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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The Pretender - Chapter 8

Saturday, July 17, 9:00 a.m.

Helen was sipping coffee, staring out the window of the breakfast nook at the back of Ryan’s house.  The room was beautiful, with a lot of natural light, and furnished tastefully in pastels and cream.  What a gilded cage.  She couldn’t get her mind off the fact that her husband was just downstairs in one of those bare cells.  I’d rather be there with him.  Ryan’s psychological games were starting to wear.

And the recent revelation that Ryan, himself, was a fortunatus was almost comical.  Nothing was what she expected, nothing was what it seemed. 

Welsh oozed in and poured himself a coffee.  Strike that.  There are some things around here that are exactly as they seem.  Helen sighed.  As usual, Welsh grabbed the remote and flicked on the streaming news.  He clicked on a topic and the vidscreen displayed a huge dust cloud marring otherwise perfectly blue skies.  Welsh turned the volume up.

“…in Arizona.  The weapons testing will continue for at least one more day, and possibly longer.  So, if you’re planning a trip, this would be a good time to steer clear of Arizona’s sunny skies.  Control is routing traffic around the area.  The dust cloud rises a good kilometre….” 

Welsh turned off the unit and sat back looking smug.  “You picked the right side, princess.”

“Pardon me?”

“You landed right.  I don’t think there’s anything we can’t do.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re bombing thousands of people to death in the middle of the United States, but Ryan makes a phone call and all the world ever hears is the traffic report.  Incredible.”

Helen bristled, but tried to keep her face impassive.  “I didn’t join this team.”

“Yeah, sure.  If it weren’t for you, Ryan would still be twiddling his thumbs at Eastdown.  You’ve turned his life into a game of twenty questions.”  Helen stayed silent.  Welsh thought she didn’t understand and continued:  “All he’s gotta do is figure out what questions to ask.  Ask the right question and you get your answer.”

“And without me?”

“Oh, he’s clever.  I’ve been with the guy for a few years, and I’ve seen him pull some savvy moves,  but he’s turned into superman with you around.”

“You killed Dr. Roper, didn’t you?”  Abrupt change of subject.  A trick she learned from Ryan.

Welsh just looked at her impassively, no concern registering on his face at all.  “The situation needed a judgement call.  I made it.  Roper was going to squeal to the next tabloid that offered him a million dollars.  We needed containment.”

“Did you?”  Containment?

The telephone rang.  Welsh got up to answer it.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so loyal to a guy who was so interested in selling you out,” he said as he walked across the room.  He picked up the receiver.  “Hello?  Yeah.  Sure, yeah.  She’s right here, hang on.”  Welsh turned to look at Helen.  She was seething inside.  Judgement call?  Finally, she noticed Welsh looking pointedly at her, telephone receiver in his hand.  She rose quickly and crossed the room to take the phone. 

“Hello?”

“Ah, my oracle.  I have a little question for you.”

Helen said nothing.  She knew she couldn’t tell Ryan to go shove it.  She held tight.  But do I really have to tell the truth?  I only get it right most of the time, not all the time.  Maybe she’d have to choose her moments, but three percent was still three percent.  She had to be wrong sometime.

“Not feeling co-operative today?  Do I need to talk to Mr. Welsh?  I’m sure Greg would love a little time out of his cell, even if only to spend it with Mr. Welsh.  Mr. Welsh gets so enthusiastic, don’t you think?  It’s one of the things I admire about him.”

You are such an asshole.  Helen couldn’t see any reason why she should play this game anymore.  “What do you want to know?”  Three percent.  Three percent.

“Good.  I have Marcie Noel here with me.  I’m trying to decide whether she and her friends are going to be important or not to our success.  Can you tell me that?  Yes or no.”

Helen’s first impulse was to say ‘no’ but if she did, surely Ms. Noel and her friends would be killed, or worse.  She didn’t skip a beat.  “Yes, they will be important.”  Three percent, three percent. 

Lying to a fortunatus is risky.  According to Dr. Randall, fortunatus are innately capable of reading subtle facial gestures and body language.  It was all part of their ability to come to consensus quickly and easily.  In general, a fortunatus can tell if someone’s lying, but Helen was hoping she could get away with it on the phone.  What if he can hear it in my voice?  Helen held her breath and waited for Ryan’s reaction.

“Fine, I’ll keep them with me.”  Great!  She made a mental note to fudge the answers only when he couldn’t see her.  “We should be back in a few hours.  Oh, and Helen, I want to spend some time with you. You’ve been a great help to me, and I want you to know I appreciate it.”

Yuck.  Helen resisted responding.  She knew that she would ruin what she’d just achieved if she told him what she thought of him.  Three percent.

“What do you say to joining me for dinner, Helen?  No hanky panky, I assure you.”

“That would be nice.”

“Good.”  He sounded surprised, almost relieved.  “Good.  A few hours, then.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, put Mr. Welsh on the phone.”

“Sure.”

She handed the telephone to Welsh and went to stand by the window.  The Great Dr. Ryan is fallible after all.  Maybe Ryan was slipping a little.  If the truth were known, since Helen found out about his true heritage, she had decided he was completely insane. 

For the benefit of Welsh, Helen sat down at the table and began sipping her coffee as if nothing at all had happened.  After he got off the telephone with Ryan, Welsh tried to make small talk with her, but she remained distant.  Nothing new there.

Saturday, July 17, 2083.  11:00 a.m.

“….Ladies and gentlemen, please.  I recognise your homes are important to you. I know the Outside scares you; and I know most of you don’t believe that any civilized government would kill defenceless people but, ladies and gentlemen, this is what is happening.  The bombs could break through to this level in about fifteen minutes, maybe less.  I urge you.  I beg you, please, join us in Warren 4.  Bring all the foodstuffs you can carry.  Please.  Your children depend on you.”

The last sentence was a bit of a low blow, but Stellan was certain that the majority of his populace was being pigheaded and stupid.  They were throwing their lives away. And, for what?  For some misplaced faith and a few pretty little caves.  Any average sapiens would be running for his life.

“Sir.”  Les was looking anxious.

Stellan nodded and shut down the feed, turned away from the comm console, and away from his view of Origin.  He picked up his backpack and put it on.  It was heavy with food, a change of clothes, and other personal items.  No keepsakes.  This is a new life.  Stellan walked at a fast pace, Les just behind him.  They walked from the office and out into his reception area.  Stellan didn’t bother to lock the door.

The corridor in this section of Origin was practically empty.  They got on the elevator and rode it down to the Promenade.  As the doors opened, Stellan could see that some people had heeded his call.  Small family groups were walking away from the residential areas toward the tunnel to Warren 4.  They joined the relatively small stream of refugees.  This street should be full of people.  He slowed a little as he walked by some of his favourite restaurants and shops.  They were all empty.  Origin was such a beautiful place; he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.  He had never planned to leave because, to him, the outside world seemed too chaotic, but if he expected anyone else to leave, he had to go himself.  And perhaps it was time for him, for his people, for his race, to strike out and see what the outside world held for them. 

Suddenly, the ground shook and the sound of brooding thunder came from above.  Zeus is not happy with us.  Stellan picked up his pace again.  Some of the people around him were clearly panicking as a shower of dust fell down from the ceiling.

“All is well, people.  The bombs will not break through for a few minutes.  We have time.  Walk; don’t run.”  His voice boomed around The Promenade, sounding much more confidant than he felt.  This, then, is courage.  He’d never been so frightened in his life.

Another charge went off and the lights went out.  A woman screamed in the darkness.  Les lit his torch just as a dozen other torches came on and folks settled a bit but, then, a piece of decorative masonry fell from the Sports Complex with a crash that elicited more screams.

“We’re almost there, people.  Keep moving.”

Stellan stopped as he reached the entrance to the tunnel leading to Warren 4.  The group of refugees was disappearing down the tunnel.  He looked behind him and shook his head in dismay.  So few were coming.  He glanced up at the walls of the atrium and saw thousands of lights on in the windows of the residential area.  Each light was a family and each family was huddling around its only light in fear while an army relentlessly pursued them.

He turned to his aide.  “Les, we need to cover our tracks.  Do we have time to pull some explosives from the stores?”

“I don’t think so, sir, but I’ll go back if you want.”

There was silence between them as they both considered the issue.  People hurried by but were clearly calmed by Stellan’s presence.  Many touched him as they passed.

Les finally spoke.  “I remember a cache of explosives in the new warren.  It was sent over to start the architectural blasting.”  His voice betrayed his relief.  He clearly didn’t want to go back.

“Great.  I’ll wait here.  I want you go and find some engineers.  Organize them into a team with the aim of completely closing off this tunnel.  A full kilometre of collapse rock should slow them down.”

“Sir, you need to come with me.”

“No, Les.  I have to close and lock this door and I won’t leave that job to anyone else.  I’ll wait until these last stragglers are through, and I’ll seal this door myself.  Then, I want the tunnel collapsed behind us.”

“But sir, they’re not likely to come down here for days.”

“Maybe, Les, but I’m not really worried about them following us.  Think.  What kind of bombs would they use if they realized they’d broken through and their aim was to kill us all?  Wouldn’t they be tempted to drop a nuclear bomb?”

“They wouldn’t do that.”

“These are the Americans we’re dealing with.  They’re the only people in human history who’ve done it not once, but twice.”

Les was silent.

Stallen continued on:  “Let’s put some rock between us and a blast like that.  These doors won’t be enough protection if they start to use atomics.”

“I’ll get the engineers organized.”

“Tell them they’re not to start blasting until I’m through, if you don’t mind.”

Les smiled at his boss’ joke.  “All right.”

“Also, you need to organize the families into Warren Groups and establish lines of communication.”

“Absolutely.”  Like most of his species, Les understood communications.

“And, Les, if anything happens to me, you need to facilitate the election of a new leader. Don’t let the group fracture.  Go for a quick consensus.  Alva’s nephew is probably your best choice.”

“Nothing is going to happen to you, sir.”

“Go, Les.” 

Les paused just for a moment, nodded and then turned away.  Stellan watched as his aide ran down the rough tunnel, dodging refugees as he went.  He was soon out of sight.  Stellan turned back to assess the group coming through.  “Please, people.  Step up the pace a little.  There may only be minutes left to us.”

Alva.  She’d been livid at the outcome of the raid at Eastdown.  She’d been against the effort in the first place, believing that Stellan’s plan would leave Origin open to attack.  Perhaps it had been his initiative that would inevitably see so many of his people die, but surely, if they found us so quickly, Origin was already more vulnerable than anyone thought.  Clearly, the outside authorities already knew about Origin and clearly, they were actively looking.  It was only a matter of time.  At least, this way some of us were saved.

They were down to stragglers.  Another great blast shook the cavern and let a shower of dust and more debris fall from above.  Stellan hoped that there might be a surge of folks at the last minute, even to swell their numbers by a few hundred.  Unfortunately, it looked like people had already made up their minds.  A particularly loud blast resonated throughout Origin, and Stellan could hear the sounds of crying children.

Finally, the last person came through.  There were no more.  Stellan shook his head, but still he waited, hoping.  The team of engineers approached, lanterns bobbing, faces grim.  The lead engineer spoke to him.

“Sir, you have to leave now.  We need to start a blast routine.”  Members of his team were already drilling blast holes into the rock.

Stellan nodded and almost turned to go, hopelessly, he took one last look.  Then, he looked, again.  Urgently, he held up his hand to the men behind him.  He saw the light of a torch in the distance.  He waited and shone his flashlight into the atrium.  Finally, he could make out two small figures approaching, hurrying along the Promenade.  They were children:  a little girl in a pretty pink dress and a little boy in jeans and a t-shirt.  They walked and ran and, intermittently, were slowed by debris.  Twice, as the two approached, bombs shook the whole complex.  Still, Stellan stood by the door waiting.  When they finally arrived, Stellan could see that the girl was likely seven and the boy was likely three.  The boy carried a small teddy bear and the girl carried a suitcase.  They looked like Pooles.  Stellan knelt down to meet them.

“Hello, Dr. Stellan.  We decided to come.”  The little girl looked at him seriously.  Stellan nodded back at her, just as seriously.

“Yes,” said the little boy.  “Our mother was afraid and our father wouldn’t leave her.”

“No, I’m sure he wouldn’t,” said Stellan.

“But I wanted to come, and Kevin said he wanted to come with me.”

“Right,” said Stellan.

“Our cousins have come!” Kevin looked happy.  “Father says this will be the greatest adventure.”

“But Mum was crying when we left.” 

“I’m sure she was.”  Stellan brushed the girl’s cheek to comfort her.  “You are Pooles, yes?”

“Yes, sir.”  The little girl nodded.  “I’m Francie and this is Kevin.”

“Hello, Francie,” said Stellan.  “Hello, Kevin.”  He shook their hands.  “Now hang on a second while I close this door, and I’ll walk you both down to join the others.”

“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.

Stellan closed and locked the door himself.  Closed and locked the door on the only home he had ever known.  Closed the door on about twelve thousand people; friends, families, loved ones.  Closed and locked the door on a whole way of life.  He could only hope they wouldn’t suffer.  He took each little child by the hand.  “Go to it,” was all he said to the engineers as he strode down the corridor.

He and the children helped to shepherd the stragglers for a kilometre, down the tunnel toward Warren 4.  About half way there, the emergency lights came on and they were able to pick up their pace. 
As they arrived at Warren 4, Les nodded to Stellan and spoke into his phone.   “All clear,” he said as he shoved the heavy safety door closed.  Almost immediately, they felt the tremble of a large blast.  Stellan stopped for a moment so the children wouldn’t stumble. He took a moment to look up.  He had never seen Warren 4.  They were in a large natural cavern, about the size of the Promenade.  It would have made a fine warren.

Stellan walked the children over to Harcourt Poole, a man he knew well. 

“Grandpa!”  The two children squealed.  Stellan waited until Harcourt realized that no one was with them.  The old man caught Stellan’s eye, shook his head, knelt, and hugged the children close.  Stellan turned away.

He found his way back to Les.  “How are we doing with organization?”

“We’re splitting up into four family groups, of roughly seven-hundred or so each, and we’re allowing the families to choose representation and establish a hierarchy.”

“Fine.  Any reports coming back on supplies?”

“I’m only guessing here, but I think we have enough for one week, maybe ten days.”

“These caverns and tunnels could go on for ever.  We’ve got to find out how long it’ll take to get out of here.”

“Right.”

Stellan turned to the crowd that had indeed, now that he looked, split into four groups.  “People.  Attention, please.”  Stellan waited a moment.  “Attention.  Anyone with extensive knowledge of Warren 4, please see me.” 

Almost immediately, a couple of young, lean men approached Stellan.

“Sir?  I’m Cain Harvey and this is Luke Poole.  We were the ones who found Warren 4 and we did a lot of exploring in these caves.”

Luke piped up:  “We never told anyone, but we found a way out a few weeks ago.”

“Can we all get out that way?”

“It’s going to be difficult, sir.  There’s a lot of climbing.”

“Well, gentlemen, we can’t go back.  We’d better get moving.” 

“We’ll need to start through a natural tunnel just to the north east.”  Cain pointed the way.

“Fine, we’ll take your lead.”  Stellan turned back to the crowd.

“Attention, people.  Attention.”  His voice was bouncing off the walls as his people stopped to listen.  “We need to start moving fairly quickly.  Please, organize your groups and prepare to go.  Luke Poole and Cain Harvey – raise your hands, boys – will be leading the expedition.  We’ll be leaving from the northeast, so Pooles Branch, you’ll go first, please.  Tellus Branch, second.  Holt Branch, third.  Green, last.  Please, intersperse good climbers throughout your groups, so they can help the injured, the very old, and the very young.  And, folks, grab whatever you can that you think will help.  We will not be coming back this way.

People started lifting packs and gathering up children.  The ground shook again.  The engineers below and the army above were hard at work.  Or perhaps that really is Zeus, spurring us on, making sure that we actually go. Stellan turned to Luke and Cain.

“How quickly do you think we’ll be able to get out of here?”

“I’ve never travelled with a group this large, sir, but it would take the two of us a few days.”

“A week, then?”

“More, I’d say.  Some of these people are old, sir.” 

Stellan sighed.

Les looked at him.  “Well, like you say, sir.  We’d better get moving.”

Saturday, July 17, 2083.  11:00 a.m.

They had been sitting waiting for hours, feeling the ground shake intermittently, until, eventually, it stopped.  They sat some more.  The room began to feel uncomfortably hot, and Marcie started to worry about dehydration.  Suddenly, the door opened and the bright sunlight blinded her.  She squinted, but couldn’t see for the glare.  Then, something blocked the sun.  She stared at the silhouette of the guard, but the contrast of dark and light made it impossible for her to see his face.

“Get up.”  The voice wasn’t kind, but Marcie was getting used to that.  They got to their feet.  “Get out here and wait by the plane.”

They stepped out, blinking, into the heat of the afternoon, where three other men were waiting for them, guns ready.  Marcie didn’t, at first, understand what she was seeing because her eyes were still shy of the light, but as her eyes adjusted, Marcie registered an extensive military compound full of vehicles and personnel.  In the distance, she could see a huge cloud of smoke had risen kilometres into the sky.  This wasn’t the fabled mushroom cloud of the atomic era, but debris that had blasted into the still air and hadn’t settled.  It was a mute, but eloquent, sign that the army was working hard.

She thought about the graceful architecture of the Promenade, of the folk who lived there.  She imagined it all in ruins, collapsed under the force of explosions from above.  These were peaceful people, almost too much so.  They thought they were safe.   

A cell telephone rang.  The lead guard spoke into it and then hung up.  He put the telephone away.  “Follow me.”

They were marched a half a kilometre to the RP they had arrived in.  Marcie was surprised.  What does Ryan want now?  The lead guard knocked on the door, then opened it.  They were ushered inside.

On the same table where, a few hours before, the military and Ryan had planned their strike, a meal had been prepared and four places set.  We always seek out our own.  Marcie didn’t know how she was going to play this.  She wanted to kill the man and take her time about it – give him a taste of the suffering he had inflicted on so many others – but she caught the look in her mother’s eyes.  Pauline saw everything as an opportunity to gain some kind of advantage.  Marcie had to try and see this too, but she didn’t know if she could contain her anger. 

A chef walked in from the galley.  “Dr. Ryan will be with you in a minute.  Feel free to freshen up before lunch.”  He gestured toward the bathroom and his tone implied that they all needed some ‘freshening up’.  He disappeared back to the galley.

Marcie, Pauline, and Robbie looked at each other.

“What?  Is Ryan nuts?”

“Maybe, darling, but I think I will go use that bathroom.”

“Me, next,” said Robbie.  Marcie sat down hard, feeling a little confused.  “What, sugar?  Do you honestly believe anyone could stay sane after what he’s done in the last few years?  Evil deeds always catch up to one somehow.”

They waited in silence, while each took a turn in the bathroom.  When Marcie came out, Pauline and Robbie were standing silently together.  She joined them.   A few minutes later, a hatch leading to the front of the vehicle opened, and in strode a victorious Ryan.  He filled the room with his confidence, and seemed to stand inches taller.  He dismissed the guards who left the vehicle immediately.
“Sit, sit.  Eat.”  He gestured grandly toward the table.  They didn’t move.  “Fine, but this could be your last good meal for ages.  I would be prudent and eat if I were you.  You need your strength.  And, you’re nothing as a people if you’re not prudent, yes?”

“Don’t you mean ‘we’.”

Ryan paused and flashed Marcie a harsh look.  “No, I mean ‘you’.  I don’t count myself amongst your number, this pathetic crew we just slaughtered like sheep.  They were weak, unwilling to stand up for what they believed in.  Unable to save their own.  In the end, unable to even to try to save themselves.  At the very least, you three were trying to do something.  Eat.  I’m telling you, you’re not going to be fed like this where you’re going, so eat.”

It was Pauline who sat down first, pretending to be the sheep he thought her, the coward he wanted to see.  Marcie weighed it in her head and sat beside her mother.  Robbie had much more trouble with his pride, but eventually took a place as well.  Ryan, suddenly, flashed the smile of a gracious host.

“Wine anyone?”  Though no one responded, Ryan poured a glass of red wine for all, sat down, and raised his glass.  “Cheers.”  Marcie had that feeling of being in some kind of nightmare, dancing clumsily through these social graces in the face of such devastation.

Just as they were served their salad, the RP lifted off.

“May I ask where we’re going?”  Marcie kept her voice as neutral as possible.

“Back to my home, initially, to be followed by Eastdown, to assist in its reconstruction.  But after that’s done, I would love to have some subjects with a bit of fury in them, unlike these hundreds of cattle I’ve already tested.  They march in, you know.  They do what they’re told.  I think if I’d told them all to walk off a cliff, they would, just so that they could comply with someone’s will.”
Marcie wasn’t hungry but she saw her mother nodding, as if interested, and eating her salad with gusto.  Marcie tried to do the same, but she couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

“Have you destroyed it?”

Ryan fixed her with what was supposed to be a withering gaze, but she didn’t flinch.  “We completed our mission.”

“Was anything saved?”

“The complex was completely destroyed.”

“Completely.”

“Yes.  But that will not stop our work.  We are already prepping for an influx of over two thousand of your kind that we have identified working for governments all over the world.”

“Two thousand?”

“Yes, and we’re tracing families as well.  The fortunatus like to breed.”

Perhaps to keep Marcie from responding, Pauline spoke:  “What have you learned so far about our species, Doctor?”

Ryan seemed pleased to have someone interested in what he could knowledgeably talk about.  “Ah, the fortunatus.  Well, where would you like me to start?  Fortunatus is taller than sapiens, about two inches on average.  They tend toward curly hair.  Women tend to have a lithe figure and men tend to have broad shoulders.  Fortunatus tends toward a gracefulness in every movement that sapiens must work to achieve…”

He launched into a diatribe on the species fortunatus and its general attributes.  Pauline was able to keep him talking for hours on his methods and his conclusions.  Marcie only half listened.  She finished her meal and sat back.  The empty plates and left over food was cleared and dessert and coffee served.  Finally, more wine was served.  Hours dragged by.

Very near the end of the journey, Marcie startled out of a reverie.  She looked around the cabin and realized there were no guards here.  She thought back.  All four guards who had escorted them from the holding cell had left the plane before it took off.  There couldn’t be more than two or three up front, plus the chef, and the flight crew.  Ryan was assuming that Marcie and Robbie would be shocked and cowed by the magnitude of his crime.  Or, he was just baiting them, rubbing their peaceful nature in their faces.

He knew nothing about Marcie, Robbie, and Pauline, but he thought he did.  He was, after all, the expert on fortunatus.  He thought they were beaten.  They had no weapons, no proper clothing.  Probably all of their assets were frozen or stolen by the government.  They had nowhere to run.  Their faces were all over the evening news.  Marcie thought hard.  I wonder if we can escape.  Surprisingly, the answer came back.  Yes, we can.

She stood unceremoniously, lifted the almost empty bottle of wine and smashed it over Ryan’s head, sending glass and port everywhere.  Ryan slumped in his chair, unconscious from the blow.

“That’s a bit of a mess, dear.  Couldn’t you have used a book end instead?”

“I suppose so, Mum.”

“We need to tie him up, sugar.  Let’s see what’s in the kitchen.”

The three of them walked forward.  The cook was easy to subdue.  Pauline riffled through the drawers and found some heavy cord.  Robbie gagged and tied both the cook and Ryan up in the main cabin.

“There must be guards,” Robbie said almost to himself. 

“Can’t be more than two or three.”  Marcie did her own search of the galley and found a couple of large, sharp knives and presented them to Robbie:  “Here.”  But Robbie shook his head. 

“I don’t use them and they’re definitely not for you, sugar.  Someone could kill you with this.”  He lifted up one of the knives for emphasis. She put the knives back in the galley and followed Robbie to the door leading to the forward cabin. 

Robbie listened for a moment, and then, opened it gingerly to have a look forward.  He saw another door standing ajar at the end of a thin service corridor, but still  blocking the view forward.  In this small space, were two washrooms, both vacant, and a storage locker.  From the room beyond, they could hear a vidscreen playing what sounded like the streaming news, and men talking.  Robbie looked back and gestured for silence.  He slipped through the door.  Marcie followed and Pauline came after.  They moved as silently as possible through the little service corridor to the next door.

Marcie could see the whole of the small cabin outside the cockpit door.  Two men were sitting at a table watching a vidscreen and sipping coffee.  Since they were wearing street clothes, these were almost certainly bodyguards and not flight crew.  Robbie did not pause.  He immediately went for the man facing them, leaving the other man to Marcie.  Robbie managed to grab his opponent by the hair and slam his forehead down hard onto the table before the man had a chance to really register their presence.  Marcie grabbed a fire extinguisher that was secured to the wall and brought it down hard on her adversary, but he was already reacting to Robbie and she only dealt a glancing blow. 

Robbie was soon grappling with his target and so was Marcie.  In such a small space, Marcie was at a great disadvantage.  She was forced into close hand-to-hand combat with a man two inches taller, many pounds heavier, and with an inches longer reach.  She hoped she could keep him occupied until Robbie was done.  She lost sight of what Robbie was doing as her opponent turned on her and viciously grabbed her by the throat forcing her down onto the deck in the process.  She landed hard.  The wind was knocked out of her as the man fell on top of her.  She was hopelessly pinned to the deck.  She attempted to execute a wrestling move – arching her back and using the force of her legs.  She didn’t think she could throw him, but maybe she could distract him from choking her long enough for her to catch her breath.  It didn’t work.  He looked at her with a bitter anger in his eyes, blood oozing down his face from the blow she’d inflicted on him.  And there was something else in those eyes, something dark underneath, some kind of basic hatred.  He wasn’t going to let her go.  She continued to struggle, but she started to hear a rushing in her ears and she knew she was going to pass out when suddenly, the man’s vice grip on her neck relaxed and she was able to start wriggling away.  As she did, she saw Pauline hit him hard, probably for the second or third time, with a bookend. 

The man’s body was lifted off of her.  Marcie sat for a moment, gasping for breath.

“Take it easy, sugar.” 

“No…,” she gasped.  “We have to keep going.”

Pauline raised an eyebrow.  “Just let me know if you need anymore help, dear.”  She smirked and stepped back.

Marcie looked up at Robbie and nodded to his unvoiced question. She got to her feet.  Robbie grabbed two guns from the guards’ bodies and passed one to Marcie.

“Let’s go.”

Surely, the flight crew had heard the commotion.  Marcie wasn’t surprised that the door was locked when Robbie tried it.  She stood out of the way while Robbie shot at the lock, hoping to damage it enough to enter.  It held.  He shrugged and started to shoot at the door hinges, which eventually gave way.  The door was still standing, but Robbie could kick it down when they were ready.  How much time do we have?  Marcie assumed that the flight crew had already called for help.

“Get back into the service corridor and stay low.”  Marcie understood immediately.  The space was too small for both of them.  She followed Robbie’s directions, pulling her mother with her as she went.  She heard the slam of the door being kicked open and then a series of shots being fired.  After some silence, Marcie peeked into the companionway.  She saw Robbie’s massive form in the flight deck hatch throwing a body back onto the companionway.

Marcie stepped forward and checked the pilot who now lay slumped on the floor next to the guard who had almost choked her.  He was out cold, but not dead. 

“Hang on, sugar.”  Robbie was pulling the other pilot out of his chair.  “Step back a bit.”  Marcie did so and Robbie dragged another man out of the cabin and onto one of the bench chairs at the table.  “Let’s get control of this vehicle, and then, we’ll take them aft.  Woah.  This guy needs to go on a diet.”

They both moved forward.  Marcie jumped into the pilot’s chair and Robbie took the co-pilot’s seat.  Marcie took a look at the controls.  The pilot’s vidscreen was flashing the message:  ‘Intruder lockout.’  Puh.  Marcie started working on breaking in.  The encryption was much easier than she’d expected.  She was able to crack the lockout in seconds.  She looked at Robbie and smiled.  Too easy. 
“Okay, it’s yours.”  Robbie was the better pilot of the two of them.  She gave the controls over to him.

“Got it.”

Robbie set the RP into a shallow dive, aware that they weren’t prepared for fancy flying.  “Check proximity, sugar.”

Marcie shook her head and started banging the keyboard, calling up the radar system.  They were in a non-stream flight plan, a luxury reserved for high up  mucky-mucks and politicians.  The long-range radar was useless because there was far too much traffic, but Marcie couldn’t see any particular group converging on their location.  The short-range radar showed some traffic nothing apparently threatening.  “Looks clear.”

“Strange.  They should’ve called for help.  There ought to be a Wing on our tail.”  Robbie looked puzzled.

“Maybe there’d be too many questions to answer.  There are laws for moving prisoners and Ryan’s broken all of them, from what I can tell.  If we fell into the hands of the authorities, we might be able to get some of the story out.  Somebody might believe us.  He can’t have that.”

“Lucky break.”

Marcie tapped a few more controls.  “Will you look at that?  We’ve made it to Ontario already.  This baby flies.”

Robbie was distracted.  “We need to hide out, sugar.  We need a few days to just breath.”

“Yeah.”

“But they’ll be expecting Ryan at his house within an hour, yes?”

“One sec.”  Marcie punched up the original flight plan.  “This plane was en route to his home, from what I can tell.”

“Let me see where we are.”  Marcie turned the vidscreen toward him and waited while he levelled the plane.  “Oh yeah.  I have an idea.  Take the controls.  I’m going to stow everything down.”

Marcie took control of the vehicle as Robbie disappeared aft.  She heard some crashes and bumps and looked back occasionally to see Robbie dragging the bodies and Pauline rushing about stowing smaller items.  When Robbie came back, he handed her a parachute.

“Put this on.”  He sat down and she relinquished control.  She shrugged on her parachute and strapped it securely. 

“Now, sugar, you see this rip cord here?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what you’re going to pull when the time comes.  If it doesn’t work, you see this back-up here?”  He pointed to the other side of the pack.

“Yes.”

“Pull that one.  Okay?”

“Yes.  And if that one doesn’t work?”

“Pray.” 

“Very funny.”

Pauline popped her head in.  “Ready.”  She was wearing her parachute.

“Okay, strap yourselves in, ladies.”  Pauline took the navigator’s chair, and they all strapped in.
As soon as they were secure, Robbie dropped the RP.  Marcie’s stomach did a flip-flop, and she did her best to control the urge to scream.  As they fell, she started to worry about whether he could maintain control of the vehicle; it was larger and, therefore, much more cumbersome than a PA.  But he managed the feat and levelled the plane out at just above the treeline, well below radar range.  He executed a sharp banking turn north and increased speed to maximum cruising, while turning on all automatic avoidance systems.   The force of the acceleration pushed Marcie back into her chair.  This was no average RP.  At this speed, most police vehicles would be left far behind.  Only military jets would be able to keep up.

“Okay, check proximity again, please.”

Marcie checked the readout and shrugged her shoulders.  “Looks clear.”

“Well, sugar.  Maybe you’re right.  Maybe Ryan’s been bending too many rules.  Okay, let me get a new course in.”

“What new course?”

“I’m going to send our friends on a tour of North America.”

“If they have half a brain, they’ll be able to crack it, Robbie.”

“Sure, but body guards and politicians usually don’t have your savvy, sugar.  It’ll buy us enough time to get away and confuse anyone trying to find us.”

Robbie sat for a few minutes entering a complex series of instructions into the autonav. He finished, just as an alarm sounded.  He took the plane back up to a few thousand feet, checked his location and slowed the vehicle.  Then, he stood.

“Come on, ladies.  We only have a few minutes before my flight plan kicks in.”  They started unstrapping themselves from their seats.

“Do you really expect me to jump out of this plane?”

“Yes, I really do.”

They walked back to the service corridor and to the outside hatch.

“I can’t wait.”  Pauline sounded like an exuberant child.  Mum, I swear.

“Mum, are you nuts?”

Robbie laughed as he opened the hatch.  The wind started to scream in the corridor.  Robbie pushed the door securely to one side, turned back and gestured for the women to come forward.  Pauline stepped right up and simply walked straight out of the hatch.  Marcie could hear her delighted yell as she disappeared.  She paused for a second until Robbie gestured her forward.  She moved to the hatch and hesitated again.  Then, she felt a strong push from behind and was flying.  Her yells weren’t ones of delight, but she managed to get control of herself relatively quickly and remember the ripcord.  She breathed as much as the rushing air allowed and pulled.  The parachute deployed as it should and suddenly Marcie was jerked up into the air.  She looked up and saw the canopy open above her and realized she was now drifting with the wind currents.

Now, this is okay.  Marcie relaxed and enjoyed the ride, trying, for a moment, to rid her mind of her troubles.  She had a fantastic view of a beautiful lake and the surrounding forest, dotted with little cottages.  She could see Pauline ahead, flying well and covering much more ground.  After a little experimentation, Marcie learned to steer the thing and, though she would come down about a half a kilometre behind her mother, she was at least going in the same direction.

The flight down was over before she knew it.  Almost too soon, the trees were rushing up to meet her.  Hmmm.  So now what?  She really didn’t know how to break her fall, but she decided to try a roll and managed, instead, to become completely tangled in the cords.  The parachute settled on the ground ahead of her, narrowly missing getting caught in the trees.  She came to a rest, slightly more bruised than she already was, and looked up just in time to see Robbie fly past her.  She wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard the sound of him laughing.  Ha ha.  She spent the next few minutes untangling herself.  She was soon pulling in her parachute and stuffing it, as best she could, back in her pack.  Best not to leave a bright white elephant behind to let them know I’ve been by this way.

Marcie shrugged on her parachute pack and set off at a light jog to catch up with Robbie and Pauline.  She ran for ten minutes, but couldn’t find them.  So, she started looking for them in earnest, using a grid-like search pattern and calling their names intermittently.  Eventually, she came upon another parachute, but no Pauline and no Robbie.  She decided to wait there and climbed a tree to get a better view.  A few minutes later, they came walking back into the small clearing chatting together. 

“Boo.”

“Very funny, my dear.  Now, come down out of there.”  Marcie gave her mother a cheeky smile and climbed down out of the tree.

“We’re lucky, but not that lucky,” said Robbie.  “It’s going to be a hike to the cabin.”

“The cabin?” Marcie looked a little quizzical.  She couldn’t imagine Robbie owning some property out in the middle of nowhere.

“Yeah, an old family friend has this cottage out here.”

“Is he there?”

“She, actually.”

“She.”

“Yeah.  She usually doesn’t come up here during the summer.  Too many people.  She actually likes the seclusion in the winters and comes up here to hibernate.”

“She.  Hmph.  How far is it?”

Robbie appeared not to notice her discomfort.  “I’d say about three hours.”

“So, how are we going to get in once we get there?”

“Aaaah.  Patience, young one.”

Marcie stuck out her tongue as he turned away to pack up the other parachute.  Moments later, they embarked on the long hike to the cabin through some fairly rough terrain.  An hour later, Marcie was thankful for the boots and the fact that the boots fit, but she was getting tired.  Robbie was right when he said they needed a couple of days.

They walked for over three hours; covering less and less distance as they hiked because they had to slow for Pauline.  Night fell and with it came the mosquitos.  Marcie and her mother were being eaten alive, but Robbie seemed not to be bothered.  Finally, after being bitten what seemed like a thousand times, Robbie announced that they had made it.  Marcie looked up at the winterized cottage sitting on the hill ahead of them.  It was beautiful on the outside – chalet style with a high roof and a wall of windows.  The place was dark.   Robbie walked by the house, down to the gatehouse at the end of the driveway.  The women followed.

“This gatehouse is rarely used.  I think Auntie May held a party up here once and that was it.”

“Auntie May?”

“Yeah, my mother’s best friend.  She’s gotta be, oh, fifty-five if she’s a day.”  He smiled at her.  Marcie tried to save her pride by ignoring him.  Robbie continued, “She wouldn’t care if we used the place.  She told my mother to come up anytime in the summer and showed her how to get in.  So, if you know the secrets of the cottage, you know about this gatehouse.  He walked up to the door and ran his hand down a series of decorative stars and moons.  He picked one particular star and gave it a twist, then a shove, and the door to the gatehouse opened.

“You can use a keycard if you want, but that’s the easiest way.  And inside….presto!  Keycards to the whole place.”  He picked up a ring with five keycards on it.  He smiled at Marcie.  “C’mon, sugar.”

He shut the door behind him and jangled the keycards all the way back up the hill to the main house.  They went inside.  It was an open concept chalet-style cottage, with a huge fireplace dominating the main room.  At the back of the place, Marcie could see a bedroom and a kitchen.  There was a loft area over the kitchen, probably another bedroom.  The cottage had an abandoned smell but, despite the must, it was tidy.  They investigated the kitchen.  There was a good store of boxed milk and fruit juices, canned and frozen goods.  They wouldn’t exhaust the stores even if they stayed here a week.  Robbie set to hauling in firewood and getting the fire going in the hearth and the stove while Marcie dusted the place and put sheets on the beds.  Pauline made dinner. 

They ate a hearty meal of canned tomatoes, sausages, and whipped potatoes.  Pauline found a bottle of wine.  They were able to eat sitting around a roaring fire, drinking a nice burgundy, laughing about how their feet hurt.  After dinner, though, the mood became more sombre.

“How long do you think we’re going to be able to stay here?” asked Marcie.  “They can’t be that far behind us.”

“Well, I managed to program quite a joyride for Ryan.  They’ll be busy saving him, so they may not be that interested in finding us until, oh, around now, I expect.  Even then, the flight plan will be wiped the moment the vehicle stops.  We have time.”

“So, maybe another day?”

“I would say at least two.  They won’t know where to begin to look, sugar.”

“Okay, we stay tonight and tomorrow night, but we leave the next morning.  Good?”

“Good.”

“Great.”

Marcie went to bed not long after and slept for ten hours straight.  Even then, it was really only the smell of the coffee that woke her up.



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 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/.  She is preparing for two Shakespeare is Boffo! summer camp sessions for 2012.

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The Pretender - Chapter 7

Friday, July 16, 2083.  9:30 p.m.

“Well, I didn’t think things could get any worse really, did you?”

Robbie’s voice was tinged in irony but Marcie stayed silent, watching the rest of the news broadcast on a vidscreen in the Flipside.  A solemn, but suitably bland, news commentator was frowning her way through the report:   “…for some unknown purpose.  The Eastdown Institute is a luxury rehabilitation centre in Aurora, Ontario.  It isn’t understood why Eastdown became the target for a terrorist attack, but inside sources suggest that the, as yet un-named group, was attempting to kidnap a politician’s family member.  Marcie Noel and Robbie McLean are long term business associates in the city of Toronto, catering to that city’s elite.  It’s believed they gained insider information from one of their clients.  They are considered armed and dangerous.  Anyone with knowledge of their….”

Suddenly, Marcie stopped the playback.  She shook her head in amazement.

“Well, how did they know it was us?”

“They know we’re mixed up in this whole thing.  Didn’t Stellan say we were about to be picked up?  Maybe they caught me on an internal cam at Eastdown and put two and two together.  Or maybe Henderson or Pall mentioned our names.  Who knows?”

“Maybe we should take up holding up banks, Clyde.”

“At least there’d be some money in it.  This international terrorism is for the birds.”

Marcie frowned.  “Robbie, if they suspect that we’re fortunatus, won’t they go after our families?”
“Sure, but my folks have resources.  They’ll be fine.”

“Okay, what about my Mum?”

She tapped the comm button on the vidscreen, and said clearly, “Dr. Jeffrey Stellan.”  She waited for the connection to go through and suddenly, Stellan’s face was on the vidscreen.

“What can I do for you, Marcie?”  He looked worn.  His voice was strained.

“Stellan, I need a vehicle, so I can pick up my mother.”

“I understand.”

“I want to leave in a few hours.”

“How many people will you need?”

“Just Robbie.”

Stellan paused. “Okay.” 

Marcie rung off and looked at Robbie.  “I volunteered you.”

“Good.”

“Before we go, let me check in with the office.”  She tapped a few buttons and signalled the waitress.  “And I need another cup of coffee.”  She turned back to the vidscreen and loaded her webmail account.  There were four emails.  In the first, Tracy reported that the police searched the place from top to bottom and seized company records and assets.

The second email came from a completely unrelated webmail account, but turned out, again, to be from Tracy.  She reported that Jeff was able to export nearly ninety-four percent of the business files while the police did their premises search.  He’d gone straight home and copied them to disk, deleted the remote copies, and deleted the file transfer logs.  The business could run if Marcie wanted it to.  The third email marked the next morning reported that Jeff had managed to hack three bank accounts before the authorities got their hands on them and; although Marcie was a lot poorer, she was by no means broke.  Apparently, Jeff had disparaging remarks to make about Marcie’s passwords.  He had ‘stolen’ the money and placed it in an offshore trust account for safe-keeping. 

In the last email, Tracy reported that in the absence of input from Marcie, she’d decided to do something about the situation, assuming that Marcie was a little too busy to handle things herself.  Tracy released the new staff from Noel and Co. and she and Jeff set up a ‘rival’ company that would perform the function of Noel and Co., under the name of TR Associates.  TR Associates then hired everyone back and business was continuing as usual.  The trust fund was set up as the third partner in the business and Marcie would receive thirty percent of the profit on a quarterly basis.

All in twenty-four hours.

Marcie thought hard.  Her old life was gone.  She shot back an email asking Tracy to change the arrangement and make her share of the trust account ten percent only.  Considering her tarnished reputation, she couldn’t see taking an active part in the business even in the far future.  However, the business concept, operating capital, client records, and all the free advice you ever wanted, ought to be worth ten percent and that was all she was willing to take. Considering the growth of the business over the initial two years, Marcie assumed that the ten percent would turn into a tidy sum over time.  She was content.  Besides, my new life as an international terrorist awaits.

Robbie had ordered meals along with Marcie’s coffee.  They ate, went up to their suite and changed into Outside clothes.  They walked through the Promenade on their way to the Outside elevators.  They noticed that the fields of the Sports Complex were full of people gathering for some kind of Fair.  There was music and revelry.  Marcie and Robbie stopped and Marcie asked a young woman what was going on.

“We are mourning our dead,” said the woman, with sad eyes.

“It almost seems like a festival.”

“Usually, our people don’t die so young, Ms. Noel.  We have taken to celebrating a person’s life and achievements on their death.  It’s informal, personal.  Usually fun.  But this day is so…”

“Heartbreaking.”  Marcie put her hand on the woman’s shoulder to comfort her.  The woman nodded and moved away.  Robbie and Marcie stood watching for a few minutes.  “I want to stay, Robbie, but we can’t.”

“Yes, sugar.  Time might be an issue, here.”

They continued on and took the elevators up to the tired old farmhouse.  They walked out to the barn to collect a PA where they were met by Jason.

“Friends, we have a vehicle ready for you.”  He pointed to a brown, family-sized PA.

“Thank you, Jason,” said Marcie.

“I’ve taken the liberty of programming the PA to emit a false identity.  Without it, you’ll never get over the border.”

“I want to see how that’s done.”

“Feel free to access the code.

“Well, now that I have a keyboard to work with.”

Jason laughed.

They hopped in, drove the PA out of the barn; Robbie took off and stayed at local altitude.  They did their usual trick of making a series of short hops to Chicago.  Then, they powered down and re-initialized the PA.  Marcie had studied the ingenious code that created a personality to mask the personality in the PA.  The border authorities would think they were Jacob Reid and his wife Heather.  They would almost certainly not stop them.  As they went over the border, Marcie and Robbie stayed quiet.  Conversations were monitored without apology by both governments’ border guards.  They got into Canada without a problem.

As they flew to Toronto, they took turns napping.  They arrived around four in the morning and set down on the roof of her mother’s building.  Marcie’s key still worked.  I hope I’m still one step ahead of them.

They walked down the stairs to the top floor and to the elevators.  One was standing open.  They stepped in and pressed the button for the eleventh floor.

“Could be a trap, sugar.”

“I have no choice, Robbie.”

“I know. I’m just saying let’s be careful.”

The elevator opened on the eleventh floor and seemed loud in the stillness of the early morning.   Marcie could clearly hear their footsteps on the carpeted floor.  They went to 1115 and Marcie slid her access card into the lock.  The door monitor showed green, so Marcie carefully and quietly pushed it open.

“Hold it right there.”

Pauline Noel was sitting in her favourite chair, the one that faced the door.  She was a trim woman of sixty years, with slate grey hair and piercing eyes.  She was wearing a baby-blue wrap-around robe over cotton pyjamas and fuzzy slippers.  She had a large revolver in her right hand.

“Mum, it’s me.”

Pauline looked annoyed.  “Marcie, you really need to telephone before you come.  You gave me a fright.”

Marcie and Robbie stepped into the suite, closing the door behind them.  “Mum, where did you get that gun?”

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“Yes, sorry.  Pauline Noel, please meet Robbie McLean.”

“You don’t look Scottish.”

“No, ma’am, I don’t.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“Mum, where did you get that gun?”

“This old thing?  I’ve had it for years, dear.”

“Oh.”  Marcie didn’t know what else to say.  “We’ve got to get you out of here.”

“Yes, dear.  With all the stink about you, I was going to leave in a few hours, anyway, my normal time to go to the gym.  I’m all packed up.  Just give me a minute to change my clothes.”

“Okay, Mum.”

“Why don’t you make you and your friend a cup of tea?”

“Thanks, but we’re all right.”  Parents never stopped being parents.

“I’ll just be a moment.”

They stood waiting for exactly two minutes and then Pauline emerged from the bedroom wearing a smart pantsuit and carrying an overnight bag.

“Is that all you’re taking, Mum?”

“Oh yes, dear.  It’s mostly photographs, actually.” 

Marcie always thought that her mother was the most interesting woman she’d ever met.  It shouldn’t surprise her that Pauline would be ready and willing to pull up stakes and go at the drop of a hat.

“All right, ladies.  We should leave.”  Robbie was looking a bit nervous.  Marcie knew what was bothering him.  After the fiasco at Eastdown, and with their faces all over the evening streams, this was too easy. 

Marcie and Pauline nodded and they walked to the door.  Pauline took one more look around the condo.

“Such a shame, Mum.”

“Ah.”  Pauline smiled.  “Easy come….”  She walked out the door.  Marcie and Robbie were right on her heels.  Robbie closed the door quietly and they walked to the elevator, silently.  The elevator was still there.  They got on and Robbie pushed the button for the roof.

“Mum, did you know we were different?”

“Of course, dear.”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“Soon, dear.  It’s not an easy subject to breach.”

“Well, no.  You’re right.”

“So.  Are you a terrorist, dear?”

“Yes, Mum.”

“Hmmm.  I have to tell you.  I have a few talents that I haven’t used in years, dear.  I might be able to give you a hand.”

“That’d be great, Mum.”

They exited the elevator and walked over to the PA.  It was a quiet morning.  The air carried the chill that comes with the dew.  The sun wouldn’t be there for a half hour, but the eastern horizon had already started to glow.  There was little traffic in the streets below or the skies above.  No one appeared to be about, nor would they be for some time, but Robbie is a distrusting sort.  When he got into the PA, he had the car display a proximity log and he ran a status check.

The reports came back and Robbie paused, but held the expression on his face.  He turned the vidscreen toward Marcie and pointed out that the proximity log was empty but that the status check revealed an anomalous object attached to the underside of the vehicle. 

Marcie picked up the keyboard and started tapping.  She was able to recover the data from the wiped log.  The retrieved log clearly showed activity under the vehicle in the last ten minutes.  She turned the screen back, so Robbie could see the results.

They had to guess whether it was a bomb or a beacon.  Which do they want most?  To blow us up or to find Origin?  Pauline was watching intently from the back seat. 

“Beacon or bomb?”  Robbie mouthed the word, barely whispering.

“Beacon.” Marcie mouthed the word back.  Robbie was nodding in agreement.  He obviously agreed with her.

They looked at Pauline.  “Beacon,” she said silently.

Robbie shrugged.  Since all of their answers were the same, the probability of the answer being the right one was much higher than if only one of them had guessed or if they had disagreed.  He initiated the start-up sequence.  The PA started up with no problem.  Except that they were being tracked, of course.  He paused for a moment and then said clearly into the microphone:  “Trump International Hotel.”  Marcie was about to protest, but he shook his head and brought his finger to his lips.  They may be listening in on our conversations.  They probably know what he owns and what he doesn’t.  After all, THEY did a background check.   Marcie sighed.

“Well it’s a beautiful morning, if a little chill.  I understand the temperature for the day will hit around twenty-six degrees, but I looked up New York before you came and, it’s too bad, but it’ll likely be raining there today.  Such a pity.  But I guess you wouldn’t like to be outside in New York in July, really, would you?  So, perhaps we’ll keep to the hotel facilities and the nice shops, shall we?  Do they still have Mama Leone’s?  Oh they must.  It’s been around for a hundred years – a real landmark in the city….”

Pauline kept on talking with Marcie and Robbie interjecting only from time to time.  She didn’t let up until they slipped into the figure eight over New York.  Then, she quieted down during the drop and landing.  She pulled a scarf and a set of dark glasses out of her purse.  Marcie put the scarf over her hair and slipped on the glasses while Robbie parked the vehicle. 

“There’s not much I can do about Mr. McLean,” said Pauline.

“It should be okay, Mum.”

They got out and walked toward the entrance.  The concierge recognized Robbie immediately and hurried over to greet them.  He was a small, trim man with a warm smile.

“Ken, good morning.”

“Good morning, sir.”

“We’ll need two adjoining suites under my name, please.  Will you take care of it?”

“Certainly, sir.”  Ken nodded and walked over to the check in desk.

Robbie turned back to Marcie and Pauline.  “Okay, ladies, wait here.  Ken will show you to your suite.  I have a little business to attend to outside.”

Marcie nodded and took her mother’s arm while Robbie returned to the PA pad outside.

“Come on, Mum”

“Don’t you think we might be able to help Mr. McLean, Marcie?”

“You have to call him Mr. Grant here, Mum.  Come on.”

Marcie and Pauline walked over to the counter to wait for Ken, who looked up and smiled at them as they approached.

“Almost finished, ladies.”  A few more taps at his computer and he walked around to the front of the counter.  “This way please.”

Friday, July 16, 2083.  6:00 a.m.

Before she knew it, Marcie was washing the tense night away in a hot shower.  Robbie had come downstairs only minutes behind them and reported that the bug was removed from the underside of the vehicle.  Robbie had put it inside the cab, to be certain that anyone monitoring it would consider all kosher.  He didn’t want their pursuers to give up on the beacon and send a real plane to follow them.  They decided to eat breakfast in their suite.  Robbie called in an order, and Marcie hopped into the shower.

In what seemed only a few minutes later, Marcie heard a rap at the bathroom door.  “Food’s here!” 
“Thanks, Mum.”  Marcie sighed, stepped out of the shower, and grabbed a towel.  She dried off and pulled on one of the hotel bathrobes.  As she walked out into the main room, she saw Pauline and Robbie sitting at the table, already eating what looked like a sumptuous meal.  Robbie was talking.

“…and, oh, hi, sugar.”  He gestured to her meal.  “Eat up, we need to get going.”  He turned back to Pauline.  “When we leave, we need to leave everything behind as if we were planning to return, including your overnight bag, Mrs. Noel, photographs or no.”  Pauline looked sad, but didn’t complain.  “Take heart, Mrs. Noel.  I’ve left instructions.  I’m hoping they’ll be saved for you.  Okay?” 

She brightened up a little.  “Call me Pauline, Mr. Grant.”

“Only if you call me Robbie.”  He smiled.  “Okay, we’ll get on the elevator as usual, go down to the lobby, and then go up to the roof in the service elevator, after I disable the security system for a bit of maintenance.  We should be able to get up there and out before any cameras pick us up and before the sharks have any idea what’s going on.  But to get away, I think we’re going to have to risk a drop.  Okay?”

Marcie nodded.  “Okay.”  Pauline nodded too.  A ‘drop’ was an unscheduled fall from the lanes and a risky move in more ways than one.

“All right, eat up.  Could be your last meal.”

“Not funny, Robbie.”

“So Robbie, is it Grant or McLean, then?”  Pauline was the kind of women who liked to know everything about everyone, and she never forgot a thing.  Robbie seemed to understand this intuitively.  He just smiled and shrugged.  Best not to commit yourself one way or another. 

“What do you think?”

“Grant.”

“Is that wishful thinking?”

“Perhaps.  I always wanted my daughter to marry well.”

Marcie said nothing as they both looked at her.  She sipped a little more coffee and turned away to stare at the stream of rush hour traffic.  How is it possible that her mother would make this whole thing about finding a man?

“Mum, aren’t I supposed to be saving the world, here?”  Marcie didn’t bother to keep the exasperation out of her voice.

“Yes, of course, dear.  But you must consider what you’re going to do afterward.  Hmmmm?”

Marcie felt a little stymied and then she looked at Robbie.  “Are you done?”  She stood up.  “Because I’m done.”

Robbie was clever enough not to laugh. Marcie went into the bedroom to change into some clothes and pull back her hair.  She was back in a few minutes.  Pauline and Robbie were both standing by the door waiting for her. 

As they left the suite, they chatted like they hadn’t a care in the world.  Marcie was getting used to playing this game and was still amazed that her mother played it so well.  I’ll have to find out how she learned all this.  They walked down the hall to the elevator and punched GL for ground lobby.  A few moments later, they emerged and the women waited while Robbie went to consult with the day manager.  Marcie watched as the two men greeted each other warmly and had a quick conversation.  They shook hands as Robbie left to walk back to Marcie and Pauline.

“Pauline,” he said as he approached.  “I just arranged to show you around the kitchens.  I know you like a bit of gourmet food, and I thought you might want to see a professional team in action.”

Pauline beamed at him.  Marcie schooled her expression.  Her mother liked food but hated cooking.  “Robbie, how gracious of you.  I would love a tour.  Come Marcie, darling.”

“All right, ladies.  Just this way.”  He gestured to the rear of the lobby and started walking.  They followed.  “The main kitchen is one of the most important elements of a world-class hotel like this.  One kitchen is responsible for preparing food for three main meals – breakfast, lunch, and dinner – in two of the three restaurants on premises, as well as, brunch seven days a week, mid-morning coffee break in the lounge, High Tea in the lounge, and room service in our eight hundred rooms twenty-four hours a day.”

“Who runs the other restaurant, Robbie?”  Pauline looked at Robbie with an honest inquisitiveness.  Mum, you’re good at this.  They went through an automatic door into one of the service corridors on the main floor.  Unlike the lobby, this floor was tiled, a neutral off white. and was busy with hotel staff going about their business.

“We hire the best chefs in the world.  Currently, our head chef is Jean Georges, a Frenchman from Thailand, who combines the two traditions in the most delicious way.  Would you like to eat at his restaurant this evening?

“Jean Georges!  We would have to wait weeks for a reservation!”

“Oh no.  We could go tonight.”

“I would love to.”

They arrived at a set of double doors.  The security monitors were showing a solid green.  With a kitchen this busy, Marcie wondered when they ever locked those doors.  Beside them, a maid was feeding dirty dishes onto a conveyor that disappeared through the wall.  Robbie pulled the door open for the women to enter.  The kitchen was huge and manned by two armies:  one preparing food and one clearing away.  The hustle and bustle was impressive.  Robbie continued the tour guide patter as they walked and Pauline continued to appear extremely interested. Marcie thought she could get away with looking a bit bored. 

Suddenly, Robbie stopped talking, turned on his heel, and started walking back to the door they came in.  Marcie perked up, Pauline lost her look of rapt attention, and they both followed him.  Robbie pushed the door open and Marcie noticed that the security system no longer showed green.  It showed nothing at all – Robbie must have had the security shut down.  I wonder how much time we have.  She picked up the pace.  Robbie walked them to a bank of service elevators where Robbie pushed the ‘up’ button.  They stood waiting beside a maid who clearly recognized Robbie and looked nervous in his presence.

As the elevator dinged its arrival, Robbie turned to the maid and said, “Why don’t you take the next elevator, Eleanor.  You’ll be glad you did.”  The young woman took his advice and stepped back to leave them room to enter.  She moved toward the call button as the elevator door closed.

“As you might have guessed, all security is off.  We have about three minutes, sugar.”   There he goes reading my mind again.  Robbie pulled out his PA remote and pushed the button that started the vehicle.  By they time they got to the roof, the PA would have run through all of its checks and would be ready to leave immediately.  The elevator opened onto the roof, and Robbie walked them directly to the PA.  They took care not to speak to anyone.  Most of the employees would likely be rigorously interrogated after they left.  It was best if they knew nothing.  The PA was already running and ready to take off.  All Robbie had to do was identify a destination.  He leaned over and spoke clearly into the microphone:  “Tampa, Florida.”  The PA lifted off immediately, paused for clearance from Control, and then began a steep climb to the state-to-state lanes.  Robbie and Marcie scanned the skies intently, but could see no pursuers.  Presently, they levelled off.

“But, Robbie, won’t they be able to track our flight path through Control?”

“Sure, but Control approved a flight to Florida.  Once we’re clear of NYC, I’m going to do the unscheduled drop and from there, we’ll fly low home.  Okay?”

Marcie felt a little sheepish.  “Sure.  Don’t we have to watch what we say?”

Robbie fingered the small beacon.  “Na.  It’s just a tracking device, no more.  We’ll dump it over a farmer’s field, and then, we’ll execute the drop.  Hopefully, it’ll be enough to get us clear.”  But he looked worried.

“Why didn’t we leave it behind?”

“They would notice right away if it wasn’t moving as we took off – especially if they’re monitoring Control and know what we’re doing.  They’d know something was up and they’d just sick a Wing on us.”

“But they’ll notice that the homing signal stops moving when you drop it.”

“Sure, but I’m hoping they’ve relaxed a little, now they think we don’t know about the beacon.  From their point of view, we think we’ve pulled off an escape and they think they have their little secret and can still track us.  I’m hoping that they’re going to rely too heavily on the edge they think they have.  They want us to lead them to Origin.  So, they need to back off and let their little plan work.”

“I’ll cross my fingers you’re right.” 

About fifteen minutes later, when they were well clear of the congestion of New York:

“Okay, this is it.”

They were flying over a farmer’s field.  Robbie opened the pilot’s window and threw the tracking device out, and then, punched the drop button on the dash.  The PA fell like a stone.  The descent was too abrupt for Marcie’s stomach, which stayed a few hundred feet up well after they fell.  Robbie levelled off just above the tree line over East Brunswick, Pennsylvania and continued south for a few kilometres. 

“I’ll stay on this course until we’re absolutely sure this worked.”

Marcie checked the proximity monitor and saw that they were well below radar range, practically skirting the tops of the trees.  ‘Topping’, she and her friends used to call it when she was a teenager.

The proximity monitor was clear for a few moments, and then, Marcie sucked in her breath as a dot appeared not far behind them and at their altitude.  Marcie turned and looked out the aft window.  She saw that a black, super-speed reconnaissance vehicle had levelled off behind them. A Wing.  Shit.

Control established the Winged Force, its own police, the same year it went live, with jurisdiction only in the streams.  The WF, by international treaty, enforced a global area, ignoring borders and domestic considerations.  A Wing, watching the flight streams would, as a matter of course, drop out of the flow to follow a vehicle making an unscheduled descent to ensure there was no emergency.  To do this part of their job, a Wing had a few extra capabilities.  The WF could legally monitor PA cab conversation just following a drop, to ensure that the pilot wasn’t out of control.  As it turned out, over fifty percent of folks making unscheduled drops were involved in criminal activity and monitoring their conversations usually hastened their capture.  Convenient, that.  So,  Robbie, Marcie, and Pauline stayed quiet for a few beats.  And then, Pauline started talking again, mainly about nothing, but complaining intermittently about having to go to the washroom.  She filled the air with innocuous conversation until they were able to stop in at a gas station.  The Wing hovered above the gas station for a short while, then, took off.  Marcie and her mother went to the bathroom for good form.

“Mum, that was great.”  Marcie whispered as they disappeared into the building.

“Yes, you must never underestimate the power of small-talk, darling.”  Pauline smiled and checked her face in the mirror.  “Come on, let’s get some snacks for the trip.”

They went downstairs to the snack bar and bought a bagful of goodies and drinks.  By the time they got back to the PA, the vehicle had been recharged and was ready to go.  They all climbed in.  They lifted off without a hitch and headed manually westward on the lowest stream.  They’d managed to get away, but it was going to be a slow ride.  Robbie set the PA on automatic and sat back looking at Marcie.  She raised her snack bag.

“Cheesy?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

As Robbie reached into the bag, they heard a solid metallic ‘thunk’ from above. 

“What was that?”

“Sugar, that was the sound of an attach magnet.  A Wing has decided to pick us up.”  Robbie sighed.  “We should have taken a ground car.”

Two hours later, they were back in Toronto, but Marcie couldn’t figure out what they were doing there.  By international treaty, a Wing is required to remand a criminal in the district over which he is apprehended.  But in their case, the PA was impounded by the WF and they were transferred to a prisoner transportation vehicle.  They were flown almost a thousand miles and over a border, all the way to the city of Toronto.  Then, they were remanded not to the local authorities, but to the RCMP – Canada’s federal policing agency.  They were formally charged with terrorist activities, and then, herded into a vehicle and flown for about fifteen minutes.  But when Marcie stepped out of the plane, they weren’t at a prison, as she expected.  She was standing, instead, in front of a beautiful house in the country, with a wide flowing staircase up to a grandly designed front entrance.  The house was large, three stories with a wing.  The grounds were tastefully landscaped and full of flowers.  Marcie blinked.  A guard shoved her from behind so she headed up the stairs.  They reached the top and the guard rang the bell.  A self-possessed woman in her forties opened the door and ushered them in.  The guards waited outside.  The woman closed the door and then turned and spoke to them. 

“Please stay here.  I would advise you not to try anything.  This facility is heavily patrolled and you’re a long way from anything or anyone who might be inclined to help you.  Do you understand?”  Robbie nodded and Marcie just stared.  Pauline was wearing her most vacant expression.  “This way, then, please.”

They followed the woman down a long, wide hallway to the wing where they turned the corner and walked into a small seating area.  The woman didn’t invite them to sit down.  Instead, she led them straight to an ornate door and tapped on it lightly. 

“Come.”  A man’s voice called.

They entered the room and found themselves in a large office, hexagonal in shape, with windows floor to ceiling on the three outside walls.  The interior walls were dominated by mahogany bookshelves full of hard cover, beautifully bound books.  Dr. Lawrence Ryan stood in the shadows of some thick drapes, behind a grand and ornate desk, also done in dark mahogany.  Marcie could barely make him out, but she could clearly see a woman was sitting on a visitor’s chair in front of the desk.  Helen Pearce!  Marcie, Robbie, and Pauline walked into the room.

“That’ll be all, Hilda.”  He was talking to their tour guide.

“Thank you, sir.”  Hilda’s voice communicated her relief.  Clearly, she wasn’t comfortable with her new guests.  She disappeared and closed the door behind her.

“Welcome. Some introductions are in order, I think.  I’m Dr. Lawrence Ryan of the Eastdown Institute.  I’m sure you’ve recognize Helen Pearce.  I understand you’ve been looking for her.  Helen, please meet Marcie Noel, her mother Pauline Noel, and Robbie Grant, a business associate.”

Helen looked a little confused.  “How do you do?”

Marcie didn’t react.  She was having trouble reconciling the situation.  This man was far too powerful.  He can hijack prisoners and have them brought to his…, what?  His home?  He must be extremely confident in his resources to be standing there so composed in front of them all, no fear showed on his face, nor was betrayed by his behaviour.  Not even nervousness.  He was above the law and a law unto himself.

“How do you do,” said Pauline after a slight pause.  “I hope you’re well.”

Again, Helen seemed confused by the civilized, almost bourgeois, conversation.  “They’re treating me well, yes.  I…I’m well.”

“Well, that’s something, my dear.”  Pauline turned to Ryan.  “And you, Doctor, are well I hope.”

“Very well, thank-you.”  Ryan was assessing Pauline with shrewdness in his eyes.  She didn’t fool him.  “Please ladies and gentleman, come this way.  We can have some lunch and discuss exactly what I want from you.”

He led them back out to the hallway, down to the back of the house, and into an airy dining room with a table already set for five.  The moment they sat down, they were served lunch.  Ryan and Pauline kept the conversation light for the whole meal, to the point where Marcie was almost starting to enjoy herself.  The change in tone came without warning.

Ryan sat back and smiled his most ingenuous smile.  “Well, I suppose you know why you’re here.”

“No, we do not.”  Marcie’s voice was firm.

“You’re here, Ms. Noel, because we want the location of Origin.  We’re prepared to do whatever it takes to get Origin and we’re not above using any means to extract information.  Do you understand?  Helen, is Ms. Noel going to tell me where the colony is?”

“No.”

“Hmmmmm.  Not frightened of me, are you.”

“No.”  Marcie said the word as matter-of-factly as possible.

“You should be, Ms. Noel.”

“Actually, Dr. Ryan, it’s you who should be frightened of me.”

“What are you talking about?”  He almost laughed. He thought she was bluffing.

“We found the results to the blood tests, Dr. Ryan.  You have a very efficient secretary – or at least you did until recently.  He or she kept back ups of absolutely everything and did it daily.  Someone tried to delete them all but, wouldn’t you know it?  We were able to save all those files.  Wasn’t that lucky?  We know what you are.  You know?  …I think you should do some testing to see how fortunatus luck cancels itself out within fortunatus society.  I would be really interested in seeing how that works.  For example, are we luckier when we are on the side of the just?  Does that give us an edge?”

As the impact of what she was saying settled on Helen, she stared a Ryan in astonishment.  Ryan had frozen as Marnie started to speak, his coffee cup almost to his mouth.  But his mind was able and quick, so it was Marcie’s turn to be surprised.  He recovered almost immediately and with confidence.  He again flashed what was becoming his famous smile.

“Well, now, Ms. Noel, whom do you think they’re going to believe?  A non-human terrorist like yourself, or me:  a pillar of my community, a top-notch researcher, and a candidate for high public office?  Hmm, who do you think?”

Marcie sniffed.  “What ever happened to Doctor Roper, Dr. Ryan?”

“Dr. who?”

“Roper.  Helen’s gynaecologist.  Remember him, Helen?  He died.  Then, they found him, a month later, lying on one of his own examination tables, crawling with insects, half rotted, soiled with the dirt they originally used to bury him.”

“Ah, yes.  I remember.  We killed him.”

“Really.”

“Yes.  He was the blabbing kind.”

“Oh?”

“We have a government directive that requires the attending physician to report a patient whose blood analysis returns with fortunatus markers.  They are required to call our hotline and we take over from there.  Most physicians have a sense of professional discretion, but Dr. Roper didn’t. He’d already requested money in return for Helen Pearce.”  Helen’s eyes grew wide.  “He wanted to go to the tabloids.”

“Ah, I understand.  Can’t have anyone knowing about your little hospital of horrors.  But why would you dig him up?”

“To tarnish Helen’s reputation, of course, and to make everyone think that she killed him for his money and tried to cover things up.  There’s no crime without a body.”

“Right.  But if you are a murderer, Dr. Ryan, it’ll be a little difficult for you to run for high public office.”

“No one will ever find out, Marcie.  One thing about sapiens.  They tend to believe what they want to believe – or should I say, what I want them to believe.”

Marcie looked at him.  His reputation was absolutely unsullied and his star was on the rise.  “I think you are a monster, Dr. Ryan.”

His smile disappeared.  “You don’t know the half of it, Ms. Noel.  Not the half.”  He stood and paced the room for a few minutes.  The silence was heavy.  “Helen, am I going to find out where Origin is?”

“Yes.”

“Am I going to destroy it?”

“Yes.”

“There.”  He turned on Marcie.  “You see?  You may as well give in.”

Before Marcie could speak, the telephone rang.

“Damn.  Guards!”  Ryan let the phone ring until the two guards appeared.  These men were burly and shrewd, the best that sapiens had to offer.  Ryan picked up the phone.  Marcie stayed put.

“Ryan.”  They waited in silence while Ryan listened to the caller.  “Yes, yes.  Good.  Send all the details to me and get General Chaisen on the line, please.  Thanks.”  He hung up the telephone.  “Well, I didn’t need you after all.  One of your operatives responded to our line of questioning.  Ms. Noel, I’d like to have you killed, but I think both you and Mr. Grant will make excellent subjects.  We’ll take your mother along to ensure that you comply, hmmmm?”  Ryan fixed her with a piercing look.  “Put them downstairs until we can transport them.”  He pressed an intercom button.  “Hilda?  Inform the kitchen we’ll have three new guests in the basement.  I’m afraid they’ll be around for a few days.  We have some pressing business.”  He looked at the guards.  “That’s all.  Come, Helen,” he said as he strode from the room.  Helen Pearce walked behind him almost meekly.

Marcie had never felt so trapped, so hopeless.  She stared at those beautiful windows and the open sky beyond.  Would I make it?  No, not today.  She stood and followed the guards out of the room.  They went to the back of the house and down a narrow staircase to the basement.  They walked past an impressive wine cellar and some storage facilities but quickly came to a desk behind which sat a rigid looking young man.  He stood as they approached.

“New guests?”  He looked almost happy.

“Yeah.  Keep the old lady away from the other two.”

“No problem.”

Marcie always marvelled at sapiens cruelty, feeling an anger begin to burn in her stomach.  Then, she remembered Ryan, a great example of fortunatus compassion, and settled down.  They walked down a hallway with seven doors, three on either side and one at the end of the hall.  Marcie was shoved into the first door on the left.  The door was locked behind her.  Marcie looked around.  An eight by five room.  A cot and a chair.  No window.  She heard two other doors slam.  She stood for a moment, and then, she sat on the chair and just breathed.

Saturday, July 17, 2083.  5:30 a.m.

Marcie was only dimly aware of a loud banging on the door.  She opened her eyes and blinked.  Same little room.  Same chair.  She focused on something new:  food on a tray on the floor in front of the door.  She got up and went over to pick up the tray.  She sat on the chair and pulled back the tin foil. 

The meal was much better than she might have expected.  Scrambled eggs and bacon, some toast, and coffee.  It was still hot.  She ate quickly, not knowing what to expect.  A while after she was done, there was another rap; then, the door opened without ceremony.  A man with short hair and a guard’s uniform poked his head in.

“Shower time, princess.”  He threw a towel at her and disappeared.  She caught the towel, stood, and followed him.  He walked ahead without fear.  Another guard was training a gun on her as she came out into the hallway.  The door at the end of the hallway stood open, waiting.  She went inside and found a washroom that was still steamy with the previous user’s shower.  The door was slammed and locked behind her.  She flicked on the fan and began to disrobe.  Then, she looked at the mirror and she could see a message written in the steam.  ‘Patience Sugar’ was all it said.  She smiled and wiped the mirror clean.  Moments later, she was in a hot shower, washing off the dirt and the events of the last few days.  It almost worked.

But. when she got out of the shower, she saw that her clothes were gone.  In their place, she found a set of blue workman’s overalls, some plain underwear, and socks.  She got into the clothes, thankful that they were clean, but when she looked in the mirror, she almost laughed.  So much for style.  When she was done, she tapped on the bathroom door.  It opened almost immediately and she walked out into the hallway in stocking feet.  The two guards were waiting for her.  One gestured toward the floor, and there she found a pair of army boots, in her size.  She pulled them on, tied them and stood looking at the guards.

“Follow us.”

She did.  There was little else for her to do.  They went back upstairs, but this time, out the back door.  Marcie could see a PA pad with a large RP idling on it.  They marched her straight to the door and stopped beside it, gesturing that she should get in.  Marcie went up the two stairs into the vehicle and only one guard followed.

“Last prisoner reporting, sir,” he said.

“Very well.”

Ryan was sitting at a thin conference table at the back of the RP.  There were three other men with him and four guards watching Pauline and Robbie, who were wearing the same blue outfits as she.  They were sitting quietly on bench seats, a few feet away from Marcie.  Between the prisoners and the conference table were banks of vidscreens, keyboards, and other communication equipment.  One of the guards gestured that Marcie should sit.  She took the place beside Robbie.  He said nothing, so she followed suit.  The silence gave them some time to listen.  A man Marcie didn’t recognize was talking to Ryan.

“… of Eastdown and requires that a whole new wing be added or that we consider processing clients earlier.  But really, my question is this:  If the client isn’t unusual in any way after the first round of tests, why are we housing them at Eastdown?  We need a facility, or a compound, where these people can live, something self-sustaining, something that won’t cost the taxpayers any money.  And keep it out of the way, certainly not on US soil.  They won’t want to play host to a penal colony.”  POW camp, you mean.

“Yes, great suggestion.  Perhaps we can put them to work.” Ryan was nodding.  “Find the real estate.”  The man nodded and made a note in his book.  “All right, then, gentlemen.  We have dispensed with other business.  Are we ready for today’s strike?”

“Absolutely, sir,” responded the three-star general sitting beside him.  I gotta read Who’s Who.

“Then, let’s do it.”

The meeting broke up.  A couple of the men, including the general, left the vehicle, and the rest of the staff began its pre-flight preparation.  One of the guards told them to buckle up.  All staff sat and strapped themselves in, including the prisoners.  They heard the engines rev, and then, felt the vehicle lift off and move forward.  It banked sharply for a time, levelled off and cruised.  Marcie didn’t have to be told where they were going.

A few thousand miles away, a sea of attack vehicles converged on the old farmhouse that stood above Origin.  Tanks, jeeps, and troop conveyance vehicles, dozens of them, kicked up enough dust to colour the sunrise pink.  In those pink skies, flew hundreds of PAs and utility vehicles.  The sound of this advance was deafening.

During the flight, the RP’s vidscreens were alive with the footage of the advancing army, with the faces of the commanding officers checking in for more instructions, with plans and diagrams of Origin itself.  What Marcie could see, however, wasn’t current.  Maybe they don’t know about the new warren.

Ryan was extremely busy.  Although clearly he wasn’t a military commander, he seemed to be in charge of the operation.  He was constantly talking on a headset, pulling people together, consulting with as many as ten people at once, generals, et al.  No wonder he felt powerful.  Marcie couldn’t say he was drunk on it, but she could see that he was definitely in his element; coordinating and communicating with his team.  Such a good little fortunatus.  This was what he was born to do.  She could see how he’d be loath to give that up.  No fortunatus community would accept him after what he had done to so many of his own; despite his obviously knowing the truth.  While, conversely, Sapiens would never accept him.  He was stuck in a living purgatory with nothing forward and nothing back.  He’d best live out this role to its fullest.

Once Robbie tried to speak to Pauline, who was looking a little bleak, but the guard nearest him didn’t bother talking; he just hit Robbie in the shoulder with the butt of his rifle.  They stayed silent for the rest of the journey.

Hours later, Marcie felt the RP descend, and then, eventually land.  Ryan and a couple of aides left the vehicle immediately without even a glance in their direction.  Some time passed.  Then, the telephone rang and one of the guards answered it.  He spoke briefly in quiet tones.  Marcie couldn’t hear what he had to say.  He nodded a lot.  Then, he hung up the telephone and gestured to the men with him.  The four guards came over and stood above them.

“Get up,” said one.

The three of them stood and followed two guards out the door.  The other two guards went behind them.

The sun was well and truly up, and Marcie immediately recognized the farmhouse, its humble outer buildings and barns.  All around the area, Marcie could see tanks and soldiers:  the pride of the US army.  Above, flew a veritable hive of military vehicles.  PAs, carriers, attack planes, and jets.

Marcie, Pauline, and Robbie were marched into the farmhouse and down to the cellar.  They passed five bodies that had been left in a pile by the big oak tree.  The old screen door had been ripped off, and the house inside was askew, obviously roughly searched.  In the cellar, Marcie was surprised to see a wall of potatoes and turnips.  No elevator door.  How’d they do that?

Ryan was standing studying an old blue print.  He looked up and smiled civilly when they came down the stairs.  He waited until they were all in the small cellar before he spoke.

“Who can tell me how to access the elevator?”  He sounded like Marcie’s grade three teacher.  They were silent.  He raised his eyebrows and continued:  “I don’t think you understand our problem here, ladies and gentleman.  If we cannot gain access without your help, we’re going to start using explosives.  And if anyone dies, it’ll be on your head.”  Oh, right, and your intentions are to invite them out to dinner!  They said nothing.  Marcie didn’t feel like being the resident consultant on Origin.  Let them figure it out by themselves.

“Sir, is it worth a stealth approach anyway?”

Ryan was shuffling papers.  “Not stealth, just more efficient.  I thought it might be easier to deploy a bomb with the elevator.  We could use the opportunity to test that thermonuclear device you’ve been talking about.”

Marcie was dumbstruck.  An atomic bomb?  Atomics had been outlawed by all civilized nations for decades.  Every great hesitant step forward precipitates two confident strides back.  She said nothing and tried to keep her face neutral.

“According to these plans,” Ryan continued.  “There’s a large open area directly below us.  We could simply send the device down and trigger it as it reaches the bottom.  It would save us all the ammunition we’ll need to break through.”  Marcie couldn’t help but pull a face.  How economical.

“Well, the elevator has to be behind this wall, right?”

“You know.  I might want to study some of what’s down there.  Let’s just start breaking through with conventional explosives.  Get a team on it.  You,” he said gesturing to a guard standing idle in a corner, “get rid of these three, please.  Lock them down.”

Marcie, Robbie, and Pauline were lead up and out of the cellar, out of the farmhouse and to a vehicle that looked like a troop carrier, but was actually a kind of brig.  They were marched into a small, windowless room and the door was closed and locked behind them.  They decided to try and relax and wait, though Marcie couldn’t help pacing back and forth.

After a while, the vehicle they were in started up, and they could hear a number of other vehicles around them doing the same.  Their vehicle started to move but didn’t take off.  They drove for maybe two minutes and then stopped.  Now what?

Possibly a few hours later – they had no idea of the time – the ground started shaking intermittently.  They all three felt the tremors, and they all three understood what the tremors meant.  Origin was being destroyed, without giving any warning to the people who lived there.  Marcie, Robbie, and Pauline sat in stunned silence.  There was nothing to say.  After a long while, the shaking stopped. 


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 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/.  She is preparing for two Shakespeare is Boffo! summer camp sessions for 2012.

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Jacqui Burke
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