Energy

 

Part I: The Charade

 

The colors were brilliant.  The oranges and pinks vibrated, accented with lavender clouds.   They glowed and shimmered like the stars, colors so pure it was difficult to believe them natural.  Yet, they were only the simple display of sunset. Perhaps they were enough to distract people from the fact that they were a natural phenomenon that occurred every day because they now had a greater appreciation for beauty.  

 

But for Octavia Galantis, it mattered not her appreciation for beauty, for her location only permitted her to see the faintest indigo glow hinting that the day was done.  She was nestled in a meadow surrounded by many miles of woodland hills before they thinned into the coast where the city lived. Hers was a small town, mostly populated by the employees of the nearby government institute that concerned itself with alternative energy resources and politics.  

 

Octavia had no part in this, but her husband did, and so she found herself living amid the meadow, her house the only inhabitant on the acre.  She stood staring out the window that encompassed the length and width of the wall. The sun had long since set, and now she stared through her own reflection anxiously awaiting her husband’s arrival.  When she finally caught a glimpse of the headlights coming down the driveway, she darted away from the window should he see her and positioned herself in the love seat, turning on the television. The broadcaster rambled on about something concerning alternative fuels being drilled on Mars, but Octavia paid no attention to this. 

        

“Oh, hello darling.” She greeted her husband, pretending to be surprised to see him walk in through the door.  “How was work?”

He nodded his head in her direction and grunted.  He wore a dark gray suit and black loafers that Octavia thought he looked quite handsome in.  He seemed tired though, with his slumped shoulders and those awful dark circles under his eyes.  She got up and all but skipped across the room to make him a scotch. 

 

“You’ll never guess what I read in an article today while I was online!” she handed him his scotch and stood up on her tiptoes to kiss him.  

 

Octavia was small, both in height and weight.  She used this to her advantage, always dressing in the most stylish of clothing and doing her bleach blonde hair up in a sophisticated knot.  She didn’t work but always applied her makeup every morning. He, in contrast, was tall, but not too broad. He had black hair and a complexion that was hard to identify the origins of his ethnicity.  If one looked at him long enough, which Octavia suspected she was not the only one who did, it could be suspected that not too far back someone in his bloodline had been foreign. But from where exactly, well, that was as mysterious as he was.  She had inquired once, only be answered that her question was pointless, since that since the last war had broken up all the past countries, ethnicity was no longer a characteristic.

 

“Hmm?” he said absentmindedly, sliding into the cushions of the armchair.  Octavia sat herself down on his knee, to which he shifted uncomfortably.

 

“It was some sort of new mind device.  It said it could read people’s thoughts!”

 

He scoffed.  “Probably a scam.  It’s impossible to penetrate the electromagnetic field of biological thought.  The best it could notice would be brain waves. No, it must function off the Bluetooth connection to their phone.  It would scan the content and rearrange it to mimic human decision making.”

“You’re so smart!” she gushed.  “I knew I married you for a reason.” She paused.  “Darling…I also read an article about the fertility crisis.”

 

He sipped his scotch.

 

“The fertility crisis?” she paused again.  “Allister, are you even listening to me?”

 

“Of course; the fertility crisis.  Terrible, absolutely unacceptable.”

 

She frowned.  “No –well, yes, but that’s not my point.  Aren’t you curious about what it said about conception?”

 

He blanched.  “You're pregnant?”

 

“No!  That’s the point, I’m not.” She cried.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yes, I’m sure!” 

 

He exhaled.  “Octavia, we can keep trying, if you want.”

 

“Allister, it said conception wasn’t the issue, it’s…wait, do you still want one?” She asked.

 

“Of course.”

 

“But you’re never here.” She whined.  “I don’t want one if I’m going to have to take care of it all ny myself.”

 

“You won’t be alone, we can get a nanny for when I’m at work.”

 

Octavia frowned and stood up.  “I don’t want a nanny. I want you to be here.”

 

He sighed.  “I’m sorry, I know work has been very busy lately and I haven’t been able to get away much –”

 

“You don’t have to remind me of that.” She interrupted curtly and walked out of the room, leaving him to sigh deeply, sip his scotch, and slouch down in the armchair, still dressed in his suit.  It was not long until he was asleep, scotch still in his hand.

 

Meanwhile, in the bedroom upstairs, Octavia lay awake on her back, staring up at the ceiling and absentmindedly picking at her nails that she manicured herself.  Her face was pinched, and her breathing was irregular due to her attempts to cry silently. She succeeded; her sobs went unheard. She had mastered that technique a long time ago, about six months into Allister’s continuing trend of absence.  

 

It had started when he took his job at the National Institute for Alternative Energy, which was now some two years ago.  It paid well, very well, but Octavia wished they could get a loan on time. She wished there was a way to trade in pay for hours.  She knew she could have anything she wanted, though what she really wanted was bent on committing to that advantage. And so, she spent her days alone, the only inhabitant in her house on the meadow, from sunrise to sunset.  She remembered the days when he started coming home later, more tired, and seemingly more preoccupied. In fact, she could hardly recall their glory days as a couple, though she knew they existed because of her deep feelings of love for him.  

 

If one thing was for certain, it was that Octavia Galantis loved her husband with every ounce of emotion she possessed.  It was enough love to endure the conditions of their relationship. She was always there for him, always at home, lending her unconditional support, and for that Octavia considered herself to be virtuous.  She sighed peacefully, for this conclusion was enough to help her sleep at night.

 

As the night completed its duration and the vibrant colors of the rising sun painted the sky, Allister awoke.  He found himself in the same position he fell asleep in. He groaned, rising uncomfortably from his position. His back ached, and his head pounded.  He made ready for the day, pausing in the doorway of his bedroom to look at his sleeping wife. He stood there silently, a troubled expression on his face.  Yet as if she could sense him, she shifted, stretched, and opened her eyes. Upon seeing him in the morning sun, her face lit up like a child’s.

 

“You’re not leaving already, are you?” She asked.

 

“Yes.” He said quietly. 

 

“Are you sure?” She smiled again and patted the space beside her.

 

Allister shook his head. “I overslept – I can’t be late.”

 

 “What time will you be home tonight?”

He hesitated.  “As soon as I can.”

 

Her face fell.  She nodded and managed a small smile that left him with an uneasy, heavy feeling.  But what Octavia felt was much heavier. 

 

The day was crisp and clear, the perfect combination to turn summer leaves into those of autumn.  Though the house with its sleek and straight edges of steel and mahogany felt cold, so Octavia wrapped herself in a knitted blanket and curled up on the loveseat.  Her eyes were a little swollen from last night, and a little droopy from the whiskey she’d spiked her coffee with. The television blurred in the background, but her attention was captured by the stillness of the meadow outside.  The TV programs didn’t interest her, they had long since ceased to be her companion and now had the attitude of a secretly unwelcomed mother-in-law.  

 

Her mind drifted to Allister, her favorite pastime.  She never thought of herself, for all the memories of her past seemed dull and unimportant.  This was her life now, and whenever she thought of him she felt happy. Her thoughts of him were as vibrant as the sunrise she had missed and filled her with simple content. 

 

She went over the details of his facial features- his straight, angular jaw shaved clean, his high, sharp cheekbone and the ice blue of his eyes framed with heavy lashes and brows.  But then she caught a glimpse of the television. It showed a couple driving in a convertible, all smiles and laughs. It was a commercial for Allister’s agency, the National Institute for Alternative Energy, advocating the salvation of Martian fuel.  

 

Octavia didn’t care about that. She stared at the couple, unable to tear her eyes away, even when they grew blurry with tears.  The silence in her ears roared, she began to tap her fingernails anxiously against the ceramic of the coffee mug. Horrible thoughts invaded her mind again in the shape of doubts and fears.  Those thoughts that made her feel cheated, not virtuous. Anger began to boil in her blood, slowly at first, then growing hotter and hotter, coursing through her veins. She squeezed her eyes shut and placed a clenched fist above her chest.  Suddenly, a pained scream erupted from her, and she hurled the coffee cup across the room. It hit the wall and shattered, staining the white carpet. 

 

She got up and began to pace, a wild look in her eyes.  “Allister!” she shouted. “Allister!”  

 

She was answered with silence.  The only sound was the television, but she had become so accustomed to it that now it was purely white noise. 

 

“I gave up everything for you, and where are you now?” she demanded.  

 

Unfortunately, she was forced to answer her own question. Where was he?  At work. Always at work, doing important government research to save the world from the energy crisis that had caused the war.  At work, providing fuel to keep her warm when her soul only yearned to be held. And just as she had gotten a natural high from thinking about Allister with love in her heart, she fell into the uncanny desire to succumb to all the bad feelings she had, to let them feed off her emotions like a virus.  

 

He said he was at work…but was he really?  He never provided her with further details, instead of leaving her to wonder about his distance.  So stoic and silent, eating his dinner without tasting it, laying on his back as if asleep though his eyes were wide open.  What were the events of his thoughts? What was the cause of his attitude, or rather, the lack of?  

 

She paced the room and caught sight of her reflection in the mirror.  She was pretty. Great, big, bright blue eyes, a button nose, and full, pink lips.  She also kept herself in great shape, thanks to the revolutionary health supplements, so that if she did get pregnant she could increase her chances of carrying the baby to full term. 

Tears came into her eyes again at the thought of a baby.  A baby wouldn’t bring Allister home. This much she could not deny to herself, not when the only emotion he showed was fear whenever the subject was brought up.

 

But what she could deny, as she watched her own expression grow furious, was her suspicions of Allister’s true actions.  She could sit in her house all day and all night, telling herself the man she loved was honestly doing his work, and not spending his time in the arms of another woman.

 

She marched over to the photograph of them on their wedding day framed on the mantel.  “Why can’t I be enough for you?” she shouted at it. “What didn’t I do for you? Why did you marry me if you were just going to treat me like a piece of furniture?”

 

Rage filled her, ugly, spiteful range.  Her insides harden into a tight ball like she’d swallowed lead, her face flushed red.  She hated this feeling, hated this insecurity. It was tearing her apart, literally, for she dragged her nails through her hair.  Her tears had smudged her makeup, and she looked the epitome of how she felt. 

 

“I can’t do this anymore!” she admitted to the empty house, her words choked with sobs.  She grabbed the photograph, clutched it tightly to her chest and cried. Sounds of despair filled the house, sounds of stress that prickled the flesh.  She cried until she could cry no more, and silently began to watch the sky turn dark again from her pathetic position on the living room floor. In her exhaustion, the only thing she felt was the desire to not feel at all.  Then she wouldn’t sting with loneliness or anxiety, suspicion, or heartbreak. If nobody would, she needed something badly to put her out of her misery. 

The TV droned on in the background.  From where she lay on the floor she could see the reflection in the window of a new prenatal supplement.  She groaned. 

 

“Thanks for the reminder.” She muttered.  

 

Nobody knew why more and more women were having unhealthy pregnancies.  It seemed like it was one thing after another, first the energy crisis and now the fertility crisis.  The whole world was waiting for science to come to the rescue again, though this time it was doubtful the answer would involve Mars, and hopefully it wouldn’t have such a violent side effect as the energy crisis had.

 

She knew that the crisis had begun long ago, in the youth her generation’s grandparents, perhaps even before.  The viable fossil fuels on Earth had been declining for quite some time, but people blamed the second space race for their exhaustion.  Ironically enough, the fuel had been spent to go search for more on Mars. Scientists from around the globe had collaborated and discovered a process in which they could convert soil found deep in the Martian mantle into viable fuel.  It was said to be so effective that the ratio equaled a single diamond to an entire train transport of coal.  

 

Eventually, it became a political struggle. People in countries’ worldwide rioted against the energy shortage.  Soon war broke out. Nations allied with others financially, but this ultimately contributed to the breakdown of governments and the creations of new ones that virtually changed the political landscape.  A superpower arose and gained a monopoly on the Martian fuel. This attracted millions of immigrants, or rather citizens of collapsed nations, due to their abundance of fuel. All other developing nations had to pay dearly to get their cut.  

 

However, with the war came many new scientific advancements in multiple fields.  One came into mind specifically for Octavia, and slowly revitalized her energy. She grinned, a devious expression that when paired with her position, she took on the countenance of a housecat plotting a kill against an unsuspecting songbird. 

 

It was the mind reading device that Allister claimed was a fraud.  Maybe he was right, but if he wasn’t…then she supposed she could at least confirm her suspicions.  She wanted to see if he would lie to her, straight in the face. She wanted to know if he even loved her at all.  She needed to know.

 

She stood and approached the computer.  “Mind reading device.” she instructed it.  A series of related searches came up instantaneously.  Within moments, she found the device she had seen in the article.  It was called a Cogarti, a small, handheld device that promised audio and imagery of the selected subject’s thoughts.  Apparently once in range, it could pick up the thoughts and transfer them onto the operator’s phone for viewing. It seemed all Octavia would have to do is stand within fifteen feet of Allister and all his deepest secrets would be revealed to her without the slightest indication of his knowledge.  Or agreement.

 

There was one dilemma.  The device cost a fortune, due to its controversial nature.  In fact, it wasn’t even being sold on the market. It was labeled as a military device and had only made the papers by an expose journalist, per the articles Octavia read.  She shivered. Who knows who could be using it…whenever, wherever. She searched deeper, telling herself such a device still had beneficial properties. Crimes could be stopped before they were even committed, the innocent would be safe from false conviction, suspicious activity could be confirmed.  She dug around online, surfing from site to site until finally, she came across one that allowed purchase. It came with a warning label advising her that she may not like what she discovers by its usage. She paused and pursed her lips, her finger hovering over the button that would finalize the payment.  She considered the implications. It could break her heart and shatter her life. It could cause complications and even more pain. But she was hurting…she was stretched thin from denying herself love she had no obvious reason to not deserve. She needed to know if the man she had devoted her life to was a liar, a cheat, or a coward.  The ugly stain on the carpet from her fit caught her eyes. She pressed the button with more force than necessary. 

 

The device came in the mail after a couple of days, in a white, unmarked package.  Octavia tore it open and spent the day hooking it up to her phone. Then, like always, she waited for Allister to come home, though with more anticipation than usual.  

 

“Hello, darling.” She welcomed him, playing it cool.  She sounded more cheerful to herself, but obviously, Allister saw no difference, as he walked past her and flopped himself down on the couch, shoes on and all. 

 

“Tired?” She asked.

 

“Exhausted.” He sighed and started to massage his temples. 

 

“Would you like drink?”

 

“Please.”

 

Octavia strolled into the kitchen and poured him a scotch, stronger than usual.  She then turned on the Cogarti, and stuck it in her pocket.

 

“Here you go.”  She handed the glass to him.  “Any show you’d like to watch?”

 

“News.”

 

All Allister ever wanted to watch was the news.  Usually, Octavia would complain, but tonight she tuned the television to it without the slightest hint of protest.  She took a seat on the armchair, and pulled her phone out. She could tell by the faraway look in his eyes he could care less about what the news reporter was saying, which was something about the alternative fuels being drilled on Mars.  That’s all the news talked about nowadays – how wonderful it was, so much more affordable, despite the source being millions of miles away, since the remaining fossil fuels on Earth were valued higher than gold. 

 

But oddly enough, the Mars drilling expeditions were precisely what was on Allister’s mind.  She frowned, worried the device might be noticing the television, even though it said it only tuned into biological properties.  She looked closer. The television showed the surface of Mars with drills in the distant. Allister’s thoughts showed what must be below the surface where the drilling was taking place.  It looked hot and miserable. Men shuffled around in military-grade gas masks.

 

So, he was thinking about work.  What a boring man! She understood what he did was important, but this seemed to border obsession.  She shook her head, suddenly realizing she did not know the actual nature of his job was, only that it dealt with the synthesis and handling of the fuel.

 

“Al,” she asked, “what do you do at work?”

 

He shrugged.  “Paperwork mostly.” On her screen, images of stacks of paper with small print appeared.

 

“All day?”

 

“Mostly.”  The device showed images as seen through Allister’s own eyes of him in a small room with two other people both dressed in black suites.  Little texts bubbles appeared, but those too were boring. They appeared to be talking about numbers and figures that were of no interest to Octavia.

 

“Do you have any friends there?”

 

Allister smiled.  “No.” He said.

 

She saw him eating his lunch, a cold turkey sandwich, and water, alone in his office.  She spotted a framed photograph of them on his desk and smiled.

 

“Do you miss me during the day like how I miss you?” she held her breath.

“Of course.”  An image of her appeared.  It was here, at the house, at night.  She was darting all around him, giving him kisses, talking, but no text bubbles appeared, though she clearly appeared to be speaking.  She frowned.  

She saw desperation in her countenance, like a little dog that wouldn’t stop barking and biting at its owner’s ankles for attention.  Who wouldn’t be somewhat relieved to leave such a creature to go to work…or someplace else?

 

And then…an image of a woman appeared.  She was beautiful, with long dark hair and blue eyes.  Her complexion was like his. She didn’t remember him ever mentioning a sister or a cousin, but it soon became apparent by the way he lovingly stroked her hair that she was not a relative. Tears welled up in Octavia’s eyes, but she focused on the image, searching for clues.  They were outside, but in no place that she recognized. They walked hand in hand down a path, grasses and wildflowers all around them and tall, snowcapped mountains in the distance.

 

“Why are you crying?” he asked her gently.  There was a concerned look on his face, and her phone showed a series of images of her, all crying.  She blushed and brushed away her tears.

 

“I…had an eyelash in my eye.” She lied.

 

“Oh.” He said.

 

Her skin prickled, and she felt at once both chilled and flushed.  Her stomach was cold and hollow, she didn’t breathe for fear the slightest movement would break the bondage that held her tears from flowing down her cheeks.  Yet she couldn’t stop watching, her eyes were glued to the screen, and through her blurry vision, she watched, getting high off the pain it caused her.

 

It hurt her more to see Allister so happy in his memories with a woman who wasn’t her.  At the same time, it was nice to see him happy, because she did love him, and though it was a selfish love, it was a love nonetheless that was concerned for his wellbeing.  She blinked and quickly wiped away the tears so she could see clearly. He looked younger. The girl even looked younger than her. She began to suspect that maybe this woman preceded her and that Allister was being faithful.  The girl faded away from his memory, and with her his smile, and was replaced by the image of numbers and figures. Just because he was being monogamous did not mean he wasn’t still having an overt affair with those numbers. She breathed a sigh of relief, though her doubts still lingered. Who was this man?  He had such a wall built up around him, one that distorted even his own reality.

 

“Allister?” she asked.

“Hm?”

 

“Why don’t you ever talk about your past?”

 

He looked at her with surprise.  Quick images of a house, parents, countryside, city buildings crumbling with poverty flashed on her screen, all of which were unfamiliar to her, and certainly did not originate anywhere near their cultural niche.

 

“Because I’m happy now.” He said.  Octavia noted he did not smile as he said this.  “And because it is in the past. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

 

“But our past is what makes up our character.” She said tenderly.

 

“Thoughts like that put the future in jeopardy, dear.  That’s what I prefer to look to; the future. Why would I want to get stuck in what’s already gone when I can work now to fix what’s to come?”

 

Octavia studied her husband with a thoughtful expression as he sat with his eyes glued to the television, his mind blank.  Who was this man? She had always assumed she knew him, though now was realizing he was not much more than a familiar stranger.  Regardless of whether it was another woman or not, Octavia concluded that something was being hidden. The facts of his life simply didn’t add up, being that now she didn’t know what the facts were, since what she knew said one thing while his memories said another.  But as to what was being eluded, she hadn’t the slightest idea. All she had was a strange, unsettling feeling that irritated her like an itch. 

 

The next day, after Allister had once again left her to be faithful to his work, she took advantage of her time to do some investigating.  For the first time since she could remember she felt invigorated for the day. The pictures had been saved onto her phone, fragments of her husband, photographs that had never been taken.  They were interactive like videos, so she could see the dark-haired girl’s iconic dark hair move in the wind and smile with eyes full with a love that Octavia recognized. She had seen it in her own eyes.  She watched the numbers that occupied his thoughts move into mathematical equations she didn’t understand. She saw the mountainous countryside and city streets she did not recognize. But, as vague as they were, she could get clarification on them.  She had, after all, a computer. 

The first step she took was uploading the image of the dark-haired girl into the search machine.  It brought up several women that resembled her and their information. She scrolled through, looking for the one that could be her.  She found one who matched the period who also and came from a place across the ocean and in the other hemisphere. It also said that she was dead; having died from natural causes.  It did not specify how, only that she was young when she died. Octavia was not expecting this. She felt all at once guilty for trespassing on a sensitive piece of her husband’s past, and relief that the girl was in fact dead and not a threat to her own livelihood.  However, the girl’s ethnic background fed her curiosity. She entered the images of the countryside into the search engine, and up popped the same geographic location as the dark-haired girl’s. Octavia did not know whether to be more intrigued or confused, but whichever, she was burning with curiosity.  Who was she married to? She entered in a picture of Allister, and easily found him. All his information was in place, stating that he was born and raised right where they were. This was very perplexing. If he’d been born here, as he claimed, then how is it that his memories and thoughts originated from a faraway place?  Did he really not value communication to take the initiative to enlighten her about himself? He didn’t seem to be the adventurous type to travel, what with his workaholic ways. She uploaded the thoughts he had of work onto the computer and enlarged them, not expecting to find anything of significance. She looked at the numbers, which were altogether uninteresting to her.  Upon their motion, she could see them growing larger, be it stock or interest rates, she had not the slightest idea. She thought it curious how closely Alex seemed to monitor the facial expressions of his comrades, how he acted friendly enough but altogether as aloof as he was at home, mostly hiding at his desk, running numbers through his head. She noticed he threaded one hand through his hair quite often, and scratched the bridge of his nose, telltale signs of stress for him.  She developed a strange suspicion about his work life as well. Something seemed…off.

Suddenly, her computer abruptly shut itself off.  She had blinked, and the screen had gone dark.

She frowned.  “How strange.” She muttered to herself, powering the computer back on.  The screen showed no evidence of the uploads she had of Allister’s work memories.  She uploaded them again, and the same thing happened. The computer shut itself off and erased the uploads.  She sat in from of the screen, stumped. She looked at the images, which were still saved in her phone. There was nothing she could decipher as interesting.  It was all stiff business, her husband’s mistress. With a shrug, she let it go, and returned to running the nonexistent details of her husband’s personal life through her head, like a broken record skipping beats and confusing sound.

 

More days passed, and the itch of confusion grew worse.  It got under her skin into her bloodstream and up into her mind as she spent her days obsessing over it, creating wild explanations.  Octavia’s days had the bad habit of blending together into one continuous stretch; if it wasn’t for the rising and setting of the sun she’d lose track altogether of day verses night.  She couldn’t remember how long it’d been since she’d crossed the threshold into her husband’s mind, though she was almost certain it couldn’t have yet been a week.

In this vague length of time, there came a day when the doorbell rang.  Octavia looked up in surprise, wondering if she was indeed going delusional.  Nobody ever came courting the lonely house of the lonely woman in it. After a pregnant silence, she got up to investigate.  Much to her surprise, relief, and excitement, she could see the silhouette of a person through the glass décor of the front door.  The visitor turned out to be man, large both in height and weight. He wore a business-like suite much like the kind Allister wore, though he had a bald head and a ruddy face that smiled pleasantly.  Octavia smiled back uncertainly.

“Can I help you?”

“Are you Mrs. Galantis?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Is Mr. Galantis present?”

“No, I’m afraid he’s at work.”

The man nodded.  “Of course. I too am employed by the National Institute for Alternative Energy.  Oh, how rude of me not to introduce myself. My name is Ruben Hubbell. I just have a few questions I’d be hoping you could help me answer.  May I come in?”

Octavia smiled and ushered him in, as she would have of any company.  “Would you like a drink?” she asked, making herself busy by tidying up old dishes that decorated the house.  She wished she kept the house cleaner, though besides Allister, there was nobody to impress, and she sometimes wondered if he would notice if she painted all the walls a ridiculous color like pink or orange. 

“What did you say I could help you with, again?” she asked, preparing his gin and tonic.

“Just a couple of questions.”

“Regarding?”

He paused, watching her dance around, fluffing throw pillows and drawing back the shades to reveal the meadow.

“If you would, Mrs. Galantis, please take a seat.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” She sat opposite of him with perfect posture and her hands folded in her lap. 

“Are you aware of our world’s crisis?”

Her smile faltered, a hint of confusion slanted her eyes.  “Do you mean the energy crisis?”

“Yes, precisely.  Which is why work such as your husband’s and I’s is so important, why Mars and the National Institute of Alternative Energy is so crucial to all of our perseverance and preservation.”

Octavia gave him a nod.

He continued.  “At the NIAE, we are dedicated to the wellbeing of our valiant employees, especially the executive scientists.  I am a social worker for the NIAE, and while my work is debatably not as crucial as that of your husband’s, the human element cannot be ignored.  So, I am here today to pay a sort of complimentary visit to get to know you and see if there’s anything we at the NAIE can do to make your life more comfortable, given how much dedication your husband has given to us.  We want you to remember that you are our priority-we always strive to put the people first.”

“My, how thoughtful of you.  I wasn’t aware this was a domination of The Institute.”

“Oh, but of course!  Alas, it is a new addition.  A sort of social reconstruction if you will.  I’m sure we’re all well too aware of the globally experienced cultural divisions.  The NIAE wants to ensure that efficiency as well as intimacy will be regained.”

Octavia sighed, her thoughts drifting away to Allister.

“So, tell me about yourself.” Ruben said, leaning back in the seat, and taking a tiny sip of his drink.

“Well, what would you like to know?”

Ruben shrugged playfully.  “What about your past before your involvement with the NIAE?”

She opened her mouth, almost ready to repeat Allister’s thoughts on the subject, then stopped herself. “Well, it is Mr. Galantis who is involved, not I.”

“Yes, but you are by association.  Tell me about your life before you married our fine man.  Were you ever involved in politics or science as he is? Any mutual interests there?”

Octavia opened her mouth again, those this time her thoughts went no place at all.  A look of concern crossed her face, for when she tried to produce an answer, she was at a loss of how to respond.  A strange headache began to pulsate behind her eyes, and it felt as if her thought process was jammed in heavy tar.

“Mrs. Galantis, are you all right?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” She said. 

Ruben looked at her expectantly.

“Just a headache.” She said.  “And no…I was never involved in politics or science.”

“Hmm.” He murmured.

“Have I said something wrong?”

He shrugged again.  “How would I know? It’s just that I am a bit perplexed, since our records sat you were involved with cultural reconstruction abroad, after the war.”

A tense moment of silence passed as Octavia racked her brain, only to experience the same pain behind her eyes. She began to perspire, feeling rather anxious for her guest to leave.

“Oh, well yes, of course…” she said hurriedly.  “How could I forget! Ah, the life of a housewife.  Some things just slip behind the washing machine if you know what I mean.”

They exchanged a laugh, stiff with politeness. 

“I understand.” Ruben said.  “Tell me more. Was your husband ever interested in culture?  Not the science isn’t culture. Quite the contrary, scientific advancements determine its evolution.”

Octavia responded with another smile, hoping she didn’t appear as preoccupied as she felt.   She was still attempting to find honest answers, much to the displeasure of her head.

“Did he ever travel abroad with you?”

Finally, clear images came into mind, though they were the ones she pirated from Allister’s memories of unknown lands.  They were vibrant and full of life, a juxtaposition compared to the darkness of her own recollections. 

“No.” she said faintly.  Which was the truth, for the only woman in Allister’s memories was the dark-haired girl.”

Ruben accepted her answer with a nod.  He then proceeded to ask simple questions about their marriage, to which she rambled on about the garden and their favorite television programs.  His polite smile never faltered as he listened, though as he rose to leave, his smile vanished.

“Are you aware of the exact nature of your husband’s work?”

“No.” she stammered after shrinking from the intensity of his stare.  His eyes were little tiny slits, much like a pig, she thought. 

He shrugged, again.  “I don’t mean to startle you.  And I also just can’t help but notice it’s awfully quiet here.  Must get lonely.”

Octavia bowed her head. 

“Thanking you for giving me your time today, you’ve been very helpful.  On a parting note, I just want to assure you that your husband’s work is very important to us.  For confidentialities sake, I cannot disperse the gritty details, and to an extent, nor can he. We’re holding the world, multiple worlds in fact, in our hands, and on behalf of the NIAE, we are very grateful for your support.  Good day, Mrs. Galantis.”

 

When Allister returned home from work that evening, several minutes passed before he realized his wife wasn’t covering him in kisses.  He then noticed her sitting in the living room, in the dark, a troubled look in her face. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked. 

“A man from The Institute visited here today.”

Allister stopped in his tracks, halfway between the illuminance of the kitchen lights and the dimness of the living room.  He opened his mouth, then froze. “Why?” was all that came out.

Octavia shrugged.  “To check on me. He said he was a social worker and that the NIAE wanted to thank me for supporting you.” She gave him a heavy stare.

But Allister did not notice her guilt trip.  He started threading his hands through his hair, loosened his collar, moved to pace aimlessly in a two-foot width. 

“I need you,” he said in a high-pitched voice Octavia had never heard before; it was as if he was either going to start laughing or crying, “to tell me exactly what happened.”

“Why are you stressing out?”

“Octavia…” he scratched his nose.  “We don’t have social workers!”

“He said it was a new addition.”

Allister’s  eyebrows knotted, creating deep lines in his forehead.  “Are you sure…he didn’t ask about me or anything?”

“Well, that’s when something strange happened.”

He looked at her expectantly. 

“He asked about you and I and our past, our separate past’s…and it was the weirdest thing.  When I tried to remember, I couldn’t. Every time I tired I got the worst headache, right behind my eyes.  Then he said I used to travel abroad for cultural reconstruction! But I can’t remember a thing, like it never even happened.  Why can’t I remember, Al? I try, and try, but nothing will come to me!”

From the way, the fluorescent light behind him cast hollow shadows under his eyes and cheekbones, and by the way his face was drained of all color, Allister looked quite ghastly and frail standing there.

“Allister?” she asked as he moved quickly across the room and sat down next to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.  His face was inches away from hers, her eyes wide and his narrowed as he spoke in a deep, orderly voice. Octavia began to feel frightened, be it by his behavior, or the way his voice had a slight quiver and a strange new vowel pronunciation. 

“Tell me…why would a man claiming to be a social worker come here?  What social work is there to do?”

Octavia’s eyes now narrowed to match his.  “I don’t know, Allister, maybe he really was checking up on the wife you seem to have forgotten you have!”

“I…” he stammered.  “Octavia, I haven’t forgotten about you.  But think, he NIAE has other things to concern themselves with other than housewives.”

She wriggled herself out from under his arm.  “You’ve made that perfectly clear.” She snarled.  “Well, I believe it, even if you don’t. Good for them for taking into consideration the human element.”

“Why would they ask such questions about the past?  All they care about is the future.”

“I don’t know, I can’t remember anything!”

He pressed both hands to his face.  “I don’t understand.”

“Finally, something we share.”

He peeked at her.  “You’re angry with me.” He said.

“Figured that much out, did you?”

He bowed his head.  “Look, I know I’ve been really busy, it’s just there’s been so much going on and I-

“I’ve had enough of your excuses, Allister.  They are all lies to me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you! What about you?  You ever been abroad? You have anything you want to share with me?”

He eyed her suspiciously.  “Octavia, don’t mess around.”

“Me?” she laughed.  “You stop messing around!  I know you’ve been up to something.”

“Tell me what you know.”

“No, you tell me what you know!  Apparently, I don’t know anything.  And I want you to take me to the doctors to check out my headache.”

“Just…don’t concern yourself with it.”

“Don’t concern myself with it?  You make it sound so easy. What else am I supposed to do to keep myself from going mad?”

She wished he would stop running his hands all over his face and hair.  She felt her anger boiling up again. “I know you’re lying to me.” She blurted.

“What do you mean?”

“I know you’ve been abroad, I know you aren’t from here.”

He stared at her quizzically.  She stared back at him, a glare on her face.  “Why would you say that?” he asked dryly. 

She didn’t answer him.  She turned her head away, but her eyes followed her thoughts to where the computer sat at the end of the room.  He saw her gaze shift, and a mildly troubled expression flash over her face. He sat up straight, following her eyes to the computer.  He frowned, then stood up and strode across the room.

“Allister, wait!” she cried when she realized his motives.  But it was too late. He touched the screen and up came the image of the dark-haired girl, left over from Octavia’s investigation.  She watched as he became very quiet and still, looking at the image with such a sorrowful gaze that made Octavia’s heart ache and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up on end.

“Allister?” she asked tentatively.

His shuddered, his face reddening.  “Where did you get this?” he demanded, emphasizing vowel sounds again in an unfamiliar manner.  “How did you get this?”

He stood over her as she cowered in her seat, afraid to speak.  “Well? How did you get this?” he shouted.

“I-

“Tell me now!” he roared.

“I read your mind!” she wailed, bursting into tears.  He stood in silence, dumbstruck, watching her cry.

“You…what?  How dare you!  You have no right!  Was it one of those damned Cogarti’s?  I swear, those things are going to be the end of us all.” He muttered.

She nodded ruefully.  “I’m so sorry, Allister.  I know I crossed the line.  I just…you’re always gone…and I thought you were cheating on me.” Her explanation was followed by a hiccup.  Allister said nothing, and sat down heavily beside her, resting her elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.

“What else did you find?” he asked monotonously.

She sniffed.  “Just some pictures of a place I didn’t recognize and some paperwork.”

“And did you upload everything onto the computer?”

“Yes.”

He groaned.

“I just wanted to know who you are.” She said desperately.  She leaned in towards his, wrapping her arms around his. “What’s going on, Al?  You can tell me, please, I’m so confused. I don’t know who you are…and now I don’t even know if I know who I am.”

He sighed, the exhale of his breath the only sound in the silence.  “I know.” He finally said, quietly. “Just…just give me a minute.” He made to get up.

“What? Where are you going?”

“Just give me a minute.”

She shook her head as if she hadn’t heard him.  “What, no. No! No more running off, you tell me what’s going on right now, Allister!”

“Octavia, I can’t, please, just a minute.”

“Are you kidding me?  What do you mean, you can’t?  Allister, Allister!” she shouted as he hurried up the stairs, pausing just long enough to give her an apologetic shrug of his shoulders.  She now stood in the middle of the living room, encompassed by the darkness. Though by her infuriation, she could have radiated light. She was at a loss, an absolute loss that made lose all sensation, and she became a mist of a fragile, female form standing alone in the darkness, not knowing what was what.

 

Part II: Revelations

 

Meanwhile, Allister entered the bedroom, locked the door, then did the same with the closet.  Pushing aside his suits that hung on the bar, he revealed a safe built into the wall. He entered a manual combination, then touched his thumb and forefinger to the scanner.  He did all of this quickly and mechanically. The safe clicked open. Inside were stacks of paper, some money, both domestic and foreign, and a satellite phone. He selected the phone, and pushed the only number on it.  Placing it to his ear, he breathed in deep, and ran his free hand through his tousled hair.

The line crackled with transoceanic static, then rang twice.  It was answered by a calm voice from Allister’s past, and upon hearing it, his chest tightened and squeezed tears into his eyes.  The voice belonged to a man named Jerimiah Zayden.

“Hello, Allister.” The voice said in a language not spoken in Allister’s present geographical location.

“Hello, Jerimiah.” He answered in the same tongue. 

“It’s good to hear your voice, even though you calling must not mean good news.”

“No.” Allister said.

“Tell me, friend.”

“I have reason to believe the mission is in jeopardy.”

“Obviously, or you would not be calling.  Tell me, what has happened?”

“They might be suspicious.  A man came to my house while I was away to interrogate Octavia.”

“Did she protect the cover?”

Allister paused.  “Yes, to the best of her abilities.  She’s…well, she’s been suspicious too.”

“How so?”

“She’s been remembering.  Or rather confused, because-

“She can’t remember.” Jerimiah finished gravely.  He sighed heavily. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

Allister scratched the back of his head, not surprised to find his hair slightly damp with sweat.  “She…she bought a Cogarti. And she read my mind with it and found some evidence of my past which made her even more confused.”

Jerimiah surprised him with a laugh.  “Now why on Earth would she do that?”

Allister swallowed dry spit.  “She thought I was being unfaithful.”

“Are you?”

“No, sir.”

“You must have done something to upset her and lead her to such extremes.”

“Yes, well, I’ve been neglecting her a bit.”

Jerimiah made a disapproving sound.  “A bit.” He repeated, followed by another sigh.  “So, what did she find in your mind?”

“Views of our country, images of my wife…and evidence from the NIAE.”

Jerimiah made no response so Allister continued uncertainly.  “She uploaded them onto the computer and I’m assuming this alerted the NIAE to send an investigator over.”

“Gut instinct is always the most important aspect.  If you suspect you’re right about something, you usually are.  It’s energy, that’s all anything is. Remember that. Now, how concrete is the evidence?”

“Not concrete enough.”

“Remember, my friend, the only way to obtain full benefits of the mission is to gather sufficient evidence.  Otherwise we cannot promise security during the aftermath.”

Allister nodded.  “I know. I just thought I’d alert you on this development.”

“Good man.” He paused, and Allister could almost hear him thinking.  “It’s still possible they don’t know. You’re in a position too valuable for them to take any extreme measures without their own concrete proof.  But with that being said, you’ve touched their radar. Be careful, my friend. I believe the end is near. We’d all hate for this to fail…it’s something we cannot have.  I trust you won’t let us down.”

“No, sir.” Allister said through his teeth.

“And regarding Octavia…” Jerimiah sighed again.  “You’re going to have to tell the poor girl. Now that she’s realized she cannot remember, it’ll only add to her distress.  She’s a vital part of the mission, Allister, don’t let her become a risk to it.” He commanded sternly. “She’s what’s holding it all together.  She’s your partner, she’s still your wife, don’t forget it, though unfortunately now she’ll have to play an active role. It’s now more dangerous for her not to know.”

“I understand.”

“Very good, my friend.  Take care of yourselves.  We’ll be on call. Inform us the moment evidence is secured, or if there’s any new developments.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good man.  Goodbye, Allister.”

“Goodbye, Jerry.”  Allister kept the phone to his ear after the line went dead, holding onto it so tight his knuckles were white.  He took a deep breath, locked the phone back in his safe, and prepared himself for what waited for him back in the living room where his wife waited, an angry bull he’d have to dance with. 

She was where he left her, still standing in the middle of the room.  Her jaw and fists were clenched, and she regarded him with a look that was the epitome of betrayal, of love flipped to its opposite spectrum of hate. 

He approached her.  “Take a seat.” He said calmly, sitting, and patting the space beside him.

“Are you ready to talk now?”

He nodded gravely.

“Why should I believe anything you say?”

He pressed his lips into a thin line.  “It’s up to you to. But I promise you it’s the truth.  All of it. You may not believe me…you may not like it…but Octavia, I promise I never meant you any harm.  You were never supposed to get hurt, or find out. Please know I’m sorry.”

He reached for her hand, but she snapped it away.  “What do you mean I was never supposed to find out?  Find out what?”

“Take a seat, please.” He said calmly.  After a moment, she sat, though dramatically reluctant, to let him know she was doing him a favor.

“Now, what I’m about to tell you is of international importance, and confidential.  I need you to promise me you won’t repeat anything I say.”

“Allister, who would I tell?  You’re the only person I have, and even then, I don’t.”

“Yes.  You do only have me.  And I’m about to tell you why.”  He dropped his head, the attitude of a dog who knows he’s guilty.  “I’m not who you think I am.”

“No, I don’t.  I have no idea anymore.”

He closed his eyes, and placed a hand on her knee.  “There’s a reason you can’t remember anything about your past.” He looked pained.  “And I’m so sorry.”

The gravity of his voice and the distress it seemed to be causing him softened Octavia into a state of nervousness.  “Allister, you’re scaring me.”

“Our life, our marriage...” he exhaled. “Is a cover.”

“A cover?  A cover for what?”

“Do you know what’s happening on Mars?”

“Mars?  What does energy have to do with anything?”

“Everything, actually.”

She sighed dramatically.  “Allister, stop speaking in riddles, or I’m going to leave.  I swear, you’re the most elusive man I know!”

“No, I’m the only man you know.  A least, that you can remember.”

She flinched, and rubbed her forehead.  “Why is that? Please, just tell me.”

“I’m getting to it, I promise.  You can’t remember anything, because you have nothing to remember.  And you are right, I have been abroad. I’m not from here. I’m not even a scientist.  Well, I am, but that’s a cover as well. I’m an undercover agent-

Octavia interrupted him with a laugh.  “A spy? Really, Allister?”

“I know how it sounds.  But see, nothing is what it seems.  The whole world is a lie. Let me tell you how.  The war exhausted what was left of our natural energy resources, as you know.  Drilling for minerals on Mars is what started the whole war. As you could imagine, it’s an expensive process.  You have to sustain the workers, which implies maintaining living facilities and supply shipments. The machinery to drill costs as much as the moon, and the procedure is not an easy one. Then there’s the chemical convergence to make it into fuel that acts like a combustible found on Earth, and still there’s the transportation of all the fuel back to Earth in the six-month interval.  It won’t ever get cheaper, not for the consumers or the producers. In all logic, it should be an endeavor doomed to fail, purely from the financial standpoint. But this is a greedy, corrupted world. All we seem to care about it our electricity working and our transportation running. Whatever the cost, and I do mean whatever the cost. If you’re going to be the world superpower, you can’t go bankrupt.  Sure, you can charge all you want, but with a procedure like the Martian Alternative Resource, it’ll only cover sustainability. But who wants to be purely sustainable in this world, especially after all the decline? So, you find a way to cheapen your expenses to maximize your profit. And what did they do? They cheapened their expenses. I’m talking working conditions: the drillers on Mars aren’t paid adequately; they’re enticed to go work basically as a slave since they all come from poor, war torn countries.  When haven’t people turned to the unknown when things were bleak down in the dirt? Now we can actually go there, but once they are there they find true hell. Literally, it’s too hot for humans down there. The labor conditions aren’t safe, the oxygen in the living quarters is too thin, the food too weak in nutrients. It’s basically a work camp. But the process itself is why I’m here on this mission. The way they convert it isn’t how it was supposed to be done. They use cheaper minerals that are somewhat easier to get to, and they cut them.  It makes for large quantities, and lots of money, that’s for sure, but they’re selling it at top price. Nobody knows that they’re doing this. And yes, I know men have corrupted business since the beginning of time, but the reason this is important, why it’s such a secret, is that the process in which they are using is toxic. Once the fuel is combusted on Earth and sent into the air, it reacts with our atmosphere. It causes biological digression. Ever wonder why people are always so sick? Wonder why there’s the fertility crisis? Because we’re being poisoned.  Our food is poison, the air we breathe is poison. This Martian fuel could be better than anything we could ever produce from Earth, but it would simply cost too much. It’s not impossible to be produced safely, but it has to happen somehow. The only other alternative is to die. We simply cannot sustain ourselves like this. But why should these guys care when they’re rolling in money? This is the richest society in the history of mankind! Who cares if we’re all dying; at least the powers that be will have nice gold tombs.”

         While speaking, his face had grown cold and hard.  He exhaled, scratching the bridge of his nose. “My mission is to get hard evidence of this heinous crime, to upload the documentation into cyberspace, otherwise it remains virtually nonexistent.  My country is poor, and we have people on Mars. Our culture got destroyed in the war, as many did, but with the assimilations of all of us into our new political structure, we became one. Scientific engineering is how we got money; we build the spacecraft’s that take the fuel back to earth.   Well, we realized the fuel was heavier than it should have been if it had been synthesized properly, which launched this whole investigation. It’s a huge endeavor to create nuclear rockets with hydrogen generators to transport unfathomable amounts of fuel back to earth in the time window when Mars is closest to us.  Given our strong militaristic and socialistic background mixings, we’ve dedicated ourselves wholeheartedly into this crisis. Somebody had to.

         He sighed.  “Exposing it will inevitably bring about another revolution.  Sure, this fuel is valuable enough that a tiny fraction can power a whole city for years.   But we are consuming more than we ever have in history. Its either revolution or certain demise.”

Octavia had sat quietly the whole time he spoke, struggling to accept the overdose of knowledge he’d just delivered to her.

“Sorry, I know its’s a lot to process.” He said.

         “If you claim to be poor, then how do you have so much money to be able to get involved with something like this?”

         “We don’t.  That’s why the mission is risky, otherwise we would have been able to come right out and expose the bad guys.  But that would have started a war, and nobody wants that again. Not after the last one that jumbled this whole planet and exhausted all our natural resources.  My country is involved in scientific and innovative thinking, we’re not rash and brutal. I guess that’s why we got war torn. We want to save the world, as peacefully as we can, so we need to gain leverage against them so they cannot deny their crime.”

“Where do I fit into all of this?”

         “My mission is to get this information.  But if they found that out…I’d be a dead man before the air gets to me.  My country knew the risk in sending me here. I know the risk. I needed to blend in, because even though their information is still safe, they know it’s only a matter of time and power before someone discovers it.  So, my country hacked into the citizenship database and gave me a false identity: this identity. I’m from here, I have always lived here, I have a house and a job to prove it…and a wife, who was also natively born here.”

         “You don’t remember anything about your past life because it was erased, and implanted in its place are details of me, my fake image, and of our life together.  But…we’ve only known each other a few years. Everything else is just an implantation. You were programmed to be a housewife who thought of nothing but her husband, so that should someone get suspicious and come questioning, you would be the devoted wife you thought you were.  They would believe it because you would believe it; the art of ultimate deception. Alas, it only works if it is your reality. As soon as you begin to doubt it, it fades…leaving you with nothing. I truly am sorry I left you alone so much.”

         “But how could I ever have agreed to this?  Where is my consent?”

         “On a signed piece of paper locked away in my country.  You went to school for international relations; your goal was to help poor countries recover from the war and join the economic sphere.  You were quite the humanitarian, but you started to get controversial and insubordinate, which is dangerous. My country noticed you since you helped get us involved in space shuttle engineering.  And then once we found out about the real nature of the product we were shipping…long story short, we asked you if you would help, and you said yes. You agreed to erase your whole life to do this.”

         “How much did I know of the implications?  Did I know that I would be throwing everything to be a miserable housewife?  Did I know my life was going to be like this? Honestly, did my virtues really extent to that level of sacrifice?  All I have been able to think about recently has been myself.”

         Allister shrugged.  “I want to say yes, but I don’t know.”

         “How am I supposed to know?”

         “I don’t know, Octavia, but I wished I hadn’t been so selfish myself as to put you through all the distress.  This is all my fault, none of it yours.” He sighed. “It hasn’t been easy for me either. Every day at work, having to pretend to be one of them.  Monitoring my own thoughts should someone get suspicions and pull a move on me that you did. Coming home exhausted, stressed, and still having to play charade.”

         “So, everything between you and I have been a lie?” she stated monotonously.  “I’ve been your proxy wife and nothing more?” tears welled up in her eyes. “I thought I loved you!  I thought I chose you! I thought I was dedicating all my misery to you! But you’re not real...you’re just a scheme.  I have nothing else. My entire existence has become a charade!”

         “Just know a part of you agreed to this.  Know there’s a greater good, a greater motive.  I had to make sacrifices too. This is for the benefit of mankind.”  

         “What if I don’t want to be a part of this anymore?”

         “You said so yourself; you have nothing left.”

         “All I ever had was you.  But you weren’t programmed to love me, you really were just lying to me.”

         “If I had been programmed to love you, I most likely would have abandoned the mission.  When you don’t care about anyone, it’s easier to not care about yourself, which makes it easier to be selfless, which makes this whole operation easier.  Kind of like a suicide mission.”

         “Are we going to die?”

         “Aren’t we all?  But no, if they found out I’d imagine we’d see a punishment worse than death.  I’m going to have to move faster now. My country has promised us safety back home once I get the information.”

         “And what about me?  What if that’s not what I want?  And what was I supposed to think when you decided to relocate us?”

         “Well, you were programmed to be devoted to me, so before that wasn’t an anticipated problem.  There were two reasons why I kept you cooped up here: one because the closer to the city, the more toxic the air, and two, if you made friends here and laid down roots you wouldn’t want to.  I was going to make it sound like the reward for having worked so hard that we get to retire young and move into a beautiful country home to raise the family you wanted so bad. And that essentially is what it is; a reward for the job.”

         “I suppose one of the benefits of having a proxy wife is that you get to take advantage of her.”

         He smiled.  “Come on, you have our memories.  You always initiated the nighttime activities.”

         She blushed and frowned. 

         “I can talk to my superiors.  I’ll try to maybe get it so once the work is done they can erase all of this and you can go free and do as you please…but that comes with complications.  It’s dangerous to erase someone’s memory, especially twice. You’ll be a middle-aged woman who never lived. You’ll have no memories, no knowledge, no nothing.  You’ll be drifting alone in a strange world. I would advise sticking with me.”

         A long moment of silence passed as Octavia thought about her options diligently.  “You can’t keep me out anymore. I want to know what’s going on.” She was adamant.

         “I just need you to be my wife.”

         “I don’t care about being your wife.  If I’m saving the world, I’m going to know it and fight for it, not stand by idly.”

         Allister smiled.  “There’s that spunk that got you started in all of this.  I guess despite our efforts, nature does run strong.”

 

        

 

Part III: Alternative Energy

 

         The days and nights wore on.  Allister went to work and Octavia stayed home, though she didn’t wait impatiently for his return anymore.  She’d taken to avoiding him, spending most of her time watching soap operas. She paid close attention to how the lives of the characters interacted with each other, how they dealt with love and betrayal.  She watched with a monotonous expression, unaffected by the emotion the programs were supposed to evoke in her. During commercials Allister’s story ran circles around her head, causing headaches from futile attempts at remembrance.  Her mood swings were internal, she believed she was not capable of emotion since all she had ever felt didn’t seem real to her. The love that had been engrained into her mind for him felt fake, like a drug that wasn’t taking effect anymore.  She was at a crossroads. For what felt forever, all she’d had was love for him. She lived by it, she breathed for it. Now what was she supposed to feel? Her body had aged without her, she had incoherently thrust her into the middle of her life.  Time was relative, time didn’t make sense anymore. She tried to recall a past, the truth, but no matter how she tried, she couldn’t reach any clues about who she was. Who was she supposed to be now? Was her purpose really to live a charade to save the lives of others?  Was it just to be an insignificant decoy? She found herself wishing she’d respected the warning label on the Cogarti. Ignorance was bliss. Her whole life had been turned upside down, the ground fallen from under her feet, all its contents spilled out into a dark abyss. She felt so alone, she had not even herself.  This loneliness was greater than the one she’d felt before, for at least then, she had reason. She’d had something to identify with, and now, she felt robotic inside, one that was waiting for a new program, a new purpose.

          

         Allister been nervous ever since the investigator had shown up.  While Octavia ignored him, he became prisoner to his own fear. Every morning when he went to work, he feared he would never return, that he’d get to work and they would very politely, yet very sternly, call him into their back office.  They’d elude his questions as they walked down the long hall with words he wouldn’t hear because his heart would be beating in his ears. They’d know he was guilty the minute his superiors cordially shook his hands and discovered with palms were clammy.  And then the heavy door would shut…and what would come after…their passive accusations, their cordial sentencing, their smirks as they laid down their evidence…he shuddered, goosebumps prickling his flesh. What would happen behind the closed door, he did not want to know.  At times, he felt anger towards Octavia, cursing her weakened state and investigation. But that was just his denial. In truth, he blamed himself. He felt incredibly guilty and shameful. He failed what should have been the easiest part of the mission; the human element. He had taken her for granted and he knew it, he had known it while it was happening but forgot she was still capable of action.  He had used her ignorance to his advantage, letting himself invest into the mission in the promise to himself that he would complete it. But now it was in jeopardy, the mission he’d invested so much time and so much of himself into. He had undergone years of training and schooling, had sacrificed his own past to risk. He had become his mission, become one with it. To fail was a very real concept to him now.  Not that he hadn’t known of the grandiosity that would impact the world, but understanding through example verses experience are two very different things. The mission had a deeply personal effect on him, for if he failed, he would fail himself. He had always understood that selflessness can only extend to a certain degree, and he had found his edge. To fail the mission would be to fail his life’s purpose, to lose his sense of self.  He would, as he realized with a realization so cold his flesh prickled and his hair stood up on end, become like Octavia. He would feel a complete loss of identity, though worse, because unlike her he would still have a culture, companions, and memories. His shame grew unbearable. His hands trembled, he was unable to look at himself in a mirror. He put the weight of the world on his shoulders, and in this state of despair that he cursed, he found himself yearning for someone lean against.  Someone who could sympathize with him, someone who would listen to his weakness and not scorn him as he did himself.  

         And then, he realized he was perhaps the dumbest man alive.

         “Octavia!” he called, rushing out of his bedroom.  It was night, and the only light in the living room came from the television.  And suddenly, it was as if he’d been away for a very long time, an astronaut alone on a spacecraft having had walked on alien soil, that the joy at seeing another human face was almost too much to bear.  He strode over to her, then stopped, her dead glance instantly making him aware that he was in no position to deliver himself without an explanation.

         “Octavia,” he blurted. “I’m so sorry.”

         “I think you’ve said that already.”

         His nerves confused him and made him stumble over his words several times before he could express himself.  “No, not sincerely enough. Not for everything. I didn’t thank you for agreeing to…whitewash your whole life away.  For putting up with me while I took you for granted.” A ball of lead materialized in the back of his throat.

         She looked at him and sighed.  He noticed she had cut her own hair, cut away all the bleach so that it only showed the roots of her hair that extended just past her ears.  He had forgotten that her hair was a lovely chestnut brown, a color that complimented the bright blue of her eyes. She looked at him with wide eyes pained with a troubled expression, one that was so profound it revealed the empty depth of her persona.

         “Thank you for that.” She said softly.  “I’m sorry too. I know my investigation complicated things.  But you were all I had, that phony love was all I felt.”

He sat down beside her, aware they were sharing a moment more intimate than they ever had before.  Her reverted appearance made him recall the first time he ever saw her. She had stood tall and confident, a force full of energy ready to fight, ready to sacrifice.  There had been a few candidates for the mission, and ultimately the decision had come down to him. Jerimiah had left it up to him, telling him to follow the chemistry.  She was the one that had stood out, she was the one he’d been drawn to. In fact, she had reminded him of someone who he’d once been very close to, someone he had lost. At first it was like getting a piece of the past back, but once the implantation took place, once she became brainwashed, she adopted the role wholeheartedly and he’d lost those feelings. 

“It’s my fault; I let you down.  I just,” his stomach tightened, “got so invested into the mission.  I let it consume me, like how you were consumed by love.”

She laughed, but didn’t smile.  “It would have been easier if you’d loved me too.”

He flinched.  “If I’d been programmed like you, I would have lost sight of the mission.” He reminded her

“I suppose that’s all that matters.  The mission.”

Allister made no reply.  She sighed again, a long, heavy sigh that shuddered her body.  “Tell me what the plan is.”

“What do you mean?”

“For the mission.”

         “Are you positive this is what you want?”

         “Does it matter what I want?  Apparently, I made that choice already.”

         Allister gazed at her intently, seeing the sad acceptance in her face.  But what was more was that there was also determination etched into the way she frowned, and he recalled something she’d said when he had first met her.  It was that sometimes, optimism was just acceptance. You accept and move on, she’d said. As he looked closely, he thought he could see traces of her in herself again.  They were damaged, broken, and vague, but emerging nonetheless, like daffodils after a long winter. 

         “I just need you to be my wife.  Protect the cover so this can finish smoothly.”

         She measured his words.  “Okay.” She said. “Then I just need you to be my husband.”

         A small smile broke through and softened his face.   “Okay.”

         “That means you have to include me.  I’m serious. I want to know what’s going on.  If I’m going to save the world, I’m going to know it.  Me, as your partner.”

         “And one more thing.” She continued.  “I want to see the city. I want to get out of this damned house.”

“The air…” he protested.

“I don’t care.  Bedside’s we’re already risking our lives.  What’s living if it isn’t a gamble?”

He smiled again.  “Fai enough. But I must warn you, it’s not what you see on television.  Television in glamorized. You see it, and believe that’s what the world is like.  It may not be a completely accurate representation of one’s daily life, but they believe it generalizes them since it is the common denominator between them and people of places they’ve never seen.  It’s meant to deceive, to keep people entertained, which keeps them occupied. Television is the dance the puppeteer composes.”

“I don’t know anything about my world.  I want to see it. After all, what kind of wife would I be if I didn’t make ridiculous demands?  I want to see the sunset. All of it. And I want to see it from the city.” She paused, recalling the desires of the only life she knew.  “I want to see it with you, and I want you to hold my hand in front of everyone, and I want to have a meal on the boardwalk and watch the sunset.”

 

And so, it was that Allister dressed down into casual jeans and a sports jacket, his face framed with sunglasses, and Octavia put on a dress under a light jacket, and together they drove west into the city.  She looked young in her short hair and dress, and how she marveled at the sights with childlike infatuation. Everything was as if she were seeing it for the first time. Upon entering the downtown district, she rolled down the window despite Allister’s protests and squealed with glee.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“There’s just so much!”

He laughed and she swatted him playfully.  “Don’t laugh at me, I’m making memories!”

         The city was built up of tall, sophisticated steel buildings.  Their reflective surfaces made the light shine, and everything was straight cut, though Octavia marveled at how it boasted self-sufficiency and cleanliness.  Its busy energy reminded her of a beehive. 

         “There’s a lot of money in this city.  Other places in the world don’t look like this.” Allister mentioned grimly.  “They’re war torn remains from the mid twenty-first century architecture. That’s what happens when there’s abuse of power; you get elitism.  Almost these buildings house corporations that answer directly to the NIAE. The only towers that compare in height to them are the banks.”

         Octavia looked at the city in a new light, one that bounced off the steel paneling and shone too brightly in her eyes.

They found a place to eat outside on the boardwalk, and Octavia relished the diversity of tastes in the food.  She lifted her face to the sun and smiled. Upon noticing a little girl with her mother, she was touched with a heartfelt sorrow that she would never know her own mother or childhood.   She appeased to take in every detail of her surroundings, to squeeze every drop out of life to fill the empty spaces.

The little girl coughed.

“Children are more infected.” Allister said in a hushed tone.  “Their immune systems are weaker. The pharmaceutical companies are making a slaughter off prescribing all these vitamins and antibiotics, but it won’t work.  It’s chemical, not biological. It’s being absorbed through our skin. Maybe someday after all of this is said and done we’ll make our money off making machines that counteract the chemical, like industrial air filters.”

“Maybe we’ll build up an immunity to it.” Octavia mused.

 Allister smiled wryly.  “Maybe, if we were Martians.”

“Speaking of which, tell me about your life.  Tell me about your human side. Who was the woman with dark hair?” she held her breath.

Allister scratched his nose and sipped his wine delicately.  “Khala. She was my wife. The love of my life, I suppose.” His gaze got lost out to the sea.

“What happened to her?” Octavia’s curiosity burned.

“She died.” He said softly.

“From the poisoning?”

“No.  Car accident.  She was driving down the mountain pass in the dark and winter and slid off the road.  Nobody’s fault. Sometimes I think it would have been better if she had been poisoned.”

“Why do you think that?”

He shrugged.  “Might justify what I went on to do.  She was taken from me in a way that was not very special.  One day she was, and the next day she was not, and I had no one to blame.  I had just been asked to take on this mission, but I was hesitant. I wanted to start a family, not become a scientist.  But then I couldn’t do that, and figured what better way to distract myself than to occupy my mind with astronomical physics, chemistry, and biology?” he sighed.  “I had to make the most of my fate.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“No need for consolidation.  We live in a world where we can control almost every aspect of our environments, but we will never control accident by human error.”

“You’re very philosophical.” She noted.

He shrugged again.  “I’ve lived.”

Her expression morphed into what struck Allister as wishful.  “Okay,” he said. “Here’s something for you. Do you think that we control our environment?”

She marveled at his ability to continuously take her by surprise.  “No.” she said after some thought.

 “Why not?”

“Because, regardless if I once had, I’ve never experienced it.  And, because of everything you’ve told me about the world. How it’s corruptive, abusive, and cheating us out of life to make a profit.”

He smiled.  “You make me sound like a bitter old man.”

Now it was Octavia’s turn to shrug.  Allister laughed. “I definitely see your point.  Some things become more powerful; to have control there must always be the controlled.  But you know why that is?”

“Why?”

“Energy.”

“Energy?  Like fuel?”

“Yes, that’s part of it.  But really, everything is energy.  Everything is made up of atoms, and atoms are just particles of negatively or positively charged energy.  The universe is like a boomerang; what is put out always will come back in the same form, be it negative or positive, like karma.  Take this city in abstract, for example. More energy was put into it; therefore, it contains more. But that energy holds negative implications, therefore the air here has higher level of toxins.”

“Then how can we control our environment?”

“By controlling our fate.”

“And how does one control their fate when we’re being poisoned with every breath we take?”

“Think abstractly.  A brainwave is energy, correct?  There’s pessimistic thoughts, and optimistic thoughts.  If you believe good things will happen, good things will happen.  If you think things will only get worse, things will only get worse.  It’s the simple law of attraction, or my boomerang analogy. Think about it.”

“I’m trying.” She said.

“Let’s take your life as you know it.  You wanted to find out what was going on with me, so you took certain measures that resulted in you finding out.  However, since your intentions weren’t all good, nor was the result. But not all of it.” He added. “Look at us now.  Isn’t this what you wanted? We’re enjoying dinner in the city together as a married couple. The only reason it’s not as you imagined is because of environmental circumstances to which we do not have control over yet.  But, that is the objective of our mission. Do you see it now?”

She closed her eyes and rolled her head back, a smile on her lips and a laugh.  She opened them and sighed blissfully. “Do you know what I see?”

“What do you see?”

“The sunset.” She said dreamily.  And indeed, the sun had begun to set, casting the first vibrant shades of colors across the sky that reflected in the steel towers, turning them pink and purple and orange.   She wasn’t the only one who’s breath was taken away, people on the boardwalk stopped their stroll to take photographs. She looked to Allister to share the moment, but saw instead of matched admiration, his face was solemn.  She couldn’t believe he could be so cold as to not forget his thoughts and marvel at something greater than him, something that was so beautiful it escaped through the constraints of man.

         “What’s wrong?” she asked.  “Don’t you think it’s beautiful?”

         “It is.  Undeniably.  It’s also physical proof of our demise.”

         She looked at him quizzically.

         “Wonder why the colors seem brighter?  It’s the toxins reacting in the atmosphere.”

         “I suppose you could say it’s the silver-lining.” she murmured.

         Allister laughed, a laugh so distinctive it occupied a large space in her memory.  He had mastered the dry humorous laugh, the art of finding comic in misfortune. “Yes, at least we’ll have a pretty view as we die.”

         “People have always died.” She reminded him, somewhat curtly.

         “Yes.  I know that.  But never like this.  You wouldn’t let any other sickness kill you when you know it can be fixed, would you?”

         She shrugged.  “I suppose not.  But if you know what you have is limited…doesn’t that make it even more enjoyable?”

         “But these people don’t know they’re dying.” He argued.  “They don’t know why their children are sick, they don’t understand how they can’t get pregnant.  They don’t understand in a couple of decades our species could be extinct. I can assure you, once they do know, then they’ll care.  And they have a right to know. But for now, here, go take some pictures while I pay the bill.”

         They stood to part ways, but before they did, Octavia stepped back and embraced him.  He looked down at her in surprise, then saw her sweet smile, and softened. He put his arms around her and rested his chin on top of her head.

         “Thank you, Al.”

         He kissed her hair.  “No, thank you. Now go, get some pictures.  I like the blue clouds the best.”

         She walked away, not feeling the concrete underneath her feet.  She felt elated inside; pleased and content, even despite the circumstances that had lead her dreams to a reality.  And she thought to herself that the sunset was the silver-lining in the world. It was, as Allister would put it, the good energy manifesting itself.  It shone as the beauty, the hope, the love that remained. She inhaled, smelling the pungent smog and the brisk salt water, and beamed. The blue clouds were lovely, blending the pinks into purples and the yellows into turquoise greens. 

         A woman with curly red hair dressed in a suit stepped in besides Octavia.  They exchanged polite smiles as they took pictures of the view.

“What a wonderful husband you have.  I couldn’t help but notice what a lovely time you two seemed to be having.  It’s so nice to see cute couples such as yourselves enjoying each others company.” The woman said warmly.  Octavia smiled back in the same tone. She felt like an outcast in the city for not knowing its customs or values.  It was comforting to see kindness demonstrated by strangers. 

“Thank you.” She said.

The woman nodded.  “If I were you, I wouldn’t take him for granted.”

Octavia had to shield her eyes from the sunshine, to validate her hearing with sight.  The woman looked back at her with a gaze so peculiar, Octavia was speechless as she watched her turn and walk away, as if they whole encounter had never happened.  Octavia stood frowning, trying to process the sudden shift in attitude that revalidated her social reclusiveness. Allister materialized by her side. He too was frowning.

“What did that woman say to you?” he demanded with a curt tone.  She noticed how his vowels were pronounced differently, a sigh of his native tongue, and of stress.

“I…” She tried to make sense of it.

“What did she say to you?” he repeated impatiently.

“She said you looked like a wonderful husband…”

“And?”

“And that I shouldn’t take you for granted.”

To her unease, the color drained from his face.  A terrible feeling told her the sun had set, yet the colors still radiated heavenly. He straightened his posture, grabbed her arm, and started to lead her back to the car.

“Allister, what are you doing?”

“We’re going home.”

She resisted his lead.  “Tell me what’s going on.  You promised.”

He bowed his head, grabbed her hand, and resumed walking.  “That woman,” he said under his breath, “is part of who I work for.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Part IV: Sunset

 

They raced home in the dark.  Not a word was spoken. The tension radiating off Allister was too thick for Octavia to break.  Upon entering the woodland drive that led them into their home, Allister turned off the headlights and pulled in slowly, his eyes scanning the property.  He deemed the coast clear, yet made her wait in her seat until he walked around the car and opened her door, escorting her into the house with his arm curled firmly around her waist. 

“Draw the shades.” He said once they were inside.  “I have to make a phone call.” He went to ascend the stairs, then stopped, turned, walked back to her, and kissed her wordlessly on her cheek, then briskly exited the room.  She stood, one hand placed on her cheek where he kissed her. She was uncontrollably pleased, like a schoolgirl who’d gotten the affection of her love interest. Still, her feelings for him were scrambled.  The obsessive, unconditional love had faded in the revelation of the truth, and since then she’d been regarding him as someone she’d never met before. But in all honesty, she was surprised to find there was still admiration when she thought of him, one that made it almost possible, if not to forgive, then to at least understand his actions.  He had an undeniably selfless and brave character, but his cowardice and selfishness made him human. It made him real. She laughed once, one that mimicked Allister and challenged the dire circumstances.

And it was those dire circumstances that Allister was discussing upstairs in his closet with Jerimiah Zayden.  Their conversation was filled with long pauses of heavy silence on Allister’s end as he listened to his comrades on the other end of the globe transfigure the circumstances. 

“Ultimately, Allister,” Jerimiah said, “it is up to you.  It’s your gut instinct that matters. If you think aborting the mission is the call we should make…speak now or forever gamble with the stakes.”

He closed his eyes, stretching his thoughts.  Of course, aborting the mission would be the safest thing for him and Octavia.  But under the considerations of the personal incentive he felt of preserving his identity, and of giving one to Octavia, abandoning it would not be worth it.  Their whole charade would be a waste of time and energy. And, as he reminded himself, it would leave the world to its doomed fate while preserving their selfishness temporarily, after they already paid with their identity. 

“No.” he said.

“Good man.” Jerimiah said.  “Stay tuned for final instructions, the time has come to act quick.”

They were going over the pros, the cons, the maybe’s, and the what if’s, when Allister heard the closet door creak open.  Octavia peered in, curiously intent. She entered tentatively, then sat down on the floor next to him. She watched his face, stoic and cold and he listened and spoke in his language.  She reached for his hand, which he grasped firmly. 

“Well?” she asked once he’d hung up.  “What’s the plan?”

“We’re about to catch the boomerang.”

 

The National Institute for Alternative Energy loomed before them.  It was a concrete building of incredible size dyed a dusty red to symbolize Mars, the source of its wealth and prestige.  It stood there on top the knoll, boasting its status as the savior and benefactor of the world; the generator of survival.

“It’s so…foreboding.” Octavia whispered once they passed the security checkpoint.

“Yes.” Allister said dryly.  “Yes, it is.”

She fidgeted in her seat.  “Allister, I’m nervous.”

“And I’m terrified.  But don’t tell anyone.”

He parked the car in his assigned spot and killed the engine.  He looked to her, a hard-pressed look of thoughtfulness. 

“What?” she said.  “Don’t look at me like that, you’re scaring me.”

“Sorry.  You remember what to do right?  Just wait for me. I’ll try to go quick.”

“You’re just scanning papers, right?”

“No.  I’m getting you your anniversary present.”

“Oh, yes.” She said.  “The art of deception.”

They walked into the Institute hand in hand.  She tightened her grip upon entering the lobby.  The open space was high both in height and width, with only a desk in the center of the marble interior.  It was modern in its sleek, straight dimensions, though there was a hint of Athenian elitism in the columnar support beams that paralleled each other. 

“Lyle, this is my wife, Octavia.” He introduced her to the receptionist who sat behind the desk.  “Dear, this is Lyle Barrett.”

She nodded to the man, who was short and skinny.  His complexion was very pale, and his eyes were as hard and grey as steel.  She nodded as confidently as she could manage to him.

“Wait here for me.” He said.  He kissed her hair, squeezed her hand one last time, then let go.  She watched him with a sinking feeling in her stomach as he disappeared into one of the many elevators.  She caught one last glance of him before the mirrored door closed, and through his stoic stance, she saw his fear materialized when the doors closed and she was left with only her own reflection.

She stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do with her hands, and trying not to breath to loud.  It seemed even the slightest sound made an echo. She looked to Lyle Barrett and attempted a smile, to which was not returned.  She settled on clenching her fists inside her pockets to avoid biting her nails, digging them into her palms instead.

“My, if it isn’t Octavia Galantis!” a voice boomed.  Her heart skipped a beat, and to her horror she saw Ruben Hubbell gaily approaching her.  She smiled and shook his extended hand, praying he wouldn’t notice how sweaty her palms were.  She put on a smile.

“How are you?  What brings you to our esteemed institute?”

“I’m well, thank you.” Her voice sounded very distant.  “My husband is picking up my anniversary present, and then we are going to dinner.”

“Tell me, is it our new Proventus? A miraculous invention, really.  Finally, something that will get the population off drugs and fight addictions through something so simple and harmless it’s as if it were natural.  I’m telling you, you’re going to absolutely love it. Just administer one harmless like shock anywhere on your body-it’s no more than the snap of static, really-and it’ll increase your endorphins.  You’ll never have to feel anything but happiness again!” he beamed as his voice boomed in her ears. She smiled, but it quickly dropped with her stomach when she saw who was lingering behind the bulk of Ruben Hubbell.  It was the woman from the boardwalk with the red curly hair. She stared at Octavia like she was a specimen under a microscope, her skinny face pinched. She was small in frame, though more bony than lean. She reminded Octavia of a fox; Ruben was her ox. 

“Well, please do enjoy your gift.  It was lovely seeing you.” Ruben said.  Octavia attempted a parting smile, though it wavered under the gaze of the woman.  She walked in orderly steps behind Ruben, though it was clear from her erect posture that she was leading.  She made no move in her body other than steps, and by the horrible way her thin lips twitched into the hint of a smirk, Octavia sensed for the first time in her coherent life true, paralyzing fear.

Her face was stricken, her breathing irregular.  She tried to pull herself together, to think positively, but awful suspicions crushed them, for denial is not optimism.  The lobby was silent, strange for a place renowned for progression. The only sound was the receptionist tapping his fingernail against the computer screen.  One thing she did find comical was how one person could be in a state of normalcy while the other was in the tight hold of anxiety.

The computer rang in a series of short, staccato beeps.  Lyle Barrett tapped his fingernails against the screen again, to Octavia’s annoyance.  The fast rhythms matched her heartbeat, adding to her unease.

Suddenly, he stood up.  “Let’s go.” He said sternly. 

“What?” she said.  She stepped back as he advanced forward, his demeanor alerting her instincts that no machine could ever erase that she should resist him.

“Get away from me!” she shouted.

“Quiet!” he hissed.

“Allister!” she shouted, even louder.  “Al-

Her voice was cut off by a strange sensation that started in her left arm.  Lyle had grabbed her, and pressed a smooth, flat disk with two tiny tongs extruding from one side into her skin.  The shock it delivered her startled her, but what followed could only be described as euphoric. Lyle’s presence became welcomed, and she willingly let him lead her into one of the elevators, excited to see where they were going.  She giggled, and found it even more funny when he placed his cold hand over her mouth to suppress the sound. He poked her in her side with the disk again, this time more forcefully. More shocks were delivered to her, and her surroundings glimmered around her in a breathtaking light.  She couldn’t feel her body, she was consumed by a ecstatic numbness that overwhelmed her voice, then her hearing, and finally her sight. Her whole world dissipated in a cloud of bliss, then darkness.

 

There was nothing for an unknowable stretch of dreamless time.  Eventually, she became aware she could hear and see, but the sounds were strange and the sights unfamiliar.  She raced to remember what had happened, and memories of extreme happiness came to her without any pain behind her eyes.  She wondered where that happiness went and where it came from, and then with a jolt recalled the incident at the Institute.  She gasped, tried to call out, but her voice was dry and raspy.

“Water?” a voice said in a thick accent.  She discovered that she was not alone, an old man sat by her beside in what appeared to be a hospital recovery room of sorts.  Her bed with its old cotton sheets was accompanied only by a chair that seated an old man, a lamp, and a window with very vertical mountains in the distance.  The man was small and frail, with long white hair that stood up on end. His skin was brown and leathered, but his eyes had a youthful intentness to them. 

“Where am I?” she put the words forth with her best effort.

“Here, have some water.  It will help with the dehydration.”

She eyed the glass suspiciously.

The old man laughed.  “Don’t worry, it’s not drugged, though we did have to drug you for the journey.  It was safer and quieter that way.”

“What journey?” she demanded, having submitted and drowned the contents of the cup.  “Where am I? Who are you?” she glared at the little old man who smiled kindly back at her.

“My name is Jerimiah Zayden.  And you’re in a safe place.”

“Jerimiah…” she remembered Allister mentioning a Jerimiah.  “But what about Allister? What about the mission?”

Jerimiah reached and tenderly clasped her hand in his.  “The mission was a success, my dear. Our good man succeeded in uploading the evidence into our satellites.  Now the NIAE can’t deny the proof, now that it exists outside of their confidentiality. We can now move forward with certainty to take them down.”

Octavia looked at him in disbelief, but his watery smile vouched for him.  He looked like a man who had just seen his grandchild born.

“But…where’s Allister?  Is he here too?” alas, she knew the answer before his smile dropped and revealed the expression that had caused all the wrinkles on his face.

“Regretfully, there was a complication.” He said.  “The agents at the Institute suspected Allister was up to treachery.  They discovered him right after he uploaded the documents to our satellites.  He only had time to warn Lyle Barrett before they contained him.”

“Lyle…”

“Yes, he works for us as well.  I apologize for him getting rough with you, but the mission got desperate back there.”

But Octavia wasn’t concerned with herself, much less with Lyle Barrett.  “And Allister…is he…”

“We don’t know for sure, dear.  They’ve got him, that’s all we know.”

A sharp pain split through her chest, and a chocked sob escaped from her despaired face.

“However, we have knowledge that some of our other agents working towards the same objective as your mission were sent to Mars by the NIAE to work as prisoners.  I’m almost certain that is what will happen to him. I have a feeling about it. I highly doubt they will kill him, since he has information about us, their unknown enemy.  But I’ve known Allister Galantis for many years. He is a faithful man. He would never betray us.”

She nodded ruefully.  She began to cry and laugh at the same time, a joyous yet deeply painful sound.

“Now, getting down to business.” Jerimiah said, and cleared his throat.  “Your part of the mission is done. We’ve set up a nice little place for you here, a house all to yourself which is a luxury in our country, but we want only the best for you.  We can teach you the ways of our language and culture so you feel more connected, and will do our best to ensure your comfort.”

 Octavia’s cries faded.  She understood they were giving her what had been promised, but the thought of going back inside an empty house to deal with the terrors loneliness inflicts on the mind was repulsive to her.  It was a fate she deemed worse than death. It would be as if nothing had ever happened, as if the only thing she was to gain were night terrors from a haunting reality. She was now to start her life over for the third time, though now that the mission was completely over, she felt without purpose, and found herself morbidly wishing it hadn’t ended so soon.

Jerimiah was a wise man, and an observant man.    His life’s work depended on the disposition of nonverbal human behavior.  He could read tones of voices and facial expressions like words in a book.  He saw the reluctance in her face. He cleared his throat again. “However,” he began, “now that the mission has been completed, we can move onto our other aspirations.  Octavia, I have a proposition for you.” She blinked away her tears to see him clearly. “Either you can live a secure life here in our country, or,” here he paused, “you can join our team.  We’d train you, teach you, give you an identity, if you’d be willing to participate in our Mars mission where we plan to emancipate the prisoners there. But,” he held up his hand, “before you agree, as I can see your face is eager, understand it would involve vigorous training and schooling that could last years, and a dangerous setting where we cannot promise safety nor success.  Our control would not be able to extend through all that space. You’d be acting alone on alien territory. But, I believe you could have what it takes. I’ll leave you to consider it.”

“No.” Octavia said.  “I’ll do it.”

“Are you positive?”

“Yes.” She said, sitting up straighter in her bed.  “I haven’t much of anything in my life. I want to live it to the fullest extent I can, I want to experience and know all I can.  I don’t care about the risks. I want to invest my energy into something good…I want to save the only thing I ever knew love for.” She looked Jerimiah in his eyes with ferocity in hers. 

“You know what it truly remarkable?” he asked.

“What?”

“You’re the same woman you were when I first met you.”

“Maybe.” She said.  “But our past doesn’t define us.  It’s only the energy we invest into our future.” She looked out the window, past the mountains, to the sunrise that had not changed.  “And now, I’m going to bring my husband home.”

 

 

The End