"Please. Two thousand volts, burst mode. The reserve cells at a thousand, steady flow." As she stepped from the car, the attendant moved to the front of the vehicle with an appraising look on his face.
"Don't see many of these old LectroMerceds on the highway anymore," he said. "Especially the burst modes. Cost too much for most people to maintain."
"Maintenance really wasn't the issue. The problem was the panel capacity." Ellery chuckled. Most owners, waiting until they were almost empty before doing a charge, were jolted in more ways than one. Her hand stroked the hood of the automobile. "My husband bought this vehicle for me as a wedding present. I can't imagine driving anything else."
The man walked to the far side, around the rear, and back to where Ellery stood. "She looks almost new. Been retrofitted to ride the auto-rail?"
"No. I like to do my own driving, not leave it up to electronic devices. Now—"
"How many miles you got on her?"
"A little over six hundred thousand," Ellery said. "How long to full charge, including the reserve panels?"
The man consulted a dog-eared manual then fingered a pump dial. "Forty three minutes for the main well, twenty six for the reserve." He reached for the fill plug. "I'll need your card number."
"No card. Cash," Ellery pulled out several bills in various denominations. She left no card to trace on these trips.
The attendant scratched his head. "I don't know, Ma'am," he said. "We're supposed to use cards on a fill this large. Especially a single fill. Government tax regulations and all."
"Indulge an old woman, Son. I don't carry cards. They clutter up my handbag." Ellery thrust out the hand with the bills. When he still hesitated, she shrugged her shoulders. "Suit yourself," she said, opening the side door. "I'm sure there'll be a station somewhere down the road—one happy to have a thousand dollar sale, card or cash."
"I didn't say I wouldn't do it," he said, reaching for the bills in her hand. "I was just explaining about regulations." He jammed the fill plug tight into the recessed receptacle at the rear of the vehicle.
"Thank you. I'll be in the restaurant if you need me." Striding away, she allowed a small grin to tweak her lips. Thank God he didn't call my bluff, she thought. Forty-five seconds of charge wouldn't have taken me further than the next pump. Ahead, another group of sign carriers stood in front of the restaurant windows. Their eyes were sullen and they looked tired, beaten down by the heat. She sidestepped the nearest and entered the cafe. Seating herself at the counter, Ellery ordered a glass of orange juice. Behind her, the door opened and voices raised in anger could be heard. She held the chilled glass to her forehead. Two more days, she thought. Two more days and she'd be home. Away from the heat and the frayed tempers it brought.
Ellery pressed her fists into the small of her back, knuckled them down across her hip bones and back up again. She wondered if her body would ever forgive her for the slab-hard mattress it had endured last night. In the booth behind her, voices rose and fell.
"I don't give a damn what you say. Those scrolls are a lie and a blasphemous lie at that." Silverware rattled as a fist hit the table. "There's no way you or anyone else can convince me that what we've been taught is a myth, a political ruse passed down through the centuries."
"No one's trying to convince you of anything, Kirk. You can believe whatever you want, but stop and think a minute or two." Another male voice, conciliatory yet firm. Ellery realized her attention was riveted on the conversation.
"When you read the Pittman verses, don't they ring with the same voice as the book you're used to reading?"
"Yeah, but—"
"Why but, Kirk?" This time, a lilting female voice. "The words are arranged a little differently, phrased a little more lyrically in fact. However the story of a divine creator and his creation remains basically the same. Right?"
"I think he knows that, Sharon. He just doesn't want to admit that manipulating sons of bitches have pulled the strings since time began."
"You've got that right!" Another female. "Governments are all the same. Crooked. Doesn't make any difference if they're Roman prefects, kings, or popes. Answer me this—that book you think is so truthful, how many times do you suppose those words have been translated? Changed to fit the political atmosphere of the times?"
"How the hell should I know? You're the college queen, you tell me."
"Hundreds. Why, in the last fifty years alone, scholars have found enough inaccuracies to make a book of their own."
"Yes, and when they find those errors—mostly copy errors as I understand—they are corrected and we are advised in one way or another."
"You are so blind, Kirk!" Conciliation again. "They're corrected all right. Whatever religious leader at whatever time decides some other expert made a terrible mistake so what do they do? They throw out his set of supposed revelatory testimony and stick in another set. Now that becomes the truth—edification which just happens to coincide with ultimate control. Convenient, I'd say."
"So? Those scrolls play the same damn music. You can justify them all you like, but I'm telling you that translation is a lie."
"You're forgetting the most important thing, Kirk."
"Like what?"
Ellery wanted to hear the answer also. She half-turned in her seat, hoping to see the group behind her. The seat back was a shade too high.
"The Pittman Scrolls stand on their own. They're far older than any other ancient manuscript we have, yet they tell the same story, with one exception. There is no soul to be lost if you piss in the street. Now that, I can believe. We came into this world with freedom of choice, and we can make it or break it on our own without big papa using a cat-o-nine to keep us in line."
"That's bullshit!" The sound of coins rolling across the table, a pressure on the seat back. "Keep the change—and keep your fucking Pittman Scrolls."
Ellery swiveled around. She stared up into deep-set gray eyes. The young man's face was flushed with obvious anger. The red became redder.
"Sorry, ma'am. I didn't know you were sitting there." He stomped off. Eyes averted, his companions quickly followed.
It seems everyone but me knows about these Pittman Scrolls, Ellery thought as she sipped at her third cup of coffee. She had walked in the tunnel of genetics too long. The thought surprised her, but she knew it was true. Things were happening out there in the world that she knew nothing about and the scrolls were just one example. She must talk to Matthew. He'd know what was happening.
She glanced at her watch and took a weary breath; time to get back on the road. Six hours to go. Never had home seemed so far away.
She drove steadily, this time barely noticing the scenery until a fog bank, its gray mass standing far out against the horizon, told her she was home.
Pulling into the garage, she heaved a deep sigh. Muffled laughter came from behind the closed door leading into the kitchen of the house. Her face creased with pleasure lines. That was Vickie's lilting laugh, and the deeper sound—Matthew! Matthew was home.
Pumping her hand against the horn twice, Ellery jumped from the car and ran up the steps. She burst through the door with arms opened wide. Her son returned her tight hug. From the kitchen chair where she sat, Vickie beamed at her mother.
"'Bout time you got home," she said. "We were going to call in the Mounties if you didn't make it in tonight—or at least call."
Ellery grinned at the gentle rebuke. "Wouldn’t have worked. I scoured their territory last year, remember?" She strode across the kitchen floor, leaned over and hugged Vickie's head. Reaching down, she patted her daughter's swollen belly. "How's my granddaughter?"
"Doing better than your daughter." Shoving her puffy feet forward, Vickie smiled. "Besides giving me these, she seems to think early morning is the best time to play."
Ellery squatted and pressed her fingers against Vickie's ankle. "You need to elevate your legs for a while, Victoria. Relieve some of that weight you insist on carrying around." Her smile carried a to
uch of sympathy. "You're okay otherwise?"
"Fine, Mama. What took you so long this trip?"
"Yeah, what took you so long? I manage to tear myself away from Washington and you're late coming home," Matthew chimed in.
Ellery strolled to the refrigerator, pulled out the orange juice, and poured herself a large glass. Carrying it back to the table, she sat down and recounted the details of her trip, ending with, "On a farm in the middle of Kansas, a development started." She looked down at her hands. "I didn't tell his parents how close to death he was, but their second son knew," she whispered. "I could see it in his eyes." Her body went still at the memory. Neither Vickie nor Matthew broke the silence that surrounded her.
"I found two more families we didn't know about," Ellery said at last. She turned toward Matthew. "Most of the Dakotans agreed to place their knowledge into the fountainhead. I just have to give them a couple of weeks advance notice. You and John will have to coordinate your time to be here. Once you have a date set, I'll bring the others to San Francisco.
Matthew shifted his stance, flashed a sidelong glance at his sister. She looked down at her lap.
Ellery stared at first one and then the other. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. It's just—"
"It's John, isn't it? Something's happened to John." Blood thundered in her head, her hands grew cold.
Matthew reached her side. "Mom—he's okay. Honestly. It's just that he's going to be a little difficult to locate. That's all."
"What do you mean—he's in Brazil, isn't he?"
"Well, yes. Somewhere."
Ellery jumped up from her chair. "Stop it this instant. I won't have you coddling me. Where's your brother?"
Matthew sighed. "Fighting the Brazilian government."
Ellery sank back into her chair, her mouth agape. The last she'd heard, John was running the Amazon power grid through its paces in preparation for full turn-on. Now he was fighting?
"Why?"
"They won't turn on the power. The people are destitute. Their land's been confiscated, their trees are gone, water is rationed, and food is doled out by the cupful. Even so, the government refuses to activate the grid. A loosely formed group of citizenry—the Aristocrat Party they call themselves—have now taken matters into their own hands. John's with them."
"My God." Ellery dropped her head into her hands. Her youngest son had always been at the front of the line when it came to championing the downtrodden. But this? She looked up, her face tight. "Find him and bring him home. I'll not lose my son because of some damned power grid. Do you hear me? Find him!"
Matthew nodded.
"In the meantime," Ellery continued. "It will be up to you and Vickie to coordinate the joining. We have sixty-eight families who have agreed to make the trip and make the trip they will. Once you've shown them the Chi moves, they can practice on their own if they want to explore the time mists. Just remember—I want John here, dancing right alongside of you."
Again Matthew nodded. Hands jammed into his pockets, he strolled out onto the deck. Ellery watched him go and her heart sank. He was far more troubled over John's disappearance than he'd let on.
Vickie struggled from her chair. "I have to go, Mama. It's time your granddaughter and I were put to bed. Call me in the morning, okay? Don't worry about John. Matt will find him. 'Bye, Bighead!" she called to the open door.
Matthew instantly reappeared. "Watch it, Half Pint, or I won't baby-sit." He patted his sister's belly then ruffled her hair. "Want me to drive you home?"
"No. I'll make it. It's only a few blocks. If Ned thinks I'm too far gone to drive, he won't let me out alone until after the baby's born. That's another month and a half. I would go crazy stuck in the house all day."
They walked her to her car and waved as she drove down the street. Ellery shook her head. "I must be getting old. I didn't see Vickie's car parked at the curb."
"Not old, Mom. Tired. You put a lot of miles behind you today. That constant heat will sap strength faster than anything else I know of."
Ellery led the way to the living room. Relaxing against soft cushions, she said, "Speaking of heat, how are the environmental meetings going? Still squabbling over who's right and who's wrong?"
"Worse than that. Now it's over who's going to call the shots. The Latin Republic is setting up its own agenda for a timbering phase-out, the Danish Federation is threatening to place a moratorium on all imports if they don't get the same time schedule for pollution control that the United Americas have, and the European Ministry has opened diplomatic channels with both the Triune nations and the Eastern Bloc. "
Ellery glanced up. "Diplomatic negotiations? That's a good sign, son. We need a united front if we're to bring our environment back in line."
Matthew flashed a wry smile. "I'm sure that's the way it will be presented to the public, but don't be fooled. It's nothing more than a ploy to keep those nations talking while the Transnationals move full steam ahead with their own plans. In government hierarchies, it's known as diplomatic connivance."
He leaned forward, letting his hands dangle between his legs as he talked. "The committee can't seem to get it through their heads that our biosphere is chaotically unstable, even though I presented facts and figures that are irrefutable. The mean temperature is steadily climbing, the polar caps are evaporating, and the forests are practically nonexistent. Our globe is literally drying out. I tried to make them understand that Mother Nature doesn't work on the same time scale that we do, that if aggressive controls were put in place today, it may take a century or more before any measurable shifts in the global climate manifest. Another fifty years of ignoring the problem, which is basically what they're advocating, and it will be too late to stop the process. Earth will become a desert world."
Ellery stared into his deep purple eyes. The wine glints flashed with continuous barbs of light. "Why hasn't the general public been made aware of this, Matthew? I had no idea it was so serious."
"Politics!" He spat out the words as he stood and began to pace back and forth. "They all want their piece of the good life and to hell with what it's going to cost. But that's not the worst. The effects of an environmental imbalance of the magnitude we're experiencing impacts far more than our surface area. For several months now, Senator Halloran's had me gathering stats on volcanic action and land movement—some kind of special project he's putting together. I prepared a three century projection map and presented it to those pigheaded committee members. The stress points are plain to see—the West coast, the Amazon basin, right down the center of China. Deep faults in the Eastern Bloc territories are widening, and Japan will probably disappear completely. The Ring of Fire is gathering a big head of steam, and the North American sea trenches are doing as good an imitation of Saint Vitas' dance as I've ever seen. Something's going to give and when it does, God help us all." He sat back down. "Do you know what one of the good Senators said to me?"
Ellery knew her son didn't expect an answer.
"He said we'd all be dead by then anyway so why worry about it."
"They know your projections have always been accurate. How could they just ignore what you're showing them now? Three hundred years isn't that far away."
"Because they don't want to hear it. They don't want to hear anything that could stop their so-called progress. Senator Gorban ranted and raved that I'd either been ill-informed or hadn't paid attention at the United National's policy meeting. I think I told you about that meeting."
Ellery agreed that he had.
"Gorban took great delight in reminding me that environmental controls were being put into place even as we argued around that table." Matthew shook his head vigorously. "That's when I lost it. I proceeded to refresh his memory on who said what and when, including his own inane recommendations. That meeting gave the Transnationals fifty years to phase out their deforestation programs and install pollution controls. The rest of the world had to cease and desist immediately. Which they refused to
do."
Ellery tried to keep her attention focused on his tirade but found herself fighting to stay awake. "Sounds like you had a rip-roaring time of it. Did everything get resolved?"
"Not exactly." He smiled ruefully. "Senator Halloran—he's the Committee Chairman—called a halt to the proceedings. Told us all to take a week off and cool down. We'll reconvene next week."
Her eyes began to close and her head nodded toward her chest.
"Enough about Washington. You need to be in bed. I have a few more days. We can catch up then." With his arm around her waist, they climbed the stairs.
"Good night, Son," Ellery murmured at her bedroom door. "Remind me in the morning to ask you about the Pittman Scrolls, okay?"
"Sure, Mom. Goodnight."
The grimace that crossed his face barely registered in her mind as she closed the door.
Chapter 36
George
George looked up from the lapboard as Bianca strolled into his room. He stared curiously at the tray of bottles she carried, each filled with liquid, each a different color. His gaze followed her movements as she placed them in neat rows beside the others on the serum shelves. Shit, he thought. More of the same old nothing. He wished he hadn't let Sefura convince him to keep trying Bianca's various attempts at a cure. He turned his attention back to the board and laboriously fingered the switches, glancing now and then to the screen on the table beside him.
"How much longer will you be on this set of tapes?" she said from behind him.
George jumped and a screen tracing went out of focus. "Christ, Bianca. Why don't you try walking like a normal person instead of tiptoeing around?"
Ignoring his sarcasm, she said, "The tapes. Are they going to be ready in time for me take them with me to Rome? I leave tomorrow, you know."
"I said they would and they will." He brought the graph-like tracing into focus, pushed a switch up, and leaned back in his chair. A beam of light began to play across a prismed orb. "That's it." He set the lapboard onto the table and swiveled his chair around. "Thirty minutes to transfer the information, an hour for the orb to cure, and this set will be ready for the Pontiff's collection. One day ahead of schedule. Tell Rafe if he wants another set, he’ll have to find someone else to work it up. It was all I could do to get this one finished."
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