The Symbol of El Adame

…by Nancy Tart

Chapter Three: Steady Substitute

The University

“So, Annie,” Jean Tyson’s voice was the teasing sing-song most of her words had.  Anne Marie Patterson turned her pretty face toward her friend as Jean continued, “did you and Cheyne celebrate your birthday?”

“He took me to Vincents’ last night,” Anne blushed. 

“And?” Jean prodded, her black ringlets piled in two twisted ponytails on either side of her head bounced playfully as she walked.

“We had king crab,” Anne smiled, knowing what Jean’s grin was for.  Again.

“So, are you still clinging to your childish baloney, or did ya’ll grow up last night?” Jean’s question would have sounded offending from any other mouth, but Anne knew her well enough to know it was only sarcastic.  Jean knew Anne’s convictions better than anyone else outside of Cheyne and Anne’s grandmother; she knew Anne was still waiting.

“Jeannie,” Anne sighed, “I told you, we will get married after Cheyne graduates.”  Anne giggled, “but if you mean did we drink; I had a blue thing in this huge glass.  It tasted like strawberries and kiwis with grape juice.  I think he called it a Blue Bomber.  He had an Ice Cap and two coffee drinks.”

“Alcohol, pshhaw,” Jean scoffed.  “Are you really still talking marriage?  Come on Annie, nobody gets married anymore.”  Jean’s curls bobbed like slinkies. 

Anne knew this argument; she heard it all the time from anyone willing to talk to her. Usually it was a series of young men when the new semester started who would approach her and they all used the same thoughts but different lines.  Anne always rebuffed them gently with the same soft smile and “I’m waiting for marriage” line.  They never wanted to be friends in the way she considered friends to be; they always just wanted to take her to bed and leave afterward.  Middle to end of the semester was better.  They avoided her like a plague because almost any other girl on the campus would take their invitation and if the guy was good looking, consider it just as important an interaction as Anne considered going to lunch. 

“Do you know anyone in our generation who is married?” Jean waited; of course Anne wouldn’t lie, so she’d have to say no. 

“Not yet.”

“Or in the previous generation?  My mom and dad weren’t married.  My mom and Stan and Bob and Greg weren’t married either, they just lived together until they got tired of each other.  That’s the way it is.  Gee, Annie, my grandmothers and their men weren’t married either.  What makes you stick to that archaic way of thinking?”

Anne laughed, “Grandma Mary and Grandpa Roger were married for sixty-four years before Grandpa died.  My mom and dad were married for seventeen years until the accident.  Cheyne and I are waiting for marriage – after he’s graduated will be the right time for us.  Then we will start our long, happy married life together.  My aunt and uncle are married.”

“Really?” Jean waved her hand to cover the campus, “you could have anyone, you know.  Not that I see anything wrong with Cheyne.  Uh-un, he’s some fine merchandise, girlfriend.” 

Anne would have mentally shot a fist at anyone else saying that.  Jean was just Jean. They had been friends forever and Anne always laughed off Jean’s offhanded comments with mental prayer.  She also knew Jean wouldn’t try to take Cheyne because Jean respected their friendship too much to trash it over one guy when in her mind there were unlimited opportunities everywhere her eyes landed.

“Yeah, anyways, he had his nice butt in micro lab again today,” Jean laughed, “can you imagine he’s actually on Doctor Hagman’s team?  That totally blows me away.  Shacking up or not, you ought to be proud to call him your boyfriend, right?”

Anne laughed lightly.  Jean did have a rather blunt way with words.  “Yes, Jean, I’m proud of him.”

“I mean, Doctor Hagman,” Jean shook her head.  Her spiraling curls bounced.  “Come on, he’s like a world renowned biochemist.  Like the best.”

“The way Cheyne talks about him, he is the best,” Anne chuckled.  “So, what class do you have next?”

“Stats, why do we have to learn math when computers do everything anyway?”

“If you ask that, why not expand the question to say why do we learn anything?  Shouldn’t we just spend our time programming robots that program themselves so we have nothing else to do but lie in mobile chairs and get fat yakking on our tweeters passing gossip all day?”

“Funny, Annie, we wouldn’t spend our free time getting fat and ugly; we’d do something better,” Jean paused to eye an attractive campus athlete as he passed, “like become experts at bedding hot guys.”

“Jean, do you have no shame?”

“Shame?” Jean scoffed, “Annie, you have to believe in absolutes to have shame.  Only nerds like you and Cheyne believe in absolutes.  If there is no wrong then why bother with shame?  Life’s so much fun my way.”

“Jeannie, what if when you die there is a God?”

“You promised not to preach at me.” Jean snorted, “we’ve had that rule since grade school.”

“I only said I wouldn’t bring it up if you didn’t,” Anne grinned, this was an old argument between them, and Anne loved it when Jeannie tried to ‘convert’ her or debate her because Jeannie never won, “you did, which gives me the green light to preach away.”

Jean laughed, “so I did.  Well, I’ve got class in a few minutes.  Tweet when you’ve finally figured out how to be a woman.”

“You too.” Anne shook her head as Jean sauntered away, drawing more than her fair share of masculine attention to her feminine curves.  Being a woman has nothing to do with bedding boys, Anne thought, it has to do with responsibility, honor, and fidelity.  Oh, God, please let Jean come to know You.  Heaven will miss her laughter.

Anne’s tweeter vibrated silently in her pocket.  She pulled it out and glanced at the screen.  Hers was an older cheap model, most of the newer ones and all of the more expensive ones flipped open in order to accommodate a larger screen.  Anne didn’t care about doubling the viewer screen to play epic games or edit photos better; she just wanted the capability of web connection and tweeter service.  No tweeter came without web service anymore, tweeter-only service had died in or just before her grandmother’s time, but Anne was glad they still had the less expensive smaller screen tweeters available.  What they now considered a smaller screen was bigger than her hand.

Anne smiled as she scanned the message.  It was a tweet from Cheyne asking if she wanted to meet him at the student café.  Anne tapped one spot on the viewer and sent a preprogrammed automatic reply: Of course, anything with you! J

The huge marble archways towering over the outdoor hallways testified to the craftsmanship of the builders hundreds of years before.  Some of the archways were completely shrouded in the deep green ivy vines that gave the structure a stately look.  Anne always enjoyed reminding herself that the most brilliant minds in the history of the world and the most renowned scientists of this time had walked through this same archway, down the same halls, lived in the same dorms, and ate in the same cafeteria she used.  Of course, the cafeteria had been modernized as had the dorms and some of the classrooms, but the grand exterior had only been maintained.  The large lecture halls still amplified even the weakest speaker’s voice enough for all to hear without the aid of electronic devices and the old gates and fence, originally designed to keep wild animals outside of the school, still stood and operated as they were originally intended with little more than occasional oiling.  The perpetuation of the ancient traditional look of the university was part of the ambiance and prestige of attending and graduating to call oneself an alumnus. 

“Hello, fajitas today?”  Cheyne asked, plopping a tray of seven rolled up tortillas filled with spicy beef, tomatoes, peppers, cheese, cream, and lettuce on the table in front of Anne.

She smiled, “and what are my options?”

“Fajita a, fajita b, fajita c, and so on,” Cheyne indicated each of three fajitas and waved over the others as he laughed.

Anne considered Cheyne with lips pursed in thought before snipping, “then I guess I’ll have so on,” and separated four fajitas from the seven. 

Cheyne chuckled, “hungry then?”

“Starved,” she returned.  As Cheyne rolled three fajitas onto his plate, Anne sighed, “I got a tweet from Gramma.”

Cheyne swallowed his first bite, “how is she?”

“She says she’s fine, but I sense that she needs my help.”

“What about her neighbor, um, Mrs. Watson?”

“Mrs. Watson got sick,” Anne reminded, “about a month ago.  Her son has been trying to get her to retire since then, saying she shouldn’t be taxing resources if she can’t get well.”

Cheyne didn’t respond.  He’d forgotten about that.  He loathed such rude treatment of people.

“I’m going to visit her tomorrow; I have no class then.”

“Want me to come along?” Although the question was sincere and quick, Anne knew that should he actually leave the university now, it could jeopardize his place with the research team.  Dr. Hagman never said it, but Anne knew that there were several on the team who didn’t like Cheyne’s high position and although at times Dr. Hagman wisely gave his team a few days’ respite, that had been happening with increasingly less frequency. 

“And did you already clear it with Doctor Hagman, or would running off be truancy on your part?” Anne laughed, then started eating the second fajita. 

Cheyne’s impish grin sneaked up the corners of his charming smile, “man you know me well.  No, haven’t cleared it and wouldn’t try.”

“So you’d just play hooky?”  Anne shook her head, “come on, Cheyne, Gramma’d kill you if she knew.”

He chuckled, “she probably would.”

“She puts a higher importance on staying in school than you or I do, part of her generation, I guess.” Anne reminded.  Cheyne didn’t need reminding, but wouldn’t say it.  Anne’s repeating of known facts meant she was really worried about Gramma.

“When are you leaving?”

“Tonight on the last flyer,” Anne held the third tortilla inches from her mouth.  “I’ll get there early tomorrow.  It’s only a two-hour skate from there.”

“Taking your skates?” Cheyne still found it amusing that Anne refused to use the faster, more modern zippers; little portable slats with a solar-powered engine that took up almost as much cargo room as an old-fashioned clipboard.  Anne preferred skates, tiny pads that strapped to the bottom of her shoes and turned her into an eight-wheeled, human-powered vehicle.  She could get a good twenty-five miles an hour because she was very good with them, but the zipper’s average was forty and the onboard computer piloted it, so there was almost no risk of accident. 

Anne swallowed her mouthful of food with a smirk on her face.  “Of course.  What else?”

“You could half your time by taking a zipper; I’m sure Jean would loan you hers.”

“Cheyne,” Anne’s playful glare let even a stranger know this was an oft-teased point.  “There are very few technological advances I would use of my own preference.  I will not stand on a thin piece of plastic that hovers three inches from the ground and doesn’t allow me to steer, I don’t care how safe it is supposed to be.”

Cheyne chuckled at her.  “I know, just teasing,” he smirked, “and they do allow you to steer, you just have to know how to work them.”

Anne returned the smirk, “not new-fangled craziness for me, thank you.”

Cheyne smiled.  Anne’s passion for old and sometimes archaic crafts and tools was one of the many things that attracted him to her.  Only Anne’s Grandmother shared her passion for the archaic crafts; even Jeannie, Anne’s only long-time friend, didn’t see the point in learning to do things that machines did with more efficiency and less sweat.  Cheyne loved Anne’s only near-by relative, Mary Anne Patterson, her paternal grandmother.  Mary was sweet, independent, and angelic; besides being Anne’s primary mentor and the person responsible for Anne’s moral and religious training.  When Anne’s parents had tragically died, Anne’s only other relatives, her Aunt Francis and Uncle Richard had adopted her, but at that time they were living with Mary because their home had been destroyed in an apartment fire.  Being young newlyweds, they easily agreed to leave Anne with Mary when they moved back to the agricultural sector of the city after their housing request was granted.  Mary had also shouted, “Hallelujah!” when Cheyne had answered, “of course,” to Mary’s “does your heart serve God?”  Maybe Mary’s approval of him as Anne’s fiancé had more to do with him enjoying her company.  She was also a very interesting person to have deep discussions with.  

Cheyne shook his head and brought his mind out of his wandering thoughts.   Rick and Fran hadn’t been around in awhile.  They used to visit at least once a year. 

“How’s Rick and Fran?” Cheyne broached, “and their, what, little boy?”

Anne snickered, “Michael.  He’s four or five now, I think.  I had a tweet from them a few weeks back; they are busy, and work is hard.”  Anne paused to finish her last bite.  “But Gramma says Rick’s just trying to keep a low profile.  He’s been doing some underhanded stuff to help believers lately, and he doesn’t want it to hurt Gramma or me.”

“Really?” Cheyne pondered, “wonder what a refuse clerk can do?”

Anne shrugged, “I try not to think about it too much.  I don’t want to say something accidentally that could hurt them.”

“Gotcha.”

“Don’t you have a class in, like three minutes?” Anne said after a moment of silence and a glance at her watch.

“No,” Cheyne chuckled, “Eddie has a class.”  He sighed.  “But,” he popped the last bite of fajita in his mouth, “he probably is too busy annoying Jean to give a lecture,” he cleared the table’s contents into a neat pile on the tray, stood, and bowed slightly, “good day to you, Miss Patterson.”

Chapter Four: Boiling Blot

The Wall Research Facility

Kaylie took a deep breath and carefully made her way down the long corridors.  Her stone serious face would only betray that she was confident in her mission; in actuality, Kaylie was shaken to the deepest nerve in her body.  She had seen things that weren’t supposed to be.  Her understanding in so called recent history, as the school she had attended called the time since the Great War and the building of the Wall to now, had been completely shaken when she entered the dark abyss that was called simply, The Facility.  The anonymity should have alerted her to its sinister background, but at the time, Kaylie had been overjoyed at being included on a research team with her long-time mentor.  As she walked with steady steps toward the facility commander’s office, she went through a catalogue of the truths she had always believed yet now knew as government-backed lies to keep the public from panic.  Three at the end of her mental list burned like embers as she left familiar territory:

The lands beyond the Wall were decimated by the Great War.  There were no people beyond the Wall.  The Wall kept them safe.  

She had never been down to Commander Atil’s office.  She hadn’t been out of the researcher’s block.  This end, the military block, was far more Spartan and she had once considered the researcher block icy.

The corridor seemed to snake for miles.  There were periodically doors with simple text names staring out at passersby with some military rank title.  Finally, she spied the door with “General Ernest Atil” in white text on the black placard.  Kaylie knocked at the door to hear a muffled, “enter!” shout.

The room was dark and gloomy; filled with the ashy starless night despite the thick glass protecting the occupants from the harsh elements.  A stream of light highlighted the tall man’s dour silhouette. 

“Shut the damn door,” growled the silhouette.

“Yes sir.”  The intruder, probably one of the researcher’s aides, said as she closed the door, shutting off the corridor from which the light had originated.

“The news isn’t good, is it?” snarled the tall man.  He puffed on a long white pipe.  Greenish-white smoke curled around his head, illuminated only by the dim viewer screen in the desk that was almost dark.  The aroma wasn’t offending as most smoke aromas were; at least to most people.  He thought of how appropriate his curse had been.  The door was damned to get swallowed by the ocean along with this entire edge of the city.

“Sir?”

“If it was good news, Reems would be in here himself; excited about proving his theory correct.”  Said the tall man, his scoffing told her clearly where his suspicions lay.  Doctor Ernest Atil didn’t mask his opinions; but then he was wealthy and powerful enough not to have to placate anyone.  He played by his own usually strange and eccentric rules.  He was not only a research doctor, but a military General; though in truth he preferred being a researcher.  The title of General suited him something, like when he wanted to act big and scary and shove his desires down someone’s throat without fear of retribution – like here, at this research station.  He was ranked above everyone and chose what information to send and what to censor.  The reigning brass in the government didn’t have to know the results of his studies if he didn’t wish them to know.

“The calculations were proved correct,” she informed.  Although that discovery had sent most of the lab crazy with fear, this researcher’s aide remained stoic in front of Atil. 

“So,” Atil looked out at the darkness beyond his window, “if the theory is true, even our perfect, old method perimeter wall won’t keep the destruction out.  Our world will be underwater and frozen within – what time frame was it?  About five years?”

The girl nodded, but then remembered protocol and the darkness surrounding them, “yes sir, a little over five years.”

Atil started to laugh.   It was a sarcastic, pathetic thing; this laugh that chilled the marrow of Kaylie’s bones.  She felt she was closing the door to the devil as she exited and retraced her steps through the long corridors towards Dr. Reems’ lab. 

It was Reems’ predecessor’s stubborn fascination with a stupid temperature reading near the ocean floor that had started this entire facility.  This horrid, terrible, savage blot on the edge of the city. Atil slammed his balled fists on a wall near the window and a panel slid away to allow him access to a balcony.  He glared out and down at the disturbing proof of Grantford’s theory’s accuracy and the confounded truth he and all of his fellow high-ranking city officials had long laughed at.  The despicably soft, unsettling yet strangely soothing sounds coming from below – where they never should be.  How long could the Wall hold them back?  Just how long would the lie last?  Atil threw his head back and cursed the sky.  His deranged laugh returned in uneven titters as the gentle rain came to rest on his face.   Soothing waves echoed darkly as they crashed against rock.

Kaylie looked around her, fearful that someone would be watching.  She knew there were cameras and audio devices almost everywhere.  The outer balcony was the only place the techs would go to talk, so most of the crew members would go out to the balcony to chit chat, but still they never really spoke openly.  No one talked opinions or theories that weren’t openly discussed in the lab; even though these same theories were widely whispered in any university setting, they were deeply frowned on here.  Any researcher who dared to whisper the hated theories disappeared – dismissed from this very prestigious research facility.  It was a military operation, after all.  Instinctively, the remaining researchers and assistants well understood that the disappearance was not just from the lab, but from the face of the world as well.  Kaylie knew that ingrained fear was true, otherwise why would they be required to have no contact with the outside world? But Kaylie was very close to her family.

Family. Kaylie mentally sighed as the balcony door slid shut behind her.  How many of us actually have any ties at all?  I am a liability; I have a loving family.

Kaylie fingered the tweeter in her pocket. I have to let them know.  I can’t just let them be swallowed up with everyone else. Kaylie and her younger brother, Jason, had discussed the possibility of emigration to the Uncivilized Lands as a call for believers to set up a “new people” beyond the wall and away from the impending destruction.  Her brother believed in one of the wildest theories that was circulating in hushed places; the one that Reems’ team had just proven correct.  Only the circulating timeline of multiple decades was shortened more than tenfold.  Years… only five years.

Kaylie McCarthy pulled the forbidden tweeter from her pocket and drew a sharp quick breath.  I have to tell them.

Chapter Five: Troubling Theory

The University

Cheyne eyed the screen in front of him and pulled the map codes around with his fingers, trying different positions to help his brain turn on.  He couldn’t get his mind to turn onto his project this morning.  He knew he was so close to an accurate reconstruction of the map – they had discovered that each different element had to have its own distinct base map.  Cheyne was sure the maps could be preprogrammed with connection keys since most molecules were always formed the same way; it was the mapping of each individual element and isotope that was becoming boring to him.  Once that had been achieved, they would only have to conquer distance, which theoretically should not even be a variable.  Cheyne knew distance would be a variable, because of all the obstacles the energy particles would have to bypass to be rebuilt at the other side.  He kept thinking of Anne. She had stayed with Gramma and the months had run together as a blur without Anne’s beautiful distraction.  Her last tweet had been rather solemn.  Gramma was much sicker than before.  Anne said the doctor had stopped coming, claiming that it was inefficient to treat anyone who was not going to recover.  Gramma didn’t seem to mind it, but she was getting rather lonely now.  Anne’s being there was helping a bit, but the few people she had shared visits with were either dead or no longer going to “waste time” seeing an old lady who was officially dying.  Cheyne hated the way his people treated the infirm – as soon as the doctor claimed they were not going to recover, most people treated them as if they were already dead.  Some even went to the trouble of telling the person they were greedily consuming resources needed for others.  They did the same to the unwanted; as he had once been. 

“Cheyne,” Doctor Varin roused him from his thoughts, “you better take lunch before Swanson gets back or he’ll send you in for him again.”

“Thanks,” he saved his screen. 

“Nice.  What’s that?” Varin pointed at a blue glob on the screen.

“A mosquito; he volunteered by trying to take a bite out of me.”

“He?  If it was eating you, it’s a female.” She paused.  Cheyne stood from the seat.  

“And I’m not telling you for you, I hate Swanson breathing over my neck like a vulture.  If you aren’t around, what’s he going to do?  Order me to take his class?”  She snorted, “hurry.”

Cheyne smiled but didn’t reply.  He worked with Jean Varin enough to know she enjoyed working with him.  She had even commented many times that he should be a partner instead of an intern, which always got nasty looks from Swanson and Quince and chuckles from the others.  Cheyne quickly vacated the lab.

It was a bright, beautiful day; a clear diamond sky with wispy white clouds floating amiably across and a scent of fresh newness and rosy perfume from the blossoming greenery lifted Cheyne’s mood as he walked to the cafeteria.  After selecting his food and getting a soda, he decided to enjoy the serenity of the outdoors and headed for his favorite bench.  Far secluded from the hustle and bustle of the campus, there was a small fish pool and fountain with a surrounding thicket of rose bushes under the shade of what had been dubbed the ‘grandfather oak’ and a three-person iron bench.  Cheyne usually came to this oasis when he was overwhelmed by the noise of the campus or by a stressful event; it also made a wonderful date spot. 

Today as Cheyne reached the spot and passed the narrow entryway cut into the circle of rosebushes, someone was already occupying the bench. 

“Rick?” Cheyne asked in disbelief.  Richard Atkins was slumped in the bench, dropping cracker crumbs in the pond for the fish.  He looked worn.  It had nearly been three years since Cheyne had last seen him but he appeared to have aged by at least a decade. 

“He told me you’d come today,” the tired voice responded with a worn sigh.  Richard leaned back against the backrest and ate the next cracker. 

Cheyne didn’t have a response.  “Would you like some onion rings or a chicken sandwich?”  He offered, he did have three sandwiches and a pile of onion rings and fried squash in the bag. 

Richard smiled lightly.

“Anne and I were talking about you recently; haven’t seen you in a while.”  Cheyne dug through his memory for the name of Rick and Fran’s baby.  “How is Michael?”

“He’s growing fast, he’s almost five now.  Frannie’s just had twins, both girls.”  The slight smile that lighted on his face made him resemble the Rick Cheyne knew. 

“Really?  Nice!  She did want a girl,” Cheyne tried to forget the odd weariness and forced himself to remember this was Anne’s uncle and his friend.  Cheyne sat down and opened the bag.  He handed a wrapped half-sandwich to Rick and took one himself.

“I need your help,” Rick’s voice softened.

“Anything,”

“Don’t agree until you’ve heard what I have to tell you; this is really dangerous to both you and Annie.”  

Suddenly the birds seemed to silence, the light wispy clouds darken and rumble, the clear blue sky sobered, and the serenity of the oasis turn into formidability.  Cheyne felt he had to not only listen but help, and he knew if Rick said it was really dangerous, it was no exaggeration.  Cheyne bit into his sandwich and gave his complete attention to Rick.

“How close are you to finishing?”  Rick asked, then bit into the sandwich. 

“Finishing?  The teleporter?” Cheyne regarded him with surprise, “years, maybe.  We’ve only just gotten the maps to transfer, parts of particles, but no real material yet.”

“You’ve been asked to teleport living things, haven’t you?”

“Bugs, mosquitoes, they are just guinea pigs, that’s all.”

“To what end?”

“Rick,” Cheyne sighed, he’d been over this argument with Anne, Gramma, and even with Rick himself before.  “Doctor Hagman is trying to teleport packages, letters, items – a mail system.  A fuelless transport system.  It has nothing to do with humans; we couldn’t possibly map a complete human.”

“You say that why?” Rick prodded, “because you believe in a soul, right?  What if you don’t believe in a soul?  What if you think that man is just a more biologically complicated mosquito?  Then teleporting a man is just as theoretically achievable as teleporting a mosquito, right?”

“Rick…”

“I am right, Cheyne, and you know it.  You just don’t want to believe it.”

Cheyne didn’t respond.  It had occurred to him that he was already working on the prelude to human teleportation.  He hadn’t even noticed when he had made the transition.

“When would you stop?  Mice? Dogs? A criminal?  Annie?”

“Rick!” Although Rick had been speaking in whispers, his emotionally charged tone was enough of an accusation to make Cheyne jump to defensive.  Cheyne took a breath and continued in a softer voice, “I’m not mapping a mouse or a dog.  I was mapping mosquitoes because I was bored and caught one.  It wasn’t planned.”

“Cheyne,” the long sigh was tired again.  “Do you really think they don’t want to teleport humans?”

“I don’t think Doctor Hagman is going to teleport humans.”

“Do you know they are funded by a private grant from a young businessman who has promised to give the world a transportation revolution within the next five years?”

“Rick, even transporting boxes is years away.  Realistically, there’s no way they could safely teleport humans without decades more research and development.  It’s a rumor.”

“Rumor or not, you will come to a head where you’ll have to choose to either go ahead and continue in your highly austere project with your world famous scientist or you will choose to be turned into an outcast and tossed away like refuse because of your belief that life is sacred.  Do you know what I’m doing now?  I’m helping people get outside of the city.  The city is going to be destroyed.  Don’t you feel it?”

“Feel it?” Cheyne parroted suspiciously.

“Listen.  You’ll feel it.  A lot of us have.” Rick hung his head and watched the fish in the pond. “We are beginning to leave in droves.  Passes beyond the perimeter wall used to be given without any care, the clerks laughed at people requesting them and told them they were walking into their own doom.  Now they are being refused or restricted.  I’ve been able to sneak some people out, but they are going to find out sooner or later.  Fran has been helping by doctoring medical records for the passes; you know anyone who requests a pass yet is in perfect health is denied?  We have to get to the center stone to avoid being destroyed.”

Cheyne blinked and realized his mouth was open with no words coming out.  “Beyond the perimeter? Into the Uncivilized Lands? That’s suicide!  What is this Center Stone?”

“This world is tipping the scale, soon there will be another shift and everything we know will no longer exist,” Rick sighed as one with no hope. 

“Whoa,” Cheyne almost laughed, “back up.  What’s brought all this on?” 

“A dream.  Things that are starting to happen around me.  They’re watching us now.  I’ve been told that if any other escapes are discovered during my watch I will lose my job and be arrested.”  Rick looked up at Cheyne, “you were here today, weren’t you?  Have you been here recently?  Since Annie left?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“I was told to meet you here today.  He knew you would be here.  I only just got here when you showed up.”

After a moment of silence, Cheyne decided that Rick’s state of mind didn’t really matter.  Some so called smart students at the University agreed with these crazy theories; there were always crazy theories to find if you wanted them.  Cheyne redirected the question back to Rick’s original request: “You said you wanted my help.  What aid do you need?”

Rick licked his lips, “I want to follow the others to the Uncivilized Lands.  I already applied for you and received a family pass for you.  You can’t come back in once you use it.  We hide our refuse there, they don’t want anyone to report what goes on out there, but it’s the only safe place when the shift happens.  I am waiting for our application to be approved but I have a gut feeling that it won’t be; they see our meddling and want to stop it.”

Rick’s pause was too short for Cheyne to interject, but it gave time for Rick to gather his purpose.  “I have to ask that if anything happens to Fran and I, you will take Michael and the girls as yours.”

“Rick,” Cheyne sighed, “nothing is going to happen to you.”  It didn’t make sense for the government to refuse an exit visa for meddlers, it made most sense for them to throw them out of the city.  Cheyne wasn’t sure how true that was.  His own curiosity piqued, Cheyne knew he would be researching the truth of the claims he had just heard. 

“Cheyne.  This is my reason here.  I need to ask you that and give you this.  If they find out what Fran and I are doing, they will arrest and kill us.  Arresting just means they will prolong our eventual death; since when do the arrested return?  The words came slowly and purposefully.  Cheyne knew this was something he really hated having to say.  Rick took a deep breath and looked back at the fishpond, “I want my children to live.”  He looked at Cheyne directly, “I can sacrifice myself, I can agree to Fran being willing to sacrifice herself, but we’ve been told to give you custody of them in the event something is about to happen to us.”

“Rick…  I…”

“Cheyne.  You are the only brother I have.  If my children need a place to go, won’t you take them?” 

“Of course.  But nothing’s…”

“Then keep this with you, please.  You may choose to use it later.  If not, then it is just my following His direction, and providing for my children.”  Rick held out a small flexible plastic card in his hand.  It had Cheyne’s name, information, and a rather current image of Cheyne on the front of it. Cheyne knew if he had children, he would want to make sure there was someone able to care for them in the event anything happened to him. He would not allow any child to go to the workhouse if he could prevent it. He hadn’t seen Michael since he was a toddler. That didn’t matter. Cheyne realized that whatever Rick had found, there was only Gramma, he, and Anne who were also believers – at least that Cheyne knew of in connection with Rick. Cheyne would want his children protected, so he could totally understand Rick’s request and wouldn’t scoff at it. Even if his logical brain was demeaning the research.

“Sure.” Cheyne shook off the strange feeling and tried to put himself in Rick’s shoes.  Rick was just trying to protect and provide for his children and Cheyne knew he would do anything in an attempt to care for his children, when he had them.  “I’ll hold on to it.  If that is your request, of course I’d take care of your children for you.  Now you promise me you’ll be cautious in your assisting others; don’t purposefully draw attention to yourself.  I’m not ready for children just yet.”  Cheyne chuckled, trying to lighten the mood a bit.  

Rick smiled a sad, tired, smile and nodded as he began to finish the remainder of the half-sandwich he’d bitten from earlier. 

“What did you mean by tipping the scale and another shift?” Cheyne asked after a few moments of silence. Cheyne had heard those phrases somewhere before; it was bugging his mind that he couldn’t place their origin.  He remembered a monotonous tone and wondered if it had been in one of the educational audio books he’d listened to over the years. 

“There are a few scientists who believe that our world has shifted many times in the past and will again; a polar imbalance, they say.  It makes sense if you dig into it a little.  Of course, this is laughed at, but seriously, do you know the geology of our world?  The landmasses floating on a sea of molten lava?  They are closing together again and the theory is that when they reach a critical point, the core will shift as is has in the past and the climates of the world will drastically change.  It makes sense if you understand the geology of the world.  They have proof of several magnetic pole shifts too.  Supposedly, entire species have been wiped off the planet in previous shifts.  I’ve been listening to some lectures on the subject and they really make sense.”

“You know, that is laughed at in academia.”

Rick sighed, “yes, I know.  I mentioned that didn’t I?.”

“And you said it makes sense three times, as if you are convincing yourself.” Cheyne noted, careful to keep his tone friendly instead of sarcastic.  The end of the world spouting was common, people in every generation had a new theory to how the world was ending in their lifetime, everything from freezing over to global overheating to trace gas poisoning – none of them had been proven to be true, obviously, since the world was still in existence.

Rick finished his sandwich, “I’m not asking you to believe it.  If it is real and your faith is real you will feel it soon; you’ll feel the urgency just as Fran and I have.  Until then, just watch where your project is going, please?  I really have a bad feeling about that.  I feel like something’s going to happen to you.  Fran and I pray for you.”

“Thanks,” Cheyne smiled a bit sheepishly, “everyone can use more prayers.  Yes, I’ll watch out.  Nothing is going to happen, Rick.”

“Thanks for lunch, I have to get back home.”  Rick stood.

“Anytime.”  Cheyne extended his hand in friendship.

Rick clasped Cheyne’s hand and smiled, “in peace, God protect you.”

The trepidation that had filled Cheyne’s heart earlier drove a solid spike into his heart now – he knew he wouldn’t see Rick again.  Cheyne shook that dark feeling into the background and mentally chided himself, actually believing what you haven’t yet researched for yourself?

To continue with Chapter 6, click below! *coming soon!*