Emergency Transmission

by Sean McLachlan

  And that worried her more than everything else. There was an impulsive streak to him that flirted with trouble. She’d seen it when he had insisted the Chinese take him prisoner and let her go, she’d seen it when he’d gone off to speak to the freighter alone, and on countless other occasions. Each time he had done something he should have left to a subordinate, not trusting anyone else to do the job right.

  It had worked out each time, but it wouldn’t work out forever. Sooner or later his luck would run out, or his weak heart would sputter, or his fainting spells would get worse. That man had been skirting the edge so long he didn’t know how to stop.

  Their conference over, Yu-jin checked on the guards on deck. Like before, Clyde and his men stood in a little cluster, their backs to the railing while keeping a close eye on everything. Reginald’s guards did the same several paces away. A dozen Chinese sailors, all armed, were arranged around the deck. All three groups eyed one another through the lenses of their gas masks, their faces hidden.

  She stood for a while in that tense atmosphere as the shoreline came into view, the barest black line on the horizon. The freighter turned and headed north for a time, then slowed and stopped. The anchor went into the water with a splash. Within half an hour they had loaded up the motorboat with Rachel’s gear and were skimming across the polluted waves back to New City.

  “So what kind of engine do they have?” Clyde asked as soon as the freighter dwindled into the distance.

  “Diesel. Good quality fuel too, from the sound of it,” Rachel replied.

  Clyde smacked his fist in his palm. “I knew it! That means they have a well and a refinery. That’s big technology. What else could they have? Explosives plants? Factories churning out Kalashnikovs?”

  “We saw their guns. They’re Old Times,” Yu-jin said.

  “Sure, we saw those, but we didn’t see what they got hidden away. And we didn’t see their ammo. Maybe they got a munitions plant going. Wouldn’t that be great?”

  Rachel gunned the engine and said, “If they wanted to invade they would have come at us by surprise, not announced themselves first.”

  “This could be a recon mission,” Clyde said. “Find out what we got and see if we’re worth invading.”

  “I can’t see anyone spending so many resources to cross all of this gunk in order to start a war,” Yu-jin said.

  “You don’t want to see it because they’re your people.”

  Rachel looked over her shoulder. “They’re not my people and I don’t believe it either. The Chinese are short on some things and they want to trade. That doesn’t make them friends of ours, but they aren’t enemies.”

  “The important thing is to plug up that derrick,” Yu-jin told him. “It’s hitting them too, any time the winds blow to the west.”

  Clyde fell silent for a moment.

  “That’s interesting. Yeah, that’s real interesting.”

  He said this so quietly the words were almost lost behind his gas mask.

  “So you’ll help?” Yu-jin asked.

  The Head of the Watch shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I? You think I want the crops to fail again? We got barely half the yield we should have this year. If it wasn’t for that rice we’d be in serious trouble.”

  “So the Chinese are OK if they keep you from starving.”

  “Look, missy, I told you I don’t want a war with the Chinese. I wish we could be at peace with everybody, but we don’t live in la-la land. We got to be pragmatic, and while that means worrying about your sailor friends, it means worrying about that toxic leak a whole lot more. The Old Times were filled with people who couldn’t look beyond their rivalries when the world was falling down around them. You ever hear the story about the frog in the frying pan?”

  “What’s a frog?”

  “It was an animal about the size of a mouse but it lived on both land and water. I haven’t seen one in years. They’re sensitive to toxins so most died out. I guess there must be some around somewhere.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one.”

  “Fat green body, big eyes, big back legs. Good jumpers. No? I figured there must be some in some hidden canyon or marshland somewhere. It’s too bad if they’ve gone extinct.”

  “Maybe they got killed off in the Biowars,” Yu-jin suggested. Many animals had, including strange-looking ones like horses, cows, and dogs. She’d heard all these had been very useful in the Old Times, which is probably why they were targeted.

  “No, they were around after that. Maybe I saw the last generation. Anyway, where was I?”

  “You had a frog in a frying pan.”

  “Right. Anyway, this is true. You can look it up if you can read.”

  “I can read two languages, thank you very much.”

  “What do you want, a medal? Anyway, if you put a frog in a frying pan with some cold water, it will just sit there like it was in a pond or something. Now if you put the pan over a low fire, the water starts to heat up and what do you think happens?”

  “The frog jumps out.”

  “No. You see, frogs can’t detect slow changes in temperature. If you put a match up to it, the frog will hop away, but you can slowly boil them to death and they’ll never leave the frying pan.”

  “Sounds like a dumb animal. No wonder it went extinct.”

  Clyde laughed. “You’re not half bad! What I mean to say is that people are a lot like frogs. If everything falls apart at once we stand up and take notice, but if things get worse and worse a little at a time, we just shrug our shoulders and go with it.”

  “So is that what happened with us? I thought it was a bunch of big wars.”

  “That was at the end. Before that we had proper civilization like you see in the movies. You go to Roy’s, right? Of course you do, everyone does. Fine thing he built. Good operation. The world was just like it was in the movies, all that food and technology, but when we had civilization there were all these problems: pollution, overpopulation, resources running out. But people had all that luxury, or they were poor and trying to get it, so everything just kept going the way it did. Then wars started over the last resources, scarcity made most people poor, that led to revolutions, countries fell apart and formed smaller countries that fought each other and the whole thing spiraled out of control. They got more fighting and weird cults springing up and crazy factions in all the major religions. Pretty soon there were no countries anymore, just city states, and everything was so polluted and blasted by then they couldn’t create any stability either.”

  “But didn’t people try to stop it back in the Old Times, or when things started really getting bad?” Yu-jin asked.

  “Sure, some. Nobody important listened. People just took it. Oh, it’s not my kid at the front. Oh, we have electricity two days a week, that’s better than my last town. Oh, that other guy’s religion is banned but mine’s still legal, so who cares? That frying pan just kept getting hotter and everyone got busy explaining why their day-to-day life was more important than boiling to death.”

  “So it’s everyone’s fault.”

  Clyde looked at her. “Yeah, but remember there are some more at fault than others.”

  Yu-jin locked eyes with him.

  “And who would that be?”

  Clyde shook his head slowly. “That would be Blame. I won’t give Doc an excuse to brand me and kick me out of New City.”

  “He wouldn’t do that.”

  “No, he probably would skip the branding. He felt guilty as hell having to brand Casey’s son, even though the kid deserved it.”

  “Reginald wouldn’t kick you out. He may say that when he’s angry but he respects you and wants you to keep helping New City.”

  Clyde gave her a searching, hopeful look, then clicked his tongue and shook his head.

  “Nice try.”

  Both fell silent. Rachel steered the motorboat towards New City and all they heard was the hum of the engine and the rhythmic splash of the oily water against the bow.

&nb
sp; CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  David pitched his tent on the edge of the Burbs. After a restless night filled with nightmares of the atrocities he had committed, he awoke to a calm and clear Sunday morning. It looked like the Sabbath wouldn’t be sullied by any toxic rains.

  The campground had a guard sitting atop a tall platform that gave him and his rifle a clear view of the entire field of tents. For a quarter kilo of flour, the guard told David he’d keep an eye of his gear as long as he stayed here.

  “Thank you. I didn’t want to haul all that around as I walk through town. Say, my friend, could you lead me to a good prayer group?”

  The man, a wizened older white fellow with sunburnt skin the color of leather, replied, “Well, unless you got a lot of hate in your heart I’d suggest skipping the New World United Church. The preacher there can’t stand the Chinese.”

  “What do you think of them?”

  “Can’t say I trust anyone, whatever their color. We just don’t live in that kind of world. I don’t think they’re any more dangerous than anyone else, though.”

  “So what about other places to pray?”

  “You looking for a Christian place?”

  “Of course.”

  The guard shook his head. “No ‘of course’ here, son. We got all types. But if it’s Christian you want there’s a Catholic service and a Pentecostal service.”

  “Which is closer to the Lord?” David asked. He had heard of these two churches, but had never seen one. He wondered what other steps of humanity’s spiritual development he’d missed living in the wildlands all his life.

  The guard scratched his head. “Well, the Pentecostals do put up quite a ruckus.”

  “‘Make a great noise onto the Lord.’ Those sound like my people. Can you give me directions, my friend?”

  The man pointed out a large tent not far off in the tangle of the Burbs. David hurried there.

  As he approached, his spirits lifted. He heard a crowd of men and women with voices raised in song. He came to the entrance of the tent and peeked inside.

  About fifty men and women were arranged on low, crude benches before a platform on which three women sang and clapped, swaying from side to side as the rest of the crowd kept time. Most of the worshippers stood, and a few even stood on top of the benches in order to shout over the crowd. A wiry, older white man sprang onto the platform.

  “Let me hear a praise Jesus!” the man shouted in a voice that was surprisingly deep and strong despite the man’s small size.

  “Praise Jesus!” the crowd shouted.

  “Let me hear a praise Jesus!” the man shouted, louder this time.

  “Praise Jesus!” the crowd shouted back.

  “Let me hear a hail the Holy Spirit!”

  “Hail the Holy Spirit!”

  The preacher bent down, peering at the crowd.

  “Is the Holy Spirit within you today?”

  “Yes!” several in the crowd shouted.

  “I said, is the Holy Spirit within you today?”

  “Yes! Yes!” more people shouted.

  “Show the Lord that the Holy Spirit is in you!”

  The crowd let out a triumphant shout and grew more animated. People started dancing in the aisles and on top of the benches. As the singing increased in tempo and became hard on his ears, David’s eyes widened. People started acting strangely. One man near the entrance made little jumps, only his feet moving, as the rest of his body kept straight and rigid, trembling with little shakes from his head to his fingertips. Nearby a woman had raised her hands to the sky and babbled in a nonsense language.

  David stepped into the tent, fascinated and repelled. More people started talking in nonsense words, and then an old line from Scripture reminded him why. “They were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and began to speak with other tongues, as the Spirit gave them utterance.”

  He’d never seen this before, but now he recalled that in ancient times the Holy Spirit came into the Israelites. It was a time of prophecy and miracles. Could that time be coming again?

  He found a seat near the back and sat down, staring around him with wonder.

  A couple of men danced wildly in the aisles, flailing their arms around and yet somehow not hitting each other. More started speaking in tongues. Their babble came in a bizarre variety—rapid mumbling, or a torrent of syllables that almost made words. One man stood on a chair and bawled out, “Ah! Aaah! Ah! Ah! Aaaaaah!”

  A woman near him who hadn’t yet spoken suddenly burst forth with a weird yipping mixed with a rasping series of strange half-words. David turned to look at her and caught her studying him with focused eyes. When she saw him looking back she quickly looked away as she continued her yipping, raising her hands to the air and giving David a sidelong glance. When she saw him still watching, she started yipping louder.

  Back in the aisle, the two men spinning around kept glancing at each other to make sure they wouldn’t collide. David saw the same collusion, the same fakery, all through the crowd.

  David sneered. He moved into the aisle, where a man blocked his way by spinning around, whipping out his arms in all directions and rolling his eyes like he was insane. David walked right at him, headed for the exit. The man darted nimbly out of his way and kept on spinning.

  David stood at the entrance to the tent, surveying the chaotic and noisy scene.

  “Nice show, but that’s all it is, a show,” he said.

  Another verse came into his mind, “If the whole church comes together into one place, and all speak with tongues, and there come in those that are unlearned, or unbelievers, will they not say that ye are mad?”

  “Not mad,” David muttered. “Unless deceit is a form of madness.”

  There was no deceit in those tweakers down the coast, David realized. They were mad, but when they approached me asking for help, there was more honesty in any one of them than in this entire tent.

  He turned and left.

  David trudged through the thick mud of the Burbs, past open campfires and a row of outhouses that stank almost as much as the puddles. The crowd wasn’t noticeably thinner than on any other morning, and that only made his dejection worse. He asked someone for directions to the Catholic tent.

  The Catholics had a smaller tent than the Pentecostals, but then again they didn’t need as much room. About thirty people sat in orderly rows as a Hispanic man with a white scarf around his shoulders read from a thick book in a language David had never heard.

  Another Hispanic man stood just inside the entrance. He smiled at David, gesturing towards an empty seat in the nearest row. David moved over to him.

  “What language is that?” he asked in a low voice. The reader’s voice was quiet and didn’t carry well. David didn’t want to disturb anyone.

  “That’s Latin.”

  “Latin?”

  “The language of the church.”

  “You don’t have services in English?”

  “Part of the service is in English, or Spanish if everyone in the room speaks it, but most of it is in Latin.”

  “What’s he saying?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t speak Latin. Hardly anyone except a priest or lay minister does these days.”

  “Wait, so you’re listening to a sermon you don’t understand? Why wouldn’t the Catholics have services in a language people speak?”

  “The Church used to, in the days when St. Peter’s still stood. But the Church leaders decided it was a harmful innovation that led to moral decrepitude. One of the last popes switched the service back to Latin, like it was in the early days.”

  David stared at him, baffled.

  “How are you going to spread God’s Word when no one can understand it?”

  David didn’t wait for the answer. He walked away, shaking his head. The distant spire of the New World United Church caught his eye.

  He walked towards it. He didn’t want to meet the Reverend again, but he was curious what his church would be like on a Sunday morning.


  It looked just like a church from an Old Times photo. The planking was tidy and well cut, and the white paint had only a few spots of mildew and flaking. A proper steeple rose above the building, topped with a white cross that gleamed in the sunlight.

  He found the door barred by a burly white man with a rifle slung over his shoulder. David could hear the Reverend shouting within.

  “What’s with the gun?” David asked.

  The guy squared off with David. Had the Reverend warned his people about him after that blowup at his house?

  “We’ve had some troublemakers lately. People saying we have to give in to the Devil and his minions. Don’t think I recognize you. Are you new around here?” the guard asked in a voice laden with suspicion.

  The screaming inside grew louder. David now clearly recognized the Reverend’s voice. Through the closed doors he couldn’t catch everything he said, but the words “sinner” and “Devil” and “burn” rang out loud and clear, as if he put extra emphasis on those words.

  “Can I go in?” David asked, more out of curiosity than actually wanting to enter.

  “That depends. You here to cause trouble?”

  “No,” David sighed. “For the first time I’m actually not. But the Reverend would probably think so.”

  David turned his back on the man and walked away.

  He wandered, lost and unsure of himself. Even in the Righteous Horde, Sundays were special days. It seemed incomplete not to be with others, praying. It eased the burden, and he carried such a terrible burden.

  He stopped in the middle of a lane. People walked around him, not noticing him.

  Why was he here? He’d fled the Righteous Horde with the vague idea of contacting the ship, but he had no idea how to do that. The ship wasn’t here, and he’d probably have to talk to that doctor if he wanted to communicate with it.

  But assuming he even let David talk to the ship, what if he found out who David really was? He had to contact the ship without their knowing somehow. It was the only way to make sure he could trade all that concrete for food to feed his people.