now?” asked Corrag. “Should we go back to the tower?” Hera was sleepy. It was time for her to get to bed.
“I don’t know,” said Ricky. “The tower might be in the dream now. Or it might slip away with us in it. I don’t know. All I know is I don’t want to lose you guys.”
“No, Dad. You won’t,” said Corrag. She held his arm while he got his bearings. They were standing on the corner of the Parque de los Desaparecidos.
“That bench was where I used to sit with Loew and chat. I went out to his house yesterday. There’s another family in it. The slippage seems definitely to be accelerating,” said Ricky.
He was afraid of leaving back to his house. He might never find it. He only believed what was directly in front of him. He stayed in their apartment in the Hostel de Gandhi. He loved the framed Neruda poems that were on the wall in the bathroom. He knew many of them by heart in the original Spanish. He borrowed Ben’s clothes and slept on the floor under the window looking out on the alleyway. The next day he went and bought a toothbrush for himself and some pulque for Ben in the commissary of the hostel. Later, he, Fisher and Ben talked in the apartment’s kitchen for long hours about playwrights they admired and drank the bottle. Ricky said he knew of a book of plays by an Egyptian that used hieroglyphs to transform individual stories into mythic crystals, or crystallized myths, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t remember the name of the Egyptian or the title of the book, but his description was vivid and inspiring. He suggested Fisher and Ben both read it.
In the meantime, Corrag took Hera to the 27th floor on Ricky’s recommendation to see the St. George Society offices from which the child telepaths were managed. The woman in the office looked very bored. She was alone. She said the others were out conducting military drills. There was nobody in there that could make an appointment for an interview. Corrag asked for a date for Hera to come back and talk with the program organizers. The woman was very careful to avoid precise dates. She wanted to take Corrag’s address, but said she doubted whether Corrag was telling the truth when Corrag said she was staying in the Hostel de Gandhi.
“That place is reserved for diplomats and heroes of the revolution,” said the woman, her jaw going tense with stubborn pride.
“I know it’s unusual, but you have got to believe me,” said Corrag.
“I can take your details, but without a doubt you will have to return when they have come back from drilling.”
"What are they drilling for?” asked Corrag.
“Mom,” said Hera impatiently. “She already told you.”
“Don’t show off, Hera,” said Corrag.
“No, no,” said the woman behind the desk. “Tell me, querida. What is it they are doing, if you have the gift?”
“They are marching under the auspices of the master himself. Saint David,” said Hera with assurance.
“Don’t forget the general, Negro Montiel.”
“Of course,” said Hera. “”I haven’t forgotten. The General Montiel is very popular because of his background. He was a prisoner of the Panzon Azueto regime in that jail. The famous one.”
“That is basic knowledge, child. You could have picked that up from the media.”
“What media? We’ve been living with the Yavapais. In Altos de Xumai,” said Corrag.
But it was useless. The woman would not divulge anything else. Hera didn’t seem to mind, but Corrag was almost livid.
“The ignorance. What an appalling creature,” she said to Hera at the escalator.
It was as if the Saint’s motivational teachings were wearing off. Everything seemed out of sorts. Back at the apartment, Ben and Ricky were trying to catch the cat. Hera would have stopped them because she believed the cat held the key to the entire tower complex. It appeared and disappeared at will. But Ricky suspected it was a chimera spy for the Repho. He and Ben were trying to catch it.
“Please do that some other time,” said Corrag. Ricky had it cornered in the bathroom. It was hissing. Ben lunged and caught it. He carried it out by the scruff of its neck.
“Now,” said Ricky. “Let’s cut it open.”
“No,” said Hera, stamping her foot and scowling.
“Why not?” said Ricky.
“It’s just a cat,” said Hera.
“Look at it. It understands everything we’re saying,” said Ricky. The cat twisted and scratched at Ben’s arms. Ben threw it across the room. It slipped and scurried down the hall and out the window that gave out on the dead-end alleyway, followed by Hera. Corrag had never seen her run as fast. She went out the window after the cat like she’d been doing it her entire life.
Ben turned on the nanoscreen. There was only one channel, the official news channel of the Saint’s Public Informational Service. The newscasters looked hopelessly on, as Negro Montiel, dressed in blue jeans and an old Turtle Island tee shirt, exhorted people to stand their ground under the assault that was underway at that very moment. Then they cut to a live drone feed of the city. The shot was circling in a clockwise direction. You could see movements of what looked like antennae on the ring road, but on closer inspection of the screen they looked more like anti-tank weaponry encased in concrete. They had been placed at about twenty yard intervals all along the road. The video feed never varied from its angle or perspective. Corrag wished it would lift up to see the mountains. The video feed, as boring as it was, would be a reassurance to the populace, guaranteeing that they would be adequately defended. It didn't work for Ricky and Ben, though.
“It’s going to be a bloodbath,” said Ricky. “There won’t be anything left.”
Fisher and Harper came in. They both wanted to get out of the city. Corrag wanted to wait an
d see. Judging by the drone feed, there was no imminent need to run. They had just arrived. She couldn’t believe that the decay that had set in was that close on their heels. She was drained from the constant running. What about the Saint? Didn’t they owe him allegiance for putting them up? It seemed to her that this tour should have been a longer one. She liked the people in the tower. They were committed to providing the materials for a genuine people’s movement. It would be a shame to abandon them all. Corrag argued her case, but they were having very little of it. Ricky put his arm around her shoulder.
“That’s a daughter of mine,” he said. “Don’t ever forget it,” he added, as much to himself as to her.
“Dad,” she said. They needed time together. It had been so many years apart, living in their respective pools. It was all drying up. They needed to think hard. This reflexive running away was so viciously circular. They couldn’t keep doing it. This wasn’t good for any of them.
“How can we break out? There is nowhere else left,” said Corrag, thinking aloud.
“We can’t stay here,” said Ben. “ Listen how quiet it is.”
There was nobody left. They were silent, listening, the four of them like beetles under a rug while the world turned above them. Corrag felt an abstract love and sense of attachment at that moment. She felt like it was some kind of augmentation from outside herself, pressuring her heart muscle, like a hand reaching into her chest and squeezing. Then she realized with a start that it was Hera operating from a distance, sending out thoughts that were causing her to have such a strong emotional reaction. It was incredibly silent.
“Ben, remember this. This moment. Look at me. Can you do that?”
“Whatever you say, Corrag. Of course.”
“We all love each other,” she said.
“Of course we do. Where’s Hera?”
Ben’s voice sounded strangely altered, as if he had aged in an instant. Corrag realized that time was warping inside her, that she was the one who was aging instantaneously. She excused herself and squeezed out the window. Dropping into the alleyway, she whispered Hera’s name.
“Hera?”
There was nothing back. No sound at all. In fact, when she dropped down on her knees she felt like she was submerging herself in water, as if there were wads of something in her ears to block out any noise but her own thoughts. It was dark and smelled slightly acidic, like some kind of chemical bath had been recently applied. She crawled along on her hands and knees until she saw a light above her from an open window. It was a bluish light.
“Hera,” she called again.
“Mom,” said Hera in a whisper from the window.
Corrag stood, and the pressure around her head released itself and her ears unblocked. Inside the window there were silhouettes of forms, more than one, in the diffuse light streaming at her.
“Can you get in?” asked somebody.
“I think so,” said Corrag reaching up and pulling herself over the sill. Somebody gave her a hand and pulled her into the room. Corrag stood again. The person helping her looked like Hera, but she was fully-grown. Corrag stared in disbelief. Her beauty and poise was almost overpowering. Corrag had to sit. She found an open, beige leather love seat. The bluish light had now cleared, and Corrag could see clearly that there were other people in the room. They introduced themselves. Their mouths didn’t move. They all wore a reflexive, slightly embarrassed smile, members of an extended family in an awkward reunion. There was an older couple from Ohio, a brown-skinned young man in baggy outcast clothes, and a giant in a serape with bird-like features. She could see them all very clearly and registered their names with great clarity. They smiled and waited for more questions. But she was really most interested in Hera. She was proud of her, of the woman she’d become. Hera, who was still standing, leaned down and put her arms around her and hugged her. Corrag felt protected.
The room, when she looked again, had taken on instrumentation and a lost world’s illumination. The others were sitting in their respective, oversized seats, waiting for something to happen.
“What’s going to happen?” she asked Hera.
“We’re going on a trip,” said Hera.
“A trip? Where?” asked Corrag, her heart muscle tightening again like it was being squeezed, this time by fear.
“A long, long trip, Mother. Far away.”
“Oh, good. I always liked trips,” said Corrag.
She told herself to calm down. There was nothing to fear. The bird-like giant looked around at them all with such a look of command and knowledge. He knew the way. He asked them to sit in a circle, and the seats seemed to be tracked that way instantly, obeying one’s thoughts. Corrag wondered why it had taken so long to come up with such an obvious innovation.
They sat together in a circle like he wanted. Corrag and Hera looked at each other and smiled. Corrag wished that Ben were there. They had always pledged to be together until the end. This couldn’t be the end if they were apart, could it? Rapid-fire images came into her mind. She quieted the pangs in her heart, telling herself it was no use to feel that way.
It was a string of sad beads, these memories that came flooding in once you started. She realized a way of being in perpetual sorrow was to hold on to the beads and their tumultuous, associated emotions. She let them go one at a time, letting them sink into a river. In her imagination it was the slow, brown water of the border river, the Rio Grande, which she and Hera had crossed on their escape from Dallas.
They sat and waited and all wondered what string of regrets and memories lay in the hearts of the others. Kari and Tucker, the Ohio couple, carried the longest string of beads, a beautiful, swaying, looping structure which had, nevertheless, physically limited their mobility, until they’d been healed by the message of the stranger. He would carry them all to wherever they were going and so had no time, literally, for their beads. The young man only had a few sorrowful memories to toy with, but they were heavy on him. The cat strayed into the circle and rubbed itself against Hera’s legs in an absent-minded moment. Hera picked it up under the belly and placed it on her lap, where it gave everyone a look. You could see that the cat had no string of sorrows, which distinguished it in their minds as a special being, attached to its fellows in the moment, with their string of human memories, their stories stretching out in all possible directions in a web of beauty and illusion.
“You are ready. You are wonderful. You are the travelers from the belly of the whale,” said the giant, the bird-like being.
Hera smiled at her. She was saying: “See? What did I tell you?” Hera was, of course, very excited. So was Corrag, only she couldn’t help feeling that her greater age and experience should have been acting as a drag on her emotions. But they weren’t. This was all part of a plan that had been hatched before the sun and stars had assembled to put on their show. The present age would tumble. In fact they heard the massive explosions, the concatenation distantly echoing.
But the feelings in her, the squeezing in her heart, were shredding the past. They were being wrenched downwards at a geometrically accelerating speed, with such grace and elegance that it seemed as if the capsule had been designed with such an escape in mind.
Appendix:
From the 325th Light Expedition of the Venturian Colonies Utility Universe
Authors: Major Filao Beachotl; Lt. Dosra Seflat --
4th Dimension, 4.8 million light years Pre-Date --
21 c. During the span of the Earth planet investigation, the sensory collection teams scoured all major basins of anthropoid civilization. Widespread microtektites dated by magnetic resonance and radioactive decay indicated the last major extinction event as within a mortal span of the expedition's arrival, but no sign of surviving mobile and neural life forms except primitive hard-shelled and spongiform variants collected on the surface of the planet's crust. However, geological activity and gaseous elements make it likely that surviving life may exist below the surface layers of land and/or water. We recommen
d further exploration to put Earth planet in the range for recolonization.
*One discovery of note: several codified, narratively arranged information readouts were identified in the remains of an impressive architectural achievement, a vertical fort that had housed an advanced human outpost in the corrugated valleys of the Occidental central plateau. Synthetic intelligence had been put in the service of a collection of artifacts reflecting, symbolizing and externalizing the evolution and spiritualization of the life force on the planet. After exhaustive sifting and review, our anthropological research team concluded that there were three main fragments offering the best view of what had transpired in the last moments before the most recent civilization-wide collapse. We present them here followed by several possible conclusions of your Excellency’s advisory academy:
Memory Journal of Carolina Machado
December 20, 2072:
I wish we’d never come here. The camp, what is left, is very sad, and I am convinced that I will never see Mama and Papa again. Arthur is very changed. I don’t like what he has done to himself. He says he can get us down the mountain. Mercifully, the assassin robots that attacked on us today left off and retreated, satisfied with their murders of the innocent. They killed almost all the assembled peaceful people in the tent. Some of the boys scattered, and the attackers chased them. Arthur said he convinced them to fight among themselves, but he seems very changed now.
With these memories I will save myself from loneliness, the nightmares and the possible accusations that I did not do enough.
It is almost dark. The survivors are tired, but tonight Arthur will lead the way. By tomorrow we should be in the valley of the Saint, and his army will protect us, God willing. Arthur is looking at the stars in the night sky. It is a black moon with little reflected light on the land. I wonder what he thinks, a half man, half machine creature with no arms or legs left. He is very good at fighting, though. We must be grateful in these days at the end of the world, when men become other things in order to save their loved ones. We are under attack by a gang of criminals that have been allowed to take over. Where are the good people with right on their side? Maybe they never existed. Most of the survivors have no idea what is happening to them. This is how we lose everything and become rats, eating our own hearts to free ourselves of the misery of feeling, of being alive.
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