City of Sand

by Robert Kroese

  “I have good reason,” said Holst. “We are at war with the Soviet Union. I don’t know who wins that war. From what I can gather from Estefan’s remarks, and what you’ve just told me, the United States comes out on top. But from my perspective, that outcome is far from certain. In fact, our victory may be dependent on this very conversation. Maybe, if you tell me as much as you know about the history between the U.S. and our enemies over the next fifty years, we can ensure that victory occurs.”

  “But we know it occurs!” cried Benjamin. “If it didn’t happen, I wouldn’t have experienced it! Your whole program is set up to prevent tragedies from occurring. But now you’re telling me you’re going to use the intelligence I give you to make sure those tragedies occur!”

  “As I said, all we can do is pass on the intelligence you provide, with recommendations for intervening. You mentioned something about Vietnam. Do the French lose Indochina? Can you tell me what happens in Korea? We’re hearing reports that the North is planning to invade.”

  It was becoming clear that Holst wasn’t going to give up. He was going to keep pressing Benjamin for information, and Benjamin was tempted to give it to him. How many people suffered under totalitarian rule in North Korea today because of the outcome of that war? And yet, Benjamin wasn’t sure how much valuable intelligence he could impart, though, even if he wanted to.

  Holst had told him it was June 14, 1950. Had the Korean War started yet? Evidently not. Benjamin vaguely recalled that the North had invaded sometime in the summer of 1950. He’d been only a child at the time, but of course he’d learned all about the conflict later in school. He could tell Holst that the North would invade sometime in the near future, that the U.N. had landed troops at Incheon for a counter-attack, and that the war ended in a draw in 1953, with the border near where it was at the beginning of the war. He couldn’t imagine any of that information being of much use to General MacArthur. He also recalled that Truman had relieved MacArthur of his command late in the war because of disagreements over strategy. Had Truman been privy to information that wasn’t available to MacArthur, thanks to GLARE (or whatever it was called)? Did the war end in a draw because Truman had known in advance that victory was impossible, or because Benjamin had refused to tell Holst what he knew? Did it make any difference?

  And even if he could alter (or ensure?) the outcome of the Korean War, would it improve America’s situation overall? Would the war in Vietnam still occur, and would the result be the same? Would the Cuban Missile Crisis still happen? What about Autumn Forge, the military operation that, according to Glazier, had nearly resulted in all-out war with the Soviet Union? Glazier had said they had learned about the threat from a girl named Marina Evans. If he could get Spiegel to tell him about Marina, it might give him a fixed reference point to work from.

  “That girl,” Benjamin said. “Marina. What does she see in her visions?”

  “We haven’t gotten any solid intelligence from her yet,” said Holst. “She’s spoken a few words of what we believe is Finnish. Why? What do you know about her?”

  Benjamin didn’t reply. Holst’s comment cohered with Glazier’s story about Marina warning of Soviet overreaction to NATO troop movements in Finland in 1983. That presumably meant that GLARE didn’t need Benjamin to forestall that particular catastrophe. Anything that Benjamin said to Holst about it would therefore be redundant, and maybe even counterproductive. The best course of action, then, would be to say nothing.

  Anything he said to Holst about events occurring before Autumn Forge might also derail attempts to prevent war with the Soviet Union. For that matter, how many other close calls had there been in the past fifty years? How many times had the U.S. and the Soviets almost wiped out the human race with nuclear weapons? How could he know whether anything he said might tip the scales of any of those crises toward total annihilation?

  And what would happen if the government acted on intelligence he provided, and it prevented something that one of the other subjects experienced? Would their memories change, or would their visions change to match the new reality? Or was each imagined timeline a self-contained narrative? There was simply too much Benjamin didn’t understand about how all this worked, and he got the impression Holst and Stockton didn’t understand it much better than he did. They just passed the information on to some mysterious figure in Washington and hoped for the best.

  Beyond such abstract philosophical concerns, there was another idea nagging at the back of his mind; something that Holst had said: that Felipe’s unconscious had a reason for projecting himself into Sunnyview in 2000. Some specific problem he was trying to solve.

  If that were true, it seemed unlikely that Felipe had chosen that particular place and time in order to change the outcome of the Korean War. No, whatever reason Felipe, God, or the “collective unconscious” had for devising the persona of Benjamin Stone, it had something to do with what was happening in Sunnyview in 2000. Felipe’s consciousness had imagined that particular time and place in order to gather some specific bit of data. But what had Benjamin learned in Sunnyview that could be of use to GLARE? He’d experienced no major turning points in world history that he was aware of. Although, now that he thought about it, he realized he had met one person who had experienced something that might qualify: Sofia. But that raised another question.

  “You said that my experiences—Benjamin Stone’s experiences—are mostly imaginary, except for elements that connect with actual historical events. David Stockton is an important historical figure, so his presence bleeds through to the delusion, and I experience him as William Glazier.”

  “That’s one way to put it, yes,” said Holst.

  “But what about Estefan? How is it that he existed in both places, the real world and the delusion?”

  Holst nodded. “It’s a good question,” he said. “I would conjecture that subjects in this program act as additional ‘anchors,’ connecting the delusion to reality. Their visions, like yours, are grounded in reality, so they also ‘bleed through,’ to use your terminology. Because of their cognizance of important historical events, they become, in a sense, critical historical figures.”

  Benjamin wondered if the same was true of Chris Sandford. Was he “real” as well? Or had he simply been the unlucky figment of Felipe’s imagination who had somehow seen the illusion for what it was?

  “That’s why you were interested in Sofia’s visions,” said Benjamin. “Because she’s real too. Another touchstone to reality. So what she sees, the airplanes hitting the buildings… that actually happens. It’s not just part of Felipe’s imagination.”

  “Yes,” said Holst. “A vision within a vision. It’s a little like the conundrum of asking a genie for an infinite number of wishes. If it really is possible to encounter future subjects of this program in your visions, the possibilities are endless.”

  “So you think Sofia is real? That she will be real?”

  “Well, it’s certainly possible that Felipe imagined Sofia, but Felipe’s unconscious mind would have had some reason for doing so. So we would have to ask what unconscious desire prompted the creation of the Sofia character. It’s fairly clear, for example, the Jessica character was created to give Benjamin Stone a reason for coming to Sunnyview. That was Felipe’s unconscious mind creating a bridge between itself and the desires of the collective unconscious. But what purpose does Sofia serve? Why would Felipe invent her? Her name may be a clue. Sofia is the Greek word for wisdom. It’s possible that Felipe gave her that name because of her insight.”

  Benjamin gave the matter some thought, but came up with nothing. Sofia seemed to serve no purpose in the visions other than to communicate the content of her own visions to Benjamin—which would seem to indicate that what she had seen was real. But he hadn’t gotten enough detail from her to provide any useful intelligence to GLARE. He didn’t know where or when the event occurred, or who was responsible. And if his purpose had been to prevent that attack, why hadn’t Felipe been projected
to the scene of the attack himself, rather than projecting himself to Sunnyview in 2000 to experience the event second-hand? No, he was still missing something. Benjamin had been meant to meet Sofia, but not to prevent the attack she had witnessed. What tragedy, then, had he been meant to prevent?

  The tragedy he had experienced in Sunnyview hadn’t been world-shattering; it had been personal. The death of his daughter, who didn’t exist. That was the really inexplicable element of the visions. The real question wasn’t why Benjamin had come into contact with Sofia, but rather why Felipe had invented Jessica. Why had it been necessary for Benjamin to go through that pain? What was the point of it? Surely Felipe’s unconsciousness could have devised some other way for him to have learned what he had learned.

  But he realized, as he reflected on his memories of Jessica’s death, that it wasn’t true. The memories were false, but they still held power. They reflected an underlying truth that he would not otherwise have grasped. William Glazier hadn’t killed his daughter, but he would have, in order to save GLARE. And although David Stockton undoubtedly differed from Glazier in some ways, Benjamin had no doubt that he was as cold-blooded as his imaginary counterpart. He had to be, to have devised this program.

  The tragedy Felipe had foreseen wasn’t a war or an assassination; it was GLARE itself. Experimentation on children for the purposes of promoting “American interests.” That was what Felipe had wanted to stop. No, not Felipe. The collective unconsciousness. Humanity itself was screaming across time, “Stop!” Because reducing humanity to a herd of cattle to be manipulated by those who could see the future was anathema to the human spirit. The genius of humanity rebelled against this effort to control it. Spiegel had said it himself: Felipe was sand, and Stockton was the glassmaker. But Felipe had turned himself into a stone. Stone shatters glass.

  He smiled as he realized the truth. What Felipe had been trying to show him through his visions. Benjamin’s purpose wasn’t to help GLARE. It was to put an end to it.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  But how could Benjamin stop GLARE?

  The obvious answer would be to kill David Stockton. If Stockton was the real-world analog of William Glazier, Benjamin had no qualms about it. Glazier had killed Jessica; Stockton had not. But Stockton would commit murder to protect GLARE if he had to. That was the sort of person he was. The sort who considered the rights of children to be secondary to “American interests.” At least, that’s what his knowledge of GLARE led him to believe. What if he was wrong?

  “What is it really called?” he asked.

  “This program?” said Holst, with a smile. “It’s the Western Institute for Strategic Estimation.”

  “WISE,” said Benjamin.

  “Yes,” said Holst. “We generally refer to it simply as ‘the program.’”

  “Did David Stockton start the program?”

  “He and I did together,” said Holst.

  “You’re partners.”

  “More or less.”

  “But he handles the political end of things.”

  “Yes. He works with the people in Washington. Delivers the reports and makes sure that the program receives….”

  “Funding?”

  “Money isn’t really an issue for David Stockton. What we get from Washington is… assurances that our program will be allowed to continue.”

  “You mean they look the other way when you experiment on children.”

  Holst actually appeared uncomfortable for a moment. It had occurred to Benjamin that if the analogy of Glazier was Stockton, then the analog of Dominick Spiegel was Dr. Holst. Spiegel had developed misgivings about GLARE. Might Holst be the program’s Achilles’ heel? But Spiegel had ended up dead, and the program continued without him. Should Benjamin warn him? Would doing so make him realize the sort of man Stockton was? Or would it frighten him into silence? The causal conundrums were maddening. There was simply no way to know.

  “I’m well aware of the more unsavory aspects of this program,” said Holst at last. “I’m also convinced that it’s necessary. I treat all the subjects as humanely as possible.”

  “I’m sure,” said Benjamin. He wondered if Holst really did know everything that was going on. Did he know that the poisoning of Sunnyview’s water had continued even after it was discovered that the dumping was causing birth defects? Spiegel’s letter indicated that he had found out about the intentional exposure after the fact, but was Benjamin’s recollection reflective of reality, or just an arbitrary element of his delusion? Again, there was no way to know how telling Holst about the continued dumping would affect the course of events. It might help stop WISE, or it might simply warn them of a potential security threat. As much as he wanted to trust Holst to eventually do the right thing, he couldn’t leave the matter in Holst’s hands.

  “What would happen to me if I were to cooperate?” Benjamin asked.

  Holst studied him for a moment. “As I said, I would do my best to help you adjust to your circumstances.”

  “But I would continue to be imprisoned here.”

  “You’re not ‘imprisoned,’ per se,” said Holst. “Legally, you are a minor. If you weren’t here….”

  He didn’t need to complete the sentence. I would have to spend the next ten years living with Felipe’s parents, Benjamin thought. Pretending to be a child. He shuddered at the idea.

  “We’ll make you as comfortable as we can,” Holst went on. “You can apply for legal emancipation as early as sixteen, but until then, it’s probably best that you remain in our care.”

  Benjamin couldn’t help but laugh at the thought. It was a fantasy, of course. They would never let him go. Once he had provided some useful information, they would hold onto him forever. He had a lifetime of historical data in his head; they would never run out of questions to ask him. He wondered if Holst really was naïve enough to believe that Stockton would let him go. Again, it was better not to press the issue.

  “North Korea invades,” he said, and Holst quickly grabbed his notepad and pencil. “I’m not positive of the date, but I think it was in late June of this year. The United Nations will land troops at Incheon a few months later.”

  Holst was busily scribbling all this down. “What else?” he said eagerly. “Do we win? Do the Russians get involved? The Chinese?”

  Benjamin shook his head. “I’ll tell the rest to David Stockton,” he said.

  “Mr. Stockton doesn’t meet with subjects,” said Holst.

  “Then he doesn’t get to know how the Korean War ends.”

  “Why do you want to speak to Mr. Stockton?”

  “If I’m going to help you,” said Benjamin, “I want to know who I’m dealing with. You say that Stockton writes up the narrative that gets sent to Washington. I want to make sure I can trust him.”

  “We have protocols for this,” said Holst. “Mr. Stockton has no contact with the subjects. It works better that way.”

  “You’re not listening,” said Benjamin. “I don’t care about your protocols. You need me. You need the information in my head. And you’re not getting it until I talk to Stockton.”

  Holst regarded him coldly. Benjamin could imagine what he was thinking: We have ways of making you talk. But if he were to threaten Benjamin now, he would destroy the nice guy image he’d been cultivating. And who knows, maybe Holst had moral compunctions about forcing subjects to talk. In any case, if he was telling the truth about the pressure they were getting from Washington, he didn’t have time to forcibly extract information from Benjamin.

  “I will mention it to Mr. Stockton,” Holst said.

  “You better do more than mention it,” Benjamin replied. “Because I’m not saying another word until I talk to him.”

  Holst nodded and closed his notepad. “I’ll have a nurse see you to your room.”

  Benjamin spent the next several hours sitting on his bed, wondering what he was going to do if David Stockton actually agreed to see him. Where would the meeting take place? Would
he be able to get his hands on any kind of weapon? Over his—evidently imaginary—career as a cop, he’d seen people killed with all sorts of improvised weapons, from a pair of scissors to a softball trophy. But there would be very few weapons to be found anywhere in this hospital. The best option he’d spied while in Holst’s office was a heavy steel stapler. Even with Felipe’s arms, he could kill a man with something like that, if he had the element of surprise. Hell, he could kill Stockton with a pencil if he could get the drop on him. But if Stockton were at all suspicious of Benjamin’s motives, it would be very difficult to surprise him. Even if Stockton weren’t particularly strong, Benjamin would never be able to overpower him; surprise was his only chance. And if anyone else were in the room at the time, his odds were even worse.

  He was still deliberating on this when the door to his room opened and a man entered. Benjamin didn’t recognize him, but he knew immediately who the man was. Superficially, he bore little resemblance to the man Benjamin knew as William Glazier: this man was, in addition to being fifty years younger, taller and heavier than Glazier—much to Benjamin’s chagrin. But something in the man’s eyes and the way he walked tugged at the same visceral aversion that permeated Benjamin’s memories of Glazier. He was not the man Benjamin knew, but he shared a soul with that man. He was the sort of man who weighed the lives of innocent children as negligible when compared to the importance of promoting “American interests.” An evil man. A man who needed to die. Benjamin struggled to hide his revulsion as David Stockton entered the room, closing the door behind him. He noticed Stockton held a hardcover book in his left hand.

  “Hello,” said Stockton, stopping a few feet in front of Benjamin’s bed. “Benjamin, is it?”

  Stockton’s tone was patronizing, as if he were talking to a child—which he was, of course. But Stockton seemed to lack Holst’s understanding that Benjamin wasn’t simply a child pretending to be to be an adult. Benjamin could use that to his advantage.