This stranger obviously had no way of knowing how many times Elias had made the same argument to his friends over the years. "Let me tell you something, Wilson. Do you have any idea how I got here?"
Taken slightly aback by the question, Wilson ventured, "I assume by car."
"Only the last leg. Before that, I traveled from New Orleans to Tucson by train."
Elias' companion slapped him on the knee. "There you go. Traveling in a way that actually makes you feel as though you've gone someplace."
"You got it."
Wilson dropped heavily back into his chair and sighed again. "But you know what, my friend? Anybody listening to us no doubt thinks we're a couple of old fuddy-duddies for saying these things."
"I gave up," Elias mused, "trying to explain to my boss that just walking onto an airplane and a few hours later stepping off, half the world away, gives us a skewed perspective on where we are and what the world is really like."
"Don't I know it! You can't tell them though, can you?"
"No. You can't. But what you said, Wilson, about the other things and about suicide, makes a lot of sense. I never thought of it that way."
"We're cheapening everything and we're making everything all about us, and future generations be damned. The mind-set that causes us to fiddle with the way we name ourselves and our kids, without even mentally extending it out one or two generations, is the same as letting the debt get so high. Either we don't care or we somehow know that it's all going to end soon anyway, so what difference does it make?"
Wilson turned away and stared out at the riot of plants and trees encircling the porch. Without looking back at Elias and with a more subdued tone to his voice, he continued, "And television. Not all that long ago there were only three channels to watch. Now there are hundreds. And most of it is baloney. With the three, there was always something to watch, something you wanted to see. You could watch I Love Lucy or What's My Line? or the fights, unless they were taken off for an Andy Williams special" – he paused and smiled at some private memory – "but, seriously, you can search through the choices delivered by the little black cable or satellite dish and usually not find a single thing you want to waste your time on."
Returning his gaze to Elias, Wilson remarked, "You think I'm some crazy Luddite, don't you?"
Elias smiled and shook his head. "No, Wilson, I don't. As a matter of fact, I agree with you."
"So that makes us a couple of fools who can't deal with the fact that society has passed us by, doesn't it?"
"No. It doesn't."
Wilson chuckled. "Of course you'd say that, Mr. Death. Fools and crazy people always think they're fine. It's always everybody else who's gone 'round the bend."
Twisting around in his seat to face his host, Elias asked, "What's with this ‘Mr. Death' thing? Why are you calling me that?"
"You're kidding, right?"
"No, I'm not."
"You don't know the historical significance of your own name?"
"Charon? The guide from the river Styx taking the souls across the river?"
"Yeah," Wilson said, still smiling. "But either your parents had no knowledge of history and just liked the name, or they had a wicked sense of humor when they tagged you with Elias to go in front of it."
"Saint Elias the Living?"
"See, you did know! Some believed that Elias was the only saint who didn't die. He hopped on his fiery chariot and rode it to Heaven, body and all. Don't ya think that's a bit of an ironic name for someone waltzing into this institution, which is nothing but a spit in the face of death?"
"Hadn't given it any thought."
Wilson snorted his opinion and said nothing. They both fell into a brief silence, listening to the whirl of the wind. After a few minutes, Wilson began speaking, his voice so low Elias had to strain to hear his words. "All this stuff…the names, songs, photographs, movies, and TV shows...if it were merely the logical progression of things, it wouldn't bother me so much."
"What do you mean?" Elias asked, caught up in the old man's sudden change of mood, realizing that the man he had been chatting with on the porch, until this minute, was a manufactured caricature, and the true person was now revealing himself.
Wilson hesitated once again, and Elias suspected that he was not merely formulating his thoughts, but rather was deciding whether to share them with a stranger. With a deep intake of breath, he indicated the decision had been made. "What do you think I did for a living, before I retired…before I checked in to this looney bin?"
"I have no idea, Wilson. How would I? We just met."
Elias' companion stared intently at him, his gray eyes penetrating deeply. "You're a smart man, Mr. Charon. Very smart. I have a feeling that you've made a career out of reading people. When you read me, what do you see?"
Throughout his career, Elias had long ago recognized that there were frequently points in any cover where you had to decide whether to stick with your story or shift gears. Sometimes clinging to your original cover was the best option, regardless of how absurd the act of maintaining it became. At other times, abandoning the pretext, and either adopting another or simply coming clean about who you were, made the most sense, even if the motivation to do so was apparently weak. Occasionally, breaking cover was the appropriate thing to do for purely utilitarian reasons. Elias decided this was one of those times.
Taking a deep breath, he plunged in. "Wilson isn't your real name." Elias paused for a moment to watch for a reaction to his comment. There was none, so he continued, "I'm not exactly certain what you did, but you are well educated, extremely so. My guess would be the sciences."
Again no reaction other than a very slight, wry grin.
"You were successful in what you did. Probably made quite a name for yourself. And you were used to having a lot of people and resources at your disposal. You liked to solve problems but became bored with the day-to-day running of things, and you've developed quite a contempt for humanity."
The subtle grin filled out into a full smile. "Not bad, Elias. Not bad at all."
"Are you going to tell me who you are?"
"Not are, were."
It was Elias' turn to smile. "Okay, who were you?"
"John Wilson Chapman."
The moment he heard the name, Elias recognized his features. The entire biography of the man tumbled into his mind. John Wilson Chapman, thirty years ago, had been at the top of his field in mathematics. In addition, he had won a Nobel Prize for his work in the area of pattern recognition, and he had been the leading and, at times, vicious opponent of Chaos Theory, believing and maintaining at every opportunity that Chaos Theory was nothing but the scientific community putting a fancy title on the fact that they did not understand something.
He became quickly renowned for discerning the most esoteric and subtle patterns in areas theretofore considered to be too chaotic to predict. Whether it was the stock market, Internet routing, ocean currents, turbulence within the human heart, or the weather, he seemed to relish the chance to unravel the apparently hopeless, tangled balls of yarn in a variety of fields and disciplines. As a result he became both famous and wealthy, only to gradually recede from the public view and consciousness.
Elias stuck out his hand and said, "It is a pleasure to meet you, sir."
Wilson accepted the handshake. "Of course, the normal turn of the conversation would be for me to inquire and for you to supply your identity to me. But I am not quite certain that you have reached the point with me where you would be completely forthright in your answer, and I am enjoying this chat too much for it to be spoiled by dissembling."
Elias only grinned, saying nothing.
With a soft sigh, Wilson continued, "All in good time, I suppose. But to continue my thought, when I first began to notice all of the changes in society against which I have been railing, I chalked them off as the normal evolution of technology, à lá Alvin Toffler. But over time, as I observed and, in many cases, facilitated these so-called advances, I b
egan to feel differently."
"How so?"
Wilson's eyes once again swung away from Elias and stared out into the jumble of foliage. "Why do you think I've created this environment for myself?"
Elias shrugged. "Trying to recreate some childhood setting?"
Wilson laughed. "No, hardly that. I was raised in Las Cruces. It's literally the way my mind has always worked. From a very young age I was fascinated with patterns. I remember, as a boy, sitting for hours watching the apparently random ramblings of ants around their hill, until I was able to discern the subtle plan behind their routes and movements. I wasn't happy until I could accurately predict what they would do next. The same was true with everything around me, so much so that I never married."
"I don't understand."
"You don't? It's simple, really. Even as a teenaged, hormone-driven boy, I studied the dating and mating patterns of all of the boys and girls around me in high school, until the dependable chain of cause-and-effect actions became clear. The unfortunate by-product of this was that I developed a feeling for females that was anything but conducive for romance, love, and marriage."
"Contempt?"
"No. Let's call it a distaste for the process. This process, like everything else, has been devalued. I found females to be far too predictable, too easy to manipulate. Not that I intend for that comment to sound as chauvinistic as it does. My comments apply to males, as well. Regrettably, I found it difficult to find a woman I could view as my equal, my partner."
"I think I understand."
"I'm sure you do. But to continue, I never developed an aversion to patterns. Instead I craved them. I sought out more and more complex sets of variables merely to satisfy my curiosity."
"So the jungle you've created around you here is a challenge?"
Rolling his eyes dismissively, Wilson replied, "No, not a challenge. But it is something, as opposed to a void. At least the plants grow and change and interact and die and give birth. At least there is a relatively complex system which, most important, is ever-changing."
"I get it. Living inside the complex, with its static structures, furnishings, and such would bore you instantly."
"Bore is far too understated for the effect it would have. You see, what society has called my ability, my gift, is probably an unmeasurably rare and undiagnosed mental disease. If I had to spend the remainder of my time in an apartment, especially one without even a window, I would surely go mad."
Wilson stopped for a moment and looked at Elias, as if to measure the impact his words had so far.
"All of that being said, I am now led to my denouement. I was completely immersed in the progress and the workings of the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. As I mentioned, I not only observed, I facilitated the progress. Yet, my mind being what it is, I also studied the underlying patterns, until the conclusions I began to reach were so disturbing, I had no choice but to extricate myself from it all."
Elias realized that his entire body was tense in anticipation. Whether it was the surreal nature of the setting, the nearly hypnotic delivery of Wilson's words, or the almost mythical reputation of the man himself, Elias was certain that he was on the verge of hearing something of the utmost importance. "Please, go on. What did you find?"
The mathematician did not appear eager to deliver his judgment. An expression most closely resembling distaste spread across his face as he continued, "I became convinced that the patterns, all of the symptoms of progress I've criticized and denigrated here, were not merely the serendipitous occurrences of an evolving and advancing society but, rather, were the intentional and deliberate increments of a plan."
As he finished his statement, his eyes were riveted upon Elias, watching for a reaction.
"What plan, Wilson?"
"Why, Elias, I would have thought it would be obvious from my previous comments. The plan is to carefully and systematically devalue every aspect of life itself for all people on Earth."
Elias was unsure as to what his next comment should be. So much of what Wilson had said earlier echoed his own theories and beliefs, yet it had never occurred to Elias that it was all deliberate, that it was some sort of plot.
"I sound like one of those pathetic crackpots, don't I? One of those people who see a conspiracy behind every event."
Smiling, Elias replied, "There is no better way to neutralize the voices of those who are attempting to alert the public than to marginalize them. No, Wilson, I don't think you sound like a crackpot, and you are anything but pathetic. But what is the ultimate purpose of this plan? What's the goal?"
"That," Wilson said with more than a little chagrin in his voice, "I don't know. Maybe you can help me find that answer."
"Why me?"
"Why not? You're as good a candidate as any."
Elias could not help but be charmed by this man. "I don't think I'll be making any analytical breakthroughs that you've missed, Wilson."
"Have it your way."
"Do you mind if I ask a question?"
"Please do."
"I understand that it is de rigueur to avoid asking the residents of Aegis why they came, but I can't help but be curious with you."
With a soft laugh, Wilson answered, "You're wondering why someone...as rich and famous as I...would want to commit suicide, or at least the modern version of the act?"
"No, not the rich and famous part. Plenty of rich and famous people do it. But why would someone with your intellect and perceptiveness want to…?"
"Flick it in?"
"Yes."
"I didn't."
Elias started to speak but was cut off. "I did not desire to end it all. I didn't enter Aegis as an alternative to suicide."
"Then why are you here?"
"I saw it as a refuge. If the developing pattern was global, where else could I go? I was hoping, since Aegis was cut off from society in so many ways, that it might offer a haven from the impending…whatever it is that is about to happen. And I am not the only one. I would venture to say that a large percentage of the entrants to this facility have come for the same reason."
Elias glanced around at the lush vegetation and the ramshackle living quarters. With a tinge of sarcasm in his voice, he queried, "And how's that working for you?"
Wilson laughed. "At first, not bad. I've been here for several years, and for quite a time I was left alone. The sheer space of this facility was enough to allow me the privacy I wanted, and the population seemed quite tolerant of the old kook who wanted to live in the atrium. They didn't mind when I transplanted bushes, plants, and trees from some of the other atria into this plot to augment the existing landscaping. There was more than enough finished space for them to not miss the occasional building material I salvaged from unused portions to use for my shack."
"You said ‘at first.' What happened to change things?"
"My gurse."
"Gurse?"
"As I mentioned earlier, my gift and my curse…I call it my gurse."
Elias chuckled.
"I couldn't help but begin to see the developing pattern within these walls."
Elias, knowing where Wilson was going with this train of thought, nodded.
"It is not at all the same pattern as the outside world is experiencing. It is something very different and very ugly. And frighteningly rapid."
"I noticed it, as well."
"I'm sure you did."
"What do you see as the timetable?"
The mathematician stared blankly for a while before answering. Elias felt that he was rerunning the equation or simulation or whatever visualization the man used to arrive at his answers. Finally, he concluded, "It's hard to be certain. I am not one hundred percent comfortable I've identified all of the variables, especially the most recent. Weeks. Maybe days."
"Variables? What is the most recent?"
Wilson again leaned back in the conference room chair, tipped back his mug to drain the last of the tea, and replied, "Why, you, of course."
>
CHAPTER SIX
"Me? Why am I a variable?"
A full-throated laugh erupted from Wilson. As it subsided, he said, "I asked you when we met if you thought me a fool. Elias, you are anything but the usual entrant to this place."
"What do you mean? I'm sure there have been lots of guys just like me who have checked in to Aegis."
Wilson stared hard at his porch companion, his mouth tightly pursed in a look of either frustration or irritation. Elias was not sure if the scientist was trying to read him, or simply deciding his next conversational course. "I was right. The pleasantries are instantly spoilt the moment the dissembling begins. Let me make certain that I understand. You wish me to believe that you are some poor slob who couldn't stand life anymore, so you decided to check in at Hotel Aegis because you didn't have the wherewithal to off yourself?"
Elias said nothing, waiting.
"I don't know why you are here, Mr. Charon. And I am certain that if and when you decide to tell me, I'll be either skillfully misdirected or only partially informed, but I can state one thing with absolute certainty."
"What's that?"
"You, my newfound friend, most certainly have what it takes to kill yourself."
The man's statement required no comment, and Elias did not give one.
"And so, since point number one is that you would not have any trouble whatsoever doing the deed, so to speak, and point number two, as it also became clear to me during our discussion, is that you have a great deal of contempt for Aegis, you would not have made the value decision to come here as a viable alternative to death."
Elias still did not respond, waiting to learn exactly how insightful Wilson was.
"That only leaves one possible explanation. You have come here with a purpose. You have not, yet, told me what that might be. But, whatever it is, it is worthy of banishing yourself to this place for the balance of your life so that you may accomplish it. And, frankly, there are very few things in life people find worthy of that kind of sacrifice – God, country, and a loved one.
The Aegis Solution Page 12
