Leaving Ashwood

by Cynthia Kraack

  “I’ve missed this feeling,” he said with a smile that softened his mouth and cheeks. “I still hate shoes, but no choice in the city. My last apartment’s tile floors were always cold.” He set the tray on a bench right at the edge of the pond. I knew his feet would dip into the water.

  “I hung out with a guy last winter who worked in one of the labs supporting Ahlmet. He didn’t know Phoebe and Ahlmet were a couple.” With city-developed respect for food, Noah picked berries from the plate and ate them one at a time. “This friend shouldn’t have told me what their lab was working on, but he was bothered by where the stuff could go.” Another berry popped into his mouth. “Ahlmet’s niche is perfecting mind-controlling technology.” He flicked one foot in the pond. “That’s why I’m freaked about what happened last night. I caught Dr. Frances this morning before she left for the cities. Wish I knew more.”

  All around us Ashwood moved at its normal pace. On the surface, this looked like the most natural setting in today’s world—fruit trees, flowers, and a flock of sheep in the distance. Like my stepson, nothing was quite that truthful. Genetically manipulated, assisted, enhanced, all were a bit stronger or brighter or longer lived than if left alone. I closed my eyes, breathing air that might bring on more coughing. What multi-corps financially supported Ahlmet’s work? How did mind control technology benefit the world beyond increasing the wealth of a small pool of individuals? Who controlled the moral compass behind the Intellectual Corps?

  “I don’t want to believe he’d use Phoebe in his experiments, but I suspect everything’s fair game in their part of the world.” Phoebe gave Ahlmet greater access to her life than any other lover. His stuff littered her place, and they shared keys to each other’s apartments. “Can you ask your friend for more information?”

  “We haven’t been ‘friends’ for a while.” Noah’s meaning registered. “Anyway, he’s only a lipper in the lab. No real knowledge of the final design.” He pulled his feet from the pond, picked up a buttered slice of fruit bread. “Lipper is a first year data filer. Has something to do with a program name.” He looked my way. “I think this is worth worrying about.”

  “You’re right.” Above us a shade wound through Sarah’s arbor for shelter from the sun’s deadly rays. “From what I saw last night, he could drive her insane, maybe even kill her.”

  The last berry disappeared while we sat with our own thoughts. Noah pushed long fingers into curly hair, his face remaining calm. This would be the face he’d show patients when news was bad.

  “Could you call Milan?” His hand settled on the bench. “Or maybe I should call. He does keep an interest in us even though that whole legal guardian thing is past.”

  “I just spoke with him yesterday. He’s living in Duluth now.”

  “Call him, Mom. Right now.”

  I looked over my shoulder at the residence a half-acre behind us, at the breakfast table window where our younger family had gathered each morning. Grandparents, an infant, two sleepy boys and Phoebe with a dream to tell everybody.

  “Mom?” Noah called me back. “What are you thinking?”

  “You know the Intellectual Corps are never without handlers. I wish I knew who was watching Phoebe while she’s here. Has to be one of us since she arrived alone.” A large fly landed on my lower arm and I tried to wave it off. So many insects were supersized as a result of genetic engineering gone awry. “Know anything?”

  “Couldn’t be me. Rules say blood relatives aren’t allowed.” His soft shirt stretched as his shoulders tightened. I wondered how he knew the rules, but sensed he had already spoken too freely about the intellectual worker contract.

  “I tried to find out from Milan, but he sidestepped the question.” The fly landed again, this time on my sandaled foot. I rubbed it off with the other foot, saw it fall on the pavement, and squashed it. “I was asking in order to offer support.”

  “Not a good idea, Mom. Watchers and handlers don’t always know who pays their way or issues orders. They can be like babysitters paid by the noncustodial parent.” Noah broke up the last piece of bread to fling into the pond. “Someone told me that. Not sure it makes sense?”

  “Don’t throw the bread,” I said too late as large crows buzzed near his hand.

  “Holy shit!” Noah pulled back. “What the hell was that about?”

  “With most of the ag production under cover, the crackles are becoming quite aggressive. You probably didn’t notice the system we use in the courtyard area to drive them away if they get inside the netting.” I stood. “Something’s changed about them in the past year. A handful of workers have been injured. We better go in.”

  “You’re kidding, aren’t you?” Noah gathered the food tray, glancing frequently toward trees on the other side of the pond.

  “Nope. Probably another genetic engineering plan gone amuck.” We walked back to the residence. “Let’s call Milan together.”

  I hurried to the DOE building, hoping to visit with Phoebe before making the call. Luckily, she stood near the coffee station, arms held over her head and balanced on one foot in a beautiful yoga pose. Her eyes opened as I approached and she lowered her arms.

  “Without all the interruptions of the lab, I’ve been more productive in the last eight hours than I’ve been in maybe three weeks,” Phoebe said. “I felt absolutely safe here, no security alerts about perverts slumming in the entrances or food contaminants in the kitchens.” She smiled and looked pleased. “You’ve got it good here, Mom. I should spend more time at home.”

  Torn between preserving this moment of calm and testing her state of mind, I enjoyed the moment. “You are absolutely welcome.” Acting out of impulse, I hugged her. She dropped her head on my shoulder for a second. I inhaled the scent of her unwashed body and spilled foods on her clothing, and released her to turn my head to release a sneeze.

  “Mom, you’ve got the city sickness.”

  Her reference to a childhood joke of Noah’s made me smile as the second sneeze ripped out.

  “What is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing. I’m sensitive to certain smells. Maybe your shampoo tickled my allergies.”

  I saw a twitch catch her shoulder; fear or anger narrowed her eyes. “It’s Ahlmet, isn’t it?” I asked the question quickly.

  “Yes.” Her eyes closed, a low growling sound slipped from between closed lips. “Stop it. Stop it.” She shook her head from side to side. One hand reached for the wall as she slid downward.

  “We need help,” I yelled while kneeling at her side. “Phoebs, pay attention to me. Listen to me.” But with only Noah’s brief description to work from, I had no idea what to say so I tried for pure distraction from any thoughts related to her former lover. “Sing the alphabet with me. Think of the letters. A, B, C, D.” My voice warbled from lack of use, or perhaps, fear. I pressed David’s code on my bracelet. “E, F . . .” Phoebe slumped and groaned.

  Lowering my head to hers, I whispered my song. By Q, she joined me. We moved through the tune, slowly, as though creating an incantation against an evil spirit. David stood near and watched. If I could be in two places at once, I would have folded my arms around both my husband and daughter. The one now in my arms relaxed, the episode passed. Next to me, I felt Phoebe take in a deep breath.

  “I need help . . .” she began saying.

  “We’ll find it, babe,” David rushed to her side.

  “. . . getting up.” Phoebe gathered strength from a tired body. I wondered how many times in the past ten hours of solo work she had fought Ahlmet’s invasions.

  David offered his arms, gently easing Phoebe to her feet. She leaned against him before standing on her own feet.

  “What the hell is going on, Phoebe?” A scientist, David attacked difficult theoretical problems with infinite patience. His approach frequently gave our kids space to come to their ow
n answers as they grew up. But when something threatened his family, David was Paul’s son, elbowing his way to immediate solutions.

  “Not now, Dad. I can’t talk now. I need some rest before my next conference session.” She looked around. “Is there a blanket here? I’ll slab on the couch.”

  “I’ll walk with you to your room.” I held out a hand. “We’ll have a tray prepared while you take a shower.”

  “They’ve been feeding me all night. I don’t have time for a sleep, just a slab. Do you keep sins?”

  David shook his head. “Yes, to blanket and pillow. No to sleep inducers.”

  “Amber needs to prep my work space. I need all my gear in place. The boxes are stacked downstairs. It should be done while I’m not there.”

  “Good idea. Blankets are in the corner closet.” He pointed, began moving toward his office.

  Phoebe remained in place, an adult-size child waiting for someone else to take care of details. She looked around, focused on me.

  “Where is all the staff? I thought we had an agreement about what I need to work here?” Overly bright eyes suggested she stayed awake through the night with chemical help. “Cares are part of the deal. I don’t deal with their stuff. Why didn’t you staff the cares?”

  In her pique she sounded like her mother. David turned, emotions building. “We live a comfortable life here, Phoebe. But we also live like regular people. It might do you good to take care of yourself for a few weeks or call your Bureau manager and tell them exactly what you want. Don’t treat Anne like a personal servant.”

  They faced each other, her young shoulders held higher and tighter than the slight curve of aging allowed him. She tilted her chin upward, let her lips curve into a slight smile. David did not melt.

  “I am doing work that could save the world, Dad.” A prideful boast forced each word toward him. “I live with a lot of responsibility. Every day. Nothing . . .” She paused. “Nothing relieves that responsibility.”

  “I lived that one, too, Phoebe. Your mother felt the same way.” His voice lowered. “That’s why she put you in the arms of Anne. Nothing was ever as important as your mother’s work. And she paid dearly for letting people in power strip her of her humanity until she did their bidding without question.”

  “But she wasn’t like me. She wasn’t genetically altered to do what I can do.” Phoebe threw her hands in the air. “Isn’t that the whole point of the Corps? Aren’t we a group of super humans?”

  “I can’t answer that, Phoebe.” Old wounds inflicted twenty-five years ago when we learned of the government’s genetic engineering of the surrogate offspring, tore open once more in David. “You are human and that’s what makes you so infinitely different than the machines. Protect that difference, sweetheart.”

  Tears formed in Phoebe’s eyes as he spoke. “Sometimes, Dad, I think I hate you for not knowing what you let the government do. On the really hard days, when I’m really lonely, when every person near me treats me like some mutant freak, I want you to know how much I hate my life.” She swept tears from her cheeks. “So if I want cares to bring me food or wash my hair or flush my toilet, I think I’m entitled.”

  If our once ultra-sensitive daughter could still see pain in others, she would know her father had never found release from the exact guilt she named.

  “That’s the inheritance I got from being my parents’ child,” Phoebe added. “Which is why you are so terribly important to me.” Turning her back on David, Phoebe wound her arms around my neck, settled her forehead on my shoulder and sobbed. “Down deep, I know you’ll find a way to save me. Please, Mom.”

  “We’ll do our best, Phoebs.” My hands rubbed her back, found the rhythm that settled her during childhood night terrors. “I promise you. Right now you need to rest. I do have sins and Dad will make you a comfortable place on the couch. Come with me and we’ll wash your face.”

  “I don’t want to treat you like a cares.” Her head came up, she stepped back.

  “I’ll tell you if I feel that you are. We’re family and we help each other through tough times.” We made our way to the bathroom. Noah watched from the hall, didn’t approach, but turned back to the residence.

  Chapter 14

  Phoebe fell asleep within minutes of swallowing the small tablet. Her face did not relax, and one fist lay clenched next to her chin. Not a peaceful sleep.

  David came to my office, closed the door and sat as if his legs were taking him down. I joined him, took his hands in mine, explored his face. Between sharply arched eyebrows, one single prominent crease ran from the half crescent wrinkles on his forehead toward the bridge of his nose. Prominent bones rose above cheeks that held taut when he smiled and hung slightly paunchy when in repose or thought. Crows’ feet circulated out from the corners of his eyes in spite of wearing hats, sun block, and protective glasses. With me, nothing hid his emotional distress. Sadness, loss, anger, and the struggle to accept what was taking place in our family dulled his eyes.

  “They’ve made her into a workatron. I signed that paper so I’m responsible. I wanted kids so badly I didn’t think carefully about the small print.”

  “We’ve talked about that feeling before, love. We couldn’t understand what it would mean for our surrogate children to be genetically manipulated.”

  “She’ll die young like Tia.” He freed his hands to rub at his face, to keep his eyes free from tears. “There’s nothing we can do.” He kicked at the thick wooden table base. “God damn it. I swore I wouldn’t let this fucking government harm our children.”

  I knew the path of David’s words, had traveled through the emotions frequently. I watched our adult children’s lives develop, but played a more traditional maternal role of listening and nurturing. I visited each of them, doing a grand tour of sorts twice a year if business meetings didn’t take me to their cities. David projected his own experience as an intellectual government employee on them, knew the intensity of their work and the constant demands.

  “I think I have a plan that could spring Phoebe from Chicago if she’s willing.”

  “Shoot.” He brought his feet back under the chair, fought for calm.

  I fidgeted, feeling my way through the facts and feelings of my half-baked business proposition. “Back when the DOE required employees to divest of potential conflicts of interests you sold Tia’s water group to Hartford, Ltd., Then Raima had TW’s patents classified under the Patriots Act. There is enough revenue from grants and ongoing fees to give Hartford, Ltd., financial and legal reasons to expand the business. We need to hire a chief researcher to keep it profitable. Who better than Tia’s daughter?”

  “Those systems are old, Anne, with maintenance subcontracted overseas. I don’t think there’s enough to interest Phoebe.” He moved to my conference table, activated the data port, willing to follow the path even if dubious.

  “I agree with you about the current business model.” The vertical crease in his forehead deepened as he sorted through information. “But, that little corpora­tion has accumulated a whole lot of cash. It doesn’t matter if there’s enough valid work in the corporation now to keep Phoebe busy. The point is that the corporation with a loan from Hartford, Ltd., could buy her contract under the power of its national security status. Then she can use her intellectual prowess to build it however she wants. She could contract to a multi-corps on her own terms. She could grab research grants.” I had his attention. “She will die young if she stays in that Chicago intellectual dungeon, but the business Tia started is a great escape.”

  David clapped. “It’s brilliant, Anne.”

  “Raima would like to invest both time and money. She suggested other potential partners.”

  Then quiet settled. This was how we approached big decisions. We talked, we listened, we questioned each other. My name was on the letterhead, but we built Hartford, Ltd., tog
ether to become an emotional, fiscal and physical safety net big enough for our family.

  “What about her physical condition? What does Frances think?”

  One hole in my optimism. “She hoped to connect with a few people today.” David watched me like a terrier protecting a treat. “Noah provided a clue. A friend of his works in Ahlmet’s lab and bragged they were working on some radical brain control technology.”

  I expected anger, the protecting father jumping into fight mode. But David was tired from spending the night at Giant Pines. He pushed away from the table as he spoke. “Double jeopardy. If the Intellectual Corps doesn’t run her into the ground, the ex-boyfriend will drive her crazy.” He sighed, a heavy older man sound. “So what do we do about that?”

  “We’re in uncharted lands. Those research labs are sacred grounds.” Energy ebbed. We had a plan and plenty of obstacles.

  “I need a nap. I think I pulled a muscle.” He held out an arm, turned it from side to side. “What did you think of John’s plans?”

  “For Giant Pines?”

  “For his future.”

  “I think I hope I live long enough to see it happen.”

  “That’s my Annie.” A yawn stopped him from going further.

  “Go take your nap. I’ve got things to do before Andrew arrives.”

  “Don’t let me sleep through lunch.” He stood, locked his arms above his head and stretched his back. Two or three soft cracks sounded in the room. Bringing his arms down, he groaned before straightening. “Want the door closed?”

  “Please.”

  I saw him look toward the couch where Phoebe slept and hesitate before walking away. Before I sat down I found Milan and shared what was happening with Phoebe.

  Chapter 15