Leaving Ashwood

by Cynthia Kraack

  “I am monitoring reports and share your concern.” Milan looked down, read from his pad. “Anne, this second piece of information is important for you on many levels. Deshomm has been implicated in supporting the research and activities of Ahlmet, including bureaucratic interference in the manipulation of Phoebe and two others.”

  Lao sat up straighter and responded. “They arrive in six hours to sign the settlement papers resulting from the takeover attempt. We have authorized temporary security for a small number of their people.”

  “They’ll probably choose to do the settlement remote now that all possibility of opening discussions on a news deal have been killed. They’ve been barred from a number of activities related to expanding their economic influence within agricultural markets for one year.” Milan looked my way.

  “Thank you, Milan. One day I’d love to know the details. Right now I want to scorch their multi-corps asses.” I wondered if Sadig’s enthusiasm for Deshomm had been influenced long before his involvement with Ahlmet. Something else I wouldn’t know without wasting time. “I’ll have our legal counsel collect our compensation. Not for Hartford, but for Phoebe. Let’s move to your third note. I’m eager to return to the family.”

  Milan pulled off his glasses. “I understand. My status report says surgery is underway to remove the chip.” He put the now smudged glasses in a pocket and folded his hands on the table. “Lao, I asked you to be here as an official witness while I deliver a Presidential Executive Order under emergency government authority for activation of Ms. Anne Hartford for a period of up to one year to lead creation of an ethics board within the newly restructured Bureau of National Human Capital Management. Details of your service including financial considera­tions will be forwarded to you by noon today. I’ll expect to see you in Washington, D.C., in twenty-one days assuming family health concerns allow travel.”

  “So witnessed,” said Lao. He held out a hand. “Congratulations, Commis­sioner Anne.”

  As my hand accepted his across the table I looked at the hologram for clarification from Milan about what this whole proclamation meant. The seriousness of his plain face told me that whatever had transpired within the Bureau was a major disruption, one that might change the current administration and maybe the nation long-term. The governmental bartering of human capital could hardly become less humane.

  “Media will receive details of the Bureau re-organization during their morning briefing. We will not disclose the ethics board formation until later in the week, by which time an information officer will be assigned to work with you at Ashwood or in Washington. Schedules will be coordinated with Clarissa. Now go back to your family. Please let them know I wish the best for Andrew and Phoebe.”

  His hologram disappeared. I spoke as Lao stood. “I want to remain focused on the kids until later this morning. Let me talk with David first.”

  “What I would give to know what happened in Chicago,” Lao responded. “An information blackout went into effect when I left the pond area to work with the medical team. I overheard chatter in the crew that set up the recovery suite. This crew only travels at the direction of a very highly placed individual.”

  He opened the office door. “Which reminds me that communication scripts about tonight, for Ashwood’s employees and the media, will be sent to your mail for review. Regardless of outcome, there’s a staff meeting to be held at eight and we’re required to stay on message.” He put an arm around my shoulder, a gesture I valued from this friend and associate. “Nothing is to be said about your change until later.”

  Anne Hartford, concerned mother, rejoined the family and rejoiced at three twenty in the morning when Frances arrived with news that the chip had been removed from the base of Phoebe’s neck and she rested peacefully. This time David and I walked to the med copter with Frances to see Phoebe and thank the crew.

  The sun rose as we left the temporary recovery suite, and I told David about Milan’s three messages. Cows and goats would be milked, produce harvested, eggs gathered. The workings of agriculture wouldn’t change that day or the next because of who sat in the managers’ desks or who lived or died.

  Chapter 32

  Even old houses keep settling on their foundations sending hairline cracks in plaster unmarred for a quarter century. A skilled craftsperson can mud over the fissure, repaint and hide the imperfection, but a homeowner will always remember and watch for the line to re-appear.

  The quakes that shook our marriage could be named—Paul’s death, Phoebe’s shooting Andrew, the Washington, D.C., appointment. The cracks were minute, maybe not visible.

  “Imagine Ashwood without Annie Hartford standing at its front door,” was David’s response to the presidential assignment.

  I wanted something stronger from him, condemnation of Milan’s handiwork or an offer to help plan the twenty-one-day transition. Deciphering the silence between us as we entered our bedroom required a psychic force. David slapped his sandals on the closet floor, closed the closet door, and walked to the windows. He looked tired and worried and unhappy. Ditto for me.

  “What is Milan dragging you into?” David finally engaged. He gestured to the reading chairs, ready to talk when both of us were also ready to drop. “Hernandez is unpeeling government programs faster than officials created them during the depression. They are naïve if they think the multi-corps will relinquish their role in determining U.S. economic policy. If we don’t keep businesses happy, other nations will do so gladly.”

  “Something serious happened in the last twenty-four hours that the public might not be told.” Thirty messages backed up in my mail. I turned my communicator face away. “I’m not being asked to consider this assignment, I’ve been commissioned by the president. This must be what you felt like when the DOE sent you to China for three months, except I’m not a federal employee.” A giant yawn cracked through my jaw and caused popping sounds in my ears. “We have lots to talk about. Just not right now. Our first priority now is to bring employees news about the kids. Scripts have been prepared, and I plan to take the lazy route and use them.”

  “Well, I plan to take a nap.”

  “I’m going to shower and go to my office until breakfast. You’ll be with me for our employee meetings?”

  He nodded, stood, and began pulling off his clothes as he spoke. “I don’t think I said congratulations, Annie. This could be a gigantic pain in the ass, but you know there was a tough vetting process before the commission. You are a rare person, Anne Hartford.”

  “It’s odd to think that I was being investigated as everything here remained so normal.”

  A snort came through the shirt going over his head. “Since our daughter came home, little has been normal. Phoebe carries all kind of energy with her. Not all of it so good. Do you think Andrew understands what he’s in for?”

  “I think Andrew will have time to think that through while he recuperates and Phoebe will have big decisions about her future, which will distract her.” I wrapped a robe around myself. “Take your nap. I’m too keyed up to sleep.”

  “Rightly so, Annie.”

  In the shower I thought through how to draw together an interim manage­ment team and knew David had to step in. Enjoy your rest, I thought as I walked around his sleeping form. Tomorrow will be a very different day for me, and for you.

  Chapter 33

  David and I stood side by side in the courtyard at eight. The med copter lifted from Ashwood as our first local employees began their shift, but members of the overnight crew stayed to hear if truth was more interesting than rumor. The morning suggested a hot day. Straight from visiting with Phoebe and Andrew, my adrenalin began sputtering. We stood where Clarissa placed us so that the crew at Giant Pines would have the best holographic image of our speeches.

  “Good morning. Some of you have heard that there was a medical emergency here last night. Fortunatel
y we are able to share positive news this morning.

  “A Bureau employee who accompanied our daughter Phoebe to Ashwood brought a small handgun with her. Because she arrived directly from work within the Chicago labs campus where strict security protocols exist, we did not conduct a weapon search upon her arrival. I want to emphasize that we welcomed her into our residence in full compliance with all Intellectual Corps security practices. Yet, not searching this individual set up an unfortunate string of events that resulted in the accidental discharge of the weapon and injury of my son and Clarissa’s nephew, Andrew Smithson. The med copter team performed emergency surgery late last night and he is resting comfortably right now with full recovery expected.”

  Lao and I fought over the Bureau’s cover story for Phoebe’s shooting of Andrew. Truthfully we weren’t sure where the gun came from so the Bureau’s fabrication of facts was as good as any. But I hated the slight sense of fault that colored Lao and his team. Like a loyal soldier, he accepted the slur without protest and insisted I practice delivery of the script until I could offer it to our staff with sincerity. He called this preparation for my Washington, D.C., stint.

  “Some of you have witnessed our daughter Phoebe suffer a series of seizures. These incidents became serious enough to require her to take a medical leave of absence from the Intellectual Corps. Last night she suffered a particularly difficult episode, and with a med copter crew available, she underwent exploratory surgery because of suspicion that she had been the victim of corporate sabotage and might have a foreign implant in her body. That proved to be true. Her surgery was completed early this morning, hence two tired parents.” I paused, hated this partial truth telling. “Andrew and Phoebe are resting and we’re at work.”

  A few laughed. One hand flew up.

  “We’ve been asked not to talk further about these two medical emergencies,” I cautioned, “but what is your question?”

  “Whose going to repair the garden damage?” The young field employee, a landscape designer in coveralls, asked his question tentatively. “Will you be accepting bids?” More felt able to chuckle.

  “We’d like to get a few hours of sleep before bringing that to Amber’s attention,” David answered. People began to shift as if readying to return to work.

  “There’s one piece of business news I also need to tell you,” Shuffling stopped, faces turned to me. I saw apprehension, perhaps fear that more work would be automated. “We were informed this morning that due to violation of federal laws, Deshomm has been banned from certain agricultural expansion in the United States or overseas within aligned nations. This is good news for us and definitely ends their hostile takeover activities.”

  “I heard Mr. David’s private herd was up for sale.” A woman from the Ashwood greenhouse crew spoke up.

  “My wife might wish that was true, but it’s not,” David said lightly. “The herd has been moved to its own facilities to clear space at Giant Pines for other activities.”

  “I heard the talk in town. Two men were there looking for directions to Giant Pines this morning.” She wouldn’t budge.

  “Well, it isn’t true, but let’s talk before you return to work,” David said.

  “Nothing else to report, except to thank you for your hard work and great camaraderie. Stay hydrated today.” I ended our presentation and watched David and Lao move to the side with the woman. She was a long-term employee and good person, someone who I would trust.

  My inbox of critical material filled before nine o’clock—Bureau memorandum, confirmation of Deshomm’s withdrawal and issuance of compensation, a confidential White House presidential packet, my schedule for the next five days.

  “Clarissa, I need to see you in my office.”

  “I’ll be there in five.”

  Waiting for her I scanned the White House packet. Milan thought of most everything I would need. Except for David, our family, my friends. Many years ago I told him that what I really remembered about the best of life began here. A citizen could not turn down a presidential commission except for extreme considerations. Clarissa found me staring out a window, not truly seeing the familiar scene I could describe with my eyes shut.

  “Did you get any sleep, Annie?”

  “Too many things happening this morning.” She closed the door behind her and sat in front of my desk.

  “More important than the kids’ recovery?”

  “Of course not. But quite impactful.” I rubbed my eyes, reminded myself to have them retouched. “You’ll be contacted by the office of the Bureau of National Human Capital Management this morning to schedule a number of meetings over the next three weeks. I’ll be going to Washington, D.C., to accept a commission that will last at least one year. I’ll report to Milan who was appointed to President Hernandez’ Cabinet as Secretary of the Bureau.”

  “Congratulations.” Clarissa sat back in her chair. “My God, what an incredible turn of events. What will you be doing?”

  “Establishing a Board of Ethics for the Bureau.”

  Most people would have the same look of disbelief that crossed Clarissa’s face before she returned to calm. “What do we need to do?” was her response.

  “There’s a mountain of decisions that need to be made. Let me tell you what’s going through my head and you jump in with your ideas. Lao and David are the only others here who know about this commission. I’m still trying to process the last eighteen hours.”

  Clarissa seldom mixed personal with business. She ignored my last comment and headed straight to planning. “If I am going to be selfish, I’d want to see Hartford, Ltd., prepared for your absence.” She made a note. “John’s too young to sit in your place. Will you still go ahead with the environmental research center at Giant Pines now that Deshomm is out of the game?”

  “The answer is yes. You are going to be a busy person today, Clarissa. I need two hours with David, John, Noah, and Faith this afternoon. I wish Andrew and Phoebe could participate, but we can’t wait. After that meeting, I’d like to visit with Raima. Maybe an hour. Don’t let anyone get out of these sessions.” I looked out the window, wondered what window I’d look out in three weeks.

  “Last, protect me from any multi-corps contacts, anything that the management team should be able to handle, media snoops. Cancel me out of any regular Hartford meetings. A Bureau information officer will be arriving late this afternoon and need to spend time with me. You’ll receive information about when. Please join us.”

  “When will you take a nap?”

  “I’m going to visit the patients, then you’ll tell everyone I’m unavailable until lunch.”

  “Even the president or Secretary Milan?” Clarissa asked, or maybe, teased.

  The question took me by surprise. I wasn’t a person used to reporting to others. “Let’s hope we don’t have to worry about that quite yet.” I yawned, pushed myself up to my feet. “Want to go with me to sick bay?”

  “No thanks. You should have time alone with them.”

  I walked outside to the back of the residence. Not twenty feet from the office building doors Lao fell into step with me.

  “Clarissa says you have no time in your schedule today so I will be brief.” How he managed to look wide-awake made me envious. “By end of day today you will share personnel assigned to Phoebe’s protection. We have changed protocols around your security upon directions from the Bureau. You’ll be able to identify some of the unit by their brown uniforms. Others blend in with Ashwood staff.”

  “That’s amazing. Why do I need protection?”

  Lao didn’t mince words. “The battle for control of the Bureau has created some big winners and angry losers. Blood was spilled. Including a member of the Intellectual Corps by the name of Ahlmet. No chances are being taken.”

  He was not my son, but I felt a crippling moment of pain at the news of Ahl
met’s death. An evening on Chicago’s Michigan Avenue came to mind when he walked between Phoebe and me on our way back from dinner. His curly hair was tossed by a breeze and his hands waved in the air as he told us a story about his childhood. Phoebe laughed out loud. For that I thought he offered her a most valuable escape from the craziness of their lab-driven lives. The man who became my daughter’s oppressor wasn’t present. That night, Ahlmet was kind and charming. Maybe that was his true nature and genetic engineering triggered the behaviors that brought him to a violent end. Phoebe would be relieved, but I hoped she might also be saddened by his loss.

  We rounded the corner. Apple trees stretched as far as a person could see to our right. A path of pavers with a hedge of hybrid pear-bearing bushes had been installed at the insistence of Paul to soften the rear of the DOE building. The morning sun was still pleasant even if the temps would hit ninety degrees later in the day. Summer mornings in Washington, D.C., would be oppressive.

  “How did you find out about this?”

  “Security briefing at seven this morning. Additions to Phoebe’s protection unit were in place by the time you talked to staff.”

  “I meant the blood spilled and Ahlmet.”

  Lao nodded to an orchard laborer before answering. “Same security briefing. I’ve been granted wider access to appropriate government information.” Two individuals in brown stood on the path between sickbay and us. “Clarissa now knows if I need access to you, I will receive access.”

  Apparently mornings on Ashwood could become oppressive as well.

  Chapter 34

  I noticed first that the top of Andrew’s bed was slightly elevated and his mouth hung open without a tube taped to his lips. His eyes were closed, but his face looked awake. Under the sheets his legs moved. Someone had taken the time to partly conceal the drainage bags. Cameras monitored every action in the room.