The Pretender - Chapter 5

Tuesday, June 29, 2083.  3:00 a.m.

This news that she wasn’t an average human disturbed Marcie to the core.  She needed to think it through, but the thoughts wouldn’t come.  She, so used to clarity, could only see a wall of fog.  The fatigue wasn’t helping, but she couldn’t sleep.  She was too edgy.  She needed to learn more.

She sat cross-legged on her bed in the small room of the suite that had been assigned to her and Robbie.  The test had been completed an hour ago and, in her mind’s eye, she could still see the projection of her genetic make up on the screen, juxtaposed beside an average sapiens.  Dr. Stellan had taken time to point out the differences and had brought up Neanderthal DNA and chimpanzee DNA as comparison.  Clearly there were enough markers that the species fortunatus evolved on earth.  But, also clearly, fortunatus and sapiens were two different species.  Related.  Kissing cousins, but not the same.  She felt like she’d spent her whole life as a pretender moving, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, with abandon among the lambs.  She had always thought she was special. 

Let’s see how you do when everyone around is as special as you.  She chuckled.

She got up off the bed and went out to the kitchen area and wasn’t surprised to find Robbie there, leaning back on his chair, staring at the wall.

“Hey, sugar.”

“Hey.”  Marcie sat down.  “Stellan said that fortunatus naturally congregate.  He said we instinctively recognize each other and tend to come together.”

“Yes.”

“And there I was thinking you had a crush on me.”  Robbie only smiled.  “But he also said that fortunatus aren’t violent and both you and I are.  So what?  It doesn’t change who we really are, does it?”

“It changes everything, sugar.”

“Why?  We’re still the same two people, still doing a job for a guy named Greg Pearce, still chasing the bucks.  And these people want us because they need to add violence to their list of super-achievements.  Just look at this place.”

“It’s something else.”  Robbie was nodding.

“Yeah.”

“I couldn’t live here.”

“Me neither.”

And neither, apparently could their ancestors.  Marcie’s great-grandfather and Robbie’s grandmother had both left Origin in their youth to see what the wide world held for them.  All who left were sworn to secrecy and, like most of The Outsiders, Marcie and Robbie’s ancestors had repudiated their heritage to walk among sapiens as sapiens.  Despite this denial, dozens of offspring of the Outsiders, hindered though they were by ignorance and distance, managed to make contact with Origin.  Very few Outsiders chose to stay and instead became part of a growing network of operatives out in the world.  Apparently it was just such an agent who re-programmed Robbie’s PA.

“Look, sugar, let’s get dressed, go have an early breakfast, and get that doctor out of bed.”

“Yeah, if he wants us to break Helen Pearce out of Eastdown, we need to get started.”

“How long will she last in there anyway?”

“Yeah.”

They split up and emerged fifteen minutes later showered and changed.

“That looks pretty good on you.”

“Not so bad yourself.”

Origin fashions tended toward lightly tailored, unfussy clothing.  Though not quite uniforms, most citizens looked a lot alike.  Marcie had on a two-piece pantsuit that fitted her perfectly – usually she needed to tailor things – and was extremely comfortable and flexible.  They went out to the Promenade. 

At this time of day, the Promenade was quiet.  The ambient light was dim, probably a nod to the human need to sleep when it was dark, and the streetlamps along the thoroughfare created a warm, cozy effect.  There were a few citizens out and about at this time, readying their shops, making deliveries, preparing for another busy day.  Robbie noticed The Flip Side, a little diner-style restaurant, and Marcie followed him in.

“Friends,” said the hostess as she greeted them at the door. “Oh.  You’re our Visitors, aren’t you?  How exciting.”

“And for us as well.”

The hostess smiled, but immediately looked concerned.  “Please.  Let me direct you to a restaurant more to your taste.  We have little Outside fare here.”

Marcie shook her head.  “No, no.  That’s fine.  We’re happy to try new things.”

The hostess brightened and smiled.  “Come on in then.  Sit wherever you like.  I’m Sandy, your waitress.  Coffee?”

“Sure,” said Robbie.

They found a table near the back and sat down.    Sandy came over and poured their coffees immediately.  A small chime sounded.

“I’ll take your order in minute.  I have to deliver some food.”

“Sure.”  She was off.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a waitress move so quickly.”

“Everything’s like that here, sugar.  Efficient.  Nobody rushing, really, but nobody lazing either.”

“A different attitude.  I wonder how much more gets done.”

“And remember, it’s not the money that moves these people.”

“Yeah.”

Moments later, Sandy returned.

“Well, what can I get you?”  She seemed welcoming, genuine. 

“Why don’t you get us the special today, Sandy? We really don’t know what all these dishes are. One thing is as good as another.”

“Sure.”  Sandy was obviously pleased to help.  She took their menus.  “But the special might be a little too spicy for you, since you’re from North America.”

“Oh no,” said Marcie.  “Robbie and I don’t eat hot dogs, apple pie, and cheese slices.  We’ll try it.”

“Great.”  She gave them a light shrug and was gone again.

Marcie sipped her coffee and was silent.  Something about this place makes me itchy.  Not everyone can conform, even in a society that thrives on it.  “You know, I don’t feel like I’ve come home.”

“No way, sugar.”

“I don’t feel alienated but I don’t feel comfortable.”

“Maybe you just have to give it some time.”

“It just all seems so contrived, so controlled to me.”

“You know something, sugar?”

Here it comes:  Robbie’s pearl of wisdom.  “What?”

“You sound like someone who won’t leave her job because she’s scared to try something new.  Just because it’s familiar, doesn’t mean it’s the best thing for you.”

“I hate it when you’re right.”  She started to laugh.

The food arrived a few minutes later.  Sandy brought them a vegetable and scrambled egg dish in a round, deep bowl and served with nothing else.  It was delicious, a rich combination of herbs and spices that Marcie couldn’t identify, and surprisingly filling.  They finished their meal around four o’clock in the morning and they were sipping coffee when Sandy came over.

She smiled as she spoke:  “The early morning Reels have just been released.  I wondered if you’d like to watch. 

“Dr. Stellan mentioned the Reels.  What are they?” asked Marcie.

“Like the streaming news, but better.  Just push that button over there.”  Sandy pointed to a panel on the wall beside them, smiled, and walked away.

“Are you gonna press it or am I?”

“Ha, ha.”  Marcie reached over and punched the button.  A vidscreen that was somehow a part of the wall came alive.  A narrator spoke:

“Good morning and welcome to the Reels for Tuesday June twenty-sixth, twenty eighty-three.  The time at the beep will be four-o-three-fifteen.”  There was a slight pause and the machine beeped.  “’Reels’ information was last uploaded at three fifty-two am and is scheduled to be updated again at six am.”  Some light music began to play and the screen listed a series of choices:  1) Daily news, 2) Backgrounder, 3) Paths and Protocols, 4) Research, 5) Archives, 6) News from Our Outsiders, and 7) The Outside News.

“Well?”

“Well, since visitors are so important, let’s see if they have anything to say about us.”  Robbie touched the screen on ‘Daily News” and it immediately flashed to black and then to a video of Robbie and Marcie walking up The Promenade with Dr. Stellan. 

“I’m glad I don’t pick my nose.”

“Shut up.”

A commentator was speaking:  “…are here with the Deputy Director on their first walk down the Promenade.  Background information is available on each of our Visitors.”  Two pictures, one of Marcie and one of Robbie, popped onto the screen below the view of them walking as the voice continued its commentary.  Marcie almost laughed and touched her photo.  A written biography appeared, including her birth date, her height and weight, her address and phone code Outside.  Most of her life was here including some of the embarrassing parts.  Robbie was laughing.

“You smashed up the first PA you drove?”  Big guffaws.

“Ha ha.  Well, I am now an extremely good pilot, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh right, that’s why you’re only Class 4.”

“I’m Class 4 because I don’t like the climbs to International.  I could out-fly you any day.”  This just made him laugh harder.  Fine.  “Let’s just see what there is on you, hmmmm?”  Robbie’s bio read like a who’s who in New York society and Marcie kicked herself mentally once more for not having done a check on him herself.  Oh there’s a surprise.  Robbie never told me he was in the army.  Then she stopped reading.

The information in these bios was exactly like the background checks she did in her work.  For a moment, it seemed a bit chilling that her behaviour outside mimicked common behaviour here in Origin.  In fact, outside, her checks were often considered an invasion of privacy, even though all the info came from public domain records.  “You know, Robbie.  These people are great researchers, just like we are.  It isn’t a common sapiens trait.”

“It gives us an edge, sugar.”

“We were getting successful.”

“Yes, you were.”

Marcie clicked on Paths and Protocols.  There were hierarchy charts and info on where to get whatever you need.  There were statistics and general information.  Population figures were recorded at fifteen thousand three hundred and twenty-four.  The counter turned over to twenty-five as they watched.   The fortunatus were thriving, but where do they all live?  How big is this place?  Marcie clicked on the Paths section and found detailed drawings of the whole place with descriptions and commentary.

Marcie and Robbie started reading.  Origin had three Warrens, or complexes, with over fifty levels in total, accessed through dozens of elevator shafts that pushed ever deeper into the earth, and horizontal movers that transported inhabitants from one Warren to another.  There was one residential and retail Warren:  The Promenade.  The other two were manufacturing and agricultural. 

Robbie was looking thoughtful.  “Well, it’s not exactly a paradise, sugar.”

“What’s up?”

“Looking at these figures for maximum occupation:  eighteen thousand souls.  Looks like they’re running out of space.” 

“Yeah, but they’re building.”

Origin did, in fact, need more living, manufacturing, and retail space and they were working on it.  Just recently, an exploration team had found a new natural cavern bigger than The Promenade to which they were currently building connecting tunnels. Their biggest problem seemed to be how to dispose of the rock and earth that they excavated as they worked.  Four fake mining operations had been started Outside to mask the amount of gravel coming up to the surface.  All of Origin was waiting for the opening of this new public and residential space, set to be ready in about two years: Warren 4.

Marcie was nonplussed.  Anyone who walked on the earth would never imagine that underneath might be a whole city full of people no one knew about.

At around six thirty and many coffees later, Marcie had to stop.  She was feeling a level of culture shock like she’d never felt in her life.  Origin made sense to her.  It was all done efficiently with forethought and planning.  And it was so unlike the chaos that ruled the Outside world, most sapiens would probably be suicidal in weeks.  There was nothing to worry about here.  Not bills, not money.  You got everything you needed for free.  Apparently some people took advantage of that, but not many. 

And you didn’t have to worry about your career.  Your individual performance from the moment you were born was recorded in an orderly fashion and what was called ‘the most beautiful pattern’ of your life would emerge for you.  From an early age, you knew what you were good at and what you weren’t and most tended to concentrate on those things at which they excelled.  Marcie wasn’t sure that she’d like to let this much personal information be public knowledge, but obviously this policy worked in here.

She wasn’t surprised when five minutes later Dr. Stellan joined them.

“Good morning,” he said with a grin.

“You can track us wherever we are, can’t you?”

“Oh yes, of course.  Your codes were entered as you sat down to eat.  Anyone can access that information.”

“Great.  No crime.  You don’t need a girl like me in a place like this.”

“Oh yes we do.  Are you finished here?  Yes?”  Robbie and Marcie were nodding.  “Come.”

He turned and started for the door and Robbie and Marcie, after exchanging a look, stood and followed.  On their way out, Sandy called after them, wishing them a great day.  They stepped out onto The Promenade that was now bathed in bright morning light.

“You adjust the lighting levels.”

“Yes, we find that any human performs better if they have simulated daylight.  We can’t get it as bright as the sun in high summer, of course, so we supplement our diet with the vitamins and chemicals that our bodies like to produce in summer time.”

“Do you simulate the whole year?”

“Yes we do, but a year much closer to the equator than Toronto.”

“Dr. Stellan,” said Robbie.  “How many people leave a year, say?”

“Very few.  Like I said, folks are happy here.  I would say about one in every few hundred is desperate enough to leave.”

“What happens then?”

“We run a full psychological examination on them to determine whether it’s just youth talking or truly the needs of the person’s heart.  If it’s the latter, we let them go, with any immediate family members brave enough to go with them.  The tendency does run in families.  If it’s the former and we think they’ll grow out of it, we ask them to stay for a year or so to see if the urge disappears.  It often does.”

Robbie frowned.  “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but aren’t you just breeding yourself a herd of cattle?”

They arrived at the Central Shaft of elevators.  Stellan sighed.  “Elevator, up.  Yes, I understand what you’re saying.  I’ve been thinking the same thing, so I’m spearheading an initiative that includes leaving Origin – well, a large group leaving Origin.”  The elevator arrived and they walked in.  “Elevator, level six.”

“A large group is going to leave?”

“Yes.  In one year, we hope to out-load five thousand citizens.”

“That’s one third of the total population.”  Marcie was shaking her head.  “Why now, when things are getting so squirrelly out there?”

“We have no choice, Marcie.  We’re in the middle of a baby boom.”

“They can’t keep up with the demand for space, sugar.”

“That’s right, Robbie.”

“What?  Even with the new Warren?”

“Even with the new Warren,” said Stellan.  “Projections indicate that we’ll reach full capacity just two years after opening and, even with increased manpower, it’ll probably take us another five after that to build something new.  There are no more natural caverns in reasonable proximity to Origin.  So we have no choice.  It’s time to leave.”

The elevator stopped and the doors opened.  Stellan lead them down a long hallway as he talked.  “All right.  We believe Eastdown is an abomination and we need to get our people out of there.  We’ve been slow to move on this, mainly because it’s been difficult to convince key citizens that the necessity is real.  They are horrified by hearsay reports of the testing in Origin to the point of disbelief.  Some thought the information was fake – to provoke us.  But recently, we managed to get a spy in Eastdown – not one of us, just an average sapiens with a conscience.  His reports confirmed everything and have shocked us so much we must act.  As you know, we’re going to attempt to break those people out.

Robbie looked a little dubious.  “Stellan, why can’t you appeal to the authorities?”

“We tried that.  All three Outsiders who attempted official channels were picked up and taken to Eastdown.”

“Right.”

“You say there are many governments involved?”

“Yes, rightly or wrongly, sapiens perceives us as a threat.  The US, England, Canada, Spain, France, and Russia, all these, and more, support Eastdown.  I assume other governments are, at least, wary of us.  There is nowhere for us to turn.”

Marcie and Robbie were nodding.

Stellan stopped at a set of double doors and continued:  “And now that you know you’re one of us, we hope that you’ll help us with this strike:  help us plan it, train us, and lead the expedition.  No one here has the required experience.”

Robbie was nodding.  He clearly thought he was the right man for the job but Marcie was not so sure if she could truly help.  She had no formal military experience, just a scrappy youth.  Maybe that’s enough.

“We are going into a planning meeting for the strike at Eastdown.  Listen.  Assess as best you can and if you have something to add, it’s best to phrase it as a question rather than a criticism.” 

They went through the double doors into a large conference room, but there were only three people waiting for them when they walked in: one woman and two men, sitting around a circular conference-style table.  The others stood as Marcie, Robbie, and Stellan approached.

Stellan spoke first:  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.  Let me do some introductions.  Marcie, Robbie, these folks know who you are but you don’t know them.  Please meet Karen Ray.”  Karen was tall, even for a fortunatus, thin, but well built.  She had short blond hair and was wearing masculine style clothing.  The whole effect was severe, but softened by a brilliant smile.  “That’s Paul Levy.”  Paul was dressed casually, in shorts and t-shirt.  With his blonde hair and blue eyes, Marcie would have sworn he’d just stepped off the beach.  He, too, smiled and nodded.  “And last, but not least, Walter Dern.  Walter is the Team Leader.”

“I prefer Facilitator,” said Walter with a grin.  “Please sit down.  We’re trying to develop a plan to get those people out of there.”  He waited while Marcie, Robbie, and Stellan sat and then he turned his attention to a simplified architectural plan displayed on a large view screen at the front of the room.  “Okay, folks.  Let’s review for our newcomers.  The plan is to cut the power to the whole structure and then send in a small team to infiltrate and release the prisoners.  Once the power is out the strike team will enter here on the east wall, travel down this corridor, turn right here and they’ll be in the main cellblock.  They’ll release as many prisoners as possible using small incendiary devices to break into each cell.  Once they’ve released the prisoners or once they’re in danger of getting caught, they’ll usher the released prisoners back out the way they came in and to the waiting vehicles.”

Marcie raised her hand.  Walter smiled: “We thought you’d have something to say.”

Marcie smiled back.  Sometimes she thought she had the words ‘I AM OPINIONATED’ tattooed on her forehead.  “Well, let’s start at the beginning.  You say you’re planning to cut the power, yes?”

“Yes, by planting a bomb at the generator…here.”

“But what about all the back-up generators?”

Walter stopped.  “We don’t have a plan for handling any back-up generators.”

“It doesn’t really matter anyway.  Even if you take out every generator on the property, there are probably small battery back-up power sources all through the building.  They usually cough up between fifteen minutes and half an hour’s worth of power, but that would be enough for them to frustrate any attempt to sneak in. And, of course, in fifteen minutes, half the army would be there.”

“Yes,” Robbie said, “once you set off the bomb, their security system and security forces will be automatically on the alert.  Power or no power, they’d be stupid not to have a protocol that puts their defences into high gear if something like that happens.”

“I agree.  Your plan might work in the movies, but not for real,” Marcie said.

“Well then, what do you think we should do?  A full frontal attack?  We really don’t have the resources.”  Karen was looking at them frankly.

“No, nor the manpower,” responded Robbie.  “Do you have a more detailed map of the building with the grounds?  How about an aerial shot?  We only drove by there once and that was in a ground car.”

Walter responded. “We have a good map, and I can get you an aerial from one of the satellite Internet sites if you like.  One moment.”  He consulted some notes and then spoke into a microphone that was part of a complicated control panel built into the conference desk.  “Shot fifty-three.”

The image on the view screen changed.  It was Eastdown in full architectural detail, including landscaping.

Robbie asked, “How old is this information?”

“Within the last thirty days.”

Robbie was nodding.  “Good, good.”

“It’s a small place.”  Marcie was squinting.  “Okay, we plant that bomb.  We could even drop one from an automated AP.”

“Didn’t you say that plan was useless?” asked Walter.

“No, I said it wouldn’t knock out the power, but it would be a great diversion.”

“How about this?  We plant bombs all over,” said Robbie.  “They go off like World War Three.”

“Risky,” responded Karen.  “Someone might get hurt.”

Marcie just looked at her.  This is going to be a long day.

Walter spoke.  “We have to start thinking along those lines, Karen.  We’re playing a different game, now.”

“They’d have no problem blowing you away,” Robbie said wryly.  “They wouldn’t think twice.”  Robbie looked more serious than she’d ever seen him.  “If we’re going to do this, we can’t be wishy-washy about it or we’ll fail and get ourselves caught.”

Marcie let it sink in and then she changed the subject completely.  “If we really want to sneak in, we need to take out their computers.  Their network will be at the heart of any security they have, from their ability to see through remotes to their ability to, well, lock doors in our way for example.  Most security teams rely very heavily on their computer systems.  We’d have to figure out the best way to knock them out, but I have an idea.”

“How?”  Walter looked dubious.

“We’ll mess up the system with a few million attacks a second.  Most government computer systems will drop everything to ensure no one gets in – especially if they link to the federal systems Ottawa – so their resources will be used up.  There’ll be nothing left for doing anything else.”

“How do we generate a few million attacks a second?”  Walter was looking a little surprised.  “We don’t have that kind of computer power in the whole of Origin.”

“There are lots of ways to do it, but I think I’ll drop a virus a few days before.  If I put it in a joke or some free pornography, it’ll go all the way around the world three times in a few hours.  We would eventually infect a few hundred million machines.  Then, at the appointed time, all those computers will attack.  Should work.”

“How can you get into all those computers?  Don’t they have firewalls and virus protection?”

“It’ll be a new virus and it won’t do anything to the machine.  Very few people will notice, so it’ll take a couple of days to detect.  There are virus trackers out there that sift through every email sent through certain gateways for dormant code but they’re usually a couple of days behind the times.  By then, the damage will be done.”

Robbie was nodding.  “With the security system knocked out, we should be able to launch a full frontal attack, but again, only as a diversion.  We’ll send the real rescue team in the side, through the door on the east wall like you suggested.  But we haven’t considered a lot of variables.  Like what do we do if the prisoner can’t walk?”

Silence at that.  No one wanted to think that the prisoners really might be in that bad shape, but of course, this was the reason they were going to try to break them out in the first place.

Robbie cut through the quiet.  “There’s another option that we need to discuss:  Mercenaries.  We could hire a team of sapiens to do what they do best.”

“No.”  Stellan’s voice was sharp, commanding everyone’s attention.  “This isn’t the time for us to hide behind these walls.  Our circumstances, our pride, and, I think, our very well-being demand that it’s time for us to go forward.  We have been like children.  We must do this ourselves.”

He’s going to be the next Director.  That’s who this guy is.  And if he does end up running the place, fortunatus is going to emerge very soon from this cocoon to find their way in a harsh world.  They would survive or they wouldn’t.  Well, it was ever thus.

Wednesday, June 30, 2083.  6:00 a.m.

The alarm went off as usual and Ryan reached over and flicked it off in a casual way.  He was actually already awake, staring out at the meadows and fields in the distance.  He could see some clouds approaching from the west but he looked forward to the day.  It was easy to get out of bed in the mornings because each day was a challenge.  He liked that.  He hated boredom.

He showered and dressed in his usual charcoal grey suit, white shirt, and red tie.  He ate his breakfast alone in a heavily curtained room watching six holoscreens at once, at the back of the house off the kitchen.  He polished off breakfast quickly and sat back, sipping his coffee.  He took the opportunity to continue his memoir. 

He clicked on a remote that turned off all the vidscreens.  He tapped his neck and said, “Computer.”  He waited a moment until the system beeped entry.  “Computer, record.”

“In 2071, I was an up-and-coming genetics researcher at the University of Toronto.  Despite my medical degree, genetics fascinated me and I preferred the research.  I was thorough and was quickly being consulted on difficult cases – especially when the patients had no money.  I didn’t command the kind of fees that the established specialists did, but I was content.  All in good time was my motto.
“But then, the Healey case came along, and my whole world changed.

“Joanne and Rick Healey had been trying to conceive a child for almost a decade.  They were in their late thirties, healthy, and very attached to one another.  But they couldn’t have a child.  There seemed to be no problem with sperm count, no problem with number or quality of eggs.  Joanne was physically more than capable of carrying a child and all the standard tests and procedures had been run without success.

“Then the couple attempted in vitro fertilization, the logical next step.  Despite using some of the finest technology available, the eggs wouldn’t fertilize.  Stumped, the case was passed on to me.

“I was intrigued and threw myself into the research with a vengeance.  Human reproduction may have been a mystery a few hundred years ago but, since the fertility crisis in North America early on in the century, researchers and processes have come a long way.  It was rare that a couple couldn’t, at the very least, conceive a child of their own.  And surrogate mothers were almost a dime a dozen.  So what was happening to the Healeys?

“The answer came when I did a thorough comparison of their genetic patterns.  A standard comparison had been done months earlier to determine if the parents’ genes were too similar.  People with too similar genetic patterns often have trouble conceiving.  But I was looking at their patterns with a different eye.  I was taking a much closer look, searching for a genetic mutation or other problem.  What I found was puzzling.  There were far too many genetic markers that were different. 

“I could not believe what I was seeing and there was only one conclusion.  Joanne and Rick Healey were from two different species.  I compared both their patterns to several of other average human beings and determined that Rick Healey was not homo sapiens.  I was so stunned by my conclusions, I kept it to myself for days.  This was the stuff of fiction, not reality.  But I eventually came to my wits and contacted the Canadian government.

“Days of meetings convinced the government that fortunatus might be a danger and that more research was necessary.  Once convinced, the government reacted with a characteristic distrust of the unknown and labelled the new species ‘threatening and to be treated as hostile’.  I couldn’t imagine Rick Healey hurting a fly, but I assumed the government knew what it was doing.

“I decided that this was an opportunity I couldn’t pass by.  I developed, wrote, and submitted a comprehensive proposal for setting up a research facility.  I was the one who made the original discovery and I wanted to be the one to study this new species, determine its strengths and weaknesses, find out if it really was a threat or not.  I also suggested various protocols for detection of members of the new species.  The price tag would be high. 

“The Canadian government shared the information with some of its allies and soon Eastdown Corporation was established with money being funnelled in from sixteen governments from all around the world.  I got the top job and the Corporation adopted most of my suggestions.  Their trust in me was absolute.  I was given previously unheard of powers.  I could mobilize domestic and military forces essentially when and where I needed.  Further, I had The Eastdown Security Force (ESF) to help me round up this other species.”

“Computer, end record.”  Ryan tapped his neck to cut the connection and stood up.  It was almost six-forty-five.  Time to go to work.

As he walked out to the PA pad, Ryan thought about the early years.  This job was Ryan’s dream come true, though admittedly there was one snag early on.  Ryan had ordered blood tests for everyone involved with Eastdown to ensure that they started with only sapiens on staff.  His own test results had been something of a shock.  Luckily, he was the only person above suspicion, the man with the key knowledge, and he was the one processing and screening the tests.  It was a simple trick to make sure his true heritage remained undetected.

Surely, he could have backed out then.  Surely it was time, early on, to decide that this course of action was too much of a risk.  But Ryan couldn’t help himself.  Ryan had aspirations.  He had great ability.  He knew in his heart that he was meant for bigger things.  Perhaps this was his only chance?  He continued on.  He thought he was made of stern stuff.  Not really stern enough, of course, but that wouldn’t become apparent for some time.

So after himself, Rick Healey was his first Subject.  The government insisted on immediate incarceration.  The Eastdown Coalition wanted containment.  They did not want the general public to hear about a new species in case there was widespread panic.  Ryan suspected that there were other motivations behind this decision.  Panic was a convenient excuse.  Ryan thought that they kept the new species a secret just in case fortunatus was widely accepted by sapiens.  The government was just paranoid enough to be worried about what would happen in that case, all in the name of national security.  Ryan took up responsibility for the Eastdown Mandate without question. 

So, Rick Healey became a criminal.  Ryan was a little surprised at how easy it was to fake a crime.  In Healey’s case, the government was able to produce overwhelming evidence that Healey had attempted to evade paying thousands of dollars in taxes.  Despite having a good defence lawyer, Healey went directly to jail.  He did not pass ‘Go’.

But he did not stay in jail for long.  In his first week of incarceration, a fellow inmate murdered Healey with a switchblade.  No one could explain how the weapon found itself inside the facility or even why Healey was a target in the first place.  There was a public outcry that died down over time and an official inquiry that cost a lot of money but was able to determine nothing.  To add insult to injury, prison officials cremated the body despite written instructions from Healey’s widow.  She mourned her husband and moved on.  Within two years she was married and pregnant with her first child.  Rick was already a bittersweet memory.

But, of course, he was really very much alive.  He was initially transferred to a temporary facility while Eastdown was being built.  They managed to keep him cowed with lies:  that he was infected with some horrible disease, the Typhoid Mary of his generation; that most of the people he knew and loved were dead.  The Eastdown team left him on his own but watched him through one-way glass as he grieved the loss of his wife and the rest of his family.  It soon became apparent that Healey would melt down mentally if he did not have more company. 

So Ryan became his friend.  On the other side of a sterile window (they had to keep up the ruse), but it worked.  The two men spent time together.  They played chess.  Ryan brought Healey books to read.  They shared meals.  They became good friends.  Though Ryan had the whole Eastdown Project to set up, staff to hire, various protocols to put into place with dozens of military organizations, he enjoyed his relationship with Healey.  And Healey’s overall emotional health improved quickly.  So when Healey moved into Eastdown, he was ready for testing to begin with his full cooperation.  Ryan started building what was to become a formidable database of facts on the new species.

As soon as Eastdown was completed, the General Mandate went out to all physicians who worked in the sixteen nations involved in the Eastdown Coalition.  The General Mandate required that physicians report any patient who had a similar genetic make-up to the fortunatus pattern.  Slowly, but inevitably, more of this new species were caught and incarcerated at Eastdown.  As Ryan assumed, there weren’t many out in the world, maybe only a few thousands.  Every Subject was a gift.

But one day, Healey figured out that Ryan was lying to him.  By what mechanism, Ryan was uncertain.  Healey did not yell or fight as one might expect from a sapiens.  He simply shut down.  He stopped eating.  He stopped doing anything.  He became a useless subject.  Ryan refused to feel guilty about this.  He refused to take responsibility.  He simply decided that he would no longer get close to the ‘Subjects’ as he now referred to them.  A researcher needs a healthy distance, and clinical objectivity. 

Healey died only a few weeks later, despite a regimen of force-feeding combined with drugs to combat his obvious depression.  Many on staff, and particularly the psychiatrist Randall, felt Healey’s death was from a broken spirit, a broken heart.  But Ryan was pleased to note in his report an obvious fallibility of the new species they were starting to call fortunatus, not only because that is how they referred to themselves but because of the subject’s parlour tricks in the psych testing rooms.  The fortunatus clearly could not easily process betrayal.  Ryan knew that over time he would find more weaknesses.  He would fulfill his mandate.

And it was more critical than ever.  Government agents had uncovered the possibility that the fortunatus had a base called Origin and that the base was very well organized and that it had operatives out in the world.  The governments of the Eastdown Coalition were becoming very nervous.

So, now a new round of blood testing was underway.  All member countries were interested in identifying and eventually removing any fortunatus from their payroll.  Ryan looked forward to the influx of new Subjects but knew that Eastdown would have serious trouble dealing with them all.  Ryan felt certain that many fortunatus would be found working for the government.  It suited their nature. 

He would have to make sure that the results from the Eastdown employee’s test were covered up again, but that shouldn’t be much of a problem.  He was, after all, in charge of the place.

What was most important to Ryan, though, was identifying the fortunatus’ Achilles’ heel.  He was becoming obsessed by the task and just recently ordered the intensity of the testing stepped up.  There were grumbles from the staff but no one had quit.  In the end they all understood the importance of the research to humanity. 

Unfortunately, fortunatus did not really seem to have an Achilles’ heel.  Just like sapiens, this new species seemed to have its abilities and its drawbacks, but no fatal flaw, like alien species always had in sci-fi flicks.  And in many ways, fortunatus seemed to have an edge on sapiens.  Ryan couldn’t put his finger on the difference, but the new species seemed to have a different way of communicating, a more immediate intimacy, a facility for consensus.  A huge edge, any way you slice it.  Ryan had recently become thankful he’d adopted the habit of wearing the surgical mask.  He was certain that fortunatus could read subtle physical cues that sapiens couldn’t.  He did not want to give himself away.

But there must be something that would humble this new species.  He was certain of it.

He arrived at Eastdown and made his customary walk of the grounds and specifically the gardens to the east of the building.  He loved the ordered chaos of a well-designed garden.  The walk tended to settle him down, focus his thoughts.  He eventually ended back at the front of the building and entered, observing all protocols to the letter.

Cindy Welton, his assistant, was already at her desk when he got there. 

“Good morning, sir.”

“Morning, Cindy.  You’re well, I hope?”

“Thank you, sir.  Your coffee is on your desk along with one security report that’s a little disturbing.”

“From Norman?”

“Well, no, sir.  It has no name on it and it’s printed on a blank page.”

“That’s odd.”

“It’s on your desk.”

Tuesday, July 6, 2083.  5:45 a.m.

Why do military types always like to get up with the birds?  Marcie walked out of the suite she shared with Robbie and went down to the Promenade.  In the week she’d been here, she’d started to learn her way around.  She hadn’t gotten lost at all the day before.

The light mimicked the early morning and, indeed, birds were singing.  Marcie was dressed in baggy cotton pants, t-shirt and running shoes, ready for a day of combat training and instruction. 

She’d decided to eat out.  She never liked eating alone and now she knew why.  She stopped in at Flip Side for coffee and a big breakfast.  Her report time was six fifteen.  She’d be on time.

“Good morning, Marcie.”

“Hi Sandy.”

“How are you today?”

“Okay, thanks.”

“You seem a bit troubled.”

Marcie thought before answering.  “Maybe it’s all so new, Sandy.  Give me a few days.”

“Sure.  What would you like for breakfast?”

“Oh, the special, please.”

“Great.”

She accessed the computer at her table and logged in.  Tracy had sent a long email to Marcie’s current public alias on the net the night before, reporting on what was going on in the office.  Apparently, they didn’t need her at all.  Both the new employees were working out fine and, in fact, they were extremely efficient.  Tracy had hired two more temps to clear up the backlog and had temporarily pulled some of the advertising to take the pressure off.  She wished Marcie luck in her investigation and even mentioned that Marcie was missed.  Sure, sure.  Her breakfast came.

Marcie sent a quick response, logged off the netmail site and tucked into her breakfast.  She left with a nod of thanks to Sandy and headed off to the Sports Complex.  Project Eastdown had been given top priority for all resources in Origin and the Sports Complex – an extensive set of fields, gymnasia, and swimming pools had been assigned as the military education centre.  Marcie and Robbie, working ostensibly under Walter, had been given a hundred people who they were training to shoot and fight. 

Marcie was little surprised that fortunatus hadn’t embraced even the martial arts.  She loved the philosophy and the emphasis on calm, cool minds.  She taught as she’d been taught and was pleased to see how quickly her pupils embraced these ‘new’ concepts. 

But Marcie had nothing on Robbie.  She arrived at his class just minutes before it was to begin.  Today, Robbie was instructing the soldiers on the basics of group combat, on engaging an enemy, on how platoons work. 

He was standing at the front of the room when she came in.  She gave him a smile and a nod and went to find a seat.  This morning, she was a pupil.

He started off with org charts and command structure charts to help the recruits understand how the army worked.  But he ran into trouble early on.

“Sir, what if our orders don’t make sense?”

“What do you mean?

“What if, from our perspective, the orders are faulty?”

“Makes no difference.  You have to follow them.” 

“Why should we follow orders that don’t make sense?”

His pupils simply didn’t accept that an individual should follow orders without questioning them.  And yet this principle was the foundation of most military organizations.  Robbie was silent, clearly stumped.  He probably hadn’t expected the group to have trouble with this concept, considering how passive they all seemed.  But it became clear that these soldiers were passive only because they chose to be.  Their arguments came in the form of questions.

“Sir, you’re saying I should follow my orders to the letter, but aren’t there times when I’ll have to make my own decisions?”

“Well, sure, but you cannot go back on your orders.”

“But what if there are times when the orders will hurt or kills us?”

“That’s part of the job of being a soldier.  Sometimes you’re put in positions that you can’t get out of, for the greater good.”

“Does that seem like wise management to you?”

Robbie just stared.  The new recruits had hit on a basic problem in military organization:  The Lousy Officer.  There were many officers who were willing to sacrifice their troops needlessly to make up for a lack of planning at the outset and some even who didn’t realize that they were sacrificing their troops needlessly.  On the spot, Robbie realized that these people would not follow blindly.  They were too smart and too discerning.  He sat on the desk and looked at them all.

“Okay.  We won’t do this the way that sapiens does.  We will, as a group, help to develop the plan.  We will, as a group, assign positions and we will, as a group, put this plan into action.  I can see that you’ll all need to make decisions out there and I believe in your ability to so do but remember, when you are out there, give strong weight to the information that comes down to you from the command centre.  They’re the only people who can see the whole picture.  Now, does that make sense to you?”

Nods all around.  In a sapiens army, this policy would have lead to chaos, utter chaos.  He was taking a chance, but Marcie had faith in him.

Robbie obviously scrapped what he was planning to discuss and called Marcie up to the front.  They got into the nitty-gritty of the assault on Eastdown and how they intended to do it.  By the end of the day, five separate teams had emerged with individuals naturally gravitating to the party where their skills were most needed.  Marcie had never seen anything like it.

The first team was the communications and command team.  Marcie was at the centre of this team, with four others who were strong communicators and who had excellent computer skills.  These people would monitor the action, and impart as much information as possible, along with recommendations for action, and the occasional order.

Robbie, funnily enough, didn’t want to be in charge of the whole operation – he preferred to lead the rescue team.  There were fifteen members on this squad along with ten drivers and pilots who would get the prisoners out of there when the time came.

Walter became the leader for the frontal assault squadron with Paul Levy in charge of the incendiary troop. Karen seemed most interested in Operations, including medical backup.  She organized the largest faction:  thirty-five folk. 

At five-thirty, Robbie called it quits and sent everybody home.  Marcie and he went off to dinner.

“This is something else,” Robbie said after sitting silently for some time.  “We won’t be wasting any time here.  They can just work up what they have to.”

“Absolutely.  Though I think they should all learn how to shoot, yes?”

“Yes and a little hand-to-hand.  But just the basics for the Ops and Com teams.  We don’t have to train everybody on everything.  It’s a relief.  I didn’t think we were going to be ready soon enough to satisfy Stellan’s timetable.”

“Well, he wants his niece out of there.”

Marcie noticed someone approaching their table, looked up, and was unsurprised to see Stellan.  She was getting used to anyone being able to find her.  She smiled.

“May I join you?”

“Sure, but we’re almost done here.”

Stellan sat.  “Oh no, I just have a favour to ask, Marcie.”

“Shoot.”

“I’ve received a few thousand emails, requesting that your martial arts classes be broadcast throughout Origin.  Would that be a problem for you?”

Marcie was a little surprised.  “No, I can handle that.”

“Great.  Do you think you might continue the classes after the strike is completed?”

“Assuming we stay on, sure.”

“Great.  Have a good evening, then.”  Stellan stood up.

“That’s it?”

“Yes.  Good evening.”

“Sure.”

Stellan walked off.  That was an odd exchange. 

“He doesn’t mince words, does he?”

“You know, sugar.  I think he has other things on his mind than small talkin’ with us.”

“You’re probably right.”

Marcie checked in to see if Tracy had any problems back at the office and then they went off to the suite.  She needed some rest.

Tuesday, July 6, 2083. 9:00 p.m.

“Oh damn.”  Cindy Welton looked at her Certificate of Excellent Service plaque, smashed on the floor.  She’d been startled by the intercom and had shied, knocking the thing from the wall.

“Yes, sir,” she said as she pressed the intercom button.

“You all right out there?”  Dr. Ryan’s voice came through in that droll tone he used when he was amused by something.  Obviously he’d heard the crash.

“Ha, ha.  I’m fine, just polishing my klutz routine.” Her humour denied her disappointment.  She was proud of that award.  “What do you need?  I was on my way home.”

“I know it’s late but I just wanted to go through today’s correspondence if it won’t take too long.”

“Oh sure, it’s only a few minutes’ worth.  I’ll be right in.  After I play janitor.”    

Cindy sat for a moment before she got the broom.  She was getting jumpy; she needed to settle down.
Cindy helped Dr. Ryan administer Eastdown.  She was proud of the work they were doing here.  She understood that the authorities had to know what they were dealing with and whether fortunatus posed any threat to sapiens.  But just lately the nature of the tests had changed.  Now there were screams coming from inside the compound.  Cindy was getting edgy and had started having nightmares.  She set to cleaning up.

A few minutes later, Cindy tapped on her boss’ door and waited for his “Come!” before she entered.  She carried a small stack of correspondence, two reports, and some expense accounts for his approval. 

He smiled at her.  She could tell he was relieved that the end of the day had come. The workload had been stressful lately.  He was good looking when he lightened up – tall, auburn hair, dimples.  He had the looks to go right to the top in politics and that’s where he wanted to go, straight to Prime Minister’s Office.  She thought it would be fun to go with him.  She gave him a big smile back.  She, too, was relieved that this would be their last task today.  It had been a trying one.

The governments of the sixteen countries of the Eastdown coalition had recently decided to screen all of their employees for fortunatus genes.  Smart move.  You can’t tell by looking.  Actually, Cindy was surprised this hadn’t been ordered earlier.  No government wants to have a host of possible traitors working for them. 

Yesterday, the results had started rolling in from over fifty labs around the world.  They were already finding many fortunatus working for various governments, perhaps an expression of their natural tendency to band together.  The tests identified hundreds more Subjects.  Of course, Eastdown was too small to manage such a crowd – in ten years they had passed only two hundred or so through their doors.  Also Dr. Ryan felt certain that he was going to identify the location of Origin soon.  And that would likely mean another group of fortunatus to contain.  They would have to set up a detention camp somewhere.

Cindy had wanted to hire some temps, but could only use them after they’d been tested too.  The results for Eastdown were in the small pile of things to handle this evening.  Cindy was relieved; she wanted the temps to get working first thing Monday morning.

Cindy had one other issue on her agenda.  She’d decided she would ask for sound-proofing to be installed between the old house that served as administrative offices, and the new complex, where the Subjects were kept.  She could think of no other way to resolve her discomfort with the noise.  She was certain Dr. Ryan was only doing what was necessary and she felt she must support him in this, but she couldn’t continue to cope with the Subjects’ screams.  She couldn’t bear the thought of anyone getting hurt for the purposes of scientific inquiry, even a fortunatus.  She could remind herself that these weren’t human beings and that they don’t have the rights that a human had; she could remind herself that they were a possible threat to her very way of life, but she couldn’t stand their pain.  She was sure that Dr. Ryan would approve her request. 

Ryan went through the correspondence quickly but took a little more time with the expense accounts.  Then he turned his attention to the two reports in the pile.  He took the first report, an environmental assessment of expansion plans at Eastdown, and put it in his in-tray for later.  Then he opened the laboratory reports and sat back to read them.

Cynthia waited patiently.  She’d kicked off her shoes and was sitting casually in her chair, feet drawn up beneath her, as was their wont when they were working after hours.  She was looking right at him when his face changed.  Something he read or thought stopped him cold.  He turned his gaze on her and the Dr. Ryan that she knew was gone, replaced by a cold, calculating, and threatening animal.  His eyes bore down on her.  She’d never been so frightened in her life.  She stood, almost involuntarily.

“Sir?”

“Cindy, have you read this report?”  His voice was too low, too even, too controlled.

Cindy was completely jangled.  She managed to blurt out incoherently that she hadn’t.

“Then why are you so upset?”  Again that tone.

Cindy looked down on the ground, anything but those terrible eyes of his.  Then her world stopped.  Was there something in that report about her?  She looked at him.  God, look at his eyes.  There was.  Am I one of them?  I can’t be, can I?

“I…I…I…” was all she managed.  She’d lived her adult life supporting and promoting this person.  She was loyal, efficient, and, at times, even brilliant at her job.  She’d ignored personal pursuits to see this project go. 

Now, it looked like none of that mattered.  If there were one time in her life that she shouldn’t accept the rules, if there were one time in her life that she should act in her own interests, this was that time.

She turned and sprinted for the door.  Damn, forgot my shoes!  She ran straight through to her office, and grabbing her purse that was, luckily, sitting on her chair, sprinted out to the hallway.  She was fast and over ten years his junior.  She hoped it was enough.

She didn’t want to be one of those people.  She didn’t want to be a nameless, faceless Subject, who no one knows and no one cares about.  She didn’t want to be on the other side of soundproof doors.  She didn’t look back to see who pursued her.  She ran.

She ignored the long hallway to the main entrance and crashed through the fire doors just past her office.  Outside, there was a walkway that snaked through the gardens on the way to the parking lot.  It was already dark and gloomy under overcast skies.  There was a chill in the air.  She ran.

She took only a few steps when the garden lights came on full, almost blinding her.  She knew she could be seen easily from the building.  She dove off the path and pushed wildly through the hedge that masked the parking lot.  She broke through, suffering some scratches, but she didn’t feel them; she only saw her PA. 

There seemed to be no pursuit from security but she knew from experience that three or four of them could appear from nowhere.  She ran to her PA and scrambled in as fast as she could.  She put the keycard in and punched the vehicle to life, but then she realized the plane would take a few minutes to run through its start-up sequence.  Damn!  She looked up and saw a ground jeep used for surveillance parked about twenty feet away.  Maybe?  She jumped out of her PA. 

When she got to the jeep, she couldn’t believe her luck.  The keycard was still in the ignition.  She got in and started the engine.  She shifted into reverse, turned to back up and then saw Ryan, trying to open the passenger side door.  She screamed, stamped on the gas, and the vehicle lurched backwards.  It was only luck that she managed to hit nothing.  Ryan lost his hold on the already open passenger door and fell to the ground.  Cindy screeched to a halt, changed gears and stamped so hard on the gas that she squealed the tires in her haste to get away.  She thought he was calling to her as she drove toward the exit but she didn’t hear what he said.  She saw, though, in her rear view mirror, that Ryan was picked up by another security Jeep.  They weren’t going to let her go easily.

She navigated the parking lot without incident, but as she came up to the gate, Cindy could see it was closing and she didn’t know if she’d be able to smash through it.  She increased her speed in the hope that she would clear the gate before it was down.  As she approached, one of the security guards jumped out and fired at her.  She had no choice but to continue.  He leaped out of the way only just in time and Cindy cleared the closing gate by centimetres.

Cindy skidded onto St. John’s Side Road and drove off into the night.  In her rear-view mirror, she could see Ryan’s vehicle crash through the fence.  They were slowed a little, but not enough for her to get away.  She drove through a wooded stretch to Leslie Street, the first intersection.  She ignored the stop sign and turned right, tires squealing, south toward the city.  She accelerated down Leslie sending up clouds of dust in her wake. 

But it wasn’t long before Ryan’s jeep was right behind her.  She was a good ground driver, but no match for the kind of men who patrolled Eastdown.  For a few kilometres, she and Ryan played cat and mouse.  They would attempt to pass and she would block.  They would ram the back of her vehicle and she would slam on the brakes fighting for control.  She didn’t know how much of this she could take.  She finally decided on a ploy that might work.

She pretended to miss a dodge to the left and very soon they were pulling up beside her.  She screamed for good effect, trying to seem helpless and out of control, but she was careful to match their speed so they wouldn’t get ahead. Then, she rammed their vehicle hard, trying to force them into the ditch.  It almost worked, but Sam, the driver of the other vehicle, turned hard back toward the road and the two vehicles were locked in a struggle for control.  Neither saw the ground truck coming north until it was almost too late.

As the truck’s headlights clearly illuminated Ryan’s angry face, Cindy screamed in truth, and slammed her foot on the brake while at the same time turning the car hard to the right.  She only just cleared the truck and careened wildly, ending up in the ditch, staring at a field of corn.  She shook her head and tried to rev the engine, but the vehicle had died.  She tried to start it a few times but to no avail.  She had to run.

She pushed the vehicle door open and jumped down.  The gully was wet and muddy.  She scrambled up the side, over a low fence and into the cornfield.  She could see a stand of trees about three hundred feet away.  The corn would give her some cover if she kept low.  She started to run wondering if she would make it.

How can this be happening to me?  Her brain froze for a moment.  Hadn’t her blood been checked years ago to determine her paternity – that whole nasty business when her parents split up?  Her father had accused her mother of sleeping around even suggesting that Cindy wasn’t his daughter.  Her mother had responded by requesting both Cindy (then seventeen) and her father’s blood be analyzed to determine paternity.  If there’d been a problem, it most surely would have come up then.  Cindy slowed to a trot.  She’d had chicken pox when she was a kid.  She stopped running altogether.  I am not fortunatus.  There is no reason to run.  She stood up.  She would let them take her in and she would request a re-test.  Then she would quit.  But if there’s nothing wrong with me…?  Cindy wondered what Ryan was so upset about.  If I’m not the problem, then…then….

She never heard the shot that killed her.  She crumpled to the muddy ground as rain started to fall.   And all her secrets, large and small, died with her.




Jacqui Burke is a freelance director, writer, and theatrical teacher living in Toronto, Ontario, Canada. She is currently directing Wrong for Each Other for Encore Productions (www.encoreshows.com) opening in April, Kidsplay 2012: The Mayan Prediction opening in June, and The Last Five Years for TOKL Productions opening in July. She is, also, serializing The Pretender, her first novel, online at http://thepretender-amarcienoelnovel.blogspot.ca/.  Thanks to Brenda for her ongoing inspiration, and John for his ongoing support.

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The Pretender - Chapter 4

Monday, June 28, 2083. 8:30 a.m.

Marcie sipped her coffee and stared out at New York City; streams and streams of traffic moved in tight grids in the skies above, with PAs ascending and descending seemingly chaotically.  Despite the late night, she was already showered and changed, dressed in the white t-shirt and blue jeans she ordered with her breakfast.  The hotel delivered both half an hour before.  They had even sent her a quite tasteful pair of shoes.  Apparently you could get anything delivered to your hotel room if you knew whom to ask. 

Marcie hadn’t heard a noise from Robbie’s room yet and she really wanted to chat.  She was trying to understand what had happened.  Not ten days had passed since Marcie first met Greg Pearce.  Since then, the case had escalated to the point at which strangers were shooting at her for no apparent reason.  She’d come to few conclusions and had a list of questions and inquiries as long as her arm, oh, and the next Prime Minister of Canada might be one of their prime suspects.  Coincidences were piling up, and no one was turning out to be who they seemed. 

“Good morning, sugar.”  Including Robbie.

“Hey, Robbie.”

She heard him pour a cup of coffee and walk over to join her.

“Well, what do you think?”  He sat on the couch beside her.  He was still in his pyjamas and robe.

“Robbie, I think we need to find ‘the Institute’.”

“Sounds good.”

“But I also think we need to talk to Ida Greer.”

“Why?”

“Well, I keep wondering about what those barracudas said about her last night.  Not only does she seem like our kind of person, but she’s connected, too.  She might actually know something.”

“About what?  The Pearce’s don’t run in that crowd.”

“No, about ‘the Institute’.”

Robbie raised his eyebrows.  “Maybe.”  He didn’t seem convinced.

Marcie walked over to the desk, picked up the telephone, and dialled the office.  The phone rang twice and then picked up.

“Noel and Associates.”

“Jeff, go out and call me back on 212-N8Y-2210.”

“Got it.”

She hung up and sat by the telephone waiting.  Minutes later, it rang.

“Hello?”

“Hi.”  It was Jeff.

“Hi.”

“Hey, you made the news!  No one’s got any good footage, though. A roofcam caught you from the top of a high-rise, but it was fuzzy.  The cab driver almost didn’t get out of the taxi.”

“Is he okay?”

“Sure.  Some scratches.  He talks about you and Robbie as if you’re some kind of super heroes or something.  That must’ve been some fight.”

“Not really.  Mostly we ran away a lot.  Listen, Jeff, can you give me Ida Greer’s number?  I need to talk to her.”

“Sure, hang on a sec.  She didn’t have anything to do with the attack, did she?” 

Marcie paused.  Greer was pretty quick to hand over those tickets.  No.  No, I don’t think so.  Doesn’t add up.  she couldn’t put her finger on why.  “No, I don’t think so, Jeff.  I just think she has some information I need.”

“Here it is.  Her assistant’s name is Marshall and the code is 416-1PY-5920.”

“Thanks, Jeff.”

“Do you still want me to stay in the loft?”

“Please.  Make it look lived in, as if I’m still there.  Keep the blinds closed and order in, okay?”

“Sure.”

“Talk to you soon.”  Marcie hung up and dialled Greer’s code immediately. 

“Marshall Penfold.  May I help you?”

“Mr. Penfold, this is Marcie Noel of Noel and Associates.  I’m wondering if Ms. Greer has a couple of minutes to spare for me.”

“Oh, hello Ms. Noel.  I’m afraid Ms. Greer is out of town for a few days.  She may not pick up messages, so it might take her a while to return your call.”

Marcie hid her disappointment.  “No problem, Mr. Penfold.  Would you leave a message?”

“Sure.”

Marcie gave him the code for the room telephone.  “Thanks a lot.” 

Ten minutes later the phone rang.

“Marcie Noel.”

“Marcie,” said a cultured woman’s voice.  “Ida Greer.  So nice to talk to you again.  What can I do for you?”

Marcie was pleasantly surprised.  Penfold must have called Greer.  “Ms. Greer, so kind of you to return my call.  I have a request that may seem a bit unusual, but I’m hoping you’ll have the time to honour it.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to meet with you to discuss ‘the Institute’.”

Greer only paused for a millisecond, but Marcie heard it.

“What institute, Marcie?”

“That’s what I want to ask you about.”

“And why would you think I know anything?”

“Because the barracudas at the fundraiser tell me you know everything.”

“And do you always believe what you hear, Marcie?”

“Absolutely not.”

Another short pause.  “Well, coincidentally, I’m also in New York City doing some shopping.  I’m sure I can spare a few minutes for you.  Otherwise, you can wait until I return next week.”

God, another coincidence.  “That’s lucky, Ms. Greer.  How does lunch sound?”

“Lunch sounds fine. I like to eat at one.  And call me Ida.”

“Fine, Ida.  Is the Jean Georges in the Trump Tower all right with you?”

“Certainly.”

“Thank you, Ida.”

“I haven’t done anything yet, Marcie.  Good day.”  The line went dead.

Marcie hung up.  Robbie took the phone to reserve a table at Jean Georges, and then they spent the intervening four hours shopping.  What else does one do in New York City?  Of course, she hadn’t been able to pack, so the shopping was necessary.  Just perhaps not quite so much of it was necessary.

When she returned to the hotel, she put on her new white suit for the lunch and met Robbie in the main room of their suite at five to one.  He had pulled a suit cut leather jacket over his jeans and shirt.  He almost looked presentable.  Wow.

“What is up with you?”

“Gotta keep up appearances, sugar.”

They rode down the elevator, walked to the restaurant and were in their seats at one.  Ida Greer arrived shortly after.  She was a tall, thin woman of probably fifty years with a youthful attitude and a fire in her eyes.  Marcie liked her immediately.

They exchanged a few pleasantries and ordered their meals.  The menu was full of interesting classic French cuisine with a strong eastern twist.  The food was a little while coming, but when it finally arrived, it was exquisite, not surprising for a chef with such a reputation.  Marcie kept the talk light while they ate.  She waited until coffee came to broach the real topic of conversation.

“Ida, I asked you here to find out what you might know about ‘the Institute’.  Do you know what I’m talking about?”

Greer looked rueful. “The older you get, the more you know and eventually you know a little bit about everything, especially when you shut up and listen.  I’m afraid I have an eidetic memory, and it can be a burden because most people are very careless with their secrets.  They let something slip here, another detail there, and the next thing I know I’ve got it all figured out.  Ironically, I’m not interested in people’s secrets or the burden they can represent.”

“Is that why you shun society?”

“In part.  But mostly because I can’t stand the buggers.”  Marcie laughed.  Ida and Robbie did not.  Ida continued:  “Now, Marcie, you must understand that ‘the Institute’ is an ugly secret.  And it isn’t a kind place.  Not a kind place at all, at least what I know of it anyway.”

“How did you hear about it?”

“From a drunken friend, like everything else.  Power and privilege – along with a little alcohol – can stupefy some.  They size you up and assume you’re just as interested as they are in preserving your position.  They can’t imagine you’d disagree with some of the ridiculous things they do.”

“No.”

“But I have to say, sometimes I do tend to keep quiet about the secrets I hear.  And that’s my own personal hell, Marcie.  But on the topic of the Institute, I think I will speak, though I know little and the information is dangerous.  Human rights are being ignored, so take care how you use this knowledge.  I think the issue is set to explode, if you understand my meaning.  And one never wants to be too near the epicentre, does one?”

“No, ma’am.”

“‘The Institute’ is the Eastdown Institute, north of Toronto, just outside the town of Aurora on St. John’s Side Road.  I don’t know the exact address.  Apparently, they’re apprehending people, Marcie, on what criteria I don’t know, but I do know it isn’t random.  They’re apprehending people and they’re performing tests on them.  From what my associate told me, it all seems quite gruesome.  Assault certainly and, of course, an assault on human rights. However, not only the Canadian government, but the American as well, sanction the actions of the Institute, along with fourteen other countries.  That’s all I know, Marcie.  I caution you again; the man who told me this is dead.”  She paused while she took a sip of her coffee.  “He died of heart failure.”

“Don’t we all,” said Marcie.

They finished the lunch amicably enough, but Marcie was desperate to leave.  She wanted to go and check out this Eastdown Institute right away.  Perhaps she could get the papers involved.  If Helen Pearce was in Eastdown, Marcie was going to do whatever she could to get her out. 

Ida Greer left only a few minutes later. Immediately, Marcie started tapping the table impatiently as she waited for the cheque.

“Slowly, sugar.  Slow down.”

“We have a lot to do, Robbie.”

“Yes, but we won’t do it all today.  And I think we need to take it slow.  Sugar, this sounds bigger than us.”

You’re right.  Marcie felt a twinge of fear.  The bill came and Robbie signed it off.  They left the restaurant immediately and went up to the room where Marcie changed back into her jeans and shirt. She also pulled on a new pair of cowboy boots, beautifully tooled in real leather.  Too much money, but she didn’t care.  She walked out to the main room.

“Coffee, sugar?”  Marcie could smell the fresh pot.  Robbie was hunched over at his desk and didn’t look up from his laptop.

“Yeah, thanks.”  She went over and poured herself a cup.  “Look, you’re right.  I need to take it slow.  I’d be going off half-cocked.”  Robbie stopped typing and looked at her.

“Sure, but what was your first impulse?”

“I wanted to get a look at the place, just to get a feel for it.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

“Of course, then, I wanted to knock on the door, arrest everybody, and free the prisoners.”

“Thanks G.I. Jane.”

“You asked.”

“I don’t think we should do a fly-by.  I bet there’s somebody keeping track of all air traffic.”

“I agree.  A ground car, then?”

“Yes.”

“I hate them.”

“Not this one, you won’t.”

“Hmph.  You know what?  I have an idea.  Are you logged on?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me borrow that computer for a minute.”  She checked her webmail and found a note from Tracy.  “Whoosh.”

“What’s up?”

“I got that condo, for a healthy piece of change.”

“You seem overjoyed.”

“It’s just not a priority anymore, I suppose.”

“Well, congrats.  Listen, I know a few people who might be able to help us, but we’ll have to come back here to meet with them after we finish scouting Eastdown.”

“No problem.  I like it in New York.  Nobody shoots at you.”

“Ha ha.  I’ll make some calls.”

“And I think we need a little excuse to be up in Aurora.  I think I need to do a little more real estate shopping, don’t you?”

“Oh sure, sugar.”  Robbie picked up the hotel phone.

Marcie spent a few minutes checking real estate websites and then sent an instant message to a condo sales office in Aurora, Ontario.  An answer came back right away.  Marcie typed back a response and sat back.

“Okay, we have an appointment for four-thirty.”

“That’s tight,” Robbie said as he put down his phone.

“I told them we might be late.  We’ll make it.”

Marcie logged off and handed the computer back to Robbie.  They left immediately.

They were back at Robbie’s condo in Toronto by three thirty where they grabbed a snack and then took the elevator down to the basement ground car garage.  Garages stink. Marcie couldn’t help wrinkling her nose at the smell of gasoline.  She was used to cell powered PAs, clean and quiet, but she followed Robbie without comment.  He walked up to a small red vehicle with sleek lines, very similar to a PA. 

“It looks like a Porsche.”

“That’s because it is a Porsche.”

“A Porsche ground car?  They haven’t made these things for twenty years.”

“This car is almost a hundred years old.  Get in.”

Porsche, and many of the other sports car manufacturers, had taken a huge hit in twenty-forty when the governments of many countries outlawed selling new performance combustion engine vehicles for general use, just like that, and threatened to outlaw combustion engines, period.  The condition of the air on the globe had become critical.  Drastic measures were called for.  Some companies folded but others, like Porsche, started building high quality, luxury, cell-powered family cars.  They stayed in their niche, but redefined their product to suit new attitudes.

Adapting seemed to be one of the company’s strong suits.  Porsche was the first ground car manufacturer to jump into the PA market as soon as the patents cleared about thirty years before.  As is often the case, Leonard Parker, the original inventor of the PA technology, got nowhere with it, mainly because of the amount of infrastructure needed for the masses to pilot the little planes safely.  This was the time before Control.   Parker had neither the resources nor the salesmanship to build up the capital necessary.    It wasn’t until the major car companies pitched in to fund the development of Control that the concept of personal flying vehicles took off.  Before they did that, however, Leonard Parker had to be bought out.  He was originally hired to run the development corporation but was quickly voted out of his job by the major shareholders.  Leonard Parker died infamous but poor, living off a modest retirement income.

Marcie got in.  This vehicle was comfortable and sleek in its interior design.  She liked it.  Robbie pulled out a set of old style keys, put one in the lock and turned it to start the car.  The engine revved and then purred.

“Built before they took the teeth out of them,” Robbie told her.  “This car’s only had five owners.”  He stroked the dashboard, “And everybody loved you, didn’t they?”  Marcie blinked.  He was talking to a car. She wasn’t sure how many more revelations about him she could take.

“We’d better go or we’ll miss the appointment with the real estate agent.”

“Sure,” he said.  He backed out of the parking spot and drove the vehicle up a ramp, out a security door, and onto Niagara Street.  He turned right and drove to Bathurst, and then turned left and went down to Lakeshore Road.  There was a lot of bicycle traffic, but little else.

He drove east along Lakeshore past condo building after condo building.  You couldn’t see the lake at all.  What a horrible way to travel. Then, he turned onto Bayview Avenue and drove north.  There was no one on the road.  Half an hour later, they jogged over to Leslie Street at 19thAvenue.

Not long after that, they turned left onto St. John’s Side Road.  Marcie kept her eyes peeled looking for Eastdown.  They came up to it fairly quickly:  a small building that had been added onto an old farmhouse.  The sign was understated; in fact, the whole place seemed unassuming, serene, quite pretty and neat, especially with all the greenery.  If the land developers earlier in the century had had their way, the whole area would have been full of subdivisions.  But, the Institute had been built on the Moraine, an area that was home to many species of animals threatened by the unchecked development at the time, not to mention the threat to the water supply for the whole of the city of Toronto.  Governments had stepped in to curb expansion, so even this close to the city centre, there were fields and meadows, no McDonalds anywhere.  But, somehow, despite bylaws and regulations, the Institute had been built recently on the site of an old farm and, subsequently, enjoyed the privacy of having no close neighbours.   There were maybe twenty PAs in a parking lot built for thirty and no one in sight except a security guard in the gatehouse.

For the benefit of anyone watching them, they continued west along the side road and turned off a few kilometres later in the centre of Aurora at a sign advertising a new condo development.  Robbie and Marcie went into the Presentation Office and sat through the complete sales pitch.  The places were large and sunny, but Marcie told the woman she wanted to think about it because she was addicted to downtown living.  They thanked the saleswoman and left.  So, if anyone asked, she’d taken the trip up to investigate real estate in Aurora – not on a case at all.

They drove back the way they came and Marcie got another look.  Nothing new to add, except she had a nice view of some gardens on the east side of the building.  They drove all the way back to the city, pulled into the underground garage, and parked the vehicle.

“Well, do you feel better?”

“It doesn’t seem like the kind of place where people are being held and tortured, Robbie.  It didn’t seem threatening at all.  It looks like a spa or a retreat.”

“On the surface.”

“Yes.”

“Well how far down does it go, sugar?  How deep?  There’s always a lot you can’t see.” Robbie the philosopher.

He got out of the vehicle.  Marcie followed.  He pulled a remote out of his pocket and activated his PA waiting on the roof. It would be ready and idling as soon as they got there.  Cool. They rode the elevator to the top floor and went out through a nice roof lobby.  They walked out onto the pad and over to Robbie’s PA.

Robbie and Marcie got into the vehicle and closed their doors.  Marcie sat back and prepared her stomach as Robbie said clearly:  ‘New York City’.  The PA lifted off but didn’t climb to the international lanes.  Instead, it headed off southwest in the slow lanes.  Robbie swore.  She’d never heard him swear before. 

Very few people knew how to commandeer a PA, and even fewer bothered to do it, because you invariably got the owner with the vehicle.  And that’s just no fun.  But in this case, they probably wanted the owner and his passenger.

Robbie spoke in a clear voice:  “Override, override.  RGALL15.”  The vehicle did not hover as it was supposed to during an ‘override’.  Robbie tried again.  “Override, override RGALL15.”  Nothing.  Voice activations had been turned off.

“What about the failsafe?”

“Disabled.”

“Well, I can crack it.”

“No you can’t.”

“Come on, I…”

“Can you see a keyboard anywhere, sugar?”

“Oh.”  They had taken the keyboard.

Marcie tapped her neck and said “Home.”  Nothing.  The signal was blocked.  For safety reasons, PAs could jam any radio signal but their own when necessary.  This feature ensured that the Control signal was guaranteed to get through in times of crisis.  But in the case of a hijacking, the feature is used to keep the inhabitants quiet.  It was an odd experience being trapped in a PA.  Marcie had never felt so helpless.  At least we’re not travelling in the direction of Eastdown.  Then, she thought about the guy with the slicked back hair and the gun and she felt even more helpless. 

Monday, June 28, 2083. 11:00 p.m.

They were in the air for five hours while the PA executed a series of small jumps.  Clearly, the kidnappers did not want the journey to be tracked by Control.  Control allowed no vehicle into anything but the lowest lanes without clearance which required on-the-spot identification of the pilot and confirmation of the pilot’s ID code and password – in part to verify the pilot’s ability to navigate the stream he was attempting to enter and in part to link the PA into the Control system, thereby guaranteeing that there would be no collisions.  Early in their history, PA collisions were common and, despite each PA being outfitted with its own parachute, some crashes had been disastrous, not only to the people in the air, but also to the third parties on the ground. 

So, obviously in order to avoid detection, this PA had been programmed to take the slow ride in the low lanes.  How they got past the border without pilot confirmation was a trick Marcie wanted to learn.  She would find out how their kidnappers did it later, assuming there was a later.  They came down finally in the middle of a farmyard, a few hundred feet from an old, greying, clapboard farmhouse. 

“We’re somewhere in the Midwest.  I’d guess Arizona, but I’m not sure.  I know the eastern seaboard by sight, but not out here.”  Without the keyboard or voice commands, they’d been unable to call up the nav system to follow their path.

“We could be anywhere.”

“No, that’s pretty dry out there, sugar.  Utah.  Arizona.  The Colorado hills.  Something like that.”

The vehicle set down lightly not far from a stately shade tree, popped its doors, and then powered down.  Though it was dark, they could see five people with shotguns covering every angle of the vehicle.  Robbie shrugged and got out, so Marcie followed.  You have to know when you’re beaten.  That way you get to live to fight another day.

“Over to the house,” said a twenty-something man in overalls and a checkered shirt.  He looked like he’d stepped out of a rustic painting.  They all did.  Robbie, Marcie and the PA were out of place in this scene.  The young man turned and led the way.  Robbie and Marcie behaved.  There were four other guns pointed at their backs.  They went up on the porch, opened the screen door which groaned just as one might expect, and went inside.  As they did, Marcie looked back and saw the PA being driven into an old weather-beaten barn. 

They came into a small entrance hall.  There were stairs going up in front of them.  To their right was a dining area and, judging by the good smells, the kitchen beyond.  Marcie’s tummy rumbled.  They hadn’t had a proper meal in a long time.  To their left, they could see a large living room in which every wall was lined with bookshelves.  They followed the young man down the central hallway past the stairs to the back of the house.  They came to a small hallway that led to the backdoor on one side and the kitchen on the other.  They did a one-eighty turn to access the cellar door.  The young man led them down the stairs into a basement, and then through a trapdoor, which stood open, and finally down a steep set of stairs into the cold cellar.  At least that’s what Marcie thought until the man turned on a light.  In front of her and between shelves full of potatoes, was a newish looking elevator door.  She blinked.

“This is what you get for asking a lot of questions,” said the man. But he wasn’t being unkind – in fact, he winked – and he was resting his rifle casually on his arm, probably relying on the shock to keep his lambs in check.  “I’m Jason.”

“Marcie Noel.  Nice to meet you,” Marcie mumbled.  Robbie was silent.  His face was a clean mask.  He was livid to the point of violence and trying to control himself.

The elevator arrived.  Marcie half expected it to ding, but it didn’t.  They stepped inside and Jason said clearly, “Level six.”

There were twenty buttons marked on the panel.  Twenty? ‘You never know how deep it goes.’  counted fifteen seconds before the elevator beeped the first level.  They stopped at Level 6 and the doors opened.

Marcie saw a small, bare anteroom with three reinforced steel doors, one on each wall – no signs, no instructions.  Jason turned left and punched in a code to open the door.  He walked through and Marcie followed with Robbie behind.  The corridor wasn’t long, maybe thirty feet, but there were six doors in it, two on the left, three on the right, and one at the end of the corridor.  They walked the length and went through the door on the end.  It opened onto a wide hallway, with dimmed lighting.  For the late hour?  Marcie didn’t know. 

They turned left and walked to end of this hallway, footfalls echoing on the tile floors.  The place had a bureaucratic feel, like an insurance company office.  They walked into an empty waiting room.  There was a large reception desk at which sat a young, professional looking man.  On the opposite wall, a few chairs were set up and there was a door that, presumably, led to the inner office.

They walked to the desk and the young man nodded at their escort and said pleasantly, “Jason, take them right in.  He’s waiting for you.”  The man hit a button on the impressive control panel on his desk.

“Thanks,” said Jason, as he walked past the desk.  Marcie was too nonplussed to say anything.  She didn’t feel like a prisoner, but she didn’t really know what to think.  She decided to play along and see what would happen.

Jason opened the inner door.  They walked in as a man of about fifty stood up behind his desk.  Jason gestured that they should continue in.  Marcie complied and Robbie reluctantly followed.

“So glad you got here in one piece,” said the older man as he walked around the desk to greet them.  There was something of the politician in him, but without the need to ingratiate.  “Dr. John Stellan, how do you do?”

Marcie shook his hand.  “Marcie Noel.  How do you do?  And this is Robbie…”

“McLean, yes, so happy to meet you Robbie.”  Robbie shook his hand grudgingly.  Marcie could tell he was still angry, but starting to settle down.  Clearly, they were in an extraordinary circumstance and his curiosity was piqued.  He was interested in seeing where it was all going.

“So,” said Marcie.  “Where exactly are we anyway?” 

“Well,” said Stellan.  “Sit down and I’ll tell you what I can.”

‘What I can’ read ‘all I’m prepared to tell you’.  Marcie decided to listen and watch carefully, but she didn’t think she was going to get the whole story.  She looked around Stellan’s office.  He had a large desk clear of personal mementos, and almost clear of paper.  A full wall of vidscreens and other electronic equipment was currently off.   

“Ms. Noel, Mr. McLean, welcome to Origin.  Do you prefer Grant, Mr. McLean?”  Robbie shrugged.  “No?  Origin is a large complex, one I hope you’ll take the time to get to know personally.”  Marcie said nothing.  She couldn’t commit to anything without hearing him out first. 

“Origin is a private research facility set up by a man named Harold Winter about eighty years ago.  Winter made a lot of money in pharmaceuticals, well, billions.  Near the end of his life, he became obsessed with ridding the world of disease.  He decided to set up an organization to do research.  Unfortunately, he was also a little insane.  He thought that the government, driven by other pharmaceutical companies, would try to sabotage his work.  So, this place is a secret.  And, it has remained a secret all this time.  We’ve worked to keep the research going, and we’ve not been unsuccessful, let me tell you. 

“But now, Winter’s fears have come true.  The government is after our secrets and our people.  We cannot come forward for fear of being rounded up ourselves.  We’re powerless.  We’ve been labelled a terrorist organization.  We are hunted by security forces in sixteen countries and, once caught, we are subjected to testing, stripped of any pretence of human rights.”

“Is that why you feel it’s okay to take away the rights of others yourself?”  Robbie’s voice was almost sarcastic.  Stellan looked down at his desk.  He had no answer.  Marcie decided to change the subject.

“You’re the group that uses a swastika as a signature?”

“Yes.”

“Not a wise choice.”

“I know, but Winter set it all up that way.  There’s an initiative to change it.”

“I think you should.”

“Maybe you’d like to tell us why we’re here?” asked Robbie in a controlled way.  He obviously wanted to keep them on topic.

Stellan looked at him directly.  “We shouldn’t have hijacked you.  Forgive us.  But our people have been watching you for about ten days now, ever since you were hired by Greg Pearce, and we felt you were going to be picked up by the other side soon, just like he was.”

“Fine.  Who has Greg Pearce?”

“The government, almost certainly,” said Stellan, “and just like him, the government would’ve let you rot in jail, or worse.”

“I have a good lawyer.”  Marcie was feeling a bit petulant.

“A good lawyer wouldn’t be able to help you. A good lawyer wouldn’t be able to find you and then a good lawyer would make a stink.  Then, he’d be rounded up just like you were, along with all your friends and family.  It’s getting dirty.”

“Fine.  But why are we here?”  Robbie again, very focused.

“Ms. Noel, you’re looking for Helen Pearce?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ve been looking for her for over a dozen years.  She’s my niece.  For various reasons, I lost her when my sister and brother-in-law were killed in a car accident.  We sometimes have trouble keeping track of those who have left Origin.  My brother-in-law decided to move out when my sister found out she was pregnant.  He told me he didn’t want his daughter to grow up under black clouds.  Now, she’s in Eastdown and the sky couldn’t be any darker.  I mean to get her out.  You already know about the Institute?”

Marcie nodded her head.  “But there’s something else going on here, something you’re not telling me, Dr. Stellan.  I believe you when you say the government is after you, and I believe people are being rounded up.  We’ve been able to identify dozens of folks gone missing in the last few years.  But my investigation also tells me that these people are being sent to Eastdown and subjected to testing.  I might expect torture, perhaps, for their secrets, yes?  But no, even you used the word ‘testing’.  These people have no secrets, do they Stellan?  They arethe secret.”  Stellan remained quiet and Marcie continued on.  “You have to tell me the whole story, Stellan, or I simply can’t help you.  You may think that because you’re the enemy of my enemy, you’re my friend.  This isn’t always the case.”

Stellan sighed.  He suddenly looked like a man shouldering all the world’s cares.  “These people, Ms. Noel, my people, we’re different from the rest of the world.  But we pose no threat, Ms. Noel.  We mean no harm.  We’re still human beings, and we deserve to be accorded the same rights and freedoms of all human beings.  But we are not accorded these rights and freedoms.  We are jailed without trial.  We are subjected to disgusting experiments.  We all live in fear for our lives.”

Marcie licked her lips.  “How different?”

Stellan paused.  “I’m not supposed to divulge certain pieces of information without approval from a committee.  Hard for you to believe?  We believe that decision-making is stronger in groups.  But for various reasons, I haven’t been able to confirm permission to reveal our history yet.  I’m going to have to force the issue, though I’m sure she expects it.  Come with me.”  She?  Who’s she?

Unceremoniously, he stood and walked out of the room.  Marcie and Robbie followed.  They went to a new bank of elevators and Stellan said clearly:  “Elevator, down.”  The thing beeped.  Moments later, the elevator came and they stepped in.

“Elevator, Level 7.”  The elevator doors closed.  Stellan continued, “Marcie, we’re so secretive, it’s become a way of life.  And most folks are happy with the way things are and they see no need to change.  From their point of view, we have everything we need:  food, water, shelter, and power.  So they don’t see a need to share the information of our existence.  I didn’t bring you here lightly.”
“I don’t contest that, I…”

The elevator doors opened and the conversation paused as they stepped out.  Stellan turned back to Marcie.  “I’m sorry.  I know this is new to you, but I ask you not to debate but to listen.  We have so few guests here, Marcie, that everyone we meet knows you’re here, will recognize you on sight, knows your name and the names of all your staff back home.  They know where you live and a good many of them have probably memorized your phone code and your address.  Everyone here knows what you’re capable of, and everyone here will try to help you as much as they can.  We haven’t had guests here, Marcie, in over twenty years.  But I believe these are trying times. And, I believe we need new answers.”

Stellan turned around and walked to the end of a short hallway.  Marcie and Robbie followed.  Something was niggling in the back of Marcie’s head, like she was trying to make a connection.  They stopped at a reception desk. 

“Nancy, will you tell Alva I’m here, please.  Ask her if she has a few minutes, would you?” 

“Certainly, Dr. Stellan.  She’s expecting you, actually.” 

When Stellan turned back to Marcie and Robbie he had a wry look on his face.  “We’re at the offices of Origin’s Director of Operations, but mind, it’s a political title as well as an administrative one, so in effect, she’s our prime minister or our president.  We don’t hold elections like they do outside.  Our politicians and senior public servants are one in the same thing.  Alva Lew has been running this facility for almost twenty years.  She means to step down as soon as a competent successor is identified.”

“Then the new person will be appointed?’

“Elected, we call it, but it has much more to do with proven ability and competence to govern than it does about election campaigns.  Usually the person who wins is too busy working to actually campaign.  It’s all fought on the Reels.”  The inner door opened.  “I’ll explain later.”

A thin woman with olive skin and oval eyes emerged from the inner office.  She was impeccably dressed and moving very well for her obvious age – Marcie guessed she was around seventy-five.  “John, how are you?”

“Good, Alva, good.  Please, I would like you to meet Marcie Noel and Robbie McLean.  Marcie and Robbie, Alva Lew, our Director.”

“Yes, pleased to meet you.”  She didn’t really look that pleased.  “Come in, will you?”

She led them into her office.  Marcie noted with surprise that there was absolutely no ceremony, no pomp and circumstance associated with this meeting.  Wait a minute, who was Stellan that he could go visit the Director any time he felt like it?

The office was about twice the size of Dr. Stellan’s but not ostentatious.  It was warmer, without the banks of vidscreens and other toys.  They all sat looking at Alva Lew.  Age had taken its toll on a woman who was probably beautiful in her youth, but her eyes were still clear and bright.

“Alva, I’ve come to ask your permission to break protocols.”  Alva was already nodding.

“Yes.  I suspected as much.”  She spoke lightly, but in a resigned fashion.  “I will formally register my opposition, though I honestly don’t see any other option.  Not to worry, John.  You were the one who said this would happen.”

“Thank-you. Alva.

“Is that all, John?  I’m a bit weary and it’s late.”  She stood.  They all stood with her.  “You are welcome here Ms. Noel, Mr. McLean.  I hope you can help us.  John, you’ve probably forgotten to feed them.  Get them some food.  They might not have your energy or singleness of mind.”

“Yes, Alva.”

“You have yourself a nice night.” 

“Yes, Alva, thank-you.  Good night.”  Alva sat down and focused her attention on her paperwork.  The very short meeting was over.  Stellan looked at Marcie and Robbie pointedly.  Both mumbled their good nights and followed Stellan out of the room.

He said nothing as he led them back to the elevator.  Stellan must be important, but he has no escort, even with ‘guests’ from the outside.

They stepped into the elevator and Stellan said, “Level 19.”  Again, he fell silent.  The elevator made its journey and the doors opened.  “The Promenade Level.  It’s beautiful, no?”  He stepped out, but Marcie stopped a moment to take it all in.  She could see a huge atrium, certainly hundreds of feet wide and high. Around the atrium were rings of balconies, many alight with the soft wavering glow of candles or lanterns.  In the centre of the floor of the atrium was a wide road, down which many people were walking despite the late hour.  Some were browsing the few stalls left open, some going about their business.  A few small sleek, electrical robots buzzed this way and that.

“This is like a colony.  Only, it’s a colony on Earth.”  Robbie was shaking his head.

“I think Winter originally imagined that we’d live on the moon.  Though how he thought we’d all get there, I don’t know.  We’re completely self-sustaining.  We don’t even bring air in or vent pollutants out to the outside.  Don’t worry; we’re not an invading force, Marcie.  We’re human.  We belong here.  Come.”

They walked down The Promenade.  Everyone was aware of their passing.  Marcie noticed these people seemed taller than most.  Many were dressed in lively colours; others in neutrals.  A lot of the women were as tall as Marcie, and a large proportion of both men and women had curly or wavy hair.  Most people seemed to move gracefully, as if everyone on the street had studied karate the way she had.  There were folks of every colour and background.  Some of the men were massive, so Robbie didn’t look out of place as he often did on city streets.

Stellan walked purposefully to one of the stalls, which turned out not to be a stall at all, but an entrance to a restaurant.  Thank goodness. They walked up to the maitre d’.

“Dr. Stellan,” he said immediately, a smile on his face.  “You honour us with your presence.”

“Luke, I’m here almost every night.  You don’t have to suck up to me.”

“But Dr. Stellan, you don’t bring Outsiders here every night.”  He turned to Marcie and Robbie.  “Come in, come in!  Welcome, welcome!”  Luke herded them into the restaurant where a table waited for them.  Their glasses were filled with water, drinks orders taken, and menus left at each place with so much efficiency, it was almost surreal.  The menu listed some dishes Marcie had heard of and a lot she hadn’t. They were quiet as they all studied the menu, partially because Robbie and Marcie really had to study the menu and partially because Stellan was obviously not interested in talking yet.

They received their drinks, placed their orders, and then sat back.  Marcie and Robbie were uncharacteristically passive as they waited for Stellan to speak.  He finally did.

 “Well, I set my course today and the citizens will certainly have choices to make over the next few weeks.  Alva is dead set against what I’m doing here.  She believes the problem will resolve itself and she believes we cannot risk exposure to the outside.  She wants us to avoid direct confrontation at all costs.  I disagree.  It must’ve been hard for her to grant my request to fill you in.  I wish I’d had more time to go through channels.  I hate offending her.  She so treasures loyalty.”

Marcie sat back and thought.  Clearly, there were nuances of behaviour here that she could not yet read.  Just like in Tokyo.  She’d visited there once and been astounded at the number of protocols and rules, the inescapable formality of life in that city.  But Tokyo was a city like this one: built vertically, the concept of public space fuzzy at best, everyone crammed in.  One simply had to be polite.

“She didn’t seem upset to me,” Marcie said finally.

“Well,” said Stellan.  “Done is done.  And, now, I must tell you our big secret.”

“Okay, shoot.”  This from Robbie who clearly had had enough.

“We’re not homo sapiens.”

“What do you mean, you’re not human?”  Robbie didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused.

“We’re human, just not homo sapiens.  We’re a new species.”

Robbie said nothing but raised an eyebrow.  Marcie decided to hold her piece as well.  She felt frightened, but she was trying to grapple with that little voice in the back of her head.  Some important information was on the way.

Stellan continued:  “Winter’s strategies and experiments took us farther than even he ever imagined.  Around the turn of this century, more and more diseases were spontaneously crossing the animal/human barrier.  He had to get creative.  He started splicing genes, throwing in completely new compounds.  He finally produced people who could withstand illness, but in the process, he created a new species.  A new kind of human being.  We’ve taken to calling ourselves fortunatusbecause we’re luckier than sapiens.  The designation is a bit of a misnomer, just like sapiensmeaning ‘wise’, but it suffices as well as any other term, I suppose.  We differ from homo sapiensin many ways, but we’re as closely related to sapiensas the Neanderthal were.  We share about ninety-nine percent of our DNA with sapiens.  But we are different.  In general we collaborate better, we’re healthier, we’re taller, and, as I said, we’re luckier than sapiens.”

Marcie and Robbie were stunned to silence.  Political conspiracy, she could handle.  Greed, lust, stuff like that.  She was used to dealing in these things.  But this news was far bigger than any she’d heard in her whole life.  Stellan was respectfully silent.  Finally, Marcie collected herself.  She wanted to know more.

“What do you mean luckier?” asked Marcie.

“In a situation in which we have no information to guide us, we guess the right answer approximately sixty percent of the time.”

“A few hundred years ago, Carl Jung recorded that Man, I mean sapiens, guesses right about fifty-five percent of the time.”  This from Robbie.  Marcie turned to look at him.  Where do you pick up these things?

“Yes.  And our ability to guess right more often does give us an edge.”

“But this collaborative advantage must be incredible.  For example:  here, I see no street signs, no ceremony for VIPs, and most importantly, no tipping the maitre d’.”  She smiled.

Stellan couldn’t help himself.  He laughed.  “Yes, well, there’s no money in the first place.  Resources are allocated on an as-needed basis.  That’s all.”

Marcie nodded.  Astounding.  A new species of human.  I’m taking this remarkably well.  food arrived.

Marcie took a bite of the seafood salad she’d ordered.  “This is real crab.”

“Oh yes.”

“I thought you said you were self-sustaining.  Wouldn’t you have to fly this stuff in?”

“We have subterranean aquariums here, subterranean farms of all descriptions.  We’re not bothered about the seasons.  We continually grow what we need.”

Robbie was toying with his food.  “Let’s say we believe you about this new species thing.  Why are you telling us this?  Why do you expect us to help you?”

Stellan became serious.  “Well, we think you may help us because we think you’re one of us.  We think you both may be fortunatus.”

“Hmmmm.”  The back of Marcie’s brain went clunk.  It was something her father said once when she came home crying from school.  The kids were so mean sometimes that Marcie cried, not as much out of hurt feelings, but out of frustration.

“Why can’t everyone just get along?”  She had sobbed to her father as she sat on his knee.  She must have been five or six.

“Marcie, I want you to remember that you’re special.  That you’re different from your friends, and that you’re going to be a very special lady when you grow up.  Try not to let them bother you.  Honey, they don’t know any better and you do.”

Was her father hinting at the fact that the whole family was different?

“You’ve never been in hospital, have you Marcie?  You Robbie?”

They were both shaking their heads.

“Have you seen a doctor once a year?  A dentist?”

No.  Marcie had always enjoyed great health.  She thought it was good genes.  She hadn’t realized how good.  Stellan was nodding his head, knowingly.

“We also want you because, if we’re right and you are fortunatus, you’re unique for our race.  You’re both in violent fields.  You’re both well-versed and talented in areas that fortunatus usually are not.  We need you because we’re going to have to escalate things.  We’ve just recently received a communication that details the maltreatment of the people in Eastdown.  We can’t leave them there any longer.  So, we need you to break Helen, and all of the other inmates, out of Eastdown.

“We know you won’t commit to doing this unless you’re sure you’re one of us.  We can do the tests with just one drop of blood and a genetic analysis.  You can know in ten minutes.”

“You’re right.  I’d want to know for sure.”  But part of her already knew.


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Thanks for reading Chapter 4.  If you liked this chapter and want to encourage Jacqui to post more chapters and write more books, please click on one of the sponsored links on this page.  Thanks!

Jacqui Burke is a Freelance Director/Writer/Theatrical Teacher.  At time of posting, projects include:  Wrong For Each Other for Encore Entertainment, opening late March; and The Mayan Prediction, this years Toronto Homeschoolers Kidsplay, a one night only event, June 20.  Up to date information on Jacqui's projects can be found at her website.


Thanks, as always, to John for his ongoing support and Brenda for her ongoing inspiration.