Future Perfect - S2

by Fran Heckrotte

  "Your decision is sensible," Primeris agreed, surprising the colonel. "I'm aware the welfare of your soldiers is your primary concern. I must prove my value to you first. Only then will I be accepted. Is that not correct?"

  "That's what I just said. I think we're done here, for now.... Wait! One more question. How did you feel about killing two humans?"

  "I have no feelings, Colonel Cranley, but I've learned a lot already. Humans die easily and puncturing the brain is quicker and less messy than cutting the throat. Is that all?"

  "Yes," Cranley said. Her emotionless answer reinforced his aversion to working with a machine. Primeris could just as easily have been talking about one of his soldiers. "Go get cleaned up and report to me tomorrow at oh-seven-hundred for your next assignment."

  Standing, Primeris left without comment, an irritating habit Colonel Cranley would endure after almost every debriefing. Soldiers were supposed to acknowledge their commanding officer once they were dismissed.

  The Committee's going to love her if she keeps this up and I'm going to be stuck with a cold fuckin' machine. I'd rather have the new dogs they're working on. At least they're predictable.

  CHANTELLE

  CHAPTER 1

  "I CAN'T DO THIS," Chantelle said, tears flowing down her cheeks.

  "Conceentrate," her mentor said, gently. "You can. We weel be here for you eef anytheeng goes wrong."

  Sighing, Chantelle closed her eyes and thought about the task she had just been given. Her throat ached, her head ached and she was hungry. Opening her mouth wide, she took a deep breath, filling her lungs as full as possible and counted to twenty. Just when she felt they would burst, she exhaled, blowing as hard as she could and then coughed.

  "See! Now was that so hard?"

  "Yes, it was awful. I thought my lungs were going to explode."

  Syblis laughed, more at the child's pout than what she had said.

  "Cherié, eet eez eempossible for lungs to explode by seemply breathing een air. Now, one more time and we weel be feenished for the day."

  "Can we get something to eat if I do it right this time?" Chantelle begged, giving Syblis a pitiful look.

  Ruffling her hair, Syblis nodded.

  "Ah, my poor child. I have been remiss haven't I? No wonder you are so weak. Eet's been at least four hours seence you last ate."

  "You're mocking me," Chantelle accused and then giggled. "But I am hungry. Singing is hard work."

  "Oui, eet eez very hard. We weel eat and then play. Tomorrow your voice weel be stronger."

  "Mama said tomorrow was a holiday. I can't work on a holiday."

  "I know of no holiday. Perhaps you are meestaken."

  "Uh uhhh! Mama Doreen said it's a middle summer thing. We're supposed to celebrate with big fires. She and I went and picked calenders yesterday."

  "Calenders?"

  "Yes, you know, little yellow flowers. They're supposed to heal people."

  "Ah, you mean calendula, Cherié. Marigolds."

  "That's them. Syblis, why does Mama Doreen need flowers to heal? Isn't that what singing does?"

  "Not everyone eez a Seenger. Both of your mamas can heal weeth song but there are many theengs that can help the seek and eenjured... and remeember, Chantelle, we must use our geeft judeeciously."

  "I don't know what ju... judeeshlee means," Chantelle said.

  "Eet means wisely. Our songs are for those who call to us."

  "Why? I mean I don't need to sing to heal. I healed my dog, Alice, just thinking she was okay. I think things okay all the time and they are."

  "You have a special geeft and a good heart. Unfortunately, some people aren't so kind as you. For now eet eez fine to heal the aneemals but you mustn't let anyone know you do thees."

  "But —"

  Syblis grasped Chantelle's chin in her right hand and looked sternly into the child's eyes.

  "You must obey me, leetle one. Promeese me you weel not heal anyone weethout first asking me or your mamas."

  "I... I promise," Chantelle stuttered, her eyes wide with surprise. Syblis never got angry. "Are you mad at me?"

  "No, Cherié, I'm not angry. Eef I frightened you, I am sorry."

  Giving Syblis a big smile, Chantelle relaxed.

  "Can we eat now?"

  Laughing, Syblis shooed her away with her hands.

  CHAPTER 2

  "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

  Chantelle looked at the people around her and grinned. Mama Doreen and Mama Marina were holding up a large cake with twenty-seven flickering candles. The rest of the group cheered and then began encouraging her to make a wish and blow out the candles. Closing her eyes, Chantelle filled her lungs with air and then exhaled in one giant puff. All of the flames vanished, leaving snaking streams of smoke.

  "What did you wish for?" Mama Doreen asked, placing the cake on the small makeshift table.

  "I thought it was bad luck to tell," Chantelle said.

  "Superstitious hogwaller," Mama Doreen replied. "They comes true cuz someone makes 'em comes true... and the only way thet kin happen is iff'n you makes yoh wishes known."

  "I don't theenk the Sacred Mother would agree weeth you, Seester," Syblis interjected. "She grants many weeshes."

  Several women nodded their heads. The Sisters were a mixture of believers and non-believers when it came to deities. All, however, respected everyone's personal choice. They lived most of their lives in loneliness, so whatever got them through each day was welcomed by the others.

  "Well, now, darlin', I never said she weren't real. I said someone makes 'em comes true. Yoh Sacred Mother be one of 'em someones, I be a-thinkin'," Doreen teased. "Iff'n yah takes an excepsheen ta —"

  "No, no, Doreen, I meesunderstood you, that eez all," Syblis said quickly. If Doreen got on a roll on a topic, there was no stopping her. "Come, thees eez Chantelle's day. Let us eenjoy what leetle time we have together. Besides, she hasn't told us her weesh."

  "Yes, tell us," several women shouted. A chant broke out with everyone clapping their hands.

  "Alright!" Chantelle conceded. "I wished that everyone could have been here. There are so many I've never met."

  "Those who could not come weel be at the next gathering, eef possible. They are here een speerit. You, Cherié, should never waste a weesh. They are precious."

  "You're right. I still wish they could have been here," Chantelle said and then grinned. "I'll be more careful with the next one. Syblis? When will I get a calling? I'm twenty-seven. Shouldn't I have had one by now?"

  "Eet weel come when eet weel come. There eez no set age for the calling. I was twenty-three when my first came. Cirelle was forty-one."

  Chantelle sighed.

  "Forty-one. That's such a long time."

  "Nonseense. You must be patient, Chantelle... and enjoy theez moments. Once you're called, your life weel be changed forever, and your youth weel no longer be. Come now, eet eez your birthday and everyone eez waiting for a slice of cake."

  CHAPTER 3

  IT WAS TIME. A restless unease had settled over her, making it almost impossible to concentrate on her singing. Finally, throwing up her hands, she stomped off in search of her Mama Marina. Mama Doreen was away on a calling.

  "Mama," Chantelle called out frantically. She was feeling nauseous and headachy.

  This isn't good, she thought, pressing her right hand over her stomach. The growling and roiling didn't bode well for things to come.

  "What is it?" Doreen asked, wiping her hands on a small towel as she entered the room. A patch of white flour covered her left cheek and forehead. When she saw Chantelle's pale face, she hurried over to her daughter anxiously. "Are you sick, child?"

  "I feel awful, mama. Like when I had the flu... but I know it's not that."

  "It's a calling, sweetie," Doreen said, gently pushing Chantelle into a chair. "The first is always the worst."

  "What am I supposed to do?"

  "You must follow it... but only after you've rested. In a few hours the sym
ptoms will diminish, and then you'll know where you need to go. I'll pack a bag and food for your journey."

  "But where am I going? How will I know when I get where I need to be?"

  "You'll know. Healers always know. Now, go rest. I promise when you wake up, you'll feel better and things will be clearer." Helping Chantelle to her feet, Marina nudged her toward her bedroom. "Trust me, child."

  "Always, mama," Chantelle said, giving her adopted mother a hug. "Always."

  CHAPTER 4

  CHANTELLE DIDN'T KNOW why she was heading south. Call it a need or intuition. It was the one direction that kept the agitation at bay. Stray from her unknown destination and the nausea and discomfort would return. She soon realized that she had no choice but to trust her feelings, just as her mama had told her. It was disconcerting, though, to be on a journey, travelling to some place she didn't know to meet someone she had never met. Worse was the realization that she had no idea how long her journey would be or what she needed to do once she arrived at her destination. Chantelle had trained for years to be a Healer, but going solo on her first calling was overwhelming.

  What if I don't find the person? What if I get lost? Her mind constantly questioned everything that could go wrong. Eventually, she grew tired of torturing herself and turned her attention to her surroundings.

  The whimper of a small animal caught her attention. Chantelle could hear its cries, but found it difficult to isolate the origin.

  "Here, baby," she called out, turning in circles to try and isolate the direction. When the pitiful sound came again, she decided the owner had to be in a small pile of junk thrown along the side of the road. Walking to the pile, she called out again. "Where are you? I won't hurt you."

  A slight movement between two large boxes caught her attention. A pinkish brown nose was attempting to push its way out in her direction. Kneeling down, Chantelle forced her hands between the containers and shoved them aside. Crouched on the ground was a small brown and white dog with sad, golden-brown eyes.

  "Oh, poor thing. Are you hurt?" she asked picking the furry bundle up. Giving it a gentle mental probe, she discovered some superficial bruising around the shoulders, and something else. The dog was pregnant. "You're just a puppy... too young to be carrying babies. At least you're not badly hurt. A few notes should make you feel better."

  Chantelle hummed a simple tune she had learned early during her singing lessons. The dog stopped wiggling and lay still in her hands.

  "So, you like this, huh?" Stroking the dog's neck, she hugged it close to her body and looked around. It was then she realized she was in a dump. That meant the dog had probably been deliberately left there. "Now what do I do with you? I'm on a calling." The moment she said it, Chantelle knew something was wrong... in a right sort of way. She didn't feel the overwhelming weakness or nausea that had been driving her. Mama Marina was right. It does get better after awhile. Maybe I'll get some rest now, she thought.

  Although the dump wasn't an ideal spot to spend the night, it provided Chantelle with everything she needed for warmth and cover. Cardboard was abundant, providing a good cover against the weather, as well as a great insulator against the cold ground. All she needed to do was put together a house small enough to protect her from the elements and big enough for her and the puppy. After searching for an isolated, inconspicuous spot, she gathered as much cardboard as she could and built a shelter. Slipping inside, she pulled the dog close.

  "You want to share a sandwich?" she asked, opening her backpack and reaching inside.

  "Arrr rah rah!"

  "Good. I hate eating alone." Out came a mason bottle of water and a package wrapped in brown paper with a string tied around it. "You'll love this. Mama Marina makes the best sandwiches. Breaking it in quarters, she handed one section to the puppy and saved the rest for herself. "Make sure you don't eat too fast," she advised. Taking a bite of her share, she unscrewed the cap of the mason jar and poured water into the lid. "Here you go. And don't drink too fast either. This is all you'll get until tomorrow.

  The dog turned golden-brown eyes on her rescuer and gave her a toothy grin. When Chantelle started chewing her first bite, the puppy placed a paw on her portion and then tore a section off with her teeth. Sitting down on her haunches, she chewed and chewed and chewed... and then swallowed. The look she gave Chantelle almost seemed to ask her if she was satisfied. Chantelle felt obligated to nod her head sheepishly.

  "How was I supposed to know you had manners?" she asked seriously. Tilting her head sideways, the dog gave her a toothy grin and then finished her meal. Satiated, she lay down and curled up in a ball, her back pressed against Chantelle's thigh. "Good idea. I'm tired too." Chantelle stretched out on her side and closed her eyes. Within minutes she sound asleep, unaware the puppy had changed position so she was now facing the entrance to the makeshift home. If anything approached them, she would know first and handle the situation. Like her ancestors, she was a survivor... and fearlessly protective.

  * * *

  Snoring? Who's snoring? Chantelle wondered, stretching and yawning. A slight pressure against her leg jogged her memory about the dog.

  "Well, little mama," she said, ruffling the soft fur. "Let's eat." Chantelle opened her pack and pulled out an apple, some cheese and two slices of bread wrapped in brown paper. "You get the cheese and a slice of bread and I get an apple and the other slice."

  Divvying up the food, she bit the apple. The dog sniffed the cheese and then took a tentative bite. Slowly chewing it, she looked up at Chantelle and wagged her tail.

  "So you like that, huh?"

  "Rarr rahr roof!"

  "Well, that's a good thing. Mama packed a bunch of it... and bread. At least we won't go hungry and you need all the food you can get. Time to go." Chantelle picked up her pack and stood.

  Go where? she wondered, looking around. Nothing called to her. The nausea and headache of the previous day were gone. Confused, she looked down at dog, who was staring at her adoringly.

  "What do I do?" she asked, feeling lost. "Where do I go?"

  As if to answer her question, the dog stood and trotted down the dirt road leading from the dump.

  "Hey," Chantelle called out. "Where are you going?"

  "Arrr rrahh rah."

  "I don't understand dog language."

  "Woof!" came the reply.

  Throwing up her hands, Chantelle followed. The dog obviously had something in mind. Tail wagging, she pranced down the road, occasionally stopping to sniff the air. It took two hours before Chantelle realized the terrain looked familiar. She was going home.

  Book I

  Present Perfect

  The Historian, Lecoudre

  I AM LECOUDRE, Keeper of the Chronicles of the Healers and Guardian of the Numbers. The Healers I will tell of now. The Numbers will become clear in time.

  My life, my destiny is to insure that Healers are never forgotten, although few know they even exist. One day their story will be told and those who survive, and those who have passed beyond, will be honored for their sacrifices and their role in the advancement of the human race. Until then, Healers continue seeking people in need; more importantly, those most destined to impact humanity. This is the story of one Healer. It would take several lifetimes to tell all of their stories, so I will begin with Chantelle — gentle, kind, wise Chantelle. At the age of 196, she is young by Healer standards. If life experience means anything, though, she is old beyond her years.

  As I have said, my name is Lecoudre. I am the only male permitted to join the Sisterhood of Singers during their gatherings. They are a small sub-group belonging to the Order of the Healers. Although Healers can be male or female, Singers and Seers are always women. In the entire history of the Order, no man has held either position — but I am getting ahead of myself. First I must tell a little of my own humble beginning.

  At five I was orphaned, my parents murdered by a religious zealot who believed races must remain pure. That zealot was my father's fathe
r. When friends and family closed ranks to protect him, I became an embarrassment — a bi-racial spawn of the devil. Fortunately, a distant cousin rescued me and I was eventually adopted by her.

  She was kindness and love. From her I learned of the Healers and then, with the proper training, became a Historian. That was almost two-hundred years ago. Yes, I am old, ancient by human standards; a child by Healers'. My apprenticeship ended many decades ago. I am now the Keeper of the Chronicles. There must always be a Keeper, so two hold the title, share the same information and keep the secrets of the Order. We, alone, know where the sacred manuscripts are hidden. Soon I will begin searching for another to replace me. The aches and pains of time weigh heavily upon both my body and my mind. I am growing weary of travel. A Healer's life is hard. Mine is equally so as I try to keep up with them, try to insure their sacrifices are never wasted, never forgotten... but I digress. This is their story, not mine.

  To understand the Healers, one must understand their history and their laws. I will start with that.

  CHAPTER 1

  The Order of the Healers

  THE ORDER OF HEALERS is almost extinct. Those who remain wander this world in search of people destined for greatness... or infamy. Healers are extraordinary in their devotion to the Cause and their self-sacrifice. They don't choose their lives willingly, but rather it is thrust upon them by Destiny, the Sacred Mother, or whatever other power may guide them. Solitary by nature, most live in profound loneliness.

  No one knows their origin, only that they were recorded at the time of the Jiroft civilization during the third millennium BC. Many historians consider Jiroft the birthplace of the oldest written language. Only a few Jiroft tablets have survived from that era. One tells of a small group of women believed to have held mystical powers of healing. They were the Singers.