Chapt 19

Alvin Baask had watched the President wake this morning. He ran a large black hand over his patchy, graying beard in anxiety. It was clear. There was no longer any options left. The President of the United States was clinically insane. He’d written up his official reports and sent them via B.I.R.D. earlier that morning before the sun even began to lighten the night sky.17 Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he wondered how long it would take to go through the hierarchy and what they’d do when they decided upon his removal. An animatron could easily replace him, but then public appearances would be out of the question. At least he wouldn’t have to appear for reelection. The vice president was squirreled off somewhere in a dirt mound island south of Appalachia and who knows his mental status. Alvin shuddered at the thought of monitoring another president with possibly worse symptoms. Massaging the bald spot in his short-cropped black hair, Alvin decided this was most definitely the last. He’d resign. He’d earned it. A vacation and a semi-permanent retirement were in order.
Just then there was a knock at his door. A most unlikely occurrence as his door was behind a bookshelf in the Presidential library and unknown to all of the members of Air Force One. A cold sweat spread evenly over his whole body. He was instantly soaked. Who could it be? He quickly switched his cameras and jumped as he saw the entire library full of armed men, service men. They’re slim, suited forms lithe and violent in their unassuming stances. Checking chargers and safeties. Loading weapons. He watched as they knocked again. He felt himself shrink in terror. He knew they knew he knew perfectly well. This is how it comes around, thought Alvin, with a gun. He pressed the release button on the door and lifted his arms up and closed his eyes in anticipation of a hail of bullets and a blinding of lasers.
Instead a cool, steady voice said, “Sir? Alvin Baask? You are the Presidential Psychiatrist, right?” The young man looked worried but held his gun casually like a prop.
Blinking in relief and finally breathing again, Alvin licked his lips, “Yes I am. I… I assume you got my reports via the NSC?”
“Of course, sir. We are all on a need to know basis and we were instructed to your whereabouts only recently, sir.” This time the young man saluted when he finished. Others close to him did the same. His little army. The President’s own personal guard no less. His paranoia would probably in the end be all proven right. How ironic.
Pointing a long black and pink finger at the young man with pale white skin, nearly translucent, and closely cropped orange hair, Alvin said, “What’s your name?”
“Lieutenant Colonel Johnson, sir. At your service.” He saluted again.
Alvin made no move to salute back. He thought the whole idea of saluting him ridiculous as he had no military experience or rank. He was a psychiatrist, and no more. He didn’t even think he could manage to fake one of those stiff handed salutes. Instead he said, “We must arrest the president, alive if possible, and detain him for medical treatment. I need to get on the phone to the NSC pronto and secure a replacement Presidential Council. I assume that you all are qualified to handle this on your own so I will stay out of the way and let you go to work.”
The men saluted as one and filed out of the library. Alvin felt dirty and soiled as he watched their freshly washed and smartly dressed forms leave the room. He needed a shower and a shave. He needed a drink and a full night’s rest. He would get none of these things. The fate of the United States government rested on his shoulders and he needed to make some very important phone calls.

Nicola Kerova stared out from the exposed office wall of the Portland Birthing Centers. They’d done it. The prophecies had been fulfilled. The old man had been right. Now she herself would lead the all the Northern Tribes when her father passed away. She had proved her valor this day and killed many men, resorting to hand to hand combat more often than not. Lasers and projectile weapons ungainly and inaccurate, she found her knives were faster than most men’s fingers. All except one who managed to singe her shoulder. A green biopack was suctioned to it now and she could feel the uncomfortable sensation of flesh knitting itself back together. Within the week it would be good as new. It was more than most could say. She’d lost nearly half her men and women. It was a great day for heroes. Without the turncoats, Makros provided, it would have failed. She met the man midafternoon and wondered at his stern, unrevealing nature. Quite a powerful sense of control in his face. It was shocking to know after all these years: John Makros, alive and well. His entire operation was a manifestation of his mother’s and now he’d freed himself and all his members only to discover that none of them want to leave him since they claim it was he they were following in the first place. They called him, The Savior. A romantic notion thought Nicola, but helpful in their case, without them it would have been a close thing, very close.
A man in a caribou hide limped over to her. Rudon, a bear of a man, with beefy mitts for hands and a grizzly beard that hung in braids halfway down his chest. His piercing gray-blue eyes held her. He offered her a beaten metal cup. Silently she accepted it and toasted to the open air drinking the coarse vodka down in one swift gulp. It burned something vicious but it was good. It was real and raw like the day itself. She returned the cup with a grave expression. Now the real challenge: the rebuilding and the talking, which was always harder than fighting. You could always lose fighting and all that would happen would be you’d die but with words anything could happen.

Bertrand Velour woke that morning with a gun to his head, literally. It was the muzzle of a glass and lightweight carbon Z5000 Laser, EU government-issue, and he knew without waiting to hear his rights read to him by the commanding officer of the arresting party that they were EU secret police and that he was under arrest for the attempted assassination of the President of the European Union. His life, fortune, and lands were all forfeit. He vaguely wondered as they hog tied him and threw him into a plastic mesh sack if they’d make a decent profit off of his house. He’d just renovated the Southern Wing with its greenhouse and sunbathing room complete with up-to-date UV filtration windows. He almost felt inclined to mention it. It was as if he’d made it ready for them, ripened the cherry for the plucking. He wondered if it was the assassin who bungled, but no, it couldn’t be. Those men don’t make mistakes or talk. They kill or die. There is no inbetween. And then it came to him like the sun from behind a cloud: Spain. That Mendoza and his beautiful minx of a daughter. His anger quickly faded. He was in no position to do anything about it at all. He didn’t even have the luxury of anger. It was a waste of emotion. He contented himself to watching the light come through the cracks in the meshing. It looked like stars or sunlight through your favorite worn out t-shirt. It reminded him of his childhood in Nice where he’d swum in the ocean before it was too polluted for his body. He felt himself hauled into a vehicle of some sort and darkness descended. He wondered how long they’d keep him in this sack. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable. It was the hogtying that got to him. He couldn’t scratch himself anywhere, but at least the mesh was abrasive enough that he could itch his face. Itches elsewhere else were less important. Probably the nerves. Whole lot of nerves in your hands and face. Always feeling and receiving. No way to turn them off.
For a while, Velour tried to sleep. He knew that his career was at an end and he was already working on accepting that. What he was struggling with subconsciously and it was causing him some distancing and detachment, was the possibility of losing his life. Treason worldwide was a capitol offense, punishable by death, always and everywhere. He knew that, but somehow, he felt that he’d be jailed. That he’d still be Bertrand. He’d still have something going. Not his house or backyard or vacation home in the Alps. No more mistresses and bottles of wine from distant decades before authentic wine became a rarified art. He dreamed himself a loophole to freedom. He imagined himself years from now even being released. People then saw how he’d simply had the EU’s best interest at heart. It was reasonable.
When at last he was lifted out of the vehicle and carted off to his next destination, Bertrand Velour was convinced that he could talk his way out of any sort of real punishment. He may lose his money and his power, but he’d still have his greenhouse, new sunbathing room, and his wine cellar. No one could appreciate it like he would. He knew Hans Groelmech was a good man, a man’s man. The practical sort that would show amnesty and graciousness when necessary. He’d learned his lesson. A trip in a sack would do that. Bertrand was a receptive guy. He saw it all now. The great vision of Muenster. The EU would be raised to a full-fledged global giant perhaps the first world government. Hans was right, and he’d been wrong. He saw that now.
Bertrand was dropped roughly to the floor. This momentarily perturbed him, but he then thought that maybe it was an accident. The man had obviously slipped. The sack opened and was dragged off of him. He blinked in the harsh light. He was in a square squat room with a low ceiling. There were three men before him and two guards on either side of him. They must have carried him all the way from his home.
He was about to thank them for their efforts when a booming voice interrupted his thoughts. The center man before him with his arms crossed in front of his barrel chest shouted, “BETRAND VELOUR YOU ARE HEREBY CHARGED WITH TREASON BY YOUR PEERS AND IN REVIEW OF THE EVIDENCE IT IS CLEAR YOU ARE GUILTY. I VOTE FOR NO TRIAL!”
The other two men boomed in unison, “NO TRIAL!!”
Bertrand gulped and was truly frightened for the first time that day. What was this all about, no trial? He tried to speak and was again interrupted by the frowned square headed center man with the protruding lower lips and squat flat nose, “THE PENALTY FOR TREASON IS DEATH!! I VOTE FOR DEATH BY THE ROPE!!”
“BY THE ROPE!!” came the response.
This time Bertrand found his voice and shrieked, “NO NO NO!! You’ve got it all wrong. Let me talk to Hans. I-“
“SILENCE!!” boomed the center man and the guard on Bertrand’s left clamped a hand over his mouth to quiet him while the man on the right fitted him with a muzzle. ROPE!! ROPE!! WHAT THE HELL WAS HE TALKING ABOUT!!! Bertrand Velour squealed shrilly and bucked wildly against his bindings but was held fast. He was hardly aware of their final words, “TO BE CARRIED OUT IMMEDIATELY!!”
This time there was no sack to hide him from the reality. Bertrand was dragged by the shoulders between the two guards past rooms of various torture and execution devices. A cold awareness came over him and he realized that he was completely in the right to try and overthrow this kind of man, that though his ways were underhanded he was never one to systematically control and torture a populace into order. His thoughts returned to Africa and he felt a thrill of fear and sympathy for its inhabitants. He’d never felt anything for the members of that continent before. In fact, he’d thought them backwards and subhuman, but now he longed to warn them. This man would stop at nothing and would and will destroy anything and everything in his path. Reminded again of his own demise, Bertrand struggled against his bonds and chewed viciously at the rubber gag in his mouth to no avail. The guards held his arms in vice-like grips. They dragged him to a room at the end of the hall. A single loop of a rope hung from the ceiling and chair sat below it. Bertrand failed to see the threat. He even grew slightly hysterically, hiccupped and laughed against his gag as the guards untied him and lifted him onto his feet. He swayed unsteadily and leaned on their thick arms. His legs were cramping and the return of blood to the muscles made them ache and burn. He worked his fingers and he reached for his gag only to have his arms bound again behind his back.
They hoisted him up onto the chair by his elbows, and that is when Bertrand realized the function of the rope and the chair. He ducked and tried to dive away from the two men, but one of them punched him in the solar plexus right below the rib cage and knocked all the air out of him. Bertrand struggled to breath through his nose and around the gag. It was difficult and he panicked. He felt the course rope around his neck tighten and then he felt the gag as it was removed. He gasped sweet air and felt a wave of relief.
That’s when they kicked the chair out from beneath him.

Joseph walked with the guard down a large road filled with panicky people. He knew it was a road because he’d heard about such things in Sunday school. They’d existed in Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Sodom, and Jericho. Pa Jo had said he’d make a fine teacher when he was older. It made him sad to think about Pa Jo and how he wouldn’t be there when he returned home. He was distracted from this thought by the people who were saying all sorts of crazy things. ‘Shot him in the face!’ What did that mean? City police are rallying near Town Hall! The battle between the Makros Order and the government, Joseph gathered. The sites and sounds of the city were eye popping and jarring to Joseph. He’d not seen any of it on the way in, and now he was dizzy and disoriented with the overload. His guide did not seem to notice, though Joseph distantly thought that John Makros most certainly did. He ogled. There were women and men with yellow hair and blue eyes. He held himself back from pointing. Some men and women leaned out of doorways with nothing on but open-faced robes. They smiled invitingly and beckoned to Joseph. He hurried his step and tried not to look too closely. He gulped a large knot in his throat. What would his mother say?
The guard said mechanically, “It’s a left here right down to the water. A boat will be waiting. I have other things that require my attention and I need all my people present. I hope you will be able to operate the controls, it is rather self explanatory.”
Controls? thought Joseph, what does that mean? “I can handle a boat,” said Joseph confidently, “I’ve was raised on the water and that’s where I’m at home. I… Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. I should be thanking you. It was your mind that saved me from my mother. Now I have the opportunity to right all the wrong she’s done. I wish I could do more, but until that time, farewell.” This time the man did raise his hand and waved it jerkily. He did not smile but his eyes followed Joseph as he walked away.
Joseph felt relieved to be away from his guide but at the same time lost amid the bustle of the street life. He felt exposed and vulnerable. Growing up in a small village where everyone knew each other’s name made it easy to feel safe. Here he knew no one, but soon he would be free of it. He glanced back towards the man, but he was already gone. Judging by the buildings in this area he guessed they must all be very wealthy. Garbage and refuse lay over everything. Someone must be coming to clean it up for them soon or they certainly wouldn’t leave it that way. He was amazed. A large furry animal screeched and ran out from under a large square refuse container by the smell. Joseph jumped and a soft voice next to him said, “S’arright, just a cat.” Joseph jumped again and even gasped a little as he saw the largest man he’d ever seen loom over him, resting a paddle sized hand across his back, “What’s you so jumpy about anyhow? Boy like you, strong beefy shoulders. Imagine you could lick the lot of us. He he.” That’s when Joseph noticed the rest of the men. Joseph got the immediate impression that this was definitely not the ‘good’ or safe part of town and that his ‘guide’ had led him astray purposefully, but why? thought Joseph suddenly. He could have killed me right then and there and I- The thought was squished right there. They all drew to a halt simultaneously.
Joseph stared up into the large black eyes perched in a hatchet face and seated around a large pointed nose with thick black hair poking out the nostrils. He was so large that Joseph could see the pores in his nose even at the distance of several feet. The men were all laughing, and Joseph was frightened because he knew that what was funny was not funny. A small flame of anger deep within Joseph arose. These men. These were the same as the snake man. The same as the one who killed his grandpa. Joseph balled his fists as the gigantic paw closed over his neck and fiercely closed his eyes.
“Haw haw,” he heard the coarse voice boom inches from his face. He could smell the stale, sour breath of the man. Joseph reached out and grasped both sides of the man’s head.
Immediately, his surroundings changed. He was still in the alley, but it was not the alley. It was all aglow in a purple light there was only him and a little boy with a big nose and black eyes. He stared at Joseph in awe and fear. Joseph took a step towards him the boy who cringed and shrank backward, dropping to a knee.
“Please don’t hurt me,” whimpered the boy.
Joseph said, “I won’t hurt you on one condition.”
“Anything,” pleaded the boy through bubbling lips. His eyes were closed firmly and tears leaked out through the corners.
“Protect me and help me at all costs,” Joseph said.
The boy opened his eyes and smiled in reverent gratitude, “I will.”
Joseph released his hands from the man’s face. His name was Deedum and he’d been born in a back alley two blocks away. He was a professional bully and he made good money at it. He looked Joseph in the eyes judging him, weighing him with respect and even a little fear in his features. He placed him on the ground and said to his gang, “Leave him alone. I know who he is. Mix up. He’s one of us.”
“One of us? What are you talking about?” piped up Ewan, a skinny, bald kid with bad teeth and bags under his eyes. “He’s not one of us! What’s friggin up in your head?”
Deedum back handed Ewan casually lifting him off his feet into a bunch of other boys behind him. “Shove it off. Down now. He and I are going for a walk. Get lost all of you.” Putting a protective mitt on Joseph’s shoulders, Deedum guided Joseph away from the bewildered gaggle of men staring after them with anxious and confused looks on their faces.
“Deedum I need a boat,” Joseph said once they were out of earshot.
“A boat? No problem. How big? Or uh... How far are you going? That’s a better question,” he patted Joseph on the shoulder like an old pal, though Joseph was sure the man would have throttled him if he hadn’t been coerced. Strange, was this how John Makros did it? But this man wasn’t a robot now. He wasn’t a piece of me, empty of himself. He was still him.
“I’m going to the Rockies. Do you know where that is? Or how far?” Joseph felt safe knowing that Deedum was his guide. He could trust him. He’d seen his mind and now he knew him, more than any other human being could ever know him.
“The mountains?” Deedum asked incredulously.
“Yes, that’s where I’m from. I need to get back to my family,” Joseph said matter-of-factly.
“Uh… Well, about that.”
“What about them?” Joseph stopped and faced Deedum.
Looking embarrassed, Deedum looked anywhere but Joseph. He rubbed his giant nose with a giant finger. He said cautiously, “They’re not really there anymore. I hate to be the bringer of bad news, but…”
“Let me see,” Joseph said and he reached with his hands towards Deedum’s face.
Sighing in defeat, Deedum hoisted him and held him like a baby before himself and let Joseph touch his face. Both men gasped as the connection between minds was made.
Joseph saw the mountains explode, all the mountains, and a great green mushroom cloud rise from the ruins and block out the sun. His heart ached and he cried out. Deedum echoed his cry and dropped Joseph as he collapsed from the intensity of Joseph’s pain. He passed out cold on the pavement, twitching. Joseph looked around wildly. Home. Home. Home. Where was home? Green smoke!! His family was gone!! His mother! His sisters! His brothers! ALL GONE!! Where could he go? All he had in the world was a giant bully and a man who controls people’s minds and now he can somehow do the same thing… kind of.
Joseph felt nauseous and upended a large amount of bile on the filthy pavement. He then realized it had been a long time since he last ate and he felt the pain of hunger gnaw at his belly. Crying over the loss of his family, home and friends, Joseph struggled to understand how he could possibly be hungry at a time like this.