The Gift of Remembering

by C. L. Shaffer

  Chris started down the corridor. “Cool.”

  Irene followed his lead and quickly came to stand beside him. She glanced back at Natalie. “So you’ve been transporting people beyond Sector 14 in this?”

  "That's right."

  “How did Kingston manage it?” Chris took a step away from the doors. "I mean, he died before the war even broke out."

  “When I worked at the White House,” Irene chimed in, “there was a rumor about Kingston having an actual dream about constructing a tube. Everyone assumed it would be for personal use—a way to get him from his mansion to a summerhouse out West.” Irene spun about. “The thing is, until today, I didn’t even know he’d completed it.”

  Chris looked back at Natalie. "So, how does it work?"

  "Let's just say it involves magnets, solar power, and a big fan."

  Natalie turned to Irene. "The reason you knew nothing about its completion was, outside of crew, who were sworn to secrecy, Kingston only told handful of close friends. It’s a coincidence, isn't it, though?"

  “What is?” Irene asked.

  “That Kingston built something which transports people out of a city, that is becoming nothing more than an authoritarian state, past Sector 14 to deserted area free of The Firsts. And the fact that this tube remained pretty much secret . . . it makes you wonder if Kingston’s dream was prophetic.”

  Irene smiled at her. “I can see why you and Roger are friends. You seem to see things in similar ways.”

  “I am sure you share that in common with him as well.”

  Irene chuckled. “Roger would laugh if he heard you say that. We’ve had our share of arguments.”

  “Arguments are the product of the Devil,” Chris said as he pushed down on some buttons on the small keypad located outside the glass entryway. He managed to hit the correct one, and the glass doors opened.

  “Well, that’s what some of The Firsts say anyway,” he offered as if noticing Natalie and Irene not moving toward him. He grinned and motioned at the capsule.

  "Shall we?"

  As they entered the capsule, a voice came over the sound system.

  Welcome. Please make yourself comfortable. Entertainment consoles are available at each seat. Restrooms are situated near the back. We look forward to serving you beverages shortly. Our trip will take approximately one hour. Thank you, and enjoy your journey.

  Natalie’s expression turned sheepish. “We haven’t gotten around to erasing welcome message.”

  Irene dropped into a seat next to Chris. “I like it. It reminds me of when things were . . . normal.”

  “I get your meaning.” Natalie took a few steps back. “The system is automated, for the most part, but I do need to close doors manually. Get comfortable. I’ll return shortly.”

  Irene peered over at Chris, who was already fiddling with the entertainment console at the back of his seat.

  "Oh, wow, they have movies. I haven't seen a movie since they took down the internet." He tapped a selection on the screen and then glanced behind him as if he were searching for something. "I wonder where the snacks are." He rose slightly from his seat. "Ah, there they are. Excuse me," he uttered to Irene, who moved her legs out of the way.

  From behind her, she could hear him rustling through what sounded like plastic bags. Returning, he held a large bag in his hand. “Popcorn?”

  “Yeah, they have all kinds.” Chris maneuvered around Irene’s legs to his seat. He carefully opened the bag as if not wanting to lose a single piece. He dug in for a handful and smashed the serving into his mouth.

  “I haven’t seen popcorn since before the war,” Irene said, “that might not be fresh.”

  "It tastes all right to me. Besides, popcorn is like honey. It never goes old.”

  “I really don’t think that’s true.”

  “We’re ready to go,” Natalie announced, returning to the passenger’s compartment. As she found a place to sit across from them, the cabin lights dimmed, and the voice came over the loudspeaker once more.

  The launch will take place in three, two, one.

  The compartment bucked slightly from what seemed like it's breaks being released. Irene grasped both armrests from the sensation. Looking out the window, she watched as the lights in the tunnel zipped by until they became nothing more than streaks of illumination. The sense of acceleration soon eased as everything outside went dark. Irene exhaled.

  “That was—awesome,” Chris said with a mouthful of popcorn.

  Irene peered over at Natalie. “Yeah, thanks for the warning.”

  “Sorry, but I find it best not to mention send-off.”

  Chris tossed a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “But that’s the best part.”

  Natalie smiled. “Wait until the end.”

  Irene felt as if she were about to cry for the second time that day. “What?”

  "Just kidding."

  "Ah, good one," Chris said, pointing at Natalie with a handful of popcorn.

  …

  The novelty of the tube seemed to wear off quickly for everyone. Chris was plugged into a movie with his headphones while Natalie and Irene chatted about purchasing black market clothing patterns.

  “How did you get involved with all of this?” Irene asked after a pause in the conversation.

  Natalie hesitated for a moment. "I was Arnold Kingston's secretary . . . before he passed. Roger and I became friends while making funeral arrangements."

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “That is okay.” Natalie paused again. “I was glad I was there for Arnold at the end. He was an extraordinary man.”

  Natalie's voice had a distinct emotion, and Irene wondered whether Natalie and Kingston's relationship had been more than professional. Irene knew Kingston had been a widower for some time. Perhaps in his final days, he'd found someone to care about again.

  Natalie seemed to regain some composure as she combed a few strands of hair behind her ear. Irene glanced at the spot where she'd earlier noticed the tattoo of a nine, three, and half a five.

  "I wasn't the one who put that there," Natalie said.

  "Oh?"

  "The Firsts did when they kidnapped me. I was to be a subject for their initial experiments in processing."

  Irene shook her head, remembering the test studies that Donatello had told her about.

  "Thankfully, they didn't get the chance. As they were about to finish putting code on my neck, I was rescued by Roger's team."

  Irene's eyes widened. "That's incredible."

  Natalie drew a few more pieces behind her ear. "I've always had this habit of putting my hair behind my ear, so after The Firsts branded me, I tried to break the habit because I was self-conscious about the marking. But then I realized I needed to learn to tell people my story." Natalie paused. "Most people have no idea what was going on with The Firsts after the war. They still don't."

  The speakers scratched overhead, and Natalie glanced up.

  Attention passengers, in ten minutes, we will have reached our destination.

  Please prepare for de-boarding.

  "We're nearly there." Natalie pointed at Chris, who still appeared to be engrossed in his movie. "You should tell him."

  Irritated, Irene smacked him on the arm.

  He held up a finger. “Wait,” he uttered, “it’s the good part where the chipmunk—”

  Irene lifted one side of his headphones as if he were one of her kids. “We’re about to de-board,” she said into his ear and let the thing snap back into place. She always hated how her kids would tune her out by using their headphones.

  “Ouch,” Chris whined and then peeled the thing off. “So we’re here?”

  “Almost,” Natalie said.

  “What are we about to see?” Irene asked.

  Natalie seemed to beam at the question. “A new beginning.”

  Irene glanced over at Chris, who raised an eyebrow. “Well, gee Natalie, don’t get our hopes up too high.”

  The
tube came to a stop, and the trio stepped onto a platform identical to the one they’d used to enter the tube. Chris lingered there as if unsure about going any farther. “Did we just do a complete circle?”

  “Things will look quite different in few minutes.” Natalie moved toward the control panel and hit a button that opened the glass doors.

  Chris seemed to get over his uncertainty quickly. He followed Natalie through the corridor that led to another elevator. Irene trailed them.

  After a ride up in the elevator, the doors opened, and Irene covered her eyes as the sun shined through a large window. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she glanced about at the modern furnishings and art decorating the space. “Where are we?”

  “This is Kingston’s summer house—one of them, anyway.”

  “What? You’ve never been?” Chris jested as Irene walked over to take a closer look at one of the many art pieces displayed on a nearby wall.

  “Wow,” she said.

  Chris shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I always preferred his blue period.”

  Irene gave him a skeptical look before strolling over to the large window at the front of the contemporary space.

  “I know about art,” Chris replied. “In fact, people are always saying ‘Boy that Chris, sure is a Renaissance man.’”

  Irene didn’t bother to respond. What she was viewing from the window left her speechless.

  Chris moved near her. “Don’t tell me you’ve run out of come . . . backs.”

  The construction was mostly timber and stone, but it was still unbelievable—a flourishing town in the middle of nowhere. Cabins, shops, markets, and a church set along a single main street. It appeared there were plans for further expansion as newly made roads branched off from the main avenue into a grid-like pattern. Irene stared as people bustled about as if it were just another ordinary day.

  Irene turned slightly as Natalie came up to her. “How long has this been here?”

  “We started transporting people about six months ago.”

  “These people,” Irene began and then shook her head in disbelief, “have done all this in that short amount of time?”

  “Thanks to a little thing we like to call . . . freedom."

  “I didn’t think such a thing was possible,” Chris said, still appearing memorized by the view. “I mean, I knew we were transporting people somewhere. I just thought it was to some dismal place—a bigger warehouse, maybe. I didn't think it would be like this."

  “So none of these people have been processed?” Irene asked when Chris didn’t continue. “They still have all their memories?”

  “Yes, we believe remembering the good as well as the bad shapes us.” Natalie exhaled. “Plus, no one has the right to take memories from you by force.”

  “And how does Roger play into all of this?”

  Natalie pointed to the small, white church near the outskirts of the town where a man sat on the porch. “Irene, Roger helped make all this possible.”

  Irene could make out that the man sitting on the porch was Roger. What felt like happiness welled up within her. The sensation was so unfamiliar that she was unsure if it was, in fact, happiness. It'd been so long since she'd felt the emotion. "I want to see him," she said, not bothering to conceal the broad smile on her face paired with tears in her eyes.

  “Yeah,” Chris uttered, inserting himself back into the conversation, “I’d like to meet him.”

  Natalie placed her hand on Irene’s arm but glanced at Chris. “Roger wants to thank you, Chris, for rescuing Irene, but I think we should give Irene time with Roger first.”

  Chris peered over at Irene. “Yeah, sure. Of course.” He then rubbed his hands together. “There’s got to be a theater room in this place, right?”

  “It’s downstairs to your left.” Natalie pointed to a doorway along the wall near the elevator. “Make yourself at home. We’ll return soon.”

  Chapter 5

  At the foot of the church steps, Natalie walked away to do some shopping. She'd indicated that Roger was most likely in his office, near the back of the sanctuary.

  Irene hastened up the steps. But as she entered the building, she slowed her pace. The beauty of the church's interior struck her. Wide wood planks extended from a thick central beam, giving the appearance of a boat’s internal structure. A single stained-glass window positioned at the front provided an appropriate illustration, one of Noah’s ark.

  Arriving outside the office, Irene could hear papers being sorted. When she peeked inside, Roger was surrounded by books and documents with his hand on his forehead as if he were deep in thought or, more likely, tired from exhaustion.

  Irene crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe. “Looks like you could use a secretary.”

  Roger chuckled. “Are you applying?” he asked as he rounded his desk to come and embrace her. “So good to see you,” he said as he released his hold on her, his expression turning serious. “Really, it’s good to see you.”

  Irene sighed with a sense of relief. “It’s good to see you too.”

  “How was your journey?” Roger strolled over to one of the chairs situated near the fireplace. “I know it can be—”

  “Interesting?”

  “Well, yes,” he said, gesturing for Irene to join him.

  “How in the world did you manage to do all this?”

  “I did have some help.” He gave her a quick smile. “You know that Kingston and I became friends after his conversion.”

  “Yeah, after he found out he had cancer—he discovered he believed in God.”

  "Now Irene, that is uncharitable. You know very well that for some people, it takes the realization of their demise to accept the idea that there’s something more than just this material world.”

  Irene scrunched her shoulders. “I just think you can be a little naïve sometimes. That’s all.”

  “Don’t mistake naivety for grace.”

  Irene scratched the back of her neck. “Okay, I didn’t mean to start an argument about deathbed conversions.”

  “No, you wouldn’t do that,” Roger said with a grin. "The truth is, it wasn't cancer that convinced Kingston. It was a dream."

  “You mean the dream about the tube? I was telling Natalie and Chris about it. It seemed somewhat . . . prophetic.”

  “You sound doubtful.”

  “Psalms eighteen, twenty-eight.”

  “That psalm has something to do with a lamp . . . ‘You, Lord, keep my lamp burning’? Yes, that’s it. So why are you quoting Psalms?”

  “Let’s just say that for some time now, my lamp has been dim.”

  “Ah.”

  Irene fiddled with the side stitch of her pants. “I don’t know. I used to feel . . . special. I suppose we all feel that way when it comes to God, but that’s the way I felt.” Irene returned her attention to Roger. “But ever since the war—well, I’m not sure if I stepped away or if He stepped away. It’s as if our relationship has become . . .”

  “What?”

  “Distant and pedestrian.”

  “Do you think it’s because of the war?”

  Irene shook her head. “Not really—not directly, anyway.”

  “Well, that’s refreshing.”

  Irene sniffed a laugh. “I do think it happened during the war, though. You see, my daughter Tia volunteered at a hospital. Occasionally I'd bring in some flowers to cheer up the patients. There was this young woman who was feeling rather low because of her injuries. She wasn’t a believer, so I thought I’d tell her how I’d come to believe—to offer some hope.” Irene exhaled. “But it made no difference. She just argued with me and kept doing so. In the end, I think the encounter made more of an impression on me than it did on her.”

  “How?”

  "It was as if the certainty of her doubt made me start to doubt. And I can't help but think that my doubt created a divide between God and me. Either I'm disappointed in Him, or He's disappointed in me. I don't know which." Irene
ran her hands down her lap. "Kind of pathetic that a single stranger can make such an impact on your life."

  “I don’t know. You met a wall you couldn’t move—a mountain you were unable to traverse. Many have doubted after such occurrences. Maybe it wasn’t the right time for this woman to hear that message—maybe it never will be.”

  Irene attempted a smile. “That all makes perfect sense in my head, but it doesn’t—”

  “Change the way you feel.”

  “Exactly.”

  Roger glanced at his clasped hands. “Maybe it will help in some small way if I tell you more about the tube and how it came to be?”

  "Please do. I am curious about it."

  Roger nodded. “That dream I mentioned earlier kept plaguing Kingston. That was why he sought me out. I counseled him to start digging. And then the dreams just stopped.”

  “And he became a believer.”

  “Yes.”

  "Well, I take back what I said about Kingston not being sincere. I jumped to conclusions.”

  “More precisely, you were committing a logical fallacy, assuming a cause and effect.”

  Irene wagged her finger at him. “Now, Roger, don’t start.”

  He laughed, seeming to agree to a truce. “The point is the dream, which I believe God gave him, made all of this possible.”

  Hope stirred within Irene as she thought about bringing her family to this place. She rested her hand on Roger's arm. "Thank you for showing me all this."

  Roger seemed to hesitate as if reading her mind. “Your family, Irene . . .”

  “I know. The Firsts processed them.” Irene leaned back in her chair and put her hand to her lips as if to hold back the emotions that were sure to come. But then she recalled something Donatello had said. “Donatello told me they relocated them. Do you have any idea where? Natalie said you didn't, but—"

  “They’re alive, Irene. That’s what’s important.”

  "So you really don't know."

  "We have an idea, but you may not think it technologically possible."

  “Roger, I just came through a secret underground tube that bypassed Sector 14. You’d be surprised what I now think is technologically possible.”