The New Reality

by Stephen Martino

  “We have all suffered,” he said as his voice bellowed throughout the arena and broadcast across the entire United Arab Alliance (UAA).

  A native of Indonesia, Ari was a thin man in his early fifties. He was considered handsome by his female swooners and debonair by his male followers. His dark eyebrows made his face look stern while his ears, which pointed outward, gave him a playful appearance. Because of his former tobacco addiction, faint lines ran down the sides of his face, and his puckered lips looked as if they anxiously awaited the next cigarette.

  “We have been raped by the West!”

  The crowd went crazy. Many yelled out Malik while others clapped so enthusiastically it appeared they were having a seizure.

  “They have taken our oil and thrown us aside like a broken-down engine!”

  Again he was inundated with accolades.

  He pointed to the people. “Now is the time for change. Now is the time to hope for a better future for you and your families!”

  The words resonated well among the crowd. Many were hit by especially hard economic times. With their country’s oil reserves dwindling and unemployment or underemployment rising, they looked for someone, a savior, to bring them back to prosperity.

  Ari despised Western society and found it both a convenient and well-deserved scapegoat for their problems. Capitalism and free markets sickened him. He viewed it as the most oppressive economic system ever implemented. Though it created great wealth, capitalism only made a small percentage rich while practically enslaving the rest, forcing them to work for a mere pittance .

  He believed that only a powerfully managed government could provide a true utopia on earth whereby inequality would be eradicated. And there was no room for God in his government-run utopia. Praying to an unseen and presumed omnipotent being seemed to him as a childish and nearsighted endeavor meant only for the weak.

  “First the West brought you despair. Now they bring you The Disease!”

  The crowd hissed and booed. Others shouted anti-Western sentiments.

  “You all know of Tustegee!” he said with a sinister snicker.

  There was no way to forget as he made a point to mention it each time he spoke publically.

  Tustegee was the greatest blemish in the history of American medicine. Three hundred ninety-nine black sharecroppers from Alabama enrolled in the study. Each had previously contracted syphilis but instead of being treated by the Public Health Service, they were instead studied to obverse the natural history of the disease. Mostly a forgotten story, Ari dug up this skeleton in American history and acted as if it had just occurred yesterday.

  The crowd all shouted derogatory statements towards the West while others just put their hands above their heads in the shape of an O.

  “I am personally going to see to it that the United Arab Alliance shall not succumb to The Disease like Turkey, Greece, and other Western countries.” He continued to boast loudly, “I will personally ensure that there will be food on everyone’s table. That every able-bodied person has a job. And that the Arab nations once again rise to power!”

  The crowd looked upon Ari as their savior and he upon them as his subjects. With a promise for change and a better future, Ari rose to power after successfully overthrowing their former leader. However, with no real political experience or leadership skills, he offered only good looks and empty promises.

  He shook his head mockingly. “The League of Arab States has also forsaken you!”

  Consecrated after World War II, The League of Arab States was designed as a loose association of Arab countries to promote common goals. It had no real authoritative powers, like the United Nations, and was frequently blamed for the ongoing misfortunes of its former members.

  “Do not forget how they appeased the West by giving them our oil. They let them take it from us as easily as a baby sucks milk from his mother’s breast!”

  “It is out of these failures,” he boasted, “that the United Arab Alliance was formed. One Government. One People. One Purpose!”

  The slogans resounded well with the people. It restored memories of former greatness when they were the world’s leading oil suppliers and economically rich. It also made them feel as if they were united, superior, and meant for greatness under the Malik’s guidance.

  Despite the rhetoric, the United Arab Alliance successfully joined the people under one central government. Iran, Iraq, Syria, Jordan, Yemen, Oman, Libya, Afghanistan, Egypt, Saudi Arabia, and the United Arab Emirates had all given up their autonomy and had become states within the UAA. Unlike The League of Arab States, it did have binding power and the ability to mandate control over its entire population.

  “I need all of your help to restore our people! You must give of yourselves if we as a nation are to grow.”

  Another slogan followed, “Government First! Success to Follow!”

  The crowd cheered and the band began to play. Ari soaked in all the accolades. Though providing only promises during his first four years as their Malik, he acted as if he had saved his country from the brink of despair and was single-handedly responsible for steering them back to a path of economic success.

  The speech went on for another hour. Filled with more rhetoric, anti-Western jargon, and accusations, it provided the people with what they wanted to hear and gave them a convenient scapegoat during their continued economic hardships. Devoid of any real substance, the speech lacked any meaningful plan for their country’s future. Oblivious to his real motives, all those in attendance continued to greet Ari as their messiah.

  Chapter 6

  “So you let them bring us another body? Samantha screeched. “Did you happen to forget what happened here last week, or do you need another chandelier to almost kill us all before it jogs a memory?”

  “Hey,” Alex joked, “I told them at the NIH they can send ten more bodies as long as Marissa Ambrosia accompanies them. Plus, I’m good at dodging chandeliers.”

  Samantha scoffed as she threw a pillow in Alex’s direction. “Dodge this!”

  Though they laughed today, the last week had been an extremely stressful one. Ten people had died in the terrorist attack while another seventy were injured. Over half of the casualties were still in their hospital with a few remaining in critical care.

  Plus, the attack had left their Level Five Biohazard rooms completely destroyed. The only place that could accommodate the body now was a subbasement research facility under where the attack had taken place. Fortified like a bunker, it had been designed for research even in the most inauspicious circumstances.

  Alex and Samantha relaxed in the plush armchairs in Alex’s office. After a week of total chaos, both leaned back and enjoyed the momentary silence. Too exhausted to continue with their banter, they each sat and tried to enjoy a quick nap.

  The room was conducive to rest. With plush chairs and couches, soft music, and comfortable colors, it soothed all that entered. Once decorated with a more masculine flair, it now boasted potted plants and gentle pictures of the sky hanging on the walls.

  The office also represented the change in Alex. No longer a man plagued by inner turmoil, he was at peace with himself, and his attitude toward this office and work personified this transition. He had only recently overcome the realization that he had been adopted and that he, somehow, was genetically unique. His parents had wished to spare him the truth and only recently informed him about the adoption. However, to his even greater dismay, they couldn’t provide him with any other information about his genetics other than that he was unique. But what did that mean?

  A voice, though pleasant, awoke both from their fledgling naps. “Dr. Pella, Dr. Marissa Ambrosia is here to see you.”

  Before Alex had a chance to respond, the door to his office dematerialized.

  Marissa entered first. She was dressed in jeans and a flattering tight white shirt that accentuated her long torso and feminine curves.

  One of the Neanderthal-like security guards that had apprehended her du
ring the terrorist attack accompanied her into the room. With a stern look on his face, he bluntly stated, “Dr. Ambrosia’s credentials check out and she’s free of contraband.”

  He then grabbed the tip of his blue hat and left without another word. The door materialized behind him upon his exit.

  Alex quickly stood and offered Marissa a seat. Though not regretful for ordering her apprehension last week, he still wanted to be as accommodating now as possible.

  She, too, held no grudge and was pleased to see that new security measures had been implemented.

  “Don’t let his looks or gruff nature fool you,” Alex stated, referring to the security guard. “Phil’s the absolute best. Not much for words, though.”

  Alex straightened out his sports jacket as he and Marissa took their respective seats. “I’m sorry about your two colleagues,” he went on to say. “Further casualties of The Disease.”

  Alex referred to the two scientists that accompanied her when she delivered the body last week. Both were in the research room when it exploded and had been killed instantly.

  “It’s really sad,” Marissa lamented. “Both Kathy and Sharon had recently been forced into retirement. Due to cutbacks at the NIH, they were let go from the agency but decided to continue assisting me on my fieldwork anyway and without pay.”

  She looked down with regret. “They would have done anything to find the cure.” After regaining her composure, she turned abruptly to Alex. “What happened to the S.O.B. who did this?”

  The police had suppressed the true nature of the attack as they progressed with a full investigation. To avoid igniting further panic amidst the growing angst of The Disease, the public was told only that there was an explosion at Neurono-Tek due to faulty wiring.

  Alex did not mind taking the blame for the terrorist attack if it prevented public pandemonium, but he certainly hoped it would not compromise Neurono-Tek’s reputation.

  “The bastard tried to get away but killed himself before I could apprehend him,” Alex stated.

  “Did he leave any evidence?” Marissa asked.

  “He took an autolysis pill,” Alex responded. “Wiped out all evidence. Forensics could do nothing with the body.”

  “Tell her about the tattoo,” Samantha interrupted.

  “I didn’t forget,” Alex said as he rolled his eyes towards his colleague. “There was a small tattoo of a falcon on the man’s scalp just before the skin degraded. It—”

  “The United Arab Alliance,’ Marissa blurted, instantly recognizing its significance.

  Reminiscent of more promising times, the symbol had originally been used by Saladin when his army defeated the Crusaders and drove them out of Jerusalem. The bundle of sticks the bird held was a modern twist. It represented the individual states of the UAA and showed that when they stood together, they could not be broken.

  “I’ve seen their men,” Marissa went on to say, “at some of the mass graves in Turkey. I also spotted them in Crete and a few other Greek islands. Do the police have any other leads?”

  “If they do,” he answered, “they certainly haven’t told me.” Alex looked at both of them seriously. “And what still doesn’t make sense to me is why the terrorist just didn’t put a delay on the explosives or escape out of the loading dock. This may sound strange, but it almost seemed like he wanted to be caught.”

  Samantha threw her hands up in the air. “You’re trying to make sense out of a man who knowingly just killed himself and a bunch of other people,” she scoffed. “Maybe his mother didn’t hug him or something. It doesn’t matter anyway. He was nuts… really, all those damn terrorists are all nuts.”

  Despite Samantha’s cajoling, Alex knew he was on to something. Destroying the body Marissa had brought produced nothing. More corpses mounted from The Disease by the minute. Plus, the terrorist had ample opportunities to escape. The only thing that appeared accidental was the fact Alex identified the tattoo. It must have been an oversight on the terrorist’s part.

  “Well, he’s safely tucked away in our morgue,” Samantha said, “and I seriously doubt he’ll be giving us any more trouble.”

  “How’d this mole infiltrate the NIH anyway?” Alex asked.

  Marissa shook her head, as she knew the truth about the NIH. Once a medical juggernaut, it was now a shell of its former self. Budget cuts, poor funding, and mediocre government support had almost made the organization defunct.

  “We went broke,” Marissa admitted. “In fact, the whole medical system went broke. We are just the tip of the iceberg. Because adequate background screens could no longer be afforded, the man just simply slipped through the cracks.”

  “See,” Samantha screeched as if she had personally warned everyone herself. “That’s what happens when you vote jackasses into government.”

  There was no argument from Alex or Marissa.

  The European Union, China, and India, among others, had all fallen into the same predicament. Fiscal responsibility was something found only in older textbooks and definitely not practiced in the year 2081.

  Samantha tried to bring some levity to the situation. “So, tell us what the NIH knows about all those dead people you’ve been collecting.”

  Marissa pulled out a small metallic tablet from her right pocket and placed it onto an end table situated between the three of them.

  “Let me run down the natural history of the condition first,” she said.

  A holographic image of a muscle came into view. It was a thinly-sliced section of the tissue showing its different pink bundles surrounded by bands of white connective tissue.

  Marissa touched one of the bundles and it grew in size. “You see this muscle here?” she pointed. “Look how distorted it appears.”

  What should have been a clear pink circle with strands of white tissue surrounding it looked more like a deflated beach ball.

  She then touched it again and an oval, blue organelle in the muscle expanded in size. It had what looked like haphazard steps along with black spots inside of it.

  “Is that supposed to be a mitochondria?” Samantha asked.

  “It is the mitochondria,” Marissa answered. “You see how disfigured it has become. We believe that the primary target for The Disease is within this organelle.”

  “Have you found any source?” Alex asked. “A virus, bacteria, or prion? Anything?”

  “Nothing. All we know is that the condition begins with general malaise and weakness and that the muscle is the first to be affected.”

  “Sounds like the flu,” Samantha chimed in.

  “Yeah,” Alex commented, “except the flu doesn’t kill everyone it comes in contact with.”

  The holographic picture changed into a figure of the small intestine. Wrapped in coils, it looked like a long strand of red sausage.

  “Next affected is the gut,” Marissa said. “Through malabsorption, some affected people literally begin to starve to death while others begin to bloat and retain fluid.”

  She then placed her hand on the figure and two microscopic pictures appeared. The pink-colored cells on the left had flowing undulations at their top while the ones on the right were rectangular and half the size of its counterpart.

  “Look here at what happens to the gut cells,” she said, pointing to the figure on the right while explaining what it meant.

  Marissa then went on to describe the other manifestations of The Disease. From the gut the condition can spread to the liver and kidneys in a characteristic fashion. Once the body was about to shut down, she showed how the mutated mitochondria caused the skin to turn red in a failed attempt to replenish itself. The brain was last to be affected, with confusion, seizures, and ultimately death.

  Holographic micropathology slides of the affected organ accompanied each description. Lacking, however, was any true explanation of the cause. Despite months of research, little tangible knowledge had been gained. Alex knew the information Marissa presented could have easily been determined at Neurono-Tek in about a
day’s time.

  The door dematerialized, and behind it a familiar face again came into view: Phil, the security guard. He stood there frozen in place, showing his characteristic level of exuberance. Waiting permission to talk, he stared at Alex in full attention.

  “Yes, Phil?” Alex asked.

  Usually the responsibility of his secretary, Phil had made it his personal duty to oversee Alex’s personal schedule. As head of security, he took his job seriously and felt that if any harm came to Alex, he would be personally liable.

  “Dr. Pella, sir. Your 8:00 A.M. appointment has arrived.”

  Alex had lost track of time but immediately remembered who he was meeting. Last week his office received a call just after the terrorist attack. The man claimed to have vital information regarding The Disease that no one else could provide.

  Most of the unsolicited communications received by Neurono-Tek recently had been from pranksters or mentally deranged people. Some claimed the apocalypse was upon them, while others did their best to voice their theories about The Disease. Space aliens, increased cosmic rays, ozone toxicity, and flesh-eating bacteria from Mars were a few of the gems fielded by the PR department.

  Sparing any details, Phil simply stated, “He checks out—”

  Phil exited and an unassuming man entered the office. With a smile on his face and dressed rather casually in jeans and a simple red-collared short-sleeve shirt, he greeted them all with a, “Good day.”

  Usually not responsive to unsolicited communications, the staff at Neurono-Tek felt it necessary to grant this man dedicated time with Dr. Alex Pella. Though all he brought with him was the promise of valuable information, his sincerity and simple charm did convince Alex’s secretary that his intentions were completely genuine.

  After some minor pleasantries, the man took Alex by the hand and said, “Dr. Pella, I would like to introduce myself. My name is Jonathan Maloney and I’ve traveled a long way just to meet you.”