Chapters Twenty-two and Twenty-three

From the Personal Journal of Kai-Lee Fox Delta

So Rune Gaspar is one of us.  Another bolt from the blue!  Of course, the fact that he has more or less taken command comes as no surprise at all—“Take Charge” could be his middle name.  He asked us to give him forty-eight hours, and we agreed.  During that time, our job is to lay low, his is to get moving.  Our self-appointed troubleshooter’s short to-do list includes making sure his agents don’t have any of us “in their cross hairs,” as he so colorfully put it, and scrubbing hard evidence against Ke-Ling—messages, research notes, etcetera—from the computer files.

Eran wasn’t so sure about that last part.  “Won’t the sudden disappearance of his files arouse suspicion?”

Rune’s answering expression read get real.  “I didn’t say I was going to delete them, I said I would sanitize the system.  The files will be there—they’ll be useless, but they’ll be there.  File corruption is an art, you know—hidden folders, a single byte changed or deleted, damage done but practically untraceable.  The entire sector will freeze up, taking care of Yan, Lawler, the rest of the lab staff, and any file linked to theirs.  One loses, everybody loses.”  He glanced at Ke-Ling.  “Do you have a problem with that, Doc?”

Ke-Ling shrugged.  “I have no further need of my files.”

Rune’s eyes narrowed.  He probably expected Ke-Ling to voice a reservation or two at the very least.  “Glad to hear it.”  The agent’s gaze shifted back to Eran.  “Knowing where to toss the monkey wrench is key.  I guess you’ll have to take it on trust that I’m intimately acquainted with all the best hiding places.”

“Fair enough,” Eran decided.  “What happens once the corrupted files are discovered?”

“The geeks get a life for a couple of days, a chance show off while they trot out every diagnostic in the book.  They’ll come up empty, of course.  When all’s said and done, it’ll look like what it is:  a localized drive failure.” Lu said something about how it was too bad Rune couldn’t take a byte out of Enid, Abila, and the Gen-Lab staff, too.   “Oh I think that could be arranged,” he assured her with an appreciative chuckle.  “It might take a while to put them off permanently, but I can buy us some time to come up with a plan.”

“How?”

“Simple.  I’m going to tell them to back off and keep their mouths shut—and that gag order will include discussions amongst themselves, by the way—until I wind up the top-secret investigation already underway.”

“Is there a top secret investigation,” Jordi asked.

“Not anymore.  But they don’t know that.”

Ke-Ling tilted his head.  “What makes you think they will obey this … this gag order?”

“Well, Doc, it’s like this.  Collusion, loose lips, and interference by amateurs could seriously foul up the airtight case I’m building.  In that case nobody, will be happy.”  Rune grinned dangerously.  “Especially me.”

Call me a mouse, but in my humble opinion, the prospect of making Rune Gaspar cranky should be unnerving enough to muzzle anybody.

He certainly wasn’t cranky last night.  On the contrary, if that shark-like grin and the energized gleam in his eye were anything to go by, he had never been happier.  Rune obviously thrives on intrigue.  He’s good at it, too.  All I can say it, it’s a darned good thing he’s on our side, because no secret is safe when he’s around.  Any lingering delusions I might have had on that score died a quick death when he pulled me aside as the others were saying their good-byes.

“About that journal you’ve been keeping,” he began baldly.

So much for my ebbing adrenaline level.  My fight-or-flight hormones spiked for the third time that day.  My knee-jerk response was instantaneous.  “What jour—”

He held up a hand.  “Please tell me you’re not about to ask, ‘What journal?’”

“Well, I ….” couldn’t tell him that.  “You actually read my journal?” I squeaked instead.

“Not the whole—”

“Wait a minute!” I whispered frantically, grabbing the lapel of his jacket to drag him farther away from the others.  “How did you know I had a journal in the first place?  I haven’t mentioned it to anyone!”

“Yeah, but I’m a trained investi—”

I shook my fistful of black fabric.  “Wait a minute!  How did you even open the file?  It’s password protected!”  His gaze dropped, as did mine.  Now we were both staring at the hand mangling his lapel.  “Sorry,” I mumbled and let go, brushing at the bunched-up cloth as I tried to wrap my head around the fact that I had practically assaulted the scariest man I had ever met.

Chin down, he stared at me, one black eyebrow arched.  “Are you through?”  I nodded.  “Good.”  He straightened his jacket, tugged on his cuffs.  “Now, about your journal.  I think you know how I ran across it—I was combing your files.  I poked into all your files,” he added, with a nod toward the others, “as soon as I picked up on the associations with Ke-Ling.”

Be tactful, Kai. “Is the fact that you … uh … combed their stuff, too, supposed to make me feel better?”

His lips twitched.  “Guess not.  Listen, if it’s any consolation, your journal was the only item that caught me by surprise.  Can’t remember the last time that happened, but then I never came across a diary before; it’s a novel idea.  Dangerous as hell, but novel.  As for the password ….”  He snorted.  “Lady, a bright-green rookie could have cracked that journal in two minutes.  Less.  Count yourself lucky my agents haven’t zeroed in on you yet.”

His agents.  Terrific.  As if I hadn’t collected enough worries in the last eight hours.  “Can’t you call them off?”

“Working on it, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.  Right,” I sighed.  “Well, what do you suggest I do?  About the journal, I mean.”  Black suspicion blossomed.  “You’re not planning to mess with my bytes, are you?”

He didn’t laugh out loud, but I could see he wanted to.  “Relax, your bytes are safe with me.  I’m not going to louse up your journal.  It’s important to you, right?”

“Very.”

He nodded.  “I was going to suggest we encrypt it.”

Then he veered off on a technical tangent, babbling on and on about bits and keys and algorithms and who-knows-what-all.  I nodded and replied as intelligently as I could. “Hmm, you don’t say?” I said; and, “That sounds very secure.”  I said some other stuff, too, but I’ve got to be honest with you:  Every word after it sounded like gobbledygook to me.  I just didn’t want Rune to know that, because … well, you know how men are.  He would have tried to explain, and we would still be standing there.  I’m sure my way was best.  Rune didn’t get frustrated, I avoided an even more detailed lecture, and this journal will be encrypted by morning.  Best of all, I’ll be the only one holding the key.  Not that being keyless would stop Super Spook, but he’s promised not to peek and oddly enough, I trust him.  If he’s not careful, I’m going to forget to be intimidated by him.  I might even start liking him.  One more surprise in a day riddled with them.

Spare me from another twenty-four hours like the last twenty-four!  By the time we left Ke-Ling’s, my adrenaline yo-yo had bottomed out one more time.  My synapses were fried, and it showed.

Eran insisted on walking me to my quarters.  “No arguments, Red.  You’re out on your feet.”  So why, when we got to my place, did he follow me in and nudge me toward the divan?  “Let’s talk for a bit.”

I groaned.  “Now?  I’m out on my feet, remember?  You said so.”

“Just for a bit, darling, I promise.  Please.  It’s important.”

“What isn’t lately?” I sighed.  But I obediently plopped down.

Eran sat next to me, picked up my right hand, and began toying with my fingers.  “I’m worried about Ke-Ling,” he finally admitted.  “There’s something he’s not telling us.”

“Rune will find out what it is,” I assured him darkly, remembering my journal.  “Just give him a minute.”

“I’m serious, Kai.  We know Ke-Ling has a damage-control plan in place, but thanks to Gaspar’s surprise entrance, we’re in the dark as to details.  Dramatic impact notwithstanding, Rune’s timing couldn’t have been worse.  I’m afraid Ke-Ling may do something rash.”

“What makes you think he’ll do anything at all, now?  Rune’s got everything under control.  Or will have, within the next forty-eight hours.”

Eran shook his head.  “I’m not sure Ke-Ling absorbed all the details, even less sure he has signed off on Rune’s plan.  Aside from asking or answering the occasional question, he seemed—”

“—distracted?”

“I was going to say more like an onlooker than a participant—calm but unreachable, lips curved in an enigmatic smile that wasn’t a real smile at all.”  He dropped my hand to rake his through his hair.  “Bloody hell!  I know this sounds idiotic, but—”

“No,” I interjected, more alert in spite of myself.  “No, it doesn’t.  Especially the part about the smile.  I thought it was my imagination.”

“I keep hoping he’ll come ’round, show some spirit.”

“Oh, you mean react to the intervention?  He did seem kind of unruffled, considering Enid and Abila want to strap him to a table and fry the truth out of him.”

Eran shook his head.  “I’m not talking about the intervention.  With Rune’s know-how and a bit of prudence, we can probably avoid any near-term ‘frying,’ as you put it.  But you’re right:  Ke-Ling’s reaction to our news was telling in a way.”  He paused.  “I got the distinct impression he had finally found an escape hatch.”

I blinked.  “You lost me.  What does he need to escape from besides Alpha Genesis?”

“The truth.”

“Ke-Ling already knows the truth,” I reminded him.

“Yes, but can he live with it?”  Eran paused again, apparently to gather his thoughts.  “The rest of us—you, me, Lexi, Lu, Jordi, Rune, even Zivon—”

I almost fell off the sofa.  “Hold it!  Back up!  Did you say, ‘Zivon?’  Eran, what in Hades are you talking about?  Zivon isn’t one of us!”  I paused, my heart tripping.  “Is he?”

“That was our news.”  Then, noting my blank expression, “Jordi’s and mine.  The library?  We could hardly wait to tell, but you ladies got in the first word, and your report temporarily knocked ours out of the headlines.”

“Zivon, one of us,” I marveled.  “When did that happen?  How?”

“About a week ago, I gather.  He came to it by way of Kant’s categorical imperative.”

“You and Jordi were reading Kant when we found you,” I remembered.

“Trying, but making slow headway, I’m afraid.  Kant isn’t for the faint of heart.”

“So what’s the categorical imperative?”

“According to Zivon, Kant said each individual should act ‘only according to that maxim whereby you can at the same time will that it should become a universal law.’”

“Okay.”

“Bear it in mind, because that was the trigger … or one of them.  The story unfolded this morning in Ziv’s quarters over a breakfast of coffee, bagels, and Jordi’s peaches.  Believe it or not, that simple fare provoked a seriocomic discussion between my companions, and … well, you know how Zivon gets at the first sign of debate, no matter how inane the subject.”

“Carried away?”

“Right.  So, I found myself seated between two grown men passionately arguing the pros and cons of eating only fresh produce, as opposed to the manufactured stuff.  Jordi claimed smart people only eat the real thing and in reply Zivon tossed out, ‘What if everybody insisted on the real thing?  There wouldn’t be enough to go around.’
“I thought that a rather neat argument and told him so.

“‘Extrapolated from the CI,’ he beamed.

“’CI?’ asked Jordi.

“’Categorical imperative.  Immanuel Kant?  You should look it up.  It’s an incredibly vast, circuitous logical matrix, somewhat flawed, but beautiful and important nonetheless.’

“Zivon went on to explain how Kant reworked and refined his imperative several times over.  The fragment I quoted you was the first formulation, better known as the First Maxim.  Just out of curiosity, I asked how different that formulation was from, say, the Second Maxim.  Imagine my surprise when the question stopped Zivon in his tracks.  He froze, staring across the table, lips parted in obvious dismay, one hand gripping his coffee cup.  I was about to ask what was the matter, when his shoulders sagged and he leaned back in his chair.

“He smiled uncertainly.  ‘Funny you should ask that.  I’ve been wrestling with Kant’s Second Maxim for weeks.’”

Eran’s lips curved.  “You see, darling, as fate and philosophy would have it, Immanuel Kant’s Second Maxim runs like this: ‘Act in such a way that you treat humanity, whether in your own person or in the person of any other, always and at the same time as an end and never merely as a means to an end.’”

I smiled knowingly.  “Uh-oh.”

He nodded.  “It wasn’t hard to see where Zivon might be heading.  Naturally, Jordi and I were eager to have our hopes confirmed, but we agreed with a glance to tread softly, opting for caution in case we were wrong.  So, we set to work, probing delicately but persistently, doing our laid-back best to let him know by expression and tone that he could safely open up.  He didn’t keep us guessing long.  You remember how it was when you arrived at that new understanding.”

“I remember.  It was almost too explosive to contain.  I was afraid to tell anyone, and I couldn’t wait to tell everyone—all at the same time.”

“Exactly.  Ziv’s story emerged in fits and starts at first, but the more we encouraged him, the more he gathered steam.  Apparently his defining moment came when he asked himself if the Second Maxim might relate to a number of behaviors society takes for granted.”

“Society being the Quingenti?”

“Who else?  First, Zivon asked himself what would happen if people everywhere did as we do.”

“Cloned themselves.”

“Yes.  Then he wondered if cloning might not, in a very real sense, be an example of treating humanity as a means to an end?  He was forced to conclude it was.  No matter how he framed his questions, he found all the answers he could reasonably come up with intolerable.  And, as you and I and several others well know, once you start down that particular road, one conclusion leads inexorably to another, and before you know it ….”

“You’re one of us.  What did Zivon say, when you told him he wasn’t alone?”

“As you might expect, he was delighted, enchanted with the idea of a kompania, as he put it, ‘a band of originals seizing each one-of-its-kind day and living it to the fullest.’”

“If he said that,” I sighed happily, “he’s definitely one of us.”

“I agree.  Which brings us back to Ke-Ling.”

I scrambled to shift gears.  “What do you mean?  He’s one of us, too.  That’s how his problems started in the first place.”

“He knows and accepts the truth,” Eran agreed, “but he shares neither our excitement, nor our determination to claim life for our own.”

I frowned thoughtfully.  “He’s deep.  Maybe you just have trouble reading him.  I know I do.”

Eran shook his head.  “I don’t think that’s it.”

“Well, life hasn’t exactly been a party for him since he found out.”

“That’s nearer the point, I imagine.  You see, Red, the rest of us feel liberated, exhilarated despite—or perhaps partly because of—the unknowns and challenges ahead.  Not that we’re kidding ourselves:  the danger is excruciatingly real.  But even Alpha Genesis won’t deter us, because the future we’ve gained is worth any price we may have to pay.”

I nodded grimly.  “Yes, it is.”

“I don’t believe Ke-Ling views his situation in the same light.  Whereas we consider this a voyage of self-discovery and stand ready, even eager, to adapt accordingly, Ke-Ling seems stuck—unwilling or unable to conceive of himself as anything other than what he’s always been.”

“A geneticist?”  Eran nodded.  “But that’s his job, not who he is.”

“You and I see it that way, but what matters is how Ke-Ling looks at it.  To my admittedly untrained eye, his self-concept is rooted in his profession.  If I’m right, the truth hasn’t freed him at all.  On the contrary, it brands him a unwitting accomplice to a morally reprehensible scam, renders his life’s work moot, and leaves him with nothing.”

“And because he can’t or won’t visualize an entirely new life ….”

“He has no way out and, worse yet, no hope of regaining what he feels he’s lost.”

“Enid said a loss of that magnitude could be catastrophic,” I acknowledged unwillingly.  “But why throw in the towel so quickly?  There must be a hundred things he could do!  As a geneticist, I mean.  Isn’t it too soon to decide his professional life is over?  Surely he’s run into dead ends before.”

“None quite this monumental, I suspect.  None of us have.  It either changes you—”

“—or destroys you?  I used to think that, too.  But you were right when you said the only truth that can destroy us is the one we turn our backs on.”

“I also said we had to be willing to change in response to that truth.  Ke-Ling isn’t.  Or isn’t able.”

“Okay, but he’s only known for a few weeks.  Once the shock wears off, he might feel differently.”

“Unless ….”

As happened so often, our thoughts were in tune.  “Unless he’s already given up,” I whispered.  “Do you think he has?”

“I don’t know.  I hope not.”  Eran smiled tiredly.  “Still, I think we should make sure he’s not left alone for too long.”

“How?  Rune will read us the riot act, if he catches us circling the wagons around Ke-Ling.”

“We’ll think of something.”  He fell silent, forehead furrowed, eyes narrowed in thought.  Suddenly, his brow cleared and a slow grin started to dawn.

“What, you have an idea how we can sneak past Rune?”

He shook his head.  “Circling the wagons?”  His right arm snaked out to scoop me onto his lap.  “Have I told you lately,” he murmured, wrapping both arms around my waist as he nuzzled my ear, “that I love it when you talk archaic?”

“Um-um.”  More than ready for the change of subject, I tilted my head to give him better access.  “Not lately.”

“Well, I do.”  He nudged me into a long, sweet kiss, then tucked my head under his chin.  We sat like that for a while, quietly enjoying the warm closeness.  Finally, he spoke.  “Have you decided, Kai-Lee?”

He didn’t have to explain but, “I went first last time.  It’s your turn.”

His chest lifted in an exaggerated sigh.  “Have you no mercy, woman?”

“Not an ounce.”

“All right, then.  All right.”  He drew a quiet breath.  “I love you, Kai-Lee.”

If I had been on my feet, my knees would have buckled.  Tears sprang to my eyes.  How could I have known I had been waiting all my life to hear someone say exactly those words in exactly that way?  The fact that it was Eran ….  Have you ever lived a moment almost too perfect to endure?  I started to raise my head, but understood the gentle touch of his hand against my face was a silent plea to keep my face tucked under his chin.  So, I stayed put, closing my eyes as  tears trickled down my cheeks.

“So much has been taken from us, so little offered in its place,” he said.  “Promising immortality, the Colonial system stole decades from our lives.  That’s all over now, for us.  We can’t do anything about the years they’ve taken, but we can make the most of the years we have left.  In the most real sense imaginable, we’ve been reborn to life and to love.  I want to share them both with you.  I may not know the man I’ll become, but this much I do know:  Without you, he’ll be incomplete.”

I sobbed his name, “Eran,” as the silent tears flowed faster.

“Will you be mine, Kai?  Will you take me for your own?”

“Yes,” I said, raising my tear-streaked face at last.  “Yes.  I love you.  I love you so much!”  Then, we kissed.

Ω

Chapter Twenty-three

We gave Rune every minute of his forty-eight hours—not that I was counting, mind you—but the nanosecond those two days were up the group minus Rune and Ke-Ling flocked to Lu’s quarters.  What with lying low and all, nobody had been able tell Lu the good news about Zivon; she found out he was one of us when he showed up at her portal with Eran and me.  Jordi and Lexi arrived for the exchange of hugs, high-fives, and back slaps, after which everyone settled in for tea and conversation.

“Speaking of surprises,” said Lu, laying a hand on Zivon’s chocolate-brown sleeve, “you’ll never guess who paid me a visit yesterday.”

I shook my head as I gently blew into my steaming cup.  “Who?”

“Rune Gaspar.  I came home, and here he sat big as life,” she said, patting the red sofa, “dressed in black from head to toe.”  Her delicately arched brows drew together.  “Do you suppose he always wears black?  Maybe it’s a spy thing,” she mused, unconsciously smoothing the hem her own royal blue tunic.

Sprawled next to her on the sofa, one arm lying along the back, khaki-clad legs stretched in front of him and crossed at the ankles, Zivon grinned.  “Probably.  Were you as surprised to see him as you were to see me?”

“Well, yes and no.  I mean, you I didn’t expect at all.  As for Rune, he did say he could get into anybody’s quarters any time he wanted, but I never actually expected to find him in mine.”

“Did you tell him that?”  Lexi leaned forward with a rustle of her beige silk tunic to set her empty teacup on the black-lacquer tray.  She, Jordi, Eran, and I lounged on big, brightly striped pillows scattered across the floor in front of the coffee table.

“Not in so many words.  I did tell him I was going to start sleeping with one eye open.”

Eran chuckled.  “And what did he say to that?”

“Nothing.  He just grinned like a sly ol’ fox.  Honestly, that man has the strangest sense of humor.”

“You can say that again,” I muttered under my breath.  In a normal tone of voice I added, “So what did he want?”

“To touch base.  According to him, meeting with all of us at once is out of the question right now.  He’s got to keep his distance.  So does Ke-Ling.  Apparently, Rune’s investigation confirms what Ke-Ling told us:  Nobody thinks he’s particularly close to us.”

“Lucky us,” Eran drawled sarcastically, and we all understood.  None of us liked the idea of leaving Ke-Ling out on that limb by himself.

“Rune wants to keep it that way for now,” Lu finished with a sad, helpless shrug.

Zivon put his hand on her nape, massaging consolingly.  “Did Rune say anything else?”

Lu shot him a grateful glance as she nodded.  “He said we’re in the clear as far as his people are concerned.  Oh, he also wanted me to tell y’all ‘the monkey wrench is in the works.’  The weekly system backup is scheduled to run tonight.  When it does, all those files will go kablooey, and it’ll look for all the world like an accident.”  She shrugged daintily.  “Just one of those computer glitches.”

Jordi quirked an eyebrow.  “Well, there you have it.  Everything seems to be going according to plan.”

“About this plan,” Zivon began, uncrossing his legs to lean forward, elbows braced on his knees.  “Explain it to me again.  Why do we need a plan?  Why all the subterfuge?  I’m telling you, I don’t feel right about hiding the truth.  People are being exploited.  They’re victims of a cruel brainwashing campaign.  Aren’t we morally obligated to help them break free of the lie?”

Eran drew up one knee and draped his arm across it, his long white sleeve a sharp contrast to his black slacks.  “You’re assuming they want to break free.  The lie was implanted when we were helpless to resist, circumventing our freedom of choice before our first diaper change, and the Colony’s so-called educational system is nothing, if not fiendishly thorough.  Aye, and there’s the rub.  The system is so efficient, the Colonial machine has given birth to its own all-too-willing cogs for centuries.  Far from bemoaning the loss of our freedom to choose, we believed we had freely chosen.  You remember how it was, Ziv, before.  We as were devoted to the program, heart and soul, as anybody.”

Zivon disagreed with a vigorous shake of his head.  “Not devoted, deceived.  It was like … like we were under a spell or something.”

“You’re both right,” I mused, then glanced around at the others.  “But now we do know, now we’re free, and I think Zivon has a point.  It’s been bothering me, too, watching the others go about business as usual, content to be walking echoes of someone else’s life.  Dying without ever having lived.”  Kneading my breastbone with the heel of my hand, I murmured, “I feel it like an ache, here, and it gets worse every day.”

“The others seem perfectly happy with things the way they are,” Luana pointed out.

Liriene’s heartbreakingly impassioned face swam before me.  “Not all of them.  And the ones that are, are happy because they don’t know any better.”

“So what are we saying?  Happiness is the highest good?” Lexi poured herself another cup of Oolong.  “Happy is easy.  But isn’t happiness with no basis in truth an illusion?”

“Yes, but it’s an illusion people won’t give up without a fight,” Lu predicted.

“Alpha Genesis,” Jordi warned grimly.  “That’s the kind of weapon they’ll roll out in their fight to hang onto their illusion.”

“Alpha Genesis was two people’s reaction to one facet of the truth, delivered in particularly blunt fashion,” Eran countered.

“Ke-Ling isn’t the most diplomatic person I ever met,” Lu admitted slowly.

Lexi shrugged.  “So maybe we don’t decide to speak out or remain silent based on that one instance.  If cornered, of course people will fight to hold onto their illusion of contentment.  But if we hint or suggest rather than confront, they might feel less threatened and be more open minded.  Surely, any rational human being will eventually see the truth is the only way to attain genuine happiness.”

“Ke-Ling doesn’t seem very happy,” Eran replied.  “He knows the truth.”

Nobody had anything to say to that, but then what could we say?  He was right.

The sad, helpless frustration that had overtaken me during my conversation with Eran two nights ago welled up again, filling me with a sudden restlessness.  Chafed by our inability to help Ke-Ling and his inability to move on, I stood, slipped my fingertips into the back pockets of my loose-fitting, mustard-colored pants, and wandered around the room.  When I finally stopped, I was facing Creative Fire, Luana’s self-portrait.  The discussion resumed at the other end of the room, but I didn’t listen, focusing instead on the canvas with its sea of color.  The voices behind me faded to an indistinct murmur, as I felt myself drawn into the painting.  Here the colors blended, there they splintered and shifted.  Right before my eyes, the portrait came alive—pulsing, kinetic, constantly rearranging itself—a kaleidoscope barely contained by the canvas.

“This is what it’s like … or should be,” I decided aloud.  The voices behind me fell silent.  Turning to face the others, I waved my hand toward Lu’s creation.  “Life was meant to be like this painting:  big and bold, exploding with color, endlessly new.”  I heard the plea in my own voice, the appeal made to a sadly smiling man who wasn’t there to hear it.
Eran got up and crossed the room, laying one hand against my cheek as he tenderly gazed down at me.  “Ke-Ling can’t see it that way, Red.”

I leaned against him, his arms came around me.  “Everything is black and white to him.”

“Yes.”

“As it is to a good many of the others,” Lexi added.

“But we know the truth,” I complained quietly against Eran’s chest.  My tone both suggested our duty to tell the others and acknowledged their probable inability to hear.

“Yes, we know,” Eran murmured, gently rubbing my back.  “But stumbling across the truth was no picnic, darling.  Remember?  All right, Jordi and Lexi were merely surprised by it, but they’re hardy landsmen, practical to the core.  ‘If that’s how it is, fine.  Now, let’s get on with it.’  And Rune … well, Rune is Rune.  The rest of us,” he sighed, resting his chin atop my head, “wrestled with the truth and have the emotional bruises to prove it.”

“I thought I had gone crazy,” Luana remembered, “stark, staring crazy.”

Ziv sighed.  “I almost killed myself trying to rewrite Kant.”

“Kai and I had a rough go of it as well,” Eran admitted.

“Your point?” prompted Ziv.

“My point,” replied Eran, “is that we don’t know how many, if any, of the others are up to the epiphany.”

“And that’s just taking the individual level into account,” Lexi agreed. “What about the community as a whole?  I don’t relish quoting Enid Huw right now, but she said a confined population like the Colony is like a pressure cooker.  She claimed the introduction of … what did she call them?  ‘Radical ideas?’  Yes.  She claimed the introduction of radical ideas could prove explosive.”

“It’s hard to conceive of ideas more radical than ours,” Jordi confessed.

Lexi nodded.  “And as much as I hate to admit it, I can easily envision a situation in which the truth polarizes people and ignites a dangerous, painful upheaval.”

“So, where does that leave us?” Lu wondered.  “Do we tell or not?”

“Let’s wait until we’re asked,” I finally suggested, backing out of Eran’s embrace.  “People are going to notice something different about us.  When they mention it, we’ll feel our way along on a case-by-case basis.  But we’re bound to be asked.”

Eran turned to face our friends, swinging an arm around my shoulder.  He smiled crookedly.  “So speaks the voice of absolute certainty.”

“We will,” I insisted.  “Something’s going on here.  I don’t claim understand it, but I don’t think we’ve seen the end of it, either.  Somehow or other, the truth is managing to make itself known without our help.  I suggest we let it.”

“Truth can’t make itself known,” Luana protested.  “Can it?”

Her question had the others exchanging embarrassed, uncertain glances.  I could read the conflict in their eyes.   Reason demanded they scoff at the idea, but their own recent experiences wouldn’t quite let them.

“Apparently, it can,” Eran finally acknowledged on behalf of everyone else.

“Let’s wait and see,” I repeated, “take things one step at a time.  I’m betting we won’t have to force the issue.  Who knows?  In time, maybe everyone will wake up.  Until then, the questioners, or seekers, or whatever you want to call them, will find us.  They won’t want to feel alone and alienated anymore than we did.”

“And what do we do if and when they find us?” asked Zivon.

“The same thing we did for Rune,” I answered.  “The same thing we did for you.  We welcome them into the fold.”

Ω

© 2010, Kathy DiSanto, all rights reserved