by Ann Williams
“Yes, you know, those things you put gas in and drive wherever you want to go. I’m all for exercise, but I hadn’t planned on taking part in a marathon.”
“Oh, yes, you mean the vehicles with gasoline-driven engines.”
“That’s what I said—cars.”
“We do not use those kinds of conveyances.”
“Then how do you get from one place to another? Surely you don’t walk everywhere.”
“Walking is good exercise. So is riding a bicycle and riding horseback.”
Marina came to a sudden stop. “Are you kidding?”
“Kidding?”
“You know—no, you probably don’t. I mean—gosh! Has mankind progressed right back to the eighteenth century?”
Sammell didn’t understand all that she said, but he knew criticism when he heard it. “The gasoline-driven engine was greatly responsible for the pollution in your time,” he was quick to point out. “We prefer clean air and healthy bodies. My ancestors found a way to repair the ozone layer your people were responsible for damaging,” he added arrogantly. “We want to keep it intact.”
“Do you mean to tell me that a society that can live without eating has to depend on dumb animals to get them where they want to go?”
“We ride bicycles,” he reminded her.
“What about long distances? Are you telling me there are no mechanized vehicles in your world?”
“The king has a solar-powered airplane and the police use solar-powered vehicles. But we do not own such things. Our king has made it so that we have no use for them.”
Dumbfounded, Marina let herself be led farther into the trees. If he was telling the truth…
Sammell felt something bounce against the back of his hand and the woman slipped her cold fingers into his. For an instant, he resisted, then closed his larger fingers around her smaller ones and they continued on their way in silence, the only sound the crunch of leaves and brush beneath their feet.
Very conscious of the fingers clutching his, Sammell kept an eye out for signs of a government patrol, hoping they would complete their journey without encountering one. Another fifteen minutes had passed before they came to the edge of the thick woods and Sammell halted to study their surroundings.
Marina gawked at the quaint locale in surprise. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she had stepped into a Currier and Ives print. Gaslight lamps lined a wide cobblestone street. The street was clean, the grass at its side neatly trimmed and the night air drenched with an intoxicating perfume. Her glance moved to the entrance to the gardens where a profusion of flowering vines trailed beneath tall leafy trees swaying in the gentle evening breeze. She recognized magnolia and mimosa…and suddenly caught herself. Since when did magnolia trees grow in Colorado?
“Is that our destination?” Marina asked.
“Yes.” The word was little more than the stirring of air as it passed over her ears.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered in awe. “What are we waiting for?”
“That,” Sammell breathed, nodding toward the end of the street as he pulled her down into the cover of bushes.
Marina peered through the branches, straining to catch a glimpse of what the man at her side had seen through his glasses. And then her ears picked up the clippety-clop of horses’ hooves on the cobblestone street. But it was several seconds before she could actually discern the figures emerging from the blackness into the light.
Her eyes widened on four men riding abreast, mounted on horses as black as India ink. As they passed into the light, Marina saw that they were all dressed alike. From the tops of their golden blond heads to the black form-fitting tunic and tight black trousers tucked into shiny black thigh boots, nothing distinguished one from the other.
As they drew closer, she saw they were wearing goggles similar to those that Sammell wore. Her glance settled on the peculiar-looking weapons holstered on their hips, and a wave of revulsion washed over her. The four horsemen reminded her of Hitler’s SS troops. The only thing missing was the red armband with a black swastika on a white background.
“Who are they?” Marina asked through stiff lips as she moved closer to Sammell.
“Security patrol.”
“I don’t think I’m hungry anymore.” She stared at the end of the dark street where the mounted men had disappeared.
“We have exactly thirty minutes until the next patrol comes along,” Sammell said. “And that one goes into the gardens to search for curfew breakers.”
Grasping her hand tighter, he pulled her along as he crouched low, looked up and down the street, then hurried across it to the gardens.
Once they were in the gardens, Marina’s fear slowly faded and delight took its place as she noted the stone benches, colorfully lighted fountains and small waterfalls, fish ponds and a variety of flowers she couldn’t even begin to name. And then, centered in a maze at the middle of the gardens, they came upon something so utterly at odds with the natural beauty of their surroundings that Marina was unnerved.
In a circular clearing, a monument rose the height of a two-story building. It depicted men, women and children in the throes of agony, deformed, bleeding and dying, their faces frozen in eternal grimaces of such pain and suffering that it was hard to look at their agony.
“My God, what is that?” Marina asked backing away.
“That is your world.”
“What?” Marina jerked a questioning glance at his face.
“That is a reminder from our good King Wyndom of what the world was like before he brought peace and order to the people and restored life to the Earth.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. My world looks nothing like that,” she said angrily. “Suffering exists and we do what we can to alleviate it, but life is beautiful and good,” she added earnestly. It seemed very important all at once for him to realize that her world was not a thing of horror as his king would have him believe.
“There were things I would have changed about it,” she admitted, “but it wasn’t all bad. In fact, there are a lot of wonderful things you should know about. Like picnics, and music, and Christmas, and friends, and babies—”
“Is something wrong?” Sammell asked, when she suddenly stopped speaking.
“I said were—I said there were things I would like to have changed….”
Her eyes widened in anxiety. Did that mean she believed him—believed that her terrible-wonderful world was gone? And this—her eyes quickly scaled the monument—this is what had taken its place?
“That thing should be destroyed,” she said angrily. “It’s loathsome!”
Monday scrambled out of her arms and up onto her shoulder, reminding her that all was not lost. They were merely visitors to this place of horrors. The man beside her had promised to send them home.
“I think your little friend is hungry,” Sammell said, hoping to take her mind off unhappy things. “Here.” He indicated a spot where the underbrush thinned out and the trees and vines provided a sheltered hiding place. “This spot will provide us with protection while we gather food for you and…Monday?” He glanced at her questioningly.
“Yes, Monday. I named him that because that’s the day all this began,” Marina said over her shoulder, as she scooted through the cramped opening to find herself in a small clearing filled with trees whose limbs were heavy with fruit. Monday scrambled out of her arms and dashed out of sight.
She made as though to dart after him, but Sammell stopped her.
“He knows best what he wants to eat. Let him go. He will come back.”
Marina hesitated, then shrugged. He was probably right. And even if he didn’t return, it would be better for him to be here than locked up in the lab.
“How do you know this place?” she asked, picking an armful of ripe apples from the ground.
“I have been here before.”
Marina sat down with her back against a tree and placed one of the red apples against her lips. After taking a healthy
bite, she patted a place beside her. “Come and sit down and tell me why you come to this particular spot, if not to eat the fruit? And why do your people grow such luscious fruit, if not for consumption?”
Sammell hesitated before taking a seat a short distance from her. “It is grown for its beauty. And research.”
Marina looked around her. “It is beautiful here.” Picking up an apple, she offered it to him. “Are you sure you don’t want one?”
He shook his head.
Marina cocked her head and studied him. “So why do you come here, if not to eat?”
“This is the best hiding place in the gardens. I like to sit beneath the trees and think.”
Settling more comfortably against her tree, Marina considered his answer. It was a sound one. That’s why she went to the park where she’d met Monday. Something in nature made her forget all the petty trials and tribulations she faced day to day and helped her remember the good things in life.
“Tell me more about your world,” she invited him, nibbling on the fruit at the core.
“My world,” Sammell repeated softly. “Do you believe this is my world and not yours?”
With another apple halfway to her lips, Marina hesitated. “I don’t want to,” she answered honestly, “but unless this is some elaborate hoax—for which I can see no purpose—then I guess I have to, don’t I?”
“Thank you.” Sammell felt relief wash over him. It would make things so much simpler if she put aside her doubt and trusted him. And for some reason it had become very important to him that she trust him. “What would you like to know?”
“These drugs you mentioned yesterday—are they real? Is there actually a drug that will keep you from aging?”
“It exists.”
“And the stuff you say is in your food—you know for certain that it’s there?”
“I know it is there. One day, when I was a boy, I returned to my cell after school to find my parents gone. I broke curfew and went to search for them. I never found them. But I did not want to go back to the empty cell.
“I hid in the woods near the public gardens. It got late and after a while I fell asleep. The next day I knew it was too late to return to the cell. By then the security patrols would be looking for me.
“For several weeks I hid in the woods, and during that time did not take my nutrient injections. As time passed I became weaker and weaker. During the day I observed the animals gather their food.
“One day I saw a bird pull a worm from the ground and eat it. I needed nourishment, so I tried it myself—”
“Ugh,” Marina broke into the story, “you ate a worm?”
“I tried many things and almost all of them came back up. But gradually I managed to keep some down and I grew a little stronger.
“More days passed and I began to realize that I was changing. I felt different and I was beginning to view the world around me with different eyes. Inside me, there was this growing curiosity to know about everything. And then one day I was reckless and the police captured me.”
“What did they do to you?” Marina paused in her eating to ask.
“I was questioned about my parents, but I did not know what had happened to them. Eventually I was placed in the cell of a government official whose child had grown into adulthood and left to live in his own cell.
“I think they put me there because they did not believe I did not know where my parents had gone. I lived with the government official until I left school in my twentieth year. And that is how I know many of the things I know about King Wyndom. He was a frequent visitor to my benefactor’s cell.”
“And the drug?”
“For a while I was given my nutrient injections instead of being allowed to take them myself. I think they wanted to make certain I got them. The drug must accumulate in the body over a period of time to reach its maximum effectiveness.
“But a curious thing happened. Even after the injections were begun again, I still felt different. Observing the others around me, I soon realized that we were different—except for the government people.
“Perhaps my parents knew about the drug and had learned to remove it from our nutrients and that is why they disappeared.
“When I began taking my own shots again, I gave myself only half doses. And at night I would sneak out and come here and eat a few bites of something to supplement them.
“When I began living in my own cell, I researched the nutrient injections, isolated the substance placed there by the government and removed it from my own supply before taking the injection.”
Marina looked at him in amazement. “You must have been one very smart child to put all that together and figure it all out.”
“Children have nothing else to do but learn. And perhaps I learned my lessons a little better than some others.”
“But why didn’t you go to someone and tell them what you had discovered?”
“Who? Everyone is under the drug’s influence, except for those directly involved in the government. And they are a part of the conspiracy. I would have been terminated.”
“Oh. And you’ve never trusted anyone enough to tell them about the drug?”
“I trusted you.”
The bite of apple she was swallowing became lodged at the back of her throat. She coughed, swallowed and changed the subject.
“How old were you when your parents disappeared?”
“Twelve.”
“And you never heard from your parents again?”
“Never.”
“Well, didn’t you ever wonder about them?”
“Sometimes. But if they left on their own, they chose to leave me behind. And if the police took them away, then they are dead.”
“How sad,” she murmured. She couldn’t imagine living in such a world. Even though she didn’t see her family as much as she’d have liked, she loved them and knew they loved her.
A rustling in the bushes heralded the arrival of Monday. Marina laughed as he dropped acorns in a neat pile near her knee before scurrying back through the trees.
She turned to find Sammell’s glance on her face. “Do I have juice running down my chin?” she asked self-consciously, wiping the back of one hand across her mouth and chin.
“No,” he answered solemnly. But he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. She was so…different. He wanted to watch and memorize every little thing about her so that when she was gone, he could remember every expression, every movement, every smile.
“Do you really think you can go back in time to prevent the drug from being produced?” Marina asked, wishing he wouldn’t stare at her so intently.
“If I do not, your world will become like mine.”
“And if you do,” she said softly, a hint of something in her voice that he didn’t understand, “then this conversation will never take place. Because you won’t need to build a time machine and I won’t get caught up in it.”
“Our time here is growing short,” Sammell said abruptly. “Tell me more of your world.”
Marina had eaten her fill. She wiped her hands on the grass and stretched out on the ground on her side, cupping her head in one hand. “What would you like to know?”
“Tell me about your life. What was your youth like?”
“Well, I was the youngest of four children. My siblings are all boys. My mother owns a flower shop and my father is a contractor.”
“Contractor?”
“He builds things like houses—cells,” she amended for his benefit. “I was raised in a big house on the edge of a small town in Indiana. We grew up with Fourth of July celebrations, Labor Day picnics and large family get-togethers at Thanksgiving and Christmas.
“My brothers were overprotective and chased off all my boyfriends until I left home. But I love them, anyway. When I grew up I went to college in Arizona and liked it so much that I decided to stay. I see my family at the holidays.”
Sammell had listened attentively to every word she said, not completely unde
rstanding all of it because it was so foreign to anything he knew. But the sound of her voice and the play of emotions crossing her delicate features held him in thrall.
“It sounds like a wonderful place, your world. But there is much about it I do not understand. What are holidays and what are picnics?”
“Well, holidays are days you celebrate with family and friends. And we don’t go to work or to school.” She thought about how to simplify the explanation of a picnic. “You take food and drink to a park or woods and eat sitting like this on the ground.”
“We are having a picnic?”
“Well, sort of, except you didn’t eat anything—”
“Silence!” Sammell dived toward her, shoving her against the ground, his head cocked in a listening attitude, fear a sheet of ice down his back. He’d seen what the weapons the patrol carried could do one night when he’d stayed in the gardens too long. They homed in on any heat-producing body, identified it in a matter of seconds and if it were human sent a heat-seeking missile to incinerate it. If there hadn’t been another curfew breaker on the grounds that night, he probably wouldn’t have been here now.
“What is it?” she whispered next to his ear. His upper body lay across her chest, making it hard for her to breathe. She could feel him trembling against her. He was heavier than he looked.
“Patrol,” he mouthed almost silently, the words getting stuck at the back of his throat. “They are early.”
“What do we do?” Her heart began to pound at the thought of coming face-to-face with the four men on horseback she’d seen earlier.
Coming up onto his knees beside her, Sammell put an arm beneath her shoulders and helped her up. Together they crawled deeper into the bush. His fear was suddenly so great that he couldn’t answer her question. He didn’t know what to do.
Marina knew she ought to have been terrified out of her wits. She was closer to death than she’d ever been in her life, but strangely enough she wasn’t afraid. She glanced at her companion’s rigid profile. He certainly wasn’t built along the lines of the traditional hero, yet she trusted him implicitly to get them out of this situation without either of them coming to harm.
