The old man gazed into Evelyn's eyes. His story was in truth,
for her to hear alone, and when she met his eyes she knew
so, and appreciated it. The others, including the young Raymond,
knew the story well. Of them all, Satellite knew it best.
The old man guessed at her place in the group, but knew better
than to acknowledge her as anyone other than a welcome stranger.
He had lived through the most profound decline in human standards
and dignity yet witnessed in time. Human culture had fallen
into the abyss of catastrophic change, and life had grown
brutal for the many. The age of Western hegemony had passed
Eastward, and with the coming of a new age had come a new
morality based on the notion that human life came cheap.
His was a story of the unmitigated greed and lust of a very
few, and of great suffering by the many. It was a story of
the collapse of enterprise, of delivering quality for its
own sake. This was not to say that those of the West were
not to blame for their decline. Those who had written the
books on quality and craft watched resignedly, perhaps even
lazily as their descendants lost the will to work contructivey,
to live modestly, to judiciously improve their lot. Life had
become too easy in a way, and the desire to enjoy the benefits
had begun to outstrip the desire to live modesly. Not to mention...
It had become too easy to benefit at the expense of others
for the works of honest hands to flourish.
Profit and advantage for its own sake had its own set of
gods and morals. Honest work became a twisted anachronism
in the minds of the few who controlled the moneygoround. They
expected fewer to do more for less. The fear of losing one's
livelihood enslaved honest working people to a treadmill that
only the hardiest could endure. Moreover, to be an honest
worker was to be a fool who was incapable of getting a hand
on one piece of the action or another.
Nature succumbed virtually overnight to the onslaught of
machinery designed to extract more, using less. Forests that
were once selecively cut down by individual foresters using
hand tools, were now being totally cleared by massive extraction
machines that removed each tree as easily as one might cut
a wire.
Oceans that were seen as a limitless provider of food, and
an infinity in which to dump wastes of any kind, were overfished
and polluted to near death. The allure of the ocean current
that would draw wastes away to intermix far offshore left
the arguments of ecologists as some sort of lie. As the last
great comon resource was toxified, as fish stocks vanished,
pirates and pirate nations continued to demand the right to
do as they pleased.
Human population levels, which had started to explode a century
before, saw little sign of abatement. However, mortality began
to shoot up dramatically by the end of the second decade of
the 21st. century. This was attributed to a global shortage
of freshwater.
On a daily basis it seemed not so much a catastrophe than
a change in the way life was led on Earth. News stories documented
the fall, and the occasional piece of analysis suggested that
something was amiss. Few were able to, or willing to make
the connection if they saw the truth. Few in the ensuing years,
had the knowledge to understand its magnitude.
He began his story a century past. A great war had ended
and the West had emerged victorious. Tools that permitted
increased leisure were being developed rapidly, but for the
most part, people still had an innate sense of the true value
of things, and were prepared to work, using traditional methods,
until such time as it was demonstrated that a new method was
truly better. People had to work hard for things of value,
and treasured them all the more, because of it.
But life gradually began to move toward convenience, and
the way of doing things gradually shifted away from intense
patterns that required the efforts of many, toward patterns
that relied on fewer and fewer individuals.
The scale of things increased. The practice of agriculture
became mechanized, but fewer farmers saw any benefits. Control
of production which had been largely localized, fell into
the hands of a few conglomerates.
In no place was the onslaught more apparent than in the seas.
Fishing moved from small boats, to larger and larger ships.
Driftnets were used to extract every vestige of life from
the ocean floor. Fish species that were unwanted were cast
aside, their death having no meaning to the driftnet miners.
Forests were cut, all with the aim of reducing prices in
order to compete with other forest nations. Centuries of silviculture
were abandoned in favour of clear cutting. In other places,
forests were cut for no good reason at all. In other cases,
valiant attempts were made to save forest resources from the
creep of ecosystem regime change, which saw as its witness
an onslaught of nature herself, as indigenous plant species
fell prey to a very natural predation that had previously
been kept in check by natural factors, such as a cold climate.
But these efforts were in vain, as the pace of change to natural
systems outstripped human capacity to adapt.
Toward the end of the millenia, it was clear that wasteful
practices could not continue. The oceans were all but devoid
of marine life, the world's forests were largely a thing of
the past. But with the devastation of the world's ecosystems
came other surprises. The Amazon rainforest, once the largest
in the world, turned rapidly to arid desert with little life
of any kind supported within it, in the absence of tree cover.
The forest had also served as a massive climate regulator
for the planet, and in its absence, came catastrophic climate
changes.
But enough about the earth. Now the story turned to its people.
There were many, but as time passed, fewer and fewer found
themselves with much to do. They had grown up into an era
of mechanization on the one hand, which meant that fewer of
them were needed. Those that could be productive found their
chances foreshorted by the few, the greedy, who saw ways to
eliminate their usefulness. The fisherman on the boat could
much less catch fish, than sell the handful that he had caught.
The value of his labours had been so reduced.
The workers were also displaced when their perfectly profitable
companies were caught in some twist of takeover con artistry
that saw their place of employment sold and then dismantled
piece by piece. The greedmongers were the massive transnational
corporations, the bankers, the huge fleet owners, who sought
to pursue their right to grow rich in absurdia.
Those left in the wake were given as little thought as the
dead fish cast over the side of the fishing ships. Let the
scavengers have them. Many withdrew into a world of unreality,
living a life of reduced circumstances on the outside, fed
by the fantasy of stim reality, or the vicarious pursuit of
a life that would never exist for them.
Escapism of one form or another took to the fore. The use
of designer drugs escalated, and with it violence increased.
These trends, which began to escalate in the last two decades
before the millenia, grew ever more present in the streets
of urban society.
While the edifices of the wealthy continued to be constructed,
few meaningful public works were undertaken in the land of
the disposessed. Urban society became shiftless and bankrupt.
As more lost their footing within whatever limited society
they were a part of, shiftlessness and wandering grew. The
urban disposessed met their counterparts from other parts
of the world. The hint of some form of prosperity sent masses
in pursuit of it. What prosperity existed, however, was well
protected.
Life expectancy, on the increase until the millenia, began
to decline. What limited social relief there was, saw poor
distribution as lower forms of greed sought their opportunity
to exploit a situation. With the onslaught of ecological collapse,
and the gradual dissapearance of potable water, those who
could do so, escaped to those secretly coveted places where
some semblance of productive life continued for those capable
and willing of meeting the challenge.
The old man stood up. "There is much more to tell, but I
think that I will pause in my story." There was a glimmer
in his eye as he glanced first to the elderly woman, then
to Evelyn. "This building, is little changed since you entered
it last, so long ago. It still serves as a storehouse of goods
made as they were for a long time. We have added a few twists,
here and there, but we still manage by serving the few with
the things that they need. And they in turn, serve us."
As if taken to wandering, the old man continued. "The best,
where only the best will do. That is a secret to long term
success." He turned to face the group. "Do you know how many
earth tremors this building has survived? It has to do with
the way that it was constructed. And barring the unexpected,
I expect that it will stand here for some time to come."
The old man chuckled and walked off.
With those ominous words, they took their leave of the group.
Evelyn found herself wishing to stay behind, for it was a
setting that she found familiar and comfortable. She found
herself wary of the knowledge that she had nowhere else to
go but with her hosts. This was not her time, for one thing,
and secondly, the journey sounded uninviting and even hostile.
She also found herself contemplating her hosts. The elderly
couple who bore their names and shared their eyes. Ray had
remarked, no he had pointedly stated that it was a coincidence.
But why? Could the elderly couple be them some sixty years
from now? Satellite had advised her to make her own decision
about this. She would.
The venture outside found the midday sky unrelenting. The
air had a subtle stench to it and it seemed less breathable
somehow, in comparison to the air she had breathed indoors,
moments ago. As if reading her thoughts, Ray commented. "It
will be good to get away from this air," and looking over
at his companion, observed "but it will get a lot worse than
this, where we are going."
Satellite busied herself with the tasks that lay ahead. The
wagon was provisioned for a journey of some substance, and
she saw to it that the supplies were in, and would stay in
good order. Looking at the equipment, Evelyn asked why such
things were necessary.
"This is a hostile land. Much of what we will be travelling
through will be an arid frontier. In the few civilized areas
that are on our route, they will not allow travellers to venture
forth, unless they can demonstrate that they are adequately
provisioned and protected against hazard. This is no longer
a free country in the way that you may recall. Those who are
bent on survival have taken matters into their own hands in
their individual principalities. You have to follow the rules
of the land, nowadays, and those rules change with the landscape
itself."
The direction they ventured was southward. With few exceptions
they stuck to old highways. Venturing forth, they passed through
what was once the fringe of the city. It was now a heavily
populated suburb with buildings of nondescript character.
On the sides of buildings, garbage was being picked by street
people, who, in search of anything that might have value,
were territorial. Waste of no particular value lay scattered
in zones, being sorted aimlessly be people who seemed less
like people than animals. Evelyn shuddered.
They were clothed in plastic bags. Where their skin was visible,
they had running sores. Their kind populated the streets.
Those who seemed better off, who lived in dwellings, carried
protective weapons. Every building had some form of sentry
in place, and steps taken to keep the dispossesed out surpassed
brutal.
Further south, there were open camps. Occasionally a body
would take a run toward them. The car seemed capable of protecting
itself, Evelyn observed. All invaders were repelled prior
to entering into physical contact with the car, or its occupants.
This did not seem to surprise the disposessed, and Evelyn
concluded that such protective mechanisms must be commonplace
in a world like this, in this time.
Her interest in her surroundings was a mixture of revulsion
and fascination. She had read about places where people lived
in garbage dumps, all in the Third World. But what she was
witnessing seemed a form of degradation that went beyond those
descriptions. All of the decrepitude of her own age was here
before her eyes, and it seemed to make up, in large measure,
the bread of existence for these people.
At times, the car moved very slowly, for the road was barely
nagivable. It was times like these that she witnessed the
greatest barbarities. Men casually offending against young
children, boys and girls. A barely recognizable as human form
marking a neighbour's meal and an ensuing fight over property
rights. A group of men manipulating a, barely living, skeletal
female, and in their excitement....
To the south, the central purpose for the settlement. Excavated
into the side of a hillside, a massive waste dump served by
the intersection of a controlled access highway, provided
an occupation for several million scavengers. Here and there
were signs of organized industriousness. Recovered waste materials
of a multitude of types were recovered, and prepared for reutilization.
Metals and plastics, medical wastes that were at one time
incinerated. All were sorted and reused.
The people here who had ownership of the enterprise seemed
a little less disposessed, although little better than the
masses of population that supplied the manual labour in the
dumpsites. Smelting operations were in evidence, as well as
a host of services for truck drivers. Fewer steps were taken
against the disposessed here. Those who made it this far,
knew the value of their lives to their masters, and knew,
further, how many more there were who would quickly kill them
to take their place.
Ray stopped the car. It was late afternoon. "Over there is
a man named Chester. He has an interesting story to tell,
if you want to hear it." Taking the invitation as a summons,
Evelyn rose out of the car. Satellite came behind her and
whispered "Stay close to me".
Ray walked over to a group of seated men. They drank water
out of bottles, and seemed by all appearances to be quite
healthy. Ray returned with one of the men, who dressed as
he was, looked like Lawrence of Arabia. "Evelyn, this is Ches,"
Ray started.
"Plaised to meet you, little lady. Hot enough for yuh?" Ches
had a distinctly Australian accent. "This here is my enterprise.
What we do is sort through the garbage that is generated by
the local megalopolie, pull out what is reusable in some fashion,
and then sell it."
Evelyn asked the question that was begged. "What about the
stuff that can't be reused. What happens to it?"
Ches gave her a steely gaze. "You see those teaming hordes?
They are caught in a game called survival. There's not much
that escapes their notice. If it is edible, they cram it in
their mouths. If it has some sort of moisture or nutrient
value embedded in it, they suck it dry. If it is a metal or
plastic, they keep it and sell or trade it with the scrap
buyer, usually for water." With some semblance of pride, Ches
threw his arms wide. "What you see here is a stock in trade
in other people's garbage. May they throw away whatever they
don't need." With a nudge, he added. "And occasionally, dear
Bhen, let them throw out something by accident."
Evelyn took in the scene. In the valley below, tens, perhaps
hundreds of thousands of people lived on a permanent basis
in hovels of their own design. Few looked presentable, but
all had some semblance of health about them. Theirs was hard
work. In the occasional clearing a group gathered around a
fire where a meal was being cooked. She caught a glance of
something over the flame. "What..do..they...eat?"
Catching her expression, Ches laughed. "Why, anything, sweets.
Any animal caught unawares ends up in somebody's stomach.
Rodents, mostly, along with a few cats or dogs. Maybe a bird
now and then." Sizing in a glance that which caught her eye,
he added: "Oh yes, and occasionally... each other."
Evelyn felt sick. Ches continued. "Nothing is sacred among
these people. Little appeals to them, apart from their own
pagan dieties and survival for a stretch. They live short
lives, reproduce like crazy, and then they die. Mostly, horrible
deaths. Mortality is really high among these people. Eight
out of ten infants die, and the viral death rate is mind boggling.
Not to mention death from the sun or flakes or poison." Sensing
that Evelyn had seen enough, Satellite suggested that they
withdraw to shelter. The combination of afternoon heat, and
the stench of the site was enough for the moment, she deduced.
"Chester, perhaps you can offer us some form of refreshment.
It has been a long day."
As if by cue, Ches became gallant. He led the way to a door
in the side of what appeared to be a ruin. Beyond the threshold
lay a setting that was as great a contrast to the outside
scene as could be imagined. By all measure, Ches lived a life
of luxury and style. The air was cool and fresh, and the lighting
inside was a skillful combination of artificial and natural,
the latter filtering in from a source well overhead.
Guiding Evelyn and Satellite to guest refreshment facilites,
Ches suggested that Ray accompany him to a similar set on
the other side of the outer hall that they were in.
Having closed the door behind them, Satellite began to remove
the costume that had protected Evelyn eminently from the outer
atmosphere. Feeling limp, Evelyn allowed herself to be guided
into a shower that used little water, but still managed to
leave her feeling refreshed. By the time she exited the cubicle,
all excess water had been removed from her body, and she felt
ready to put on her now clean clothing.
She watched as Satellite engaged in the same process herself.
"Rachel, why do you shower? I would think that you would not
need to." Emerging from the cubicle, Satellite fixed her with
a humorous expression. "I may be an artificial entity, but
my body shares many human characteristics with yours." Motioning
forward with her arm, she challenged: "Feel my skin. Can you
find it any different from your own?" Taking a stance, she
continued. "Had I not revealed my identity to you, do you
suppose that you would know for certain that I was not human?"
She fixed Evelyn with a quizzical stare.
Upon reflection, Evelyn realized that the qualities and mannerisms
that Satellite posessed were altogether human, and she found
herself secretly thrilled, for Rachel was altogether the type
of woman that she found herself drawn toward. Choosing in
that moment to be forward, she reached out, to repeat the
closeness that the two had enjoyed in the house, that indeterminate
day ago.
They embraced, gazing fixedly into each other's eyes. "You
draw the Xena from deep within me" Satellite observed, as
she found herself once again drawn toward feelings that were
not entirely a part of her person. Evelyn smiled. "You draw
the Blanche from me, Rachel. May we always know one another
in this way."
Satellite harbored a dark thought from deep within her programming,
for she knew too well the limits to her own existence within
Evelyn's reality. "For now, we have the moment. Enchanté,
mon amoureuse. Now, let's get dressed, and join the others,
shall we?"
They left the exquisite privacy of the refreshment room through
a set of doors on the other side. The room offered to them
was even more spectacular than the entrance hall. Here stood
a collection of exotic flora that was astonishing in its diversity.
Couches of real leather lay upon a floor of deep marble. Elegant
stone and wood objects filled the room in an organic fashion.
Her host stood in the midddle of the great room.
An altogether handsome middle aged man greeted them. Quite
bald on top, he emanated a look of health that seemed out
of place in this day and age. His surroundings were opulent,
and incongruous in light of the activity and wealth of human
suffering beyond the walls of the house.
"Allow me to introduce myself properly." Ches marched toward
the pair. "I'm Chester Harrington, a native of Darwin. My
family controls some of the largest recycling interests on
the coast, both here and in Australia. We're in the business
of retrieving wealth from the wastes that, even today, society
sees fit to dispose of."
"A dirty business," Ray commented.
Ches was quick to counter. "Actually, a very clean and honorable
business, sir. We provide order and discipline to what would
be anarchy in our absence. You may not like what you see down
there in the dumpsite, but for the many with nothing at all,
it provides a sense of purpose and livelihood. Those rabble
consider themselves to be fortunate indeed, to be allowed
to pick through the trash of the more fortunate. There are
many places that would be unsafe for the likes of you, and
even here, you're not entirely safe, but here at least, there
are rules that govern behavior, and orders that are obeyed.
"For those who are strong," he continued, "there is also
the promise of something even better. There are whole clans
at work down there, protecting their interests, and assembling
a small reserve. In time, one or two descendants might get
a chance to group up with the chosen of other clans to move
beyond the dumps, to a life of higher existence.
"Amazing things come in with the garbage on a daily basis.
For those who are inclined, much in the way of educational
materials come streaming in. Rotten books from the century
past are still readable for those who know how... Even in
the most disparate situations, the occasional philosopher
still emerges."
After a remarkable, superb dinner, the group returned to
the living area to relax, chat, and revel in the video offerings
of the time they were in. Television was not completely different
in content to their own age, but the medium itself had enjoyed
dramatic advances. The screen itself was a liquid array with
only a slight depth. In that array, images of natural colour
were formed that had dimensionality. It was like gazing into
a true third dimension, or almost. Only close examination
provided evidence that it was not. Further, voices seemed
to come from the characters on the screen itself in a very
natural, even ambient sonic, and Evelyn could only guess as
to the location of the loudspeakers. It was with wonderment
that she gazed at the images. Her own experience and knowledge
of the television industry made her more acutely appreciative
of the wonders that she was witnessing.
The television fare at hand was typical to any time, however.
They watched as the day's news provided them with glimpses
of the world. For the most part, it seemed a document of the
decline. Story after story summarised the inability of local
and national governments to govern, the shortage of funds
to provide water relief, toxicity counts, shortages of foods,
crop failures, mortality figures due to melanoma, flakes,
the many thousand currently volatile HIV strains, versus the
latest relaxing of the populimit schedule agreed to by participating
member states. This was followed by an item reporting the
latest backlash to the Vatican's recent statement on Christianity
and morality. Pope Clementine was shown making a statement
that upheld a view of catholic morality that had not changed
in centuries.
"There's a man that must know Satan well," Ches commented.
Feeling her Catholicism begin to burn, Evelyn challenged
"what do you mean?"
"Look, you've got a planet on a crash course to self destruction,
burying itself in its own shit, and that s.o.b. in wopland
just bags it all in, counting the number of the converted.
It doesn't matter to him how much pain and suffering lies
behind their numbers, or his policies. He won't be satisfied
until the whole world is teeming with starving Catholics looking
for absolution." Ches was redfaced. It was a subject of some
passion to him.
Evelyn knew well enough to not pursue the argument. At some
deeper level, she found herself agreeing with Ches. Sixty
years ago, she realized, the policies of her church made no
sense. Nowadays, they probably made less than no sense.
The heated moment was broken by a diversion. In a far corner
of the cavernous room, Ray had discovered a guitar. It was
a Les Paul on a stand beside a vintage tube amplifier. The
evening turned over to music, as Ray regaled them with simple
guitar versions of classic songs, such as Guitar Country,
Travelin', Waterloo Sunset, and the more childlike Baby Lemonade.
Ches pricked up his ears. "You know Syd?" Ray, smiling, added
the lyrics to the song. Evelyn watched in amazement as the
middle aged Aussie, and the youthful Ray compared notes on
music written before either of them were born.
"Yeah, 1970. That time was a great one for popular music.
I'm something of an amateur of that period," Ches commented.
"You would be surprised at how much of that music is still
around. Only the interesting, musical stuff has survived to
this day. But what music it was. Groups like the Soft Machine,
they were fifty years out of time. Or Frippertronics... Whole
symphonies were later written on the strength of Fripp's work."
Ches grew misty eyed. To play back then.."
Evelyn woke to the touch of Rachel. Their bedroom was lit
from the large terrarium that it backed on. On the other,
male side of the compound she caught sight of Raymond, stretching
naked. Modesty stirred her, but only that. His frame was more
boyish, his musculature more spare than that of a head-on-chassis
like Jaguar Devereaux.
They were out of the compound as the sun was clearing the
horizon over the hills to the east. It was moderately cool
and clear. Northward, a thick yellowish layer of smog lay
trapped. It appeard luminescent, capturing the morning sun.
The valley below was brisk with morning activity. Giant dump
trucks, twice the size, at least of those of her own time,
stood waiting at the crest to dump their load. An army of
the more than disposessed, in turn, carried armfuls, cartfuls,
dragged behind, or carried in tandem, the refuse for sorting
and selection.
The party descended into the mass of ordered refuse. The
occasional rodent or feral cat scurried out of their path.
Within a few hundred metres, they came to a boulevard of sorts,
with permanent settlements and encampments set up. Piles of
refuse were guarded by their owners. Some encampments were
specialized for certain types of material. One industrious
group lay claim to anything with electronic parts, wire, machined
and electrolytic aluminum. They appeared to be comparatively
prosperous. Ches led them to meet the leader of the association.
His name was Bill, and his domain was an established one.
His compound was walled in stone, and the sign above the gate
read 'West Electronics.' Bill could read and write, it seemed.
Within the compound was a house of sorts, and a corrugated
structure that served as a factory and warehouse. The compound
itseld was littered with all manner of electrical and mechanical
contrivance.
A massive, bearded man who looked very threatening approached
them from the warehouse. "Ches, how are you sir? Come to visit,
and bring guests I see." Bill looked the group over. "Quite
a pair of dames you got there Chester. How do you rate?"
"Just the tour, Bill. Show them your savvy." Bill smartly
took the ladies in hand, as if being a gentleman was something
that he had occasion for on a regular basis. Ches pulled Ray
over to the side.
"Bill here is an amazing character. He and a few others manage
quite nicely for themselves. His special job is taking apart
and repairing anything that can be fixed by substitution.
He has a good twenty or so of the more capable working in
that shed, testing, fixing, dismantling what's not worth fixing
for scrap value or building materials. He is one of a small
handful who has a constant and reliable source of energy that
would be the envy of most city dwellers. But for all of his
knowledge and skills, there's nothing for him outside the
walls of this dump."
"Hey, you listening to me mate?"
Ray was away, watching in the distance the ladies, mostly
Evelyn, who appeared to be earnestly listening to one of Bill's
colourful stories.
"....And I said to him, Silas, this tube thing will be really
big. You gotta get in with me on it. All I need you to do
is get me some of those 7868's your uncle found in Steel City
by the Lake. You know he don't have the sockets, so what's
he doing with them anyways? So he says to me 'I got a friend
to make sockets that are real good, even better than original
novar was. I make put together real good. You give me wire
but only six nine, three nine no good.'" Smiling, Bill continued
"and that's how I got in the wire business, see, and I got
this guy to supply me regular from sio2city by introducing
him to my pup. So one thing led to the other and I'm a grandfather
twice."
Pausing to catch his breath, Bill took a leather pouch out
of his pocket. Unfolding it, he revealed an interior that
held rolling papers for tobacco, and green cut leaf. "Cee
Sativa, potent and pure." Bill rolled a cigarrette, mumbling
a song. "'I walked up to this bar and the man refused, saying
we don't serve strangers in blue suede shoes. We don't give
credit, and we don't give way. We have to think about what
the people might say, he said you know what I mean... I said
sure, man...'" From the green cigarette, he took a long drag...
Looking at Rachel, he said, "I thing I'll pack my travelling
bag," and passed her the smoke.
Satellite took a drag, passing it to Evelyn who refused.
She was not in the least bit interested. Ray and Ches, now
by their side, were more willing. Imbibing first, Ray took
the scented smoke deep into his lungs, exhaling ponderously.
He passed it to Ches who wandered off in the direction of
the house, to smoke it at his own leisure. Bill rolled another
one. Candy in a currant bun.
Alone in her own domain of sorts, perceptually, at least,
Evelyn took to studying the productivity in evidence. A dozen
or so large tables filled the large shed, each lit by a single
flourescent filament that snaked around the room. The corner
tables were each equipped with the equivalent of a workstation,
each station different and battered, but all useful and well
used. One individual sat adjusting the raster on a small fluid
video array that was similar to the large screen in Chester's
compound. Others were engaged in similar concentrated activities
with devices that she was not familiar with.
The center tables were populated by mostly children who sat
meticulously dismantling any number and variety of machines,
throwing miniscule components into separate and distinct piles.
Others were engaged in the task of separating and testing
optical interfaces. On the far corner, by an open area, smelters
were used to extract precious metals from scrap semi and superconductors.
Others were building.
The green cigarette was having its desired effect. Her party,
minus Ches, were being led into obvious and superficial details
of the reality that Bill lived. For the first time in days,
she found herself remote.
"Let's smoke some more. I want to get you guys real stupid."
Bill lit a third. Ray hogged it, and Satellite swung toward
her. "Come, Evelyn. Let's the two of us walk around a bit."
"If it's okay, I'd just as soon not," Evelyn said, fixing
a stern glance upon her companion. For her part, Satellite
grew immediately composed and serious. "There is much here
for you to see. This is life out of chaos, child. Out of the
wreckage springs hope and survival. You may look about and
see ruins, but take account, please. This is, comparatively,
a good place to be. It has order, occupation, and it offers
the promise of something better tomorrow. For the disposessed,
this is a place akin to peace and plenty."
Rachel stood inches away, mirroring a stare. Her eyes flashed,
and Evelyn felt fear. "Have you heard the expression 'if looks
could kill?' Peril you that should find yourself the recipient
of such as glance as you just shot at me. You have it Evelyn.
I can sense the cold in the blood behind those eyes and I
warn you. Take care. Others may not be so charitable, and
your look of death mingled contempt could find your own death
complete."
"Now let's walk away from Bill West."
Beyond the stone walls, Evelyn overloaded. Her internal turmoil
was fanned by Rachel's cruel words. She saw but did not see
the life of the dump. The scale of the activity eventually
passed her over, becoming a mass. She walked stonily by Satellite's
side, hardly noticing when a body brushed beside her. Occasionally,
she was bodily pulled out of the way of some contrivance by
her companion.
The morning was in full swing. The sun grew in intensity,
the temperature climed. The photochrome of her shades reflected
the intensity of the sun so efficiently that she was dazed
momentarily when she removed them to blow of the dust that
coated every part of her costume. Only one or two of the people
around her had eye protection. Some of the worst off had no
protection of any kind, but for tattered garments. Most if
not all had some sort of rudimentary headgear.
She was not accustomed to the severity of the climate, and
the foul stench of the air itself made breathing unendurably
unpleasant. The first signals of dehydration, with which she
had little experience, left her light headed and sluggish.
Still they walked.
Until she walked alone. She stopped. Waited. Her companion
gone. She turned around to gaze up the path that she had wandered
down. How long? The sun lay directly overhead. Shelter of
some sort. There. A battiment lay off in the distance. Water.
None to be found.
She sat in the shade of the overhanging superstructure. Once
a building of sorts, she registered. Gradually she became
aware of not being its only occupant. In the far corner lay
a woman who recently gave birth. She nursed her tiny child
to her wasted breast. Open eyes stared vacant. To the side
of her, an elderly man lay moving beads on an abacus. He returned
her glance with a smile.
"You are very lost."
Disoriented, wary, yet beyond fear, Evelyn stared mutely.
"No need to talk. Not yet. Let me give you a present."
Crouching, he edged slowly toward her. "My name is Nobody.
I figure. You would suppose that one like me who figures would
have little to do. True. Little to do but wait for the end,
I suppose. My end that is. Let it be soon or later, but don't
take me unawares dear Bhen."
Evelyn shuddered. He was a grotesque caricature. A wasted
pile of atrophy with tumors and discontinuities. His eyes,
yellow, his teeth, mostly gone. His beard a tangled web. His
hands, in contrast were well kept.
From his cloak he drew a bottle of water and offered it to
her. "Thirsty? You look like you could use a drink."
She took the bottle gratefully, and broke its seal. From
the spout rose the mild smell of dilute uric acid. She shuddered
and returned the vessel untouched. Nobody cackled, and took
a swig before resealing the bottle and returning it to his
folds.
"Water, water, water, drunk and bothered. Oh yes, oh yes,
oh yes." He exhaled a bilious stench. "Why to find a bottle
of the good stuff for my guest, yes." He hopped around on
all fours, shaking off his garments. "Yes yes yes, drink of
me mine, or somebodee else!"
The nursing mother began to laugh greasily, like fat frying.
She concluded with a coughing fit.
"Oh Penelopee, find some sweet thing for the ladie to drink.
She is too good for our used water."
"Come have a suck, sweetie" the female directed at her. "My
tits got milk for the whole world." Nobody continued his dance.
"Oh meee, mom of my loins, let me have a go." He landed on
top of the female. The infant fell to the side, crying scrapingly.
The couple engaged in mock intercourse, and Evelyn noticed
a large tumor, the size of a baseball, on his stomach.
Interminable time, moments passed. The sun moved further
up the horizon. She could stare directly into the sun with
her glasses, the photochrome adjusted within fractions to
the appropritate setting, W14, which she did not know or need
to know. The sky midnight blue, the sun, eternal.
The heat became worse than oppressive, even in the shade.
A dust wind carried particles that stung her. She felt like
fading. Time extended, unbounded. A figure appeared before
her, blocking the sun. The photochrome adjusted to show her
a figure clothed as she was. An old man. He knelt down before
her, placing an arm on her shoulder as if to rouse her.
"You need some fluid. Here, drink." He offered a bottle.
She refused, pushing him away. He drew closer and cradling
the back of her forehead, forced the bottle to her lips. It
was sweet. She drank greedily.
Placing his hands under her arms, he lifted her bodily, carrying
her cradled like a child. Moments later, they entered a shelter
where the man placed her on a mat. She slept.
She woke to witness the activities of a house of therapy
of a sort. She watched as maggot ridden patients sat patiently
as leeches were removed. With astonishment, she saw maggots
being placed upon the wounds of some patients, while others
had them removed from their nearly healed wounds.
"They consume an enzyme associated with diseased or infected
tissue" came the voice at her side. Noir.
"You found me?"
"I always knew where you were, sweet wisp."
He was older, ancient, frail looking. The noble visage withered,
the eyes slightly glazed, the hair long and thinning under
a skullcap, the wrists bony, the hands fragile, Noir had taken
on the appearance of one not long for life.
Evelyn found the gaze. He returned in silence for a time
long. Iris to iris, locked, mesmerised she began to experience
a symmetry of thought, as if confounded blankets were being
pulled away. Her colour sense intensified, her acuity strengthened,
as if one were to see a low dot scan merge into panatomic
X upon X. Her hearing acuity intensified as did her ability
to selectively ignore and marshall what she heard.
She had music in her head. Not the music that she might occasionally
have had in the past. This was more real than reality, and
she had never heard it before. Contrasts, music upon music
with differing tempi, all flowing into a massively complex
and irresistibly inviting whole.
"That now is your legacy. Enjoy the music in your head, it
is of your own mind. Share it with Raymond if you can, for
he is the musician who can translate for you. Let him love
you, if you can."
A matron approached. "Back to your bed, old man. Have you
been up to mischief again? What did you do with your water?"
She noticed the empty bottle in his pocket.
"He gave it to me."
The matron gave her a smile. "Always generous with what he
has, yes he is. Doesn't seem to care about things much these
days, do we?" While patronising, it was clear that she had
deep feelings for the old man who leaned on her as they walked
slowly to the other end of the compound.
She sat on the cot for two days, absorbing her new senses.
She drew the music in her head toward symmetical forms, placing
them aside as ambient music. Her mind as if freed for new
tasks, flowed as if directed, and she rode it. She reviewed
her life, thinking about all of the minor things that made
the patterns of her days. She revisited old moments, reliving
pleasurable times for the most part.
She must have slept, and she recalled eating, but these were
bodily details and for the most part her mind had left the
routines of existence. She surrendered herself to the instructions
of the attendants who came to bathe her, feed her.
She came aware to the presence of Ray.
He sat, hands on knees at the edge of the mat. His eyes showed
concern. More, she sensed it in a vague but definite way.
She made eye contact, but Ray glanced away, as if afraid.
She was not ready to speak, she listened.
"I thought you were gone for good. I looked everywhere."
'I am here.'
"Satellite has gone, Evelyn, I don't know what to do, but
I think we should leave this place, maybe try to get back
to the city. The car is there, where we left it. Let's go
there."
Evelyn reached out to touch Ray. She indicated compliance,
giving Ray a measure of a smile, what she could manage. Ray
stood up and taking her hand, guided her to his side. Unsteady,
she leaned on him, surrendering in the fashion of their first
meeting.
Letting go, she paced slowly the perimeter of the compound,
looking at each patient in turn until she came upon Noir.
He lay on a frayed mat, staring unseeing. Evelyn kneeled at
his side, taking his clasped hands into her own.
Indeterminately later, he turned to recognize her presence
and spoke "carry me." Evelyn kneeled forward until their faces
were inches apart. Momentarily Noir's eyes flashed, "Blanche..."
muttered, closing his eyes.
Evelyn stood up, and taking Ray's hand walked out of the
compound.
"I want to see it." Her first words. They sat in the back
seat of Crown Custom. "See what?" Ray replied.
"Everything. We are God knows where in a hypothetical future
and there is a purpose. I want to find out what that purpose
is. We didn't come here to watch Noir dying. Crown Custom."
"Ready".
"Do you have an itinerary?"
"Yes, Evelyn, would you like to see a summary?"
"I would."
Immediately, the car's windows became opaque and a projection
appeared on the windscreen. It showed a map of North America
with a serpentine trace indicating a route plan.
"Can we deviate from this route?"
"This route is fixed and cannot be deviated from except by
manual control."
"Well that should be simple enough" Ray commented.
"Describe the nature of our destinations."
"All destinations are sites of G2S activity along the designated
route. Each site is engaged in niche specific activities appropriate
to its ecotone and potential. Each site contributes to the
ecozone that it is situated in."
"What is this all about?" a bewildered Ray asked, referring
specifically to the profound change that had taken place in
her.
"Quiet, Ray. Crown Custom, supply a lexicon of the itinerary
and a precis of each destination. Supply a distributioon pattern
for G2S activites in the zones that we will be travelling
through. Supply hardcopy."
"Working. Any G2S bank data can be supplied in print form
via onscreen. Any G2S bank data can also be supplied via the
ENB located in the globe compartment."
"I say again, supply hardcopy. Confrom to 20th century normal
patterns.
"Please stand by."
Reclining and turning to Ray, she said, "I like to read from
a page."
He looked mystified. Evelyn laughed warmly. "Come here companion,
and don't look so confused. You'll tuig. Noir and I had some
interesting moments together while we were in the hospice
together. I'm not sure I understand all of it yet, but what
I do know gives me a sense of inner peace. Rachel mentioned
when we started this journey that we are in hypothetical time,
that this is all a fabrication. Perhaps it is, but I suspect
that Noir's fabrications are close enough to the real thing
to be codign. If that's so...
"Codign?"
"Yes Ray, codign. To have equal dignity in measure and scope.
Powerful word... anyways, if that's so, then we must examine
the nature of things in this future, and foster ways to keep
as many natural systems as possible from irrevocable simplification.
I have a hunch. It may be that Noir is some sort of analog
of the state of the living earth, Gaia. At the moment, he
is lying on a mat dying, in the middle of a garbage dump."
Ray gazed at Evelyn in awe. The words and music to and old
song called "Starstruck" came to his mind. 'Baby, you don't
know what you're saying...' But they merged with other songs,
like the one about a phenomenal cat who sat in a tree, and
liked to wallow all day, so he got big and fat. Oh, to find
the tranquility of a village green,
morning dew, fresh air. He sought the mentor whose name he
shared. He was deeply afraid. On the face of it, Evelyn was
talking a kind of madness, but he knew that she was most likely
right and as close to the truth as could be.
A passenger window slid down. Ches stood outside. "Package
for you Miss Evelyn. Just came out of my printer. Don't ask
me what it is.
©1994 (from Zero She Flies)
