World War

by C M Dancha

  "What can we do to resolve this situation, sir?"

  Raul gave the appearance that he was considering several harsh remedies. In fact, he knew exactly what he wanted from the Asian and Latino.

  "I understand that you invented and market the cloaking device which renders the government's tracking device useless?"

  Date considered the European's comment as a statement of fact rather than a question. There was no use denying the accusation. He decided to tell the truth and hope the European wasn't sympathetic to the World Council, or a snitch making his living by turning in anti-government sympathizers. But if he was pro-government then it might be necessary to kill the Europeans before landing.

  "It seems that the transport pilot has loose lips, as well as making bad decisions."

  "It seems so, Mr. Hattori."

  Raul removed a cigar from his coat and lit it. He noticed that the Asian flinched ever so slightly when he dug beneath his coat for the smoke.

  "I have no intention of landing and kicking you two off the transport. As I said, I want a favor – or should I say, I want your solemn promise that you won’t ever divulge that you’ve seen me or my group. It’s imperative that my group maintain the highest level of secrecy."

  "Sir, we have that in common. You have our promise that we haven't met, and I hope you will give us the same anonymity."

  Date almost asked the European his name, but realized it would be exactly the wrong thing to do. He laughed at himself for thinking about such a stupid thing considering the topic of their conversation. Also, it didn't take a genius to realize that these Europeans were anti-government dissidents of some sort. Ironically, everyone on the transport, including the pilot, was wanted for crimes against the government. He was very curious about why this man was fleeing the grasp of the government but knew better than to pry.

  Raul was satisfied with Hattori's promise. He had every reason to believe that the Asian and Latino would keep quiet since they had as much to hide and lose as Raul's group. If there was a weak link in the chain of secrecy it was the pilot, who had already proven himself untrustworthy.

  "Thank you, Mr. Hattori. Your identity and activities are safe with my group also."

  Raul considered getting up and returning to his group, but he was fascinated by the Samurai armor.

  "Mr. Hattori, can you tell me more about the Samurai?"

  A brimming smile crossed Hattori's face and he began a dissertation about his forefathers and their culture. It wasn't often that anyone cared enough to ask about a group of warriors who became extinct over four hundred years before. He spoke with such passion that the hours flew by. Before Raul realized it, they were making their approach into the Charlottesville area of the former United States.

  The two men had formed a bond in the brief time they’d spent together. Their shared interest in weapons, battles and famous military combatants were the starting points of their friendship. Their bond went deeper than mutual interests. Their comfort with each other developed in a few short hours as opposed to over a lifetime. The intangibles of a friendship like trust and confidence were immediate and felt by each man.

  Before getting off the transport, Date and Raul exchanged confidential micromic and visual addresses. They didn't bother to swear to stay in touch because each knew their relationship was meant to extend beyond one transport ride.

  23

  THE FIRST YEAR

  In the twelve months after landing on a deserted transport pad outside of Charlottesville, in the former State of Virginia, Raul's group rented two houses and went about blending in with the community. Gretchen, Rollie, and Easton occupied one house, posing as a married couple and the wife's father. Raul, Milkweed, and Murphy lived in the other house. As they became known among the general population, most people believed these three were homosexual lovers. Milkweed's appearance and a little play acting by Raul and Murphy reinforced this belief.

  Raul developed a fictitious background for each group member. Each history was well thought out and believable. No one questioned who these strangers were and where they’d come from. Their first two weeks were spent learning and committing to memory their fictitious backgrounds. To help blend in with the community, each person's background was weighted with pro-World Council sympathies.

  Rather than isolate themselves from the general population and attract attention from government snitches, each member of the group became involved in a public activity. Raul gave the group a set of rules about what not to say or do in public. The number one rule was: Forget about Phoenvartis followed by Don't Mention Anything about Zurich and Don't Contact Anyone in Zurich.

  For Easton, rule number one was easy. His memories of Zurich were limited to weeks of confinement in a basement room of a large building and escaping one afternoon. For the rest of the group, it was more difficult. Gretchen had the hardest time because she’d been born and raised in Zurich. She was tempted to contact her family, especially her twin brother, Zach. Rollie and Murphy had an easier time, although at times, they caught themselves getting ready to make a remark about their past lives in Zurich. Milkweed and Raul, the consummate military and law enforcement professionals, wiped their Zurich memories clean and never referred to this part of their lives.

  When Raul was convinced that the group could blend in with the public, he cut them loose to begin their new lives.

  To everyone's surprise, Easton blended in with the locals quicker than anyone else. He spent several days each week at the historic Monticello estate, the home built and occupied by Thomas Jefferson, the 3rd President of the United States. He attended every lecture and tour offered at the estate. Even though they were tainted with a pro-government, socialist theme, Easton seemed to enjoy the hours he spent there.

  The government employee conducting the tours went out of her way to condemn the institution of slavery. She made sure the attendees understood President Jefferson's willing participation in this monstrous institution as a slave owner. Not one positive accomplishment by the former President was presented to the guests. It was very clear to Easton that the only reason for maintaining the Monticello estate was to use it as a prop to propagandize the evils of democracy. And, the way to avoid similar atrocities in the future was to maintain a strong central government and not allow private ownership of any type.

  As he listened to the tour moderator, an attractive woman in her late 40s named Klever O'Beberg, vague memories of early Monticello came alive. At first, he couldn't pick out the incorrect facts presented by the tour moderator. But as his memories returned, he could distinguish fact from fiction.

  He tried to keep these inaccuracies to himself to avoid embarrassing her in front of the tour groups. This went on for several weeks, until he couldn't take it any longer. Finally, during one of her rants about how President Jefferson was a predator of female slaves, he corrected her. His courteous correction was simple and to the point. He told everyone that Randolph, Thomas's brother, had several liaisons with the female slaves on the estate. Klever responded with a sarcastic question. "Well, sir, how do you explain the fact that the descendants of Sally Hemings, the ‘indoor slave, and confidant’ of Thomas's daughter, have the Jefferson gene?"

  "Miss O'Beberg, there were five men who carried the Jefferson gene and could have fathered Sally's children. One was Thomas. The second was Randolph and the last three were male cousins, fathered by Thomas's uncle. Randolph was a drunkard who spent many nights partying with the slaves and the cousins were frequent visitors at Monticello. All four of them were considerably younger than Thomas and closer in age to Sally. Of course, I do admit that Thomas may have fathered her children, but only Sally knows for sure."

  At that precise moment, the factual memory of how some of Sally Hemings' children were conceived flashed through Easton's mind. He debated whether to make it public to the tour group but decided it was better left unsaid. He had caused enough controversy for one day.

  Klever's face turned beet red and she storme
d from the room. None of them understood the argumentative banter between the tour guide and the tall, middle-aged gentleman in their group. For all they knew, the gentleman was a plant to enhance the tour presentation. Klever considered Easton a heckler, he’d disrupted her presentations with inaccurate and anti-government lies.

  Easton decided to leave Monticello. He turned and walked toward the front door but stopped in the large entrance lobby. He surveyed the majestic, curved stairway going from the lobby to the upper floor. For some reason, his attention was drawn to two closet doors mounted to the far right and left of the staircase. There wasn't anything particularly interesting about these doors, they were average size for closets which were used to store travelers wraps and equipment needed by the cleaning staff. But, a remote memory from hundreds of years before crept into Easton's consciousness. There is something important in those closets.

  Easton didn't know how long he stood there, his gaze shifting from one door to the other. It was long enough for Klever to finish her tour and usher the guests out through the back door. When she returned to the front of the house to greet her next tour group, she found Easton standing in the center of the lobby. The expression on his face hinted that his thoughts were a million miles away and he didn't know she was at his side until she spoke. "Who the hell are you?"

  His mind refocused on where he was, and he turned to see the argumentative tour guide. "Why don't I pick you up here tonight at seven for dinner and I'll tell you?"

  That evening was the beginning of a committed relationship between the conservative, former President of the United States and an ultra-liberal socialist who believed a one-world government was the answer to every personal and geopolitical problem. Of course, Easton never told her he was the cloned replicant of a former President. Who, in their right mind, would believe such an outlandish claim? But he did tell her countless things about the former President, his life and Monticello. Most of his facts and stories were contrary to what Klever had learned at university, but as they grew closer, Klever became more receptive to what Easton had to say and became more interested in his background.

  "How do you know so much about Thomas Jefferson?"

  "Klever, I'm a retired engineer from Europe who loves history. My specialty is history from the sixteenth to nineteenth century in the former United States and Europe. Part of my historical research was learning about each of the American Presidents from this period."

  "Did you know that Sally Hemings' oldest son was named Easton?"

  Easton looked as if he’d been sucker-punched by a trusted friend. Klever was right. How had he not remembered the eldest Hemings boy, who’d been given his freedom from slavery when Thomas died? The same boy who was fair skinned like his mother and lived much of his life as a white man. He knew now why he’d chosen the name Easton.

  After several months, Easton saw a noticeable change in Klever's tours and presentations. They were more balanced, with less derogatory comments about Jefferson. With this dramatic change, Easton worried that his girlfriend would be fired from her job and labeled an anti-World Council heretic. Klever found it sweet that Easton worried about her livelihood, but she pooh-poohed his concern by claiming that no one in their right mind would take a position which required a seventy to eighty-hour work week plus extensive research and education.

  During the few hours each week they were together, Easton and Klever spent much of the time at his house. She became close friends with Rollie and Gretchen, even though her political views were still very left-wing. Her new friends' fake backgrounds were so convincing that being wanted for questioning by European authorities was a ridiculous suspicion.

  Helmer Stanke, who stayed behind at Phoenvartis, gave Raul periodic updates from Zurich. He used a top-secret crypto channel provided by Raul, so no one could track the fugitive group. If Helmer could avoid suspicion and detection, then the group should be safe in Charlottesville for a couple of years.

  As Raul predicted, the Zurich authorities wanted to speak with members of Raul's group. At the top of their list was the dead woman at the transport complex and several bodies of World Council soldiers found around the city.

  What Raul didn't predict was what happened to Sedgewick Slice. According to Helmer, a Phoenvartis employee who was familiar with energy burst guns smelled the odor of gunfire in the cloning lab area and decided to investigate. He ended up breaking down the cloning lab door and finding the CR47 in operation. The monstrosity being made in the cloning machine was enough to make the man throw-up his lunch before he contacted the authorities. Helmer was called to the cloning lab to stop the machine.

  "Raul, I cannot describe to you what was in the CR47. The ‘thing’ was a combination of Slice and Maxine but was constantly changing in appearance. One moment the face, arms or legs would be Slice's and then they would change to Maxine's. It was as though the monster's DNA couldn't stabilize and decide which host should be replicated in each part of the new creature. It was terrible, Raul."

  "What did they do with it?"

  "I'm not sure. I got a visit from the guy who took Milkweed's position and he quizzed me on what I knew about this monster. He also wanted to know where you people were and if I had heard from you. Of course, I played dumb."

  "Thanks, Helmer. We all appreciate it. By the way, did any representative of the World Council question you about what happened to Slice?"

  "No. I don't think they give a damn about what happened to Slice."

  "What else has been happening there?"

  "Let's see. Claude got a huge promotion and bump in pay. I'm not sure how he pulled that off, but it happened about four months after the Slice-Maxine monster was found. I try to stay out of his way. He's got an ego that is ten times worse than his former uncle, Klaus. You would laugh, Raul. There are halo billboards around the city with Claude's picture on them. The caption is something like, The Leader of the Future Lives in Our City. Do you believe that, Raul? If it wasn't so ridiculous, it would be comical."

  "That's unbelievable." Raul didn't bother to tell Helmer why Claude got the promotion. The only thing which Raul gave a damn about was getting the monthly credit deposit from Claude. If Claude could use the original World Council host samples to his benefit, good for him. Plus, there was no sense filling Helmer with confidential information which could get him in trouble if he was interrogated.

  "One other thing, Raul. I saw that redhead the other day on the fourth floor. It was that woman who was killed in Sophia's apartment. Do you think they cloned her? It doesn't make sense; why would they clone her?"

  "Helmer, hold on to your chair. That woman is Claude's girlfriend."

  "Are you joking? Come on… Claude's got a girlfriend?"

  "This is no joke, Helmer. It's a long story, but Claude told me that they had been together for years." Raul didn't bother to tell Helmer that he’d provided Claude with body parts to clone Claudette. He was more concerned to hear that the CR47 was up and running again. When he’d left Zurich, he hoped that the Slice-Maxine cloning would damage the CR47 and it would take months, if not years, to repair. Unfortunately, that didn't happen. If Claude replicated Claudette, then he surely had been instructed to clone the unknown woman from the original World Council host samples.

  "Helmer, are you ready to get out of there?"

  "I don't think so, Raul. I'm going to stick it out. My family loves it here and they would fight me tooth and nail if I suggested that we move. But thanks for the offer."

  "Helmer, things are going to get really hot in Europe. So if you change your mind and want to leave, just let me know."

  Both men signed off and went back to thinking about the future. Helmer knew Raul was right. He’d already seen major changes taking place in the Free Zone. The World government was taking over control of private businesses and imposing more restrictive rules on citizens. Even Helmer's children had made comments and brought home school assignments which were nothing more than pro-government propaganda. The use of a newl
y formed police force to interrogate people seemed to be on the increase. There was a constant barrage of ads about turning in enemies of the State. In fact, a bounty was offered to anyone providing information which led to the conviction of anti-government radicals.

  24

  GOTT

  As Raul's group was establishing new lives in North America, things in Europe were heating up. Anti-government demonstrations and skirmishes with World Council forces were erupting in every major city from the tip of old Portugal to Moscow in the east. Thousands illegally protested for democratic reforms such as personal ownership of property, freedom of speech and throwing off the shackles of government rules and regulations.

  The demonstrations for freedom met stiff resistance from World Council forces and pro-government groups. A large segment of the population was so used to government handouts, the thought of taking responsibility for one's life was repugnant. These people wanted and expected be taken care of by the Nanny State. Free housing, food, travel and health care from the birth-to-grave was a citizen's right. It didn't matter that they had to sell their soul to the government to get it. And if they had to clash with pro-democracy demonstrators to keep their monthly allotment of World Credits, so be it.

  Raul, Milkweed, and Easton watched the twenty-four-hour government news channel whenever they could, astute observers of current events. It was easy for them to sift through the government propaganda to produce the truth. They understood what the European protests really meant. A global war was on the horizon.

  In a quaint village in southern France, Sophia Groetschow rested by an outdoor pool, basking in the warm sun. She too had observed and felt the winds of war blowing across the European continent. The anti-government rhetoric had been increasing at an exponential pace during the past year. It was impossible to avoid the demonstrations, street brawls and anti-government graffiti spray painted on virtually every wall, bridge, overpass and water tower. She needed to decide to either continue to Germany to track down Mr. Sun and kill him or flee the European continent to a safer part of the world. If she left Europe now, only half of her targets would be avenged.