The Pretender - Chapter 9

Sunday, July 18, 2083.  11:30 am

Marcie and Robbie sat at the dining table by a large picture window displaying a truly spectacular view of the valley beyond.  The sun was bright in a hazy, blue summer sky clear of PAs.  Robbie was watching a sailboat in the lake in the distance, but Marcie wasn’t looking.  She’d hit gold: a satellite uplink and a relatively fast portable computer.  She’d signed on in minutes and started a new webmail account, preparing to work.

The first thing she did was send a rather cryptic email to Jeff that she hoped he would recognize as her.  He responded almost immediately.  He said he was sorry she’d come to no good and could she keep it up please, because, paradoxically, her notoriety was turning out to be good for business.  And by the way, she looked cute in that little blue suit.  What?  The prison outfit?  When did they take a picture of me in this?  She decided to take the email for what it meant:  All was well; they didn’t need her.

Then, she tried to find out what had happened to Origin.  She couldn’t get the place out of her head.  The faces and personalities of the place had started to haunt her.  Their deaths were ignominious; their fates unnecessary.  Had they decided to kill everyone?  Were they all gone?  She did a manual search of the news sites.  What could I keyword search for?  Genocide?  There were reports of weapons testing in Arizona but, as she expected, no mention of the complex they were bombing.  Just a few pieces critical of the government for snarling traffic in the Midwest and a few editorials complaining about the cost of the military.

“Even if Origin is destroyed, there must be something left of the fortunatus who were Outside.  Maybe we could connect with them, Robbie.”

“Maybe, sugar.”

Marcie started a set of searches for various keywords:  Origin, Stellan, fortunatus.  Nothing.  She scanned various fringe sites and streams for any hints or clues.  Nothing.  She shrugged and started a system-wide search for ‘swasti3.gif’, the original search she’d used to locate the fortunatus in the first place.  She sat back to wait.  After a while, Robbie called out that the bathroom was free and Marcie startled.  She hadn’t noticed him leave.  She checked the vidscreen again but nothing.  She went for a shower.  The bathroom was well appointed, nothing rustic about the plumbing.  Marcie came out of the shower and found out that clothes had been laid out for her to wear.  Simple stuff:  a white t-shirt and jeans.  But, oh, fresh socks.  It’s the little things.

Afterward, she checked back and the system was still waiting for a hit.  She frowned and went to the kitchen.  She assumed the computer systems inside Origin were destroyed but she had hoped she would find some fortunatus computers Outside.  She went to the kitchen and made some more coffee, scrambled some powdered eggs, and toasted some frozen bread.  She served Pauline and Robbie in the livingroom and, then, brought her meal back to the table so she could watch the laptop’s vidscreens while she ate.  Still nothing.  She sighed.

“Wanna play cards, sugar?”  Robbie came up to the table.  “Pauline won’t play with me anymore.”

“I think he cheats,” said Pauline from the couch.

“Sore loser,” said Robbie as he sat down.

“I’m not getting anywhere, here, Robbie.  What if I come up empty?”

“Just wait.  We’ll deal with it if you find nothing, but I think you just need to be patient.  Canasta?”  He raised a pack of playing cards and smiled.

“Sure.”  She put the computer aside, took the cards, and shuffled and dealt them while Robbie got some coffee.

They played canasta for some time.  Robbie was good.  She stopped the game with the excuse that she needed to check the computer, not really expecting to find anything, and darn it if there wasn’t a hit, one lone file with that tag in the whole Internet, or at least as much of the internet she’d been able to search.  She smiled and went to pour herself another cup of coffee.

“Sorry, Robbie.  I’m back to work.”

“We could finish the game.”

“Yeah, but I don’t need to lose three in a row.”

“So,” he said as she disappeared into the kitchen, “that’s one forfeit to me, then.”

“Fine,” she called.

She came back, stuck her tongue out at him, and then sat down at the laptop.  The vidscreen was blinking its one hit.  Marcie copied and, then, entered the address of its location in her browser window.  Blocked.  No access.  Give me a break.  She started the long process of inventing the personalities she would use to break into the remote computer.  She got to work and it cracked like an egg.  That was too easy – is this a trap?   She went in anyway; ready to break the link at any time.  She tried to open the page she’d been looking for and found it encrypted.  She cracked the file in seconds, opened it, and sucked in her breath.  A message from Stellan dated the seventeenth.  She didn’t think about it.  She pressed ‘copy all’, and then pasted the text into a notepad.  She dropped the file, cleared the personality that had pulled the file, and killed the link, all in mere seconds.  She would leave the computer offline until tomorrow.  Most reverse tracers neither moved fast enough to track that quickly, nor kept looking past twenty-four hours.

Then she turned to the message:





July 17, 2083

To:  Our Family Outside

Urgent Help Requested.

Origin is under attack.  I believe that the government will stop at nothing to destroy the complex and I, and other like-minded citizens, have decided to leave immediately.  Sadly, we number only a couple thousand people.  Most of the population believe they are not in danger and have chosen to stay behind and wait to be incarcerated.  But, at time of writing, bombs are being dropped overhead.  I fear the worst.

We neither know our route nor how long it will take us to climb out of here and we have no idea how long our supplies will last.  We may need assistance.

If you read this within a few days, please pass this message on to other family members.

If you can help, please do.

John Stellan



Marcie sighed.  I hate climbing.  She blinked a bit at the screen and swallowed some more coffee.  She turned to Robbie who was playing solitaire.

“Okay, I’ve found a note from Stellan.”

“So?”

“Well, there’s no official record of the damage done to Origin, which tells me it’s been destroyed and the government is happy to let the dead take their damning secrets to the grave.”  Robbie shook his head.  “But, about two thousand of our people left the complex before the bombs broke through and are trying to climb their way out.  There must be a complex path of caverns leading out.  Assuming the best, they got away but they’ll probably need some help.  Read.”  Robbie looked intently at the vidscreen and read the message.

He looked bemused.  “What can we do?”

“There’s the question.”  Marcie raised her eyebrows and sat back.  “We need resources.

“Did you check to see if we have any money?”

“No, and I won’t be able until tomorrow because there might be a tracer out there looking for this.”  She gestured toward the laptop.  They were silent for a moment.  “Robbie, how many of us do you think there are, in total?  How many, other than the ones at Origin?”

“Oh, sugar, easily thousands.”

“Some of us fairly successful, too, I expect.  So what if I break the fortunatus story to the media?  Wouldn’t those people be motivated to help?”

“Assuming they know about their heritage, yeah, but this sounds like a sure-fire way of getting caught.”

“Well, not sure-fire.”

Robbie thought for a moment and then shook his head.  “I really don’t want to stick my head up.  We could be more effective working underground.  What can we do if we’re caught?”

“But Robbie, it’s worth a try.  We’ve been hiding all these years and, now, the secret is literally killing us.  I understand why it was important to keep quiet before, but now….?  We’re lab rats.  We’re gun fodder.  We’re running scared.”  She looked at his face.  He was still conflicted.

“It’s too risky.”

“Tell me this, though.  Just respond when I ask you the question:  Is it time to tell the world?”

“Yes.”  Robbie was nodding and feeling certain.  He said.  “Ask Pauline.”

“Mum!”

“Yes.”  Pauline was in the livingroom reading.

“Yes or no, Mum.  Should we let the world know about fortunatus?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” said Marcie, looking back at Robbie.  “Somebody has to do it.  May as well be us.  Doesn’t matter who hears about it as long as the fortunatus do, but if the general public does believe us, we might clear up our reps a bit.  Who can tell?”

Sunday, July 18, 2083.  1:15 p.m.

“Dr. Ryan?  Sir?”

Ryan crinkled his nose at the odour of the smelling salts. 

“He’s coming around.”  Sounds like Welsh.  Oh my head.

“Lucky for him.  That was some blow he took.  Dr. Ryan?”

“Whe...where?”  Ryan’s head was pounding.  He opened his eyes and saw a young doctor staring at him intently with tired eyes.  He was on a hard table in a curtained area lined with medical equipment.  Emergency?

“You’re in North York Gen emerg, Dr. Ryan.  I’m Dr. Gulab.  You’ve sustained significant trauma to the side of your head and been in a coma for some time.  We’re planning to admit you for twenty-four hours observation as a precaution.  Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Do you want some painkillers?”

“What happened?”

“They hijacked your plane, Dr. Ryan.”  Ryan turned toward the voice and there, indeed, was Welsh.  “And they sent the plane on a ride.  It took us a few hours to locate it and then a few hours to rescue you.  We think you’ve been out for most of a day.”  Not lambs, indeed.

Dr. Gulab was looking annoyed.  “Mr. Welsh, just give me a minute.  Dr. Ryan, can you follow this light with your eyes?”  Ryan dutifully tracked the penlight until Gulab stood back.  “All right, Dr. Ryan.  Just rest here,” he said as he made a note on a patient pad, an electronic patient record.  “We’ll be taking you upstairs as soon as your room is ready.  It’s being prepared as we speak.”  Gulab hung the patient pad on a hook at the end of the bed.  “We’ll just keep you overnight.”

“No.  You say I’ve been out for most of a day already?”

“Yes, sir, about twelve hours.”

“Now that I’m awake, it’s unlikely I’ll slip back into another coma, Dr. Gulab.  The crisis is past.”

“Not really.  As you know, we’ll need to watch you for another twenty-four hours for seizures or other complications.  That was some blow.”

“These complications are rare, Dr. Gulab.  And it’s healing well, isn’t it?”

The young doctor grudgingly nodded.  “Remarkably well actually.”

“Yes, I’ve always been a good healer.  Doctor?  Could you get me those painkillers now?  I’m not coping with the headache.”

“Sure.  I’ll be right back.”

“Thanks.”  Once he was out of earshot, Ryan turned to Welsh.  “Did they do blood work already?”

Welsh nodded and opened his jacket to reveal a lab specimen envelope hidden in the chest pocket.  “I managed to grab it.  I don’t know how long it’ll take them to notice it’s missing.”

“Did the patient pad sync with the hospital system?”

“I don’t know.”

“Pass it over.”  Welsh unhooked the patient pad and handed it to Ryan, who skimmed through the files quickly.  There were pictures from the scene, stats on his condition, read-outs from monitoring equipment, and notes from the paramedics.  Ryan checked for the telltale hospital icon that shows up after a sync of information.  Nothing.  He raised his eyebrows.  “This system needs upgrading.  It should have synced the moment we got here.  Haven’t they got wireless?”

“Sure, but that pad is from a different district entirely.  We flew you fast for a half hour to get you here.  That one might not have the right password for this hospital system.  Might need a manual download.”

“Lucky.  It hasn’t been done yet.  Let’s take this with us, too.”  He handed it back to Welsh who slipped it into the other chest pocket of his jacket.  “I have to get out of here.”

“Can you stand?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay, I brought you some fresh clothes.”  Welsh indicated a small suitcase resting on a chair.  “There’s a mass of reporters out there, by the way.”

“What are the news streams saying?”

“Your office spun it really well.  Let’s get you to the PA and you can see for yourself.”

Ryan stood slowly and started to dress.  Dr. Gulab returned.  As soon as he saw Ryan was standing, he looked alarmed.

“Dr. Ryan, I can’t stress more strongly that you to stay here for observation.”

Ryan took the small paper cup with two pills.  “No, Doctor, I need to go.  This is a critical time for my campaign.”  He downed the pills.

“It’s also critical for your health, Doctor.”

And your notoriety, Doctor, hmmm?   “I know what I’m doing, Doctor.”

“Of course, it’s within your rights to refuse treatment.  I just wouldn’t recommend it.  At least wait for the trauma PET series to be done.  We can see the full extent of the injury and make an informed decision.”

“I can’t.”  Ryan was dressed and ready to go.  Ryan turned to Welsh without another word.  “I think we’ll avoid the press, for now, Mr. Welsh.”

“They’re swarming the ground emerg exit but we can avoid them by taking the back stairs, going up a couple of floors, and then grabbing the elevator to the roof.  That’s how I’ve been coming and going.  We’ve got men keeping the roof clear, but someone might get an aerial shot of you.”

“That’s fine.”

Ryan smirked a little.  So now I’m the hunted, am I Ms. Noel?  I made a mistake with you two.  Of course there were members of a species who weren’t always going to exhibit the standard behavioural traits.  Of course some wouldn’t cower in the face of superior authority.  Very few, but some, would rebel. 

They walked through the emergency department past coughing children and moaning old men and came, finally, to a fire door that led to a staircase.  They mounted the stairs slowly, a nod to Ryan’s condition.  The pain was still leaching his concentration, attacking his vision, but already the pills were working.  The throbbing was starting to ease.  They got up to the second floor unmolested and took the elevator to the roof.  As they walked, Welsh explained what had happened.

“…and luckily, no one was killed, although I think your chef was ready to have a coronary.  Anyway, the program was rigged to wipe as soon as the plane touched down but, because we got in while it was flying, we were able to save the flight plan.  We can track them.”

“What do you mean, you got on while the plane was flying?”

“The hatch was left open.  They must have jumped out with ‘chutes.  A security team dropped in from an airforce plane along with a pilot and a medical team.  It was quite dramatic.  It’s all over the news.”

“Do we know where they got out?”

“Not yet, but we’re working backwards through the flight program.  We should have them by morning or, at least, have a good idea by morning.”

“You’re confident.”

“I’ve been chasing rabbits like these for a long time, sir.  They’ll hole up; that’s what they always do.  Find some cover, somewhere to hide.  And, then, when they feel safe, they relax, and I find them.”  The elevator opened on the roof.  They walked through the small but busy emergency and triage.  A sign by the front desk noted that this roof Emergency Room would be expanded and half of the street level facility closed in the next year.

“But these are not average fortunatus, David.  We can’t easily predict their behaviour.”

“Even so, I bet you they’re hiding out somewhere right now.  By the way, we have the military looking for them along with countrywide bulletins to civilian forces.”  Ryan looked out to see two military planes flanking his aircraft on the pad and a half a dozen soldiers patrolling the roof.  Media PAs were buzzing around above the hospital.  Ryan schooled his expression.  He needed to appear in control.  Reporters were recording this moment.

“What spin did we give the press?”

“Oh, that you were the target all along, including the first hit on Eastdown.  They’re lapping it up.  They’re calling for blood.  And since you and the crew were attacked, Noel and Grant are going to be charged with attempted murder, as well as hijacking and kidnapping.  Oh, and somebody has a sense of humour.”

“What do you mean?”

“Their flight plan sent the plane all over North America only to land in your own back yard.”

“Very funny.”

A young colonel came up to Ryan and saluted.  “Colonel Brant, sir.”

“Brant.  How close are we to catching the people that did this?”

“We have some leads, sir.  But the search area is extremely large.”

“Yes.  Most of North America, I know, Colonel Brant.  I just went on the trip, didn’t I?”

“Yes sir.”

Welsh spoke.  “The investigation is continuing in your plane, sir.  One of these military vehicles will take you home.”

“Fine.”

Welsh gestured to Brant to show them the way.  The Colonel led them to one of the military PAs and Ryan and Welsh climbed into the back.  As they sat down, Welsh tried to talk to him but Ryan held up his hand and frowned.

“Not, now, John.  Do me a favour and clear that patient pad.”  Welsh dutifully pulled out the pad and started working on it.

Ryan reached for the computer console and logged in.  He spent the next ten minutes surfing to the major news sites to see what the world was saying about him.  The Canadian streams were running the story as a top or near top story, and he was mentioned in news services around the world.  This won’t hurt my notoriety.  Only one site, a gossip rag from California, made light of his situation.  He wasn’t, as he feared, a laughingstock.

Many sites ran concurrent articles about the foibles of the security systems of most planes, detailing just how easy it is to commandeer vehicles that were designed to be controlled, at least in part, by an outside and computerized source.  This incident sparked a debate about the right of a person to fly his own plane.  Many folks were feeling that the safety guaranteed by flights being controlled externally wasn’t worth the loss of personal liberty and the inability for an average citizen to defend him or herself from computer tampering.  The debate was lively.

Ryan smiled.  Not one site mentioned anything about what he was really doing.  Not one post connected him to the blast testing being performed by the US Military in a remote location in Arizona.  Every paper was running pictures of Noel and Grant, naming them as terrorists, armed and dangerous, and no one was asking how they got on his plane in the first place.  And, as icing on the cake, the US and Canadian governments were both offering large rewards for any information that would lead to their arrest.

He had containment.  Now all he had to do was wait.  Welsh would find them.  He shut down the feed as the plane landed on the personal pad behind his house.  He left the plane without a word.  Welsh followed, right on his heels.

“I need to schedule some press conferences.”  I can capitalize on this.

“Yes, sir, uh, wait.  There’s one more thing, sir.”

The tone in Welsh’s voice stopped Ryan.  He looked back.  “What is it?”

“The government came here while you were in the air, sir.”

“Oh?”

“They came and took the two prisoners.”

“Helen?  They took Helen?”

“I protested, sir.  I told them that Helen is an important subject but their documentation was correct and, well, they brought a small army with them.  I told them Helen was critical to your research.”

Ryan felt stunned.  How could they do this to me?  “They know that, David.  They already know that.”

Sunday, July 18, 2083.  1:30 p.m.

“Okay, do you want the good news or the bad news?”

Marcie pursed her lips.  “Hmmmmm.  Good news, I think.”

“I found an emergency PA in the garage.”

Pauline’s face brightened.  “You mean we won’t have to walk?”

“No.”

Marcie shrugged.  “Sounds all good to me.  What’s the bad news?”

“Well, it might not carry all of us.”

“Hmmmm.”

“Yeah, that’s not all of it.”

“There’s more?”

“The tank is only half full.”

“How far can we get?”

“Only about two hundred kilometres.”  Robbie shrugged his shoulders.

Marcie sighed.  “That won’t get us anywhere.”

“Wait, there’s more.  I think we should go north.”

“North?”  Pauline looked scandalized.  “There is nothing north of here.”

“Why, Robbie?”

“We should go to that base where they sent those families a few days ago.  They won’t look for us in a group of Mennonites.”

“It’s too far.  We’d never make it.”  Marcie was studying the map.  “Wait a minute.  Kitchie Lake.  Why do I know that name?”

“Never heard of it.”

“I know.  I know.  Will!”

“What?”

“Will is on vacation at Kitchie Lake.”

Robbie raised his eyebrows.  “Will is on vacation?”

“Funny.  That’s what I said when he told me.”

“We could just make it.”

“Yes we could.”

“Who is Will, dear?”

“My lawyer, Mum.”  She looked at Robbie, hopefully.  “He has to help us, right?  He’s my lawyer.”

“Think about it, sugar.  He might do more.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t his last name ‘Poole’?”

An hour later, Marcie stared at the computer screen, re-reading her press release.  Robbie came into the dining room.

Marcie pursed her lips and then spoke.  “Stellan won’t thank us.  I don’t know if this is our secret to give away.”

“Well, ask yourself one question, sugar:  If it helps get these people out safely, would he really complain?  That’s what’s at stake here.”

Nodding slowly, Marcie pressed ‘Send’.

The nets might pick up the story quickly.  Then again, the story would read as farfetched and might be dismissed as crackpot ramblings.  Marcie hoped that out of all the reporters in the world, one might be intrigued enough to investigate.  If so, and if she or he found anything, they were home free.  If not, Robbie and she were still terrorists, the people trapped below would likely die there, and the fortunatus would continue to be victimized by Ryan and people like him for years to come.

Either way, Marcie was sure the nets were being monitored for any information emerging on the fortunatus and, once the government found this post, they would certainly take it seriously.  They could analyse the logs and trace it back to this area.  It was time to leave.

“Okay, it’s away.”

“Is that it then?” Pauline called from the kitchen where she was preparing a food pack for them.

“Yes, Mum.  Let’s go.”

Pauline came out of the kitchen, shouldering a backpack, as Robbie and Marcie picked up their own packs.  Just in case the emergency PA didn’t make it, they had ransacked the cabin for food and camping equipment.  They left through the front door, locking the place behind them.  The afternoon was clear and bright. 

The two women followed Robbie to a large shed behind the house.  Robbie had rolled out the Emergency two-man PA onto a driveway.  It was a very small biplane with an engine that would fit in the glove compartment of Marcie’s PA.

“That engine’s really small,” said Marcie.

“About right for a sewing machine.”  Pauline looked dubious.

Robbie was nodding.  “I think we have too much weight.”

“Well, we won’t know until we try,” said Pauline as she clamboured in.

The three climbed in and Pauline and Marcie tried to get comfortable while Robbie fired up the PA.  Marcie and Pauline were sharing a seat and Marcie was holding one of the packs on her lap. The other two packs stowed behind the seats.  The PA started without complaint and Robbie drove it clear of the shed, but when they went to take off the sorry thing complained loudly and got nowhere.  Robbie shook his head.

“Too much weight.”

“Dump the packs,” suggested Marcie.  “Wait, that’ll leave us with no food.  Should we try with one?”

“I think we’ll be lucky if we get all three of us in the air, sugar.”

“We aren’t leaving anyone behind.  I’d rather walk.  Let’s put the packs back in the cabin.”

Robbie taxied back to the cabin and cut the engine.  Marcie hopped out, ran down to the gatehouse to retrieve the keycard and, then, Robbie and she carried the packs into the house leaving them on the kitchen table.  She and Robbie walked back out of the cabin immediately, locking the door behind them.  She returned the keycard to the gatehouse and ran back to the PA where Robbie had already fired up the engine.

“Let’s give it another try, ladies.”

“Sure.”

She climbed back in.  This time the engine whined some, but eventually the tiny PA took off, only just clearing the trees.

“We might only get about a hundred kilometres in this thing,” complained Marcie.

“They’re not designed for much more, dear,” said Pauline. 

“And I’d rather fly than walk, sugar.”

Robbie kept the altitude low, just over the treetops, to avoid being picked up by Control.  Marcie popped the nav screen.  She searched up Kitchie Lake and entered its co-ordinates so she could see the flight plan.  A good tenth of the distance was shown in red, meaning that they didn’t have enough fuel for that portion of the flight.

“We’re not going to make it, Robbie.”

“Hang on, sugar.  Biplanes can go really slow and conserve fuel.  Let me give it a try and then, let’s re-calculate.”

Robbie adjusted the plane’s speed to minimum cruising.  Marcie felt like she could have run faster.  She waited a moment to let the system register the change in fuel consumption and then she ran the calculation again.  This time only a tiny portion of red showed at the end of the trip.

“Okay, just about five clicks short.  We can walk that.”

“You never know, sugar.  If we’re lucky, we could run on fumes for a while.”

Forty-five minutes later, the little PA started beeping.  They had almost made it to Kitchie Lake.

“Not bad, Robbie.  I think I can see the lake beyond those pines.”

“Hang on, sugar.  We’re not done yet.  How far to go?”

She checked the computer screen.  “Only three kilometres, really.  The autonav is reporting three structures around this lake, a couple of small sheds and one larger building.  If I know Will, he’ll have the biggest cottage within a hundred clicks.”

Robbie laughed.  Marcie turned the nav screen his way and pointed out the structure.  Robbie adjusted his course.

“And how do you like that?”  Marcie smiled.  “It’s on this side of the lake.”

“We might make it then.”

“Well, thank heaven for small favours.”  Pauline sounded relieved and Marcie began to wonder just how much of a strain this trip was for her mother.

A few minutes later, the beeping from the dashboard became a long uninterrupted tone and the engine began to sputter.

“That’s it, folks. We have to set it down.”  Robbie looked grim.  They were flying over some dense forest that had grown up in the mere inches of topsoil in this part of Ontario.  Since bedrock wasn’t too far below the surface, the landing could be bumpy.  He scanned the ground intently.  “There!”

Marcie followed his gaze and saw, just to the east of them, a small clearing in a thick stand of pine.  The lake was beyond the next stand of trees and they were close to the cottage – Marcie could see a satellite dish and solar panels poking above the trees.  The vehicle spluttered some more and lost some altitude.  They scraped the tops of trees as they came into the clearing.

“Hold on!”

Robbie executed a reverse turn that effectively stalled the vehicle over the clearing.  It dropped like a stone, but Marcie was sure her stomach hit the ground first.  The PA landed hard, but the soil and the bed of pines needles was soft and took a lot of the impact of the fall.  They were rattled, but okay.  The PA, however, was ruined.  The fuselage was cracked and one wing broken off completely. 

Marcie sighed.  “Well, if he’s not here, we’re in trouble because we’re definitely walking.  And now we’re two hundred clicks farther away from Toronto”

“Oh, great.”  Pauline did not sound too happy.

Robbie snorted and Marcie opened the door of the PA.  She climbed out slowly with her mother right behind her.  They walked around the vehicle to the driver’s side and stopped abruptly.  Robbie was standing with his hands in the air.  He hadn’t even closed his door. 

About twenty-five feet away, a man stood pointing a rifle at all three of them. 

“You can run if you want to,” said the man with the rifle, never taking his eyes from Robbie.  His voice flowed out with a lazy, Southern drawl.  “But I’m pretty good with this thing.  You wouldn’t get far.”

He was wearing an old lumberjacket, a red plaid shirt, a cap laden with fishing hooks and lures, and some beat up boots.  The gun looked new enough, though.  Marcie almost didn’t recognize him.  What did you do with all that expensive Tilley gear?

“Will.  It’s me.”  The man straightened and dropped his gun.

“Yeah, I know.”  The accent was gone.  “But I always wanted to say something like that.”  Will started to laugh.

“Very funny, Will.”

They walked over to meet him.  He extended his hand immediately to Pauline.

“Mrs. Noel, your picture doesn’t do you justice.”

“Blue is not my colour, Mr. Poole.  I’ve heard a lot about you.” Pauline almost fluttered her eyelashes.  Mum, I’ve never said a word about Will.

Will put his hands on his hips and sighed.  “You people sure know how to get yourself in trouble.  I suppose I should be calling the Mounties on you, huh?  You’ve got to be the most wanted trio in memory.”

“Well, if you’re going to do anything, you should always go whole hog, I always say.”  Pauline smiled.

“Just so, ma’am.  Just so.”

“We need a good lawyer, Mr. Poole.”

“You’ve come to the right place, Mrs. Noel, but I think we’d best get inside.  The Mounties aren’t stupid.  They’ll put two and two together.  They’ve already buzzed the place a couple of times today.  That’s why I’m in this get up.  I figured there was some trouble coming.”

“We need to hide the plane, Robbie.”

“Okay, sugar.”

They dragged the little plane into the cover of the tall pines to the east of the clearing.  Robbie snapped off the other wing to make it fit.  They threw all the noticeable debris under the trees and covered the lot with pine boughs and leaves.

“Great.  Shouldn’t attract anyone’s attention.  Let’s go.  Madam?”  Will offered an arm to Pauline.
Pauline and Will were acting like sweethearts on a Sunday stroll, but Marcie was worried.  If anyone can find us, the Mounties can. 

The Royal Canadian Mounted Police Force had had to respond to significant changes in deep northern Ontario as the population rose significantly with the advent of the PA.  And respond they did.  The local Mountie now had a steed that was faster than the average Wing and equipped with all manner of surveillance equipment.  Each Mountie covered an area of some two hundred kilometres square.  As soon as the email is traced, they’ll be looking.

“So, Mrs. Noel.  Have you always been an international terrorist?  I’m not surprised by Marcie turning to a life of crime, but you seem to be above that sort of thing.”

“Well, it would be just so much more interesting to say I am a terrorist, but those reports are false.  My daughter and her friend aren’t criminals.”

They were walking through the trees on what looked like an animal trail.  The air was crisp even in high summer and Marcie could see the lake sparkling in the sunlight through the trees.  About twenty metres down the path, they came upon a compound that belied its remote location.  A large log cabin sat nestled in the shade of some tall pines.  It was clean and new and tastefully designed, had its own generator, solar panels, and three large satellite dishes affixed on stands that reached above the tops of the trees.  Plugged in?  I guess so.  Marcie figured that Will got better bandwith here than the network at his office.  I knew he wouldn’t take a real vacation.

Will stopped when he reached a door painted a tasteful taupe, and turned back.

“I was getting a little sick of the city; so I had this place built.  I like it enough that I think I’d like to move here.”  Marcie felt her jaw go slack and Robbie was uncharacteristically quiet.  Will gestured that Pauline should go in ahead of him and disappeared through the door behind her.  Marcie and Robbie followed.

“Welcome to my home.  Let’s have a look at what the world is saying and then I’ll give you the cook’s tour.”

They were standing in a small reception area.  Everyone kicked off their shoes and followed Will in.  He turned left immediately.  As they went by, Marcie could see a large, well-appointed kitchen to the right.  They walked into an open concept living room, with a vaulted ceiling that must have been twenty-five feet high.  The furniture was clean in style and reserved in colour, much of the place was done in a warm off-white.

Will walked up a flight of stairs on the left into a loft-style office.  Marcie and Robbie followed but Pauline stopped. 

“You go ahead.  I’ll just have a look around.”

“Sure.”  Will answered politely but Marcie could tell his mind was already upstairs.

There were about twenty computers running in this space, but the cables and other paraphernalia had been hidden behind walls and cupboards.  The room was much nicer than Marcie’s bedroom and with twice the computing power. 

“What was the release about?”  Will was looking at Marcie.

“Try ‘fortunatus’.”

“Spell that.”  Marcie did and Will started clacking away on his keyboard.  Then he stopped and they all waited for the search to be returned.  “Well, well.  A grand total of four hits.  Doesn’t look like you penetrated the market.  Okay, and all of the mags that picked up the release are a little beyond the fringe.  Ah.  Got it in its entirety.”  Then there was silence as Will read the whole thing.  He turned back to look at them all.  “So you’re not from outer space then?”  He waited while Marcie shook her head.  “Hmph.  That’s too bad.  It would explain a lot.  And you’re not going to eat me for lunch?”

“No, we’re just plain folks.”

“Now, that, I do not believe.”

“Okay, we’re probably an experiment gone a little wrong.”

“I would love to see the research.”

“I’m sorry.  I think it’s all lost.”

“Yes, the colony was destroyed.  Great idea, living underground though.  Something we could all adopt and have a bit more green on the earth.”

“People like to see the sky.”

“Sapiens like to see the sky, you mean.”  He stood and looked out a window at the thick forest and the crisp blue above.  He turned back to them.  “You people need my help. Do you know what the US government is saying?”  Marcie shook her head.  “They say you and a small group of terrorists were developing weapons in a secret underground lab.  They say that they bombed the lab to destroy your work and that one of your bombs was nuclear.  Certain parts of Arizona are being evacuated.”

“Smokescreen.  They want people out of there.”

“Yeah, well, at least one investigative journo snuck in but he couldn’t find any trace of abnormally high radioactivity.  Questions are being asked.  Right now, the army says the readings are normal because they’ve managed to contain the waste.”

They were silent.  Of course the world wouldn’t be given the facts, but Marcie was unused to dealing with people who so cleverly warped the truth.  “Apparently, we could use all the help anyone could give us,” she said finally.

“Well, first,” said Will as he sat down at the computer. “Let’s re-write this release to make sure it actually gets read by the right people.”

Marcie blinked.  “I gave it a general distribution.  It should’ve gone to all the news relays.”

“Yes, I can see that, but maybe you could target the science reporters and publications instead.  Also, the release could use a bit of a touch.”

“A touch?”

“Yep.  I used to be in public relations early in my career.”

“Public relations?”

“Yeah.  Turns out I really didn’t have the personality to suck up to journalists.”

Robbie snorted.  “That’s an understatement.”

 Will ignored him.  “I changed professions.”

“Fine.  How do we re-write the release?”

“I’m just doing it now.”

“Okay.”

“This’ll get a response from some main stream media.  What they’ll do with it, though, I have no idea.”

“How will this get a response when mine didn’t?”

“Well, joking aside, if the story weren’t so farfetched, you would’ve done well.  What I’m doing is tweaking the thing to give my style and then I’m going to send it personally to an old friend at the Globe and Mail.  He’ll read it because it’s from me and he’ll do enough research to run it.  Once the Globe runs it, just about everybody else will too.  The Globe is notoriously careful.”

“Do you have any tea, Will?”  Pauline’s voice came up from downstairs.

“In the cupboard over the coffee maker.  Take what you want.”  Will was irritated by the interruption, but polite enough.  He hunched back down over his computer again and got to work.  Presently, Pauline arrived with tea and cookies.  They all waited.  Ten minutes later, Will sat back and looked at Marcie.

“Okay, let’s send this to the Globe and see what happens, but I think you need to prepare yourself for something else we need to do.”

“Okay, what?”

“I think you should hold a press conference.”

“Oh great.”





Jacqui Burke is a freelance director, writer, and theatrical teacher living in Toronto, Ontario, Canada.  She is currently directing Kidsplay 2012:  The Mayan Prediction opening June 20. 2012 at the Palmerston Library Theatre for one night only, and The Last Five Years for TOKL Productions running July 20-21st, 2012 at the Alum Studio.  Next year, she is looking forward to producing/directing her own show in the fall, directing Love Letters for Encore Entertainment, and directing Lend Me A Tenor for Scarborough Theatre Guild.  She is, also, serializing The Pretender, her first novel, online at http://thepretender-amarcienoelnovel.blogspot.ca/.  She is preparing for two Shakespeare is Boffo! summer camp sessions for 2012.

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Jacqui Burke
Artistic Director
Jaybird Productions
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