The Age of the Conglomerates: A Novel of the Future

by Thomas Nevins

  Ichabod bumped into bodies as he made his way over to John, who stood at the doorway directing people. X was holding a spot for Dr. Walters.

  “It’s going to be rough getting where we’re going,” Ichabod said. “Where are we going, by the way?”

  “We’re awaiting Walters’s instructions,” John said. One thing was clear, the babies couldn’t stay here.

  X was having difficulty holding the space for Walters, when into the train came the Lucky Brothers, followed by Walters and Gabriel, who was the last to enter the car. John took X by the hand and pulled her toward him while he stepped inside the train and the doors closed behind him. From the I train’s cab, the driver said, “Where are we going, by the way?” Everyone looked at Dr. Walters.

  “Can you get us to Newark?” Dr. Walters asked. “The airport.”

  The driver sounded the horn and pulled out into the panic.

  FIRST CHRISTINE THOUGHT she had killed the chairman with an overdose, and now she thought he looked as if he were coming around.

  “I’m a geneticist,” Christine said for the hundredth time. “Not an anesthesiologist.”

  She had been back and forth between the chairman’s conference room and his personal office a dozen times. She had sent to Gabriel the phone number that Dee had given her. She was trying to reach her grandfather, and had sent him the number as well. No response. Yet.

  THE FIGHTING HAD spread from D.C. to Boston. From their position under the Brooklyn Bridge, A and Dee were trying to manage the Dyscard efforts, and their retreat. They had dozens of decisions to make, and one was a destination for the babies.

  CHRISTINE WALKED BACK into the conference room and looked at the chairman. She decided that restraints were the way to go. She ripped off some tape, causing the chairman to stir. She froze, and held her breath as she reached for the scissors on the table and cut the tape. She placed the tape across the chairman’s mouth, poked a hole through the tape so he could breathe, and then went back to her portable lab. She dumped the rest of her gym bag out onto the conference room table, picked out the small vial of morphine, and headed back to her patient.

  She closed the valve on the chairman’s IV drip and emptied the rest of the medicines from the Canal Street pharmacologist into the IV bag. She reached back to the table and got what vitamins she had left, and put them into the bag as well. She reattached the IV bag, opened the valve, and resumed the chairman’s treatment. He would not be coming around anytime soon.

  She checked her e-mail one more time before she shut the machine down and pulled out the memory card from the back of the computer. She cleaned off the conference table and repacked her lab kit; she took a last look at the city and imagined her route. She would walk across the Brooklyn Bridge, head to Grand Central, and take it from there. After all, it had worked before. She went over and took the tape from the chairman’s mouth.

  She unlocked the door and pulled it open. The chairman’s driver was standing there.

  She tried to block his view, but the driver laughed before he said, “Back inside, please.”

  I knew it, Christine thought, but that didn’t make much difference now.

  The Connection

  George opened his computer. There were several e-mails from his granddaughter Christine, all of which had come in the last few hours.

  The e-mails were short, but he read them over and over. Then he jumped up; he had to find Dr. Dunne. While the messages were extreme, so were the Conglomerates. Dr. Dunne thought about what George reported. She wouldn’t put anything past the Conglomerates. Besides, she noticed there was a perverse symmetry here: they had abandoned the Coot camps, sending this part of the population into chaos. Perhaps they were going to eliminate the Dyscards.

  Dunne looked at George and said, “Okay. But I have news for you, George Salter. There is a woman fitting your wife’s name and description in the Arbor Ward. We’ll take care of the message from your granddaughter and you check the ward and see if it’s her.”

  George started to leave. In fact, he couldn’t leave fast enough. That was, until he thought of Christine. She was in trouble. If Patsy was in the Arbor Ward, then that was for the best. Christine needed him now. He might be able to help. Patsy would want him to take care of their granddaughter first. He was sure of that. George turned back to the doctor. “Let me help you take care of this first.”

  “WE’VE GOT TO figure something out,” Dee said.

  Neither Dee nor A believed they could.

  A call came through.

  “Hello?” Dee said.

  Dr. Dunne said, “To whom am I speaking?”

  The two Dyscards looked at each other.

  “Leaders of the Dyscard nation,” Dee said. They were still precocious kids.

  “My name is Maureen Dunne, and we received a message that you were having problems back East.”

  “Back East?” A said, his hopes rising. “Where are you calling from?”

  “We’re from a camp in Arizona, and we might be able to help you, if you can be able to move when we tell you to.”

  “I think we’re ready now,” Dee said. “So, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

  THE CAPTAIN OF the Galaxy heard the squawk of the radio in the cockpit of the old C-5 transport. The Conglomerates had taken the Galaxy and the captain out of service, putting the Galaxy in storage along with a number of commercial aircraft that were also victims of the times. The captain had no job, no housing, and he had seen the camps out West. He had followed the plane and taken up residency in the abandoned transport. He knew the airport better than the people who ran it, and he moved with impunity in and out of his old plane. He had foraged through the neighboring planes and stripped them of batteries, blankets, flashlights, pillows, water, booze, and, of course, fuel.

  It wasn’t as if the captain could go anywhere. This big bird was too much to fly alone. He was accumulating all he could for the winter, as he knew how cold this plane could get. And if it got too cold, he could always give flying the Galaxy solo a try. The great beyond had to be better than this.

  There it was again. It sounded like a kid playing make-believe.

  “Do you read me?” a young voice said.

  “Who is this?” the captain of the Galaxy asked, but as it had been a while since he had engaged another human being in conversation, his voice was out of practice and it sounded more like static.

  “No use,” he heard another voice say.

  “Hello,” he said, lifting the mike from its position on the control panel. He pressed the button and repeated, “Hello.”

  Dee almost jumped at the captain’s response. The two Dyscards were back on track after talking with Dr. Dunne. They were determined to see a future—for the babies.

  CHRISTINE DIDN’T SEE that she had a choice but to do what the chairman’s driver said. It wasn’t as if she could get around him. She stepped back into the chairman’s office, and the driver followed her and locked the door behind him. Christine used the opportunity to break for the chairman’s private office down the hall, but the driver grabbed her by the wrist.

  “I knew you were a fake,” Christine said, as if that would hurt him. “You paid attention too closely to not be keeping track.”

  “The chairman didn’t know it, never even questioned it. I had come with Conglomerate papers and that was all the fool needed. I’m on your side, by the way.”

  He picked up Christine’s bag. She struggled to reach it, as the driver started to look inside.

  “If you were really on my side, you would give me back my bag,” Christine said.

  “How do I know you don’t have a gun in here?” the driver asked.

  “If I had a gun, you would have known about it already,” Christine said. “And how come you don’t seem surprised to see your boss sprawled out on a cot, hooked up to an IV bag in his office, with only one other person in the room?” Christine asked.

  “Why should I be?” the driver answered. “I’ve been watching the w
hole time on the monitor in the chairman’s car. Nice trick with the shower, though. You really outsmarted him.”

  The driver stood back up and looked at Christine.

  “Now what are you going to do?” Christine said.

  “Drive you to the airport,” he said.

  ICHABOD HAD HIS hand on the I train’s air horn. It was blaring through the tunnels with an ear-piercing sound. People were panicked and some were reluctant to get out of the way of the six-ton subway car; some people even pushed toward the moving train, desperate to get on board.

  He regretted the violence inherent in his train’s design, the wheels and deadly front end. He had envisioned these additions slicing through the Conglomerate forces. Who could have foreseen what tactic the Conglomerates would use?

  X and John stood against the door, other bodies pressed up against them. No one wanted to admit they were scared. X and John squeezed their way through the crowd of the Border Patrol and refugees to the cab. The view from the driver’s seat was spectacular and frightening. It was plain to see the depth of the devastation.

  “I am not sure we can do this,” Ichabod said.

  “Don’t you have any secret passageways tucked up your sleeve?” X asked.

  “We could change tracks if I could change tracks,” he answered.

  “Stop the train. Cut the lights and the horn,” John said.

  The driver did.

  The people pulled back.

  “Have you got a way of projecting light behind us?” X’s companion asked.

  “Sure,” the driver said. He powered two spotlights and pointed them behind the train.

  The driver flipped the switch and the spotlight sent a strong beam out behind them.

  The light was met with a gasp from the crowd, before a few folks realized the idea: use the light to lead them down the illuminated tunnel that the I train had cleared. It took a moment or two for the idea to grow within the collective. Soon the crowd in front of the train ran from the dark to where the light might bring them.

  It was maybe a minute before the driver asked, “How’s it look?”

  “All clear ahead,” John said.

  “I HOPE THEY send someone who can fly a C-5,” the captain of the Galaxy said out loud. He doubted it, of course, but what the hell. He opened up a packaged banana muffin, afraid to check the expiration date. Then he got busy making a checklist so he would know just what he had to check off. He could be ready in an hour—he hoped. He would have to be, because that was when his cargo would arrive. “I can do this,” he said.

  CHRISTINE WAS IN the backseat of the chairman’s town car and they were speeding toward the Brooklyn Bridge. She was disoriented just to be in Brooklyn, let alone after the events of the past few hours, but she didn’t think this was the way to the Newark airport. “I thought we were going to the airport,” Christine said.

  “We have to make a stop first,” the driver said.

  Christine didn’t like the sound of that. Maybe it was because the guy was a spy, but Christine didn’t trust him. Every time he said he was on her side, she got the creeps.

  “Where?” Christine asked, and hoped she didn’t sound scared.

  The driver stamped on the brakes, unlocked the doors, and Dee got into the backseat next to Christine.

  “It’s good to finally meet you,” Dee said with a slight bow. Christine looked to see if anyone else was coming.

  “A will not be joining us,” Dee said, without revealing how hard that was to say.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Christine asked. The driver was looking in the mirror, but this time he was all eyes on the Dyscard.

  “A will not be coming with us to Arizona,” Dee said. “We feel one of us should stay here. We owe it to those left behind.”

  “Arizona!” Christine yelled. “You mean it worked? Grandpa called you?”

  “Yes, it worked,” Dee answered. “We couldn’t believe it either! We thought we had run out of options. As soon as we knew that moving the babies to Van Cortlandt Park was out, we sent word through the Dyscard network, contacted all of our outposts and safe havens from here to the West Coast, and they were all under siege. The damage and injury were extensive, as were the rumors of what was to come. They couldn’t help themselves, let alone a dozen babies. Then your grandfather got in touch with a Dr. Dunne, who…” And Dee ran through the details to date.

  “Well, we haven’t gotten anywhere yet,” Dee said, pointing out the town car’s back window. Christine followed his hand and saw a police car close behind them. The driver saw it too and punched a few buttons on his dashboard.

  “New York City police commissioner,” the driver said.

  Christine blanched, as he sounded so much like the chairman. For a second Christine believed the chairman was there.

  “Yes,” they heard a voice say.

  “I thought all manpower was on the Dyscards,” the driver said, sounding like the chairman barking at the NYPD commissioner.

  “It is, sir,” the voice responded.

  “Then you’ve got an AWOL on my ass. Get rid of him,” the driver said, and he even dropped his chin just like the chairman had.

  “Yes sir,” the voice said.

  Dee had kept his focus out the back window, and reported that the cop car had dropped back and then away.

  DR. DUNNE, GEORGE, and the rest of the office staff were not at their usual posts. They were gossiping in small groups, and one or two of them had even started to decorate the office inside the abandoned coal mine, when Aunty entered the room.

  “Got to love you,” Dr. Dunne said as a way of greeting. She gave Aunty a hug, which demonstrated their difference in body type.

  Aunty had never seen her partner like this. She was usually a reserved scientist whose belief system ended with the periodic table. Aunty was not sure she had ever seen the girl in this woman before, and it was adorable.

  “Thank you. I love you too,” Aunty said. “Who are we expecting?” she asked.

  “A stork from the East,” Dr. Dunne said, and laughed. And Aunty laughed too.

  George cleared his throat and said, “Excuse me. Perhaps I can be of service?”

  “Ah,” Aunty said, “please do.”

  And so George explained what was happening.

  “Where do you think they should land?” Aunty asked. “It sounds like a mighty big stork.”

  She looked at her friend and felt sorry that George’s explanation and her questions had brought back the old Dr. Dunne. But the arriving guests were going to need the doctor even more.

  Aunty said, “We’ll have to prepare a triage unit with special neonatal care.”

  “I’ll take care of the unit,” Dr. Dunne said, “and you take care of building an airport.”

  “Ha!” said Aunty, looking forward to seeing the girl in Dunne again when the babies came around.

  ONCE THE SEA of oppressed people from the front end of the I train dispersed, the train driver was able to go faster. He had followed the number one line tracks down to Thirty-third Street, where the driver used a Vanderbilt passage from beneath Penn Station up to the Amtrak line. Cornelius Vanderbilt had demanded access to all rail lines, and so did this driver.

  “As I see it,” the train driver said to X and her companion, “we’ve got ourselves one little problem. We’re going to run out of track.” He went on to explain that there was a transfer point from the train to the monorail.

  X let go of John’s hand just long enough to go and get the unit leader of the Border Patrol.

  THE CAPTAIN’S INSPECTION of the exterior of the C-5 was almost complete. Everything looked okay, considering the aircraft’s advanced age, but the captain was doing this inspection in the predawn, and there wasn’t much he could do about the tires. It wasn’t as if he could jack the big bird up and change them. Taking off wasn’t going to be a problem; landing on the other end was. He checked his watch: it was time to move inside the plane for the instrument check and whatever he cou
ld do to prepare the cabin for the cargo and crew. He hoped there would be a crew. “I must be delusional,” he said to the plane.

  THE CHAIRMAN’S TOWN car was the only vehicle on the top level of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge headed to Newark Liberty International Airport. The blacked-out city was off to their right while to their left a slice of moon hung above the horizon. The driver, Dee, and Christine were glad for the tinted windows when they rolled through the toll plaza and the security cameras checked the car’s I.D. and tags.

  There were plenty of trucks on the Staten Island Expressway. Neither war nor blackouts stopped commerce. But the driver took the HOV lanes directly into the Goethals Bridge. The town car had to be doing about ninety miles per hour when it turned into the airport exit.

  GEORGE WAS TO gather as much water and as many volunteers as he could, and meet Aunty out by the field of solar collectors just at the edge of the golf resort. Using Aunty’s authority, George commandeered a water tanker with the deliveryman at the wheel. He recruited Angelo and his old group from the trip into the camp. There were about twenty people who might be able both to concentrate and to do some work, and he had them follow the truck. By the time they reached Aunty, about a dozen more had joined the group.

  “This is the flattest surface in the area and it might be our best location to have them land,” Aunty said. George had to agree that this was a flat surface, but he didn’t see how they could use it. There were solar panels planted every thirty feet. But George had learned over the years that sometimes it was best to wait and let someone make his or her point.