Pulling The Dragon's Tail (35 page)

“But I’d like to ask a real serious question
about you and your faith.”

“Um. Sure.”

“Do you believe that Father Abraham will protect
you?” Her voice was earnest and sincere.

“Hasn’t he been doing that?”

“Well, I could also attribute it to good luck,
fortune, skill, Dugan.”

“Well I don’t.”

“But what if the TH soldier back at Extropia had
chosen to kill you instead?”

“Then that is what Father Abraham would have
wanted.”

“For you to die?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to die, Nate?”

“Well, no. But my death would be for a higher
purpose.”

“Which is?”

“To help humanity evolve, to show them that the
pathway to survival is by non-violence. We cannot survive as a
species unless we do that.”

“But,” as she slowly shook her head in the
darkness, “—the Alpha Group experiment—your End-Date
research…wouldn’t that all be lost if you died?”

“Campbell, you just don’t understand my
commitment to obey Father Abraham.”

“I guess I don’t,” she said sighing. “But I’m
scared for you, Nate. We’re dealing with the most dangerous
criminal minds and…I’ve downloaded a lot of information about
CHOFA. There are a lot of profound stories about how the peace
witness has brought an end to wars, famine, generations-long
feuding. It’s absolutely amazing. But to apply non-violence to all
situations with no exceptions…I guess I just don’t understand that
part.”

“Believe it or not,” voiced a hesitant Nate,
“I’ve posed that very question to Sister Mariah. But she would hear
none of it. Total pacifism and refusal to defend yourself… is the
only way Father Abraham has done this with many other planets
according to Sister Mariah.”

With all the strength she could muster, she
shouted inwardly to stay nice. “OK—but what do
you
think?”
she continued. “If it became necessary, would you defend yourself?
Would you defend me if you had to use violence/”

Nate paused. “I…uh…”

“I’m a parent and you’re not,” interrupted
Campbell, struggling to control her emotions. “Would you make an
exception for family, a good friend?”

“Those are hypothetical situations,
Campbell.”

“No they’re not! You’ve been dealing with real,
not hypothetical, situations the entire time I’ve been with you!
Would you try to protect Thatcher or me from attack? Or don’t you
consider us friends?”

Nate began shivering as the cave’s dankness
suddenly sank over him like a wet blanket. “Of course, you’re
friends. I care about you and Thatcher. But…I just…don’t know.
Father Abraham says that—”

“Nate,” she gently scolded. “I don’t want to
know what Father Abraham says, I want to know what you think. You
say He’ll protect you, but what about me?”

He cleared his throat nervously. “I—I just don’t
know.”

“Don’t abandon me, Nate. I won’t abandon you if
harm threatens.”

“I won’t, Campbell. Father Abraham says the best
protection is faith in him.”

“Then your God’s pretty damn ineffective.”

Thatcher stirred. In the comfort of darkness he
plowed ahead with a question he’d been dying to ask. “On the theme
of discussing deep stuff when you’re stuffed inside a cave, do you
really believe the End-Date will occur, Nate?”

Nate sighed, secretly glad to change the topic,
even if Thatcher was aware of his real identity. “It’s not a matter
of faith for me. The facts are borne out by research. People have
all too frequently characterized it as a matter of belief, like a
religious issue.”

“Okay, count me as somewhat skeptical; maybe
it’s a generational thing. But if it’s going to come to pass, then
why?”

“The Earth,” said Nate,” has gone through
countless ice ages before. The GDSP research shows that we humans
have simply speeded up the next ice age, perhaps on the order of a
thousand years or even ten thousand years. Others think we created
one that was never meant to be. Either way, I’m afraid it’s right
around the corner.”

“How close?” inquired the reporter.

For a long time Nate said nothing
.
“Closer than most people imagine.”

“How will we know?” asked the persistent
Thatcher.

“When the gigantic conveyor belts of water from
the tropics stop bringing their warm currents to northern Europe.
Warm water on top is funneled to Europe. Meanwhile the cold current
underneath it returns to the tropics. This pattern is global.
Everyone agrees that the conveyor belts are slowing down, but many
fail to believe it could ever completely stop. But when this down
welling, as they call it, completely stops, we’d be past the point
of no return.”

“And the End-Date would be here?” asked
Thatcher.

“Exactly,” replied Nate.

“It’s provided a lot of fodder for apocalyptic
thinking,” spoke up Campbell.

“Agreed” said Nate. “And perhaps given a
rationale for people like Sheridan North and certainly Gideon’s
Army.”

“You certainly take the End-Date personally,”
commented Campbell. “You didn’t create the dragon. You’ve just
tried to make people aware of it.”

“The dragon’s still sleeping,” mused Nate. “I’ve
told’em not to wake it up. Don’t pull on its tail, because if you
do, we’re all gonna regret it.’”

“If it’s that close, maybe our job is to duck
when he wakes and avoid his icy breath,” said Thatcher half
joking.

“So,” and Campbell yawned, “can humanity
change?”

“Whether you couch it as a spiritual crisis for
our species, a psychological hang-up of stubbornness or just chalk
it up to immaturity; that’s the key question. One thing’s for
certain,” said Nate, “if the End-Date comes, it’ll be a major test
for humanity.”

“Let’s hope we pass it,” murmured Thatcher, who
again fell into a light sleep.

And in the dark, Campbell perked up. Perhaps,
she’d taken a step closer to solving the conundrum of Nate’s
bottomless End-Date obsession.
Maybe I can’t change your
irrational pacifism, but I think I know who you are, Mr.
Kristopher. You might have changed identities, Grandpa might have
erased databases left and right, but there’s one database I know
nobody’s touched—mine. Now I just have to access the Net.

Hours seemed to pass. Thatcher stirred once
more. “Do ya hear that?”

They strained their ears, both wanting it be
something, but also fearing it might be something.

“This,” continued Thatcher, “would be a scary
ride at Park Extropia. ‘Sensory Deprivation: Trip to Hell.’”

“What are you doing now?” asked an irritated
Campbell.

“I’m trying to stand, thank you very much.”
Grunting and groaning for several moments, Thatcher said finally,
“Did it! Now I’ll see if I can loosen my ropes.”

Voices loomed in the distance, then grew closer.
Plodding feet echoed down the corridor. Suddenly, the voices were
right on top of them. Flashlights blinded them.

“Mr. Kristopher! You’re coming with us.” Two
transhuman soldiers, dressed exactly as the ones who captured them
at Extropia, hoisted Nate off the ground and untied his legs.

Thatcher was shoved back to the ground. His
restraints were checked, then tightened.

“Can my friends come too?” asked Nate.

“Mr. North only wants to see you.”

“Where are we?” demanded Nate.

They ignored his questions and led him away.

The voices dimmed to a low murmur. Footsteps
faded to nothingness. A door slammed.

Thatcher was breathing hard. “Mr. North,” he
muttered. “North!” He kept repeating the name. “Campbell, is it
possible that Red Dawn captured us?”

“No!” she said, shocked that Thatcher had even
suggested it. “Can’t be.”

But as she tried to convince herself otherwise,
she thought,
If Nate’s correct that Herschel didn’t do it; then
who’s left? Who had the power and wherewithal to break into as
secure of a facility as Park Extropia? Red Dawn did.
Even
though this Eco terrorist organization had carried out a string of
nearly a dozen attacks in the last fifteen years, Campbell couldn’t
recall any significant facts about the group. Except for one: The
leader was Nate’s former friend, Alpha Group member, Sheridan
North.

“Red Dawn! Mr. North is Sheridan North, my real
father!”

“Hold on! No! No! No!” she cautioned. But the
enthusiasm in his voice meant she was too late. No Es. No Dugan.
Nate was just hauled away. Now even in the total darkness, she was
sure she witnessed light bulbs turning on in Thatcher’s brain as he
began concocting another grandiose rescue fantasy.

“I’m offering you second in command, Skip,” said
Sheridan North. He was seated behind a large, dark brown oak desk,
elbows on the desk. His fingertips on each hand lightly touched the
opposing digits.

An exhausted Nate sat on a wooden chair in front
of the desk. Initially mesmerized at the sight of his old friend,
his attention was immediately drawn to Sheridan’s hands. He quickly
wondered if Sheridan was mocking CHOFA’s prayer ritual.

Above Sheridan’s bearded face and shaggy mane of
auburn hair, a stuffed moose head and mule deer head were nicely
framed on the wall next to a large picture window. The window had
been boarded up with plywood from the inside, leaving only the top
sliver to allow daylight in.

As Nate looked at the window, it seemed
curiously out of square.
We’re somewhere in the Rockies
, he
guesstimated, seeing a thin slide of blue sky mixed with clouds and
the very tip of fir trees. The GPS coordinates in his dataport were
off-line.
Damien’s probably jamming my intrabody signals. No
wonder I can’t contact Dugan.

Sheridan, the former Damien Rylee, seemed
comfortable with silence. He smiled and saw Nate tapping his wrist.
“Old habits die hard,” he said, voice craggy and rough. “No CCR,
dataport offline. Kind of lost without ‘em, huh?”

“I guess. Rocky Mountains?” he asked and nodded
toward the window.

“Hmm. Fair guess. Which former state’s out
there?”

“I don’t know,” replied Nate. “Those trees could
be growing in most states west of the Plains.” From the look of the
room, which once had a luxurious décor, he guessed it was only one
of Sheridan’s many refuges. An Eco terrorist had to be mobile to
keep the authorities guessing. The beard was very unlike the Damien
that Nate once knew
. If it’s real, he’s on the run; if it’s
fake, he’s still on the run.

Then he re-focused his gaze back onto
Sheridan
. Looks aren’t everything
, he reasoned
, but
he
is
Thatcher’s father, all right.
He closed his eyes,
praying those two would never meet.
Just keep your mouth
shut
,
Thatcher.

“I need to know that Campbell and Thatcher are
okay.”

“Ah, your friends? Well, they’re in better shape
than your CCR. We had to put him to sleep,” said Sheridan
sardonically.

At that moment the door behind Nate opened. A
soldier plopped Dugan’s head down on the desk.

Nate quickly grabbed it, examining it carefully.
“What’d you do to him?” he asked, incensed.

“Well, he was supposed to provide me with some
valuable information, or so says my security chief. But so far
we’ve not been able to access much. Can’t much torture a robot, now
can we? But I can’t say the same thing about his owner.”

Nate stiffened, then bit his lip “Great way to
tell me hello, Damien,” said Nate bitterly.

“Damien’s no longer my name.”

“Yup,” replied Nate tautly. “It’ll be easy to
call you Sheridan. My friend, Damien, wouldn’t dismember my CCR and
threaten me with torture. I’d like to have the CCR back.” Nate
realized his error of being too eager and transparent in his
motives.

“No—No. It’s quite apparent that your piece of
cyberjunk is too valuable to you, which makes him far more valuable
to me,” said Sheridan, smiling.

Nate could swallow his anger no longer. “I’m a
dedicated follower of the Church of Abraham, believing in and
practicing pacifism as a way of life. What makes you think that I
would …’

“Whoa there, Skip. You think this is an
invitation of some sort? Maybe my soldier hit you too hard on the
head.”

“What’s the second in command stuff then?”

“We were once a great team, you and me.”
Sheridan leaned back and placed his black combat boots on the
desk.

Nate hesitated. “I agree. It was great stuff;
the marathons, the environmental causes. Then you turned to a life
of crime.”

“When are you going to realize your pacifist
stance is useless ideological crap.” Sheridan took his boots off
the table, sat upright in the chair, and pounded his fist on the
desk. “No enduring cause based on peaceful means ever ruled one
inch of real estate in human history!”

“Well I’m not interested in ruling real estate,
or dominating, or rampaging, or killing innocent people.”

“No?” Sheridan showed mock surprise. “Of course,
you’re not.”

“I’m interested in doing the right thing.”

“Har-dee-har-har. You and your little do-gooder
theologians will land in the trash bin of history. Okay, I grant
that you want to make a difference, think and believe you will make
a difference. But, damn it, so do I! And I’m already doing it!” He
slammed his fist again onto the desk so forcefully that dust
bounced up and danced in the thin light between Nate and the
window.

“You want to save the world by destroying it? Is
that the legacy you want, Damien?”

“My legacy will—” Sheridan switched to a softer
tone. “Come to think of it, this was the gist of our last
conversation, lo, those many years ago. Right before I caught you
with McKinley. That’s what I like about you, Skip. You challenge
me. You know, keep your friends close, and your enemies
closer.”