The Sins of the Fathers  by: Hypatia

In the shadow of The World Trade Centre I wrote a short story, something unusual for me and though I was reasonably happy with it, I wanted to say more. So I started on a second and then a third.

They still don’t say all that I want them to, but the individual stories I am happy with (sort of). This though is an exercise in what if? The question which is the basis of all that claims to be Science Fiction. It may deal with a sensitive subject but I have no apologies for this, I write what comes to me.

The extrapolation of the possible from current events is the aim of many who have written in the past, Aldous Huxley and George Orwell being two of the masters of this. The fact of it being written does not necessarily mean that it will come to pass or that the author wishes it to come to pass, it is a possibility, that is all. The fact that occasionally those of us who place our musings up for public view are correct should be a reason for caution though. Even I with my limited skills wrote the following words in a story I started on the 20^th June 2001 (still not finished).

‘He could see how it had all started the dreaded Jihad’s of the early twenty first century called by every minor Muslim Religious leader against the Western Nations.’

It also dealt with the possibility of using spacecraft as suicide bombs against American State Capitols in a surprise attack. (Rather too close to what happened and it will probably sit in my in progress folder for the rest of it’s life)

The possibilities of what could happen are plain for all to see (and were plainly visible before WTC) and if even a rank amateur of a teller of tales, such as I, could see the possibilities before it happened. I have to ask the question why it took so many deaths before those in power recognised this possibility and addressed the issues? (Or am I falsely assuming that those in power actually know what they are doing?) I also have to ask another question. Why the population of a country can be starving to death, living in poverty that is unimaginable to me, yet can afford an assault rifle and god knows how many rounds of ammunition for most of its population ?(I couldn’t afford one). This is not just Afghanistan, take a look at Ethiopia’s arms imports over the years, and take a look at the size of India and Pakistan’s armed forces. Something is very screwed here. Then again let us look at the countries which export the most arms to these unstable area’s, United Kingdom, United States, Russia and France. Is this the reason that it hasn’t been addressed? Maybe I will follow the money and see what I can see, then write a fourth part a prelude.

I am not attempting to moralise or criticise any actions contemplated at the moment. The fact of action being taken against the perpetrators of this atrocity I feel is totally justified. Though a word of caution, please remember that the next acceptable innocent lives to be considered ‘Collateral Damage’ by persons unknown may be yours or the ones you love or mine or my family (yes I am selfish by nature).

So as I have finished my little ramble, which you may have fallen asleep reading or even given up with by this point, but to those who have bothered I thank you for taking the time. This is my place to say my bit and as author my word is final (Till a nice person comes along to offer me money for the contents of my mind, then I will do whatever he says).

If you don’t like these stories I do not apologise and at the end of the day you have a place to reply, write your own and I will read it here with pleasure. We need more here to make us think.

Hypatia    pboauk@yahoo.com

 

The Sins of the Fathers
by: Hypatia

 

 

Chapter One: So This Nation Shall Not Perish …

 Just a little thing that came to me as I watch the horror and devastation that man will do to his fellow man.  I wonder if there is hope for us on this planet until I see the selfless actions of those who fight to rescue those trapped, risking their lives as many did yesterday and paid the ultimate price for their devotion to duty.   At this time my thoughts go out to all of you in the USA and my prayers are for those who have lost loved ones in this atrocity.

                                                                                                                      Hypatia 
                                                                                                                      23.30 12^th September 2001

 

The approach to Bangor International was rough, the New England weather conspiring to make even this method of entry into the US difficult.  I don’t know how many people that came to check us out noticed our escort, but as I looked out of the window the under-slung ordinance was unmistakable.  Most of the people on this flight were too concerned about the other passengers to look out the window.  As we boarded the plane at Manchester, one hysterical female had started shouting that one man looked like a Muslim, as if any Muslim who could slip past the security of an airport could be recognized by a civilian.  The protesting man was taken away and an hour and a half was lost as baggage and security was checked again.  Not that security was a problem for me, my ID opened many doors closed to most but I didn’t want to advertise my presence here today.

It was with relief that we touched down and the intense security checks that governed all flights across the Continental USA began.

"May I see your passport, visa and travel authorization please?" the customs official asked.  The two armed soldiers behind him took this job seriously and more than one fatality had occurred at this port of entry.

"Yes," I said slowly removing my papers from my pocket.  One of the marines raised his weapon at me.

"Sir can you open your jacket very slowly?" he said and the customs man moved away from me.

"I am MI5.  My ID is with my paperwork and I am authorized to carry a weapon on all flights," I told him.  It was true and I would have faced disciplinary action if I had not been carrying a weapon.  The Marine didn’t look convinced.

"I am going to remove my jacket very slowly now and let it fall to the floor," I told him, slowly keeping my hands in sight at all times.  "Then you can remove my weapon and secure it or I can hand it to you to examine."

"Move very slowly, Sir," the Marine said.  Both of them now had their weapons trained on me and I did.  As my jacket fell to the floor the room door burst open and a uniformed officer walked in.

"Stop pissing around Harris, you are expected in Washington as soon as possible. We have a helicopter waiting for you," the General said.

"It’s good to see you again, Sir," I said keeping my hands up.    

"For God’s sake put your bloody hands down man," he said angrily and I slowly lowered them.

"Harris here is cleared to enter the U.S. without delay.  If you would look at his paperwork please," the General said to the customs official, who appeared to be confused as to why a British Officer had come bursting into his processing area.

"Who are you Sir?" he asked before looking at my paperwork.

"I am no one.  I am not here.  Neither is Harris.  This did not happen and you will carry on as normal," the General said flashing an ID card.   The Marines lowered their weapons and came to attention.  The customs man gave my paperwork a cursory glance and nodded me through.

The General then took me out the door and through the corridors full of military personnel.  "What is going on, Sir?" I asked as I looked around at all the activity going on in the airport.

"Mossad took out a Palestinian base three hours ago and the reprisals are expected to start soon," he explained.

"Which one?" I asked.

"Just a minor one just inside the Syrian border but as normal Mossad was not too worried about collateral damage.  There was a large loss of civilian life," General Cummings explained.  "Why they couldn’t just wait and let us send in a team, I don’t know."

"The Israelis dislike being dependent on us for anything.  Too many times in the past, the atrocities committed against the Jewish people have been observed by Western nations and ignored," I replied.

"Yes but that all changed with the new Jihads," he said angrily.

"It did -- sort of, Sir."  I was unwilling to disagree with him totally.   "But though the attacks from the air are something that grabbed the world’s attention, the loss of life in Israel was much larger."

"I know, but at this time, with the situation with the Damocles operation, their escalation of the situation is unnecessary," he responded angrily.  "Sorry Harris.  I know it’s not you, but I was given assurances less than twenty-four hours ago that nothing like this would happen.  I shouldn’t have trusted the lying bastard."

"Sir, I know, and you know, that both of us have lied in the past to ensure that security was maintained," I reminded him as doors were opened for us.  "I just hope they hit no one big.  We don’t need another martyr at this time."

General Cummings grew quiet at that and I stayed quiet as we were led to the waiting helicopter.  The smell of aviation fuel was strong from the aircraft and the heat from the engines blew across us mixed with the blast from the rotors.  This was an urgent mission and to that end they were pulling out all stops to get me to Washington.

As we lifted, I looked out of the window and could see two military jets taxiing to take position at the end of the runway.  The missiles they carried were to be used in defence of a nation, a nation that had been living under a shadow of fear since 8:45 on the eleventh of September 2001.  For twenty-six years this fear had ruled and the names of the Martyrs for the cause of Islam had grown from the original twelve.   Every terrorist group with a faction fanatical enough to give their life for a cause had jumped on the idea that was displayed to full effect that day.  Gone was the possibility of hijacking and demands for the release of prisoners, you just took over a large jet and flew it above a metropolitan area.  The New York incident was just the start; the World Trade Center, though horrific, was just a prelude to the terrors to come.

As we approached New York from the north, the air cover that protected the city was obvious and to those who knew what to look for the anti-aircraft defences could also be seen.  London had tried to cope without these precautions, but with such a concentration of major airports it was a fatal mistake.  The four aircraft that carried out the attack on London had been in the air a matter of minutes when they were hijacked.  After the pilots were killed, the targets had been simple, Westminster, Downing Street, Buckingham Palace and The Financial District.

Though the world had been appalled at the horror inflicted on the US and offered all assistance in tracking down those responsible, no one had realized what a war against these people would cost in human lives.  The psychology of the terrorists responsible for the attacks was something that had been neglected.  Any action large enough to make them think twice about committing an atrocity brought more supporters from within the Muslim world.  Many times action had been taken and each time the ranks of the terrorists had swelled, with more and more flocking to give their life for the chance to hurt a western nation.

The skyline of Manhattan was on show now and I turned my attention away.  The gaping area where the Trade Center had been was a permanent reminder of what was started and yet had to be finished.

"What is the situation with Damocles?" General Cummings asked.

"Well, all is ready.  We have a couple of decent sites to try it on, but we are talking an enormous step here.   The psychology of the situation is unclear as nothing has ever been considered like this before," I told him.

"You are too young to remember the first attack aren’t you?" the General asked me.

"I remember it, Sir, but I was still in school and the impact of it didn’t actually reach me," I admitted.

"I saw it on television.  I watched the second jet plunge into the tower over and over again, though the sight sickened me.  That a person would do that, without remorse, to an innocent unsuspecting population is what gives me the conviction to carry on with this course of action," he said firmly.  "The later attacks just made my resolve firmer."

"I know, Sir, but with the initial retaliation against Osama Bin Laden, we had the attack on London and Berlin, carried out as a reprisal for the role that American bases on British and German soil played in the bombing of the Afghan capitol," I said, then added at the end, "then the loss of Tel Aviv."

"Yes and Pakistan’s involvement with the nuclear weapon that was supplied to the Black September group was proved and retaliation was swift," the General said, referring to the firestorm that had destroyed Kabul.

"Sir, this is a possible escalation that would make that look like nothing," I answered firmly.  "We are talking about the extermination of a population within a hundred years."

"Good," the General replied.

We landed at the Pentagon, the other symbol of what had been done that day when the sleeping dragon of American patriotism had been released.  Our IDs were checked by armed guards at many points before I was finally led into the briefing room.  Before I sat, I looked around at the people gathered here.  Some, such as the Secretary of Defence, I recognized, but most I didn’t.

"This meeting is classed as Top Secret.  No information is to be divulged outside this room and all materials are to stay here," General Cummings said looking around the room.

"Yes General.  We know all that.  Now can we get on with business and have you tell us what has got the British establishment so fired up?" the Secretary of Defence asked irritably.

I stood up at this point and looked around the room.  This was my project.  I had conceptualised it and nurtured it.  Now, at the time when I should be happy, I was scared.  What was I condemning a population to?

"Come on then son, talk to us," the Secretary demanded, although with a little more sympathy than he had offered General Cummings.

"Basically Sir, what project Damocles is, is the destruction of a population which has been aligned against us for almost three decades," I said as I passed around the literature.

"In the beginning, this was a dirty tricks project, not intended to cause a loss of life, but to cause disruption within the areas that are the bases for the fundamentalist forces," I explained to them and got blank looks in return.

"We were looking for ways to make the masses who flock to join the Jihads think twice before joining," I told them.

"Inconvenience them?" a man in an American Air Force Uniform asked with scorn in his voice.  "We are fighting a war and you want to inconvenience them, we need to kill the bastards."

"Many things that cause inconvenience are useful," General Cummings said in my defence.  "Think of the disruption on the French railways during the Second World War.  Trucks carrying supplies to the German Army very rarely arrived at their destination the first time, due to small acts of sabotage such as contaminated axle grease.  It was very -- useful."

"Yes.  I can understand that, but why drag us in here for inconvenience?" he asked.

"If you will let me continue, Sir, I will explain." I interjected, trying to regain control of the conversation.

"Hold your tongue for the moment Clive.  Let him finish," The Secretary said to my inquisitor and nodded to me with a smile.

"Well, we started research on the common childhood diseases, those so infectious that they are unlikely ever to be eradicated.  We were working on mumps and with a bit of genetic tinkering we happened to beef it up a bit," I said.

"Beef up mumps?  What the hell is that going to do?" the Air Force Officer demanded.

"Very simply Sir, we are talking about the possibility of wiping out the reproductive capability of all nations who sponsor the war against the west," I explained, "and there are a few other rather interesting side effects."

"How many will this virus kill?" the Secretary asked.

"Less than one percent of those infected, a lot less than one percent, and it is different enough that it makes no difference if you have already had mumps."

"You are talking about wiping out a country within a hundred years, what risks are there to us in the Western World?" a U.S. Army Officer asked.

"With a simple variation of the Mumps, Measles and Rubella vaccine that is used so often on our own children, we have immunized the population, but with the length of the infectious period and the incapacity caused by the infection, it is unlikely that anyone carrying the disease will be travelling out of their own country."

"What are we talking about here?  Can you put it as simply as possible why I should be listening to you?" the Air Force Office asked.

"Well Sir, what we are talking about is giving every male in hostile territory a very bad case of the mumps.  This will result in bilateral orchitus and destruction of the testes, basically we are talking about the sterilization of every male in the region."  I spoke carefully and slowly, allowing them to digest the words.

"What of these other interesting side effects?" the Secretary asked.

"Well the Fundamentalist Islamic Nations are very male dominated societies.   What we do will undermine the structure of their society.  We are talking genocide as the result of our actions, but there is more.  The testes are destroyed in the two days the virus is active.  As a result, all testosterone production in the body is stopped.  The human body is a carefully regulated system and both males and females produce testosterone and the female sex hormones," I said, looking around at the faces and seeing how little comprehension these people had of what I was saying.

"Can you put that in a way us old men can understand?" a Naval Officer asked with a smile.  "We aren’t exactly the brightest when it comes to human biology."

I waited till the laughter stopped and then took a deep breath.

"Basically, with no testosterone in the system at all, the males who have been infected will begin to have problems. Initially, secondary female sexual characteristics are likely to develop, primary and secondary masculine development will be affected drastically." I still received some blank looks though some where laughing at this point.

"Basically, Sirs, after being infected, the men are likely to stop growing beards, a large number will grow breasts and their male sexual organs will atrophy.  Also, since testosterone is so closely associated with aggression they will be a lot less aggressive."  There were gasps and laughter all around.  Everyone understood.

"Son, what you are suggesting we do is, as well as stopping them from making more of the little bastards to attack, stick a pair of tits on every one of the sick bastards," the Secretary spoke lightly, but there was steel in his eyes.

"Yes Sir, though with time other health problems such as osteoporosis are likely to be encountered due to the lack of hormones in their systems," I added quickly.

"Can they make hormones over there?" the Air Force Officer asked.

"They could Sir, but not for all of their populations and any facility large enough to manufacture them is an easy target.  However, this shouldn’t be taken lightly.  We are talking about the extermination of a people."

"Tell them the other suggestion Harris," General Cummings said looking at me.

"Yes Sir," I said refusing to look back at him.  I didn’t like this part.  It was likely to sell this whole idea to these men, yet I felt it was morally wrong.

"The men will need hormones to prevent osteoporosis, the leaching of calcium from the skeletal structure, a condition common in post menopausal women.  Hormones are needed to prevent this, that only we would be able to supply, but they don’t have to be male hormones."

The laughter grew in intensity from the group.

"You are well placed in the dirty tricks department Harris," the Secretary of Defence said while laughing.

"Yes Sir, from all our information this should stop all aggressive acts towards our countries and only a small area needs to be targeted for the rest of the involved parties to capitulate," I elaborated hoping to tame the situation down.

"But if we hit them all at once, we can end the problem once and for all.   Any self-respecting Islamic Fundamentalist terrorist is going to think twice about what action he takes against us if he has to put on a bra before coming out to war," General Cummings said smiling.  The man loved this idea.

"Yes Sir, that is basically the psychology of the situation, but what the long term affects is likely to be I don’t know.  We will also eliminate the possibility of the prepubescent males in the area taking action against us in the future, as they will never grow to be male – at least as we understand it," I told them.   "But I must say that, despite the fact that this operation and the ideas are mine, I feel they are morally wrong and we shouldn’t even consider trying this."

"So you don’t like the idea, yet you came up with it and presented it here," the Secretary said looking sternly at me.  The steel was back in his eyes as he tried to fathom my intent.

"Yes Sir. I may not like the idea but I know my duty and my responsibility.   This decision is not up to me and, though I may not like it, I have to present it properly."  I waited for the rebuke.

"Well spoken Harris.  I like your style and we will consider the moral issues before any action is taken, but as one who was there when the Pentagon was hit in 2001, I can honestly say that there is very little I would consider ‘too drastic’ with these people.  They deserve all that they get and unless you have experienced it, lived through it, you wouldn’t understand.  This is not a case of a vengeance weapon, this is a way of ensuring that this nation, and the ideals for which it stands, does not perish from the earth," he intoned to all assembled.  "Thank you Harris for being so honest.  I promise all factors will be taken into account before any action is taken."

"Thank you sir," I said.  "I just felt I had to tell you my personal opinion."

"I have listened and I will pass it on to the President when I meet with him.   You may leave now Harris," the Secretary said and I made my way to the door.   In the company of an armed escort, I was led to an area to wait and a plastic cup of liquid, supposedly coffee, was passed to me.  I sat there silently sipping it and watching the people go past.  My escort seemed unwilling to enter into any conversation.

"Just what the hell was that all about?" General Cummings asked from my side and I sprang to my feet spilling the coffee down my trouser leg.

"Sorry Sir.  You know how I feel about this project and I felt I had to say what I thought," I told him.

"We will let it pass for the moment, but there will be words when I return to Britain.  If it had been anyone else but the Secretary there, you would have made me look like a right fool.  Luckily he likes people who speak their mind," he said as he looked at my wet trousers.

"Sorry Sir," I repeated.

"I think you are too much of a liability to continue presenting the case here.   You are to get the next flight back and to start making preparations to implement Damocles.  You can do that?" he added on the end, the scorn in his voice obvious.

"Yes Sir, I meant it when I said that I know my duty and responsibility," I told him.

"Good.  The helicopter is waiting to take you back to Bangor and, despite the outburst, good job," he added as a parting shot.

"Thank you Sir," I called after his retreating figure before being escorted out to the waiting aircraft.

The Boeing Osprey hadn’t bothered folding its blades and with the vulnerable position it was still in, I decided that my trip back hadn’t been a spur of the moment decision.  They had planned on me going straight back.  I should consider myself honoured, though.  A twenty four-seat troop carrier, all for me.  With the price of fuel at the moment, this trip would probably cost more than I earned in two months.  As the rotors started, I contemplated the impending atrocity I was responsible for unleashing on the world.

In Bangor, thanks to my escort, I was swiftly through customs and on the 767 before any of the other passengers.  I could see a few of the first on board look at me with surprise and a little suspicion as I sat at the back, but I just sat there watching them getting shown to their seats with an expression of obvious boredom.

The engines started and eventually we taxied to the end of the runway.  Then the engines powered up and I was pressed back into my seat by the acceleration and the nose of the plane lifting.  A few seconds later we were airborne.

I sat there thinking as we ascended through the rough weather.  Perhaps I should have suppressed the research and lost the data.  The annihilation of a people, however hell bent on the death of everything that the democratic nations of the west stood for, had to be wrong.  What would the Chinese reaction be to this?  After the first polite offerings of sympathy, they had sat quietly while the conflict raged, neither condemning nor approving actions on either side that could be classed as a crime against humanity.  What I had put in action was comparable to the nuclear detonation that destroyed so many in Tel Aviv.  I would be the person responsible for all that occurred from this point forward.

Movement about a third of the way up the aircraft got my attention.  Three men stood at the same time and one of them walked down the aisle towards me.  Four rows in front of me his left hand shot out towards a man who sat in the isle seat.  A flash of silver caught my eye.  A woman screamed and I heard a gurgle from the man who had just been assaulted.

The man just in front of me reached towards the man he had assaulted and pulled out something from his clothing.  I saw it was a gun and realized that whoever they were, they had just taken out the Sky Marshal on board.

"Everyone will sit down, remain quiet and stay in their seat," he shouted down the body of the plane.  The woman next to the Sky Marshal was still screaming and without a thought the man turned and fired.  The silence after the shot was deafening.

The Marshal had probably been loaded with low velocity soft slugs like I was, but even though they are not supposed to penetrate an aircrafts skin, I wouldn’t have risked shooting the woman while pointing the weapon at the side of the aircraft.  The woman, being made of slightly less resilient material than the aircraft, died as her head was destroyed by the bullet.  Luckily, the bulkhead, though damaged by the bullet and the mass of brains and bone, held.

"Your one chance to live at this time is if you do exactly as I say," the murdering bastard shouted down the aircraft.

"We are demanding that all our brothers and sisters living in the shadow of Israeli opre…"

He was cut off at this point by the two shots that hit him in the left side of his chest in the back. I couldn’t miss at that distance and he was thrown forward onto his face.  I walked forward and picked up the dropped revolver. Glancing to the right, I saw that the original owner had had his throat cut by an improvised knife made from razor blades embedded in something that looked like a hair brush handle.

"Who are you?" a man to my left demanded.

"Harris, British Military Intelligence," I said training my weapon on him.

"Hughes. NYPD," he said, pulling a badge from his pocket.  I glanced at it and passed him the revolver.

"If you make use of that, don’t take out a window" I told him and the two of us made our way up the aisle of the aircraft.

Ahead of us, a stewardess was on the floor clutching her face as blood poured through her fingers.  I stepped past her, while Hughes stopped and helped her into a seat.   I waited for him while looking forward to the curtained area ahead, keeping the Browning I carried raised and watching either side in case someone came at us from one of the forward seats.  The curtain moved and another stewardess was thrust out ahead of a dark haired man with a beard.

"You will now drop your weapons or this woman dies," he said without any trace of an accent.

"No," I replied and took aim at a distance of about twenty foot.

The homemade knife was waved under the stewardess’ throat and then pointed in our direction.

"I will use it.  Put your weapons down or this woman’s blood will be on your…"

The explosion of my weapon stopped him speaking.  It wasn’t a clean shot, the angle at which he held his head and the area I had to aim for had limited my choices.   The bullet entered his head slightly to the right of his nose just at the level of his eyebrows.  It exited through the same side just before his ear.  Clean or not he dropped twitching from the damage the bullet made from its passage and I swiftly pulled the stewardess out the way while placing a second round in the back of the man’s head just to make sure.

Pulling open the curtain I saw the galley area ahead and the closed door to the cockpit.

"You kick, I enter first," I whispered to Hughes.  "I go right, you follow left."

He nodded, took position by the door and kicked.  It held tight.  He kicked again and it still held.

I tried the handle and it was locked.  Taking aim at the area I assumed was the lock, I fired two shots into it and Hughes kicked again.  This time it opened and I dived inside.  Seeing the one person not in uniform I instinctively fired.  I hit him twice in the chest and he fell.

"Clear," I shouted and Hughes helped me up.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

"No but I think we are short a flight crew, I noted looking at the bodies of the two crew.  Both had had their throats cut, but for some reason their faces had also been horrendously mutilated.

"Draw that curtain and lets get them out of here," I said to Hughes.  He did and the two of us carried the three bodies to the galley area.  The stewardess who had been held hostage entered.

"Is he dead?" she asked.

"Yes and the flight crew are as well," I said bluntly.  "Are any pilots hitching a ride today?"

"No -- none of our pilots, anyway.  I will make some discrete enquiries though," she said and left us.

"What’s your first name?" I asked Hughes.

"John," he said holding out a hand.

"Kevin," I said, grabbing it.  "But don’t tell anyone, not many know.  You New York cops don’t know how to fly a jet do you?"

"I can pilot a police car and occasionally a bicycle, but this thing, no," he admitted.

"Pity.  Lets try and find out if anyone on the ground can help us," I suggested.

With a moment or two of messing about with various buttons John had the radio working.

"Press that then you can speak," he said pointing at a button.

"Mayday, Mayday, Mayday," I said.  "We are a Boeing 767 out of Bangor, Maine, bound for Manchester England.  We have had a terrorist incident on board and the flight crew is dead. Help."

"Station calling, please repeat," came from my headset.

"The flight crew is dead and we have no one to fly the plane," I told him.

"Who are you and what of the terrorists?" the man asked.

"Kevin Harris, MI5 and General Cummings, at the Pentagon with the Secretary of Defence, will confirm that.  The terrorists are all dead, as are our flight crew and a man, I presume was an Sky Marshal," I told them.  "Can you get us down?"

"Hold United 547 and I will contact you in a moment," the voice said.

"MI5, I would have never put you down as a spy," John said sat next to me.

"That is the idea, that you don’t look like a spy.  But to let you into a secret, I spend my life in an office and the only things I ever shot before were targets," I told him.

"You did good for a rookie," he said with a smile.  "Now, how are you at flying a plane?"

"Hopefully good, for a rookie," I told him.

"Harris?  Is that you up there?" came a voice through my headset.   It was General Cummings.

"Yes Sir, we had a little fun up here.  The action’s all over, but we are without a pilot," I told him.

"Are the controls locked, Harris?" he asked.

"I don’t know sir," I told him.

"Wait one second, Harris.  We will get someone on to you who knows what they are talking about," the General said and was gone.

"What does he mean locked?" John asked looking worried.

"All modern aircraft use a retinal scan to allow access to all flight control systems.  Without either the pilot or the co-pilot’s retinal scan we can’t do a damn thing," I told him.

"Does the eye have to be living?" John asked standing up to walk to the galley area.

"I don’t know," I answered honestly.

"Forget it.  I guess that’s why they destroyed the poor bastards eyes, both of them," he said weakly.

"Are you okay there?" I asked.

"Yes its just a little gruesome," he said through clenched teeth. He came back looking pale.

"Well, in that case I would think that the controls are secure," I told him.

"Kevin can you hear me?" came a different man’s voice through the headset.

"Yes I can," I told him.

"Which seat are you sitting in?" he asked.

"Left hand seat," I replied.

"Good we are going to see what your control situation is." His vopice reminded me of a doctor speaking to a sick patient.

"Yes Sir," I said.

"Good.  Now I want you to press the right hand rudder pedal with your foot quite firmly.  Then we will see if your course changes," he said.

I did as he said and waited.

"Have you pressed it?" he asked.

"Yes I have and nothing all is happening," I told him.

"Wait one minute," he said.

"Are you with anyone on board, John?" I asked.

"No, I was going to a conference on terrorism in England," he replied.   "Left the wife at home.  I was feeling guilty about it, but now I’m glad.  What about you?"

"A few hours stop over on business," I told him.

"You think we are in shit?" he asked me and I nodded.  "What a pisser."

"My thoughts were similar," I admitted.

"Kevin we need you to find out what has been programmed into the computer," the voice on the radio said to me and I followed a series of instructions till some numbers came up.

"38.33N, 77.03W and then it has HP," I read off the screen.

"Thank you, Kevin," the voice said possibly losing some of its composure.

I waited for the next instructions -- and waited -- and waited.

"Do you think they’ve forgotten us?" John asked.

"No," I told him.

The stewardess returned.  She looked scared.

"No one on the aircraft has any flying experience," she said.

"It was a slim chance, but it always works in the films," I told her.   "How is everyone?"

"Two passengers are dead, one flight attendant badly slashed, but everyone is remaining calm," she said.

"Good.  Panic won’t help anyone now," I told her.

"Harris?  Can you hear me?" came the General’s voice.

"Yes Sir."

"Harris, if you look out over your left wing you will see you have an escort."

I looked and could see a F22 Raptor close in on our wing, not exactly a common sight.

"Got another one here," John said looking out of his window.

"Yes, I see them Sir."  I waved to the aircraft.  The pilot didn’t wave back.

"Well, Harris, it seems you are in a bit of a fix.  They have set you to fly directly to central Washington and then circle in a holding pattern till you run out of fuel."

"And these two gentlemen are here to make sure there is no major loss of life on the ground," I finished for him.

"Yes, Harris, that’s the idea," he said gently, "but rather than having the engines blown away by a twenty millimetre Vulcan cannon, there is another way that might give you more of a chance."

"Yes Sir.  What is it?" I asked.

"You set off the fire control systems in both engines and you ditch in the sea."

"And that is a chance, Sir?" I said sarcastically.

"It is your only chance," he said sadly.  "Can you do it?" he asked.

"Yes Sir.  I can do it," I said despondently, "as the other option involves getting blown to shit.  No way to disable the lockout on the controls?"

"Only with a living pilot," he said.  "Look above your head.   Do you see two red handles -- T shaped?"

"Yes Sir, I see them," I admitted.  "Let us allow the flight crew to prepare the passengers and I will do it."

"Good man Harris, I knew you would do the right thing."

"Look, I don’t know your name, but we need to get the passengers ready to ditch in the sea," I told the attendant.

"I’ll take care of it sir," she said calmly, but tears streaked her face.  "Before we hit, press there and shout ‘brace, brace, brace’ -- and its Karen."

I looked at the button she was pointing at and nodded.

"Good luck Karen," I told her.

"And to you Sir.  Thank you for saving me from them," she said and was gone.

"Right.  The passengers are being made ready.  Give them a minute and we’ll go," I spoke into the microphone.

"Cigarette?" John asked pulling out a battered packet of Marlboros.

"Go on.  I shouldn’t.  I quit for my health," I said with a wan smile, but I took one anyway.

Taking a deep drag, I enjoyed the rush it gave me and I sat looking out at our escort.

"Harris you are going to have to do it soon or you will be crossing land," the General interrupted.

"Okey Dokey Sir," I said reaching up and pulling first one handle, then the second.

"It’s done sir," I shouted as various lights and sirens began to try to get my attention.

"Good man," The General said.

"Sir, do you remember what I was saying about Damocles being morally wrong?" I asked.

"I could hardly forget it," he replied.

"Well Sir, on reflection it was a load of crap, but not for that ‘so this nation shall not perish from the earth’ garbage that the Secretary was quoting."

"Why was it crap then Harris?" he asked.

"It was crap because anyone who supports sick bastards who would do this shit doesn’t deserve a place on this planet," I told him.

We had come through the clouds now and I could see the sea looking grey, cold and wet.   I looked out at our escort and waved one last time.  This time the pilot saluted back.

"Thanks for your help John," I said looking at the man sitting next to me and lighting another cigarette.

"Hey you did the work," he said holding out a hand.   "Good luck."

"And you," I said shaking his hand.

"BRACE, BRACE, BRACE" I screamed….

 

The End Of Part 1

 

 

 

Chapter Two: The Mother Of The Grendel

 

Grendel’s mother was a monster of a woman; she mourned her fate-
  -- Beowulf

 

Man is the one animal that can’t be tamed. He goes along for years as peaceful as a cow, when it suits him. Then when it suits him not to be, he makes a leopard look like a tabby cat. Which goes double for the female of the species.
 -- Robert A. Heinlein, Tunnel In The Sky, 1955

The news this morning wasn’t good, there was another dirty bomb.  This time it was Manchester.  It didn’t kill anyone but that wasn’t its purpose.   A large area of a city covered in radioactive waste is not the easy cleanup that the authorities say.  Not that they are actually going to do it properly.   September is a month that has too much going on to bother with a decent clean up.   What’s a little radioactivity going to cause?  Birth defects?   Cancer?  It might even kill a few people.  No one gives a shit anyway.   But today we make a difference.

Life is what you make it, my mother told me.  This was soon after the Damocles virus ruined me, twenty two years ago now.  I was only eight when the virus that the Muslims stolen from the United States and loosed on the world caught up with me, my father escaped this fate by virtue of being dead -- lucky bastard.

My mother gave up her drinking when I was thirteen, replaced it with a bottle of tranquillisers to help her sleep.  The nightmares at that time were bad, always the plane crashing.  It didn’t help the fact that they had the last tapes of Dad’s conversations and often played them.  Some of it was classified because of the operational details he knew, but they liked playing them because he was a hero.   His actions saved over half the people on the plane and untold numbers on the ground.  But when a cockpit hits water at two hundred miles an hour it doesn’t leave much of the occupants.  Mum kept dreaming his last minutes and those words. "Anyone who supports sick bastards who would do this shit doesn’t deserve a place on this planet."  The last words of a hero, words that were taken up in parliament.  When I was fourteen she never woke up one morning, accidental overdose, or so it was claimed.  I saw the two medals on the bedside cabinet and I understood the message.  No matter how high an honour, two bits of metal, one from our government and one from the United States could replace his loss and she had gone to join him.

I also understood the other message she was giving me.  You’re on your own son.  I lived there for a while, as the son of a hero I would have been honoured.   As a product of Damocles, I was something to be ignored and avoided.  At that time there were still quite a few full males around, but that soon changed. A hierarchy formed.  That most illusive of creatures a fertile functioning male was at the top, then women, then sterilized post-pubescent males and finally us prepubescent Damocles Victims, PPDV’s.  This was soon corrupted to "Deevers" and we became a new underclass.  It could have been changed, testosterone was the key but it had to be prioritised.  Politicians and important people got the first cut, then the military -- and if any was left it went to those married males who had earned the treatments.   If you never had testosterone production of your own then you stood no chance.  The theory was, "What you never knew you would never miss."  What a load of crap . Production of female hormones wasn’t needed for birth control anymore so they were used.

The children of the streets were growing in number now, though the artificial insemination program was successful and producing plenty of males, the Damocles virus was a sneaky little bastard -- it kept mutating.  They said it was because it was an engineered virus, unstable to start with, lacking millions of years of evolution to develop it.  I think it was due to the shit in the atmosphere.  Some of the varieties killed, many others didn’t.  

I didn’t care anymore.  I knew my place and I knew it wasn’t with the decent people.  I might be carrying something to infect someone.  This was my place.  Here my word was law and I kept some sort of order in the hell that was Liverpool.  When the uninfected had started sealing themselves away from the rest of us, "protecting the future of our nation" as the politicians called it, they left us out.  We weren’t worth the effort of checking for infection, because we were subhuman.  We were in the minority at first and back then they didn’t care if we killed each other off.  It was bad at first, the food supplies they left were barely enough and the strongest got them.  The weak died.

I hadn’t been weak.  Yes, I was only five feet tall and no muscle, but I hadn’t been weak where it was important.  I was smart.

The a City Coordinator was dumped on us after the first eighteen months of segregation.   Some of the occupants of the city had been trying to get across to the enclave of the Wirral.  Alan Jones and a number of his thugs had been supplied with all they needed and came through the tunnel to impose order on the "animals."  The authorities didn’t care how he did it, just as long as the problem we created was removed.  He did it by controlling the limited food supplies into the city, with muscle and weapons, neither of which we had.  He wasn’t strong where it counted though.  He wasn’t smart.

Even before he came, I had been making friends and making sure that plenty of people owed me favours.  That was my currency.  I would do anything to help anyone on the promise of a favour, but unlike do-gooders I collected; not always as was expected though, I wasn’t after a person killed or protection.  The explanation of how an engine worked, some medical knowledge, a book or some judo lessons was more likely to be my payment.  I made my life more comfortable.  I had limited electricity and a radio.  Food I was as short of as everyone else, but I had plenty of hormones.  

A lot of the people didn’t bother, they believed that the hormones were there to subdue the population.  I did a little reading before I made my decision on what to do.  I realized that if my bones started to crumble it wouldn’t make any difference if I had breasts or not.  I had taken them up to the point when I was evicted from my home by a large group of men and pushed into the Birkenhead end of the tunnel, but as soon as I could get settled again, after a few months, I started again.   As I had things that others didn’t, I started to get unwanted attention.   My home became a place of fear and I filled it with traps for the unwary.  I also started calling in favours.

I was selective at first.  My initial problem was protection.  I could protect myself against individuals and small groups, but if a large number came again I was going to suffer.  Size is nothing in the martial arts I had learned well and practiced religiously, but skill is nothing when the weight of numbers is too great.   That was when I found Alex.

Alex was different from the usual adult Damocles victims.  I understand his wife had died before he caught the virus and as such he was not a candidate for testosterone.   Alex had raided a hospital and ran for Liverpool.  He wasn’t willing to live his life as a eunuch.  He had a price on his head if he was caught and under the emergency powers law he would face the death penalty.  Men who had been affected by Damocles were a less visible reminder of what was going on than we were, so we were exiled and most of them survived on the fringes of society. Except those who left of their own volition, with their own agendas like Alan Jones.

Alex was a nice man; not particularly bright, but that isn’t a crime.  He came into my home and into my bed as a lover; not that it interested me, that side of things, but in these times I use whatever means I can to get by and get what I need.   I think to be honest he loves me.  I’m sure of it and I am fond of him and I enjoy the sense of security he gives me snuggled in close behind me, holding me tight, a hand caressing my breast.  Alex was an imposing man, well over six foot tall and amongst a population virtually all under six foot, few were willing to challenge him.   Not that I think he would honestly hurt anyone, I was the aggressive one and if he had ever turned on me I would have removed him from my life permanently.  It’s amazing what those cunning Asians figured out you could do to a human body with your own.   Very rarely does it involve lots of shouting, screaming and high kicking, but used correctly with just a few movements you can bring down the largest man before he knows what’s hit him.  Then the choice is yours -- unconscious, crippled or dead. The advantage of dead is, they don’t come round and get you with their mates when you aren’t looking.

I built up the number of people associated with me, medically trained people, teachers, engineers and people with any skills before they were exiled.  We gave our skills in exchange for goods and favours.  We did not work for our food or the food of others.   That was my first decision.  Alan Jones was keeping control by his hold over the food supplies and medical supplies through the tunnel.  This meant he was hated.  

I would let people work for what they needed and take in return what they felt was fair.  Books were a staple trade item though.  With a book you can learn to do what you can’t do yet.  With practice you can splint an arm, wire a house or strip and rebuild a weapon.  Once you have learned these skills, you can teach others.  Amongst the people who had contact with our group we had an almost one hundred percent literacy rate and only the youngest that were dumped through the tunnel didn’t read yet.

The other thing different about my group was the fact that violence or intimidation was forbidden.  I kept this law personally and if words didn’t convince them, then I would resort to violence.  The young came to us first, those who even in our society were the outcasts.  They survived in groups fighting for the few scraps from what we received.  No one cared if they lived or died, as we were all too busy trying to survive.  I changed that view and they thanked me with their love and their loyalty.  

I was "Mother Sam" to the young and if they came into my world they lived by my rules.  They were simple rules that all could understand; no violence toward anyone in our group, no theft and everyone works.  That included me, I was leading by example.  If someone wanted to take a swing at me then I fought and took them down.

Surprisingly, some of those who I tangled with became the people I relied on most and trusted with my life.  I taught unarmed combat classes with two others.  I wasn’t in the same class as either of them in their own discipline.  Escrima, I hadn’t heard of before I met Mr. Kay, as we called him.  He was an old man from the Philippines and despite the fact there is very little chance of mistaking anyone from there with someone from the Middle East he had been moved over the water.  

The Judo taught by Simon was a bit more conventional.  I used both as necessary and I could stand my own against any one person in my group. This didn’t include Mr. Kay or Simon, but I was starting to get lucky, occasionally.

This set up worked for a couple of years as the city split into three factions. My group, Alan Jones’ mob, which was attracting a lot of families who wouldn’t abandon children to us "savages" over the water and the independents.   Everyone had to work through Alan for food and medical supplies.  The independents preferred to deal with us for anything they didn’t have to get from Alan.  Then things took a turn for the worse.

We had gotten quite organized and by this time we were supplementing the food rations by fishing and what vegetables we could grow.  This was a direct threat to Alan and his crew.  Food and his control over it was how he kept order.  He sent in armed men to destroy our efforts and the first few times they did, but we improvised our defence with what we had at hand.  The first counter strike was a home made bomb in a vegetable patch that six men had come to destroy.  Four died and we dumped the wounded and the dead where they would be found.  

We kept their weapons and waited for his next move.  It came in the form of twenty five men demanding my surrender to the recognized authorities, on charges of murder, hoarding goods, incitement to riot and a slew of other charges  -- all with the death penalty.  

We demanded their surrender and they laughed at the thought of surrendering to such as us.  Six died, three were wounded and the rest we took prisoner.  The dead and wounded we dumped back where they could be found again.  We didn’t have the supplies to treat the wounded and preferred not to kill unnecessarily.  The prisoners joined the club.  No male hormones here and we couldn’t let them risk osteoporosis could we?

These acts couldn’t be ignored.  They had attacked my people for nothing more than being successful in the situation we had been dumped into.  I had three thousand people with me in my immediate family and many thousand of the solo operators who were looking for trouble, but we only had weapons for thirty.  They had possibly a thousand they could call on and weapons for only seventy now.

We picked our ground -- I didn’t want to involve innocents in this fight -- and we marched from Allerton to the centre of Liverpool.  People joined us on the way and our numbers swelled.  In front of the Liver Buildings we made our stand.

Alan Jones was not slow to arrive and he came with all of his thugs and followers, but the numbers were against him.  From the moment he saw the situation his usual arrogant swagger ceased.

"Get back to your holes vermin," he screamed at the people gathered, "or you won’t eat for a week."

No one moved.  Not one sound issued from my people as I walked out between the two forces and stood there waiting.  The silence added to the tension and I could see a lot of the opposition trying to make sure they weren’t in the front row.

"You think you’re man enough to come out here and talk to me face to face before we turn to bloodshed?" I shouted.  I could see the uncertainty on Alan’s face and the expectation of his force that their "Big Man" would meet me.

"I’ll come out there with two men," he shouted across and I nodded.

I watched him pick the two biggest men he had and was about to come out to me when I decided I couldn’t let him have too much of an advantage.  "Unarmed as I am.  You have your two bodyguards, so you can leave the weapons or we fight now," I shouted to him.

"What the hell do you want then Deever?" he demanded when he finally got to me.

"You will stand down as City Coordinator.  You will leave all your weapons and we will find a place for you to live in peace," I told him.

"I’m not worried about your little friends," he replied with scorn in his voice.  "What do you Deevers think you can do against real men?"

"If that is your decision then there is no point continuing this dialogue," I told him turning to leave.  "I should have known better than to talk you.   Anyway you’re only half a man."

This pushed him too far and, while my back was towards him, he grabbed my arm.

"You’re coming with me," he screamed, starting to drag me by the arm he held.

Escrima is an art that improvises with what weapons are at hand and also uses low kicks to disable an opponent.  Pananjakman aren’t the flashy high kicks you see in a lot of martial arts, they are low vicious and nasty.  Alan found this out with a kick to his calf and a quick follow-up to his knee, which caused a gratifying tearing noise.   The knee to his face was just a formality, he wasn’t going anywhere.  The other two were no more trouble and the three of them lay on the floor, unconscious, in a matter of seconds.

An army without a leader is a rabble.  The rabble that faced us was grossly outnumbered and capitulated without a fight.  I kept tight control and didn’t let anyone avenge the wrongs they felt had been inflicted on them, but I had a problem with Alan and his thugs.  I was not willing to kill them myself, not that I didn’t think they deserved it, but I hadn’t got here by fear.  We sent them back, all who had come with him to inflict themselves on us, through the tunnel.  The shots could be clearly heard as they were welcomed at the barrier halfway through.

We found a lot out that week.  We found the tons of food stored in buildings around the city centre.  We also found out that those on the other side didn’t give a toss who was in charge as long as they weren’t bothered.  This attitude made the anger inside me grow.  We hadn’t done this.  We hadn’t asked for this.  But we were treated as if we were the Muslims who had unleashed the horror that made us like this.

I could understand the problems the country faced abroad.  Our troops were getting massacred by Muslims who no longer cared if they lived or died.  China had taken a side all of its own and was engaged in strategic battles to take over and control the oilfields of the Gulf.  Any non-Chinese ships or troops near this area, it considered fair game.  Afghanistan was a place of devastation, that made men into corpses by the thousands and the death toll kept rising, while Russia was losing ground hand-over-fist as the Muslim States encroached further and further into what had been the Russian Federation.  Africa had erupted into a thousand fragmented tribal wars, the origins of which were long forgotten.  The Baltic States were trying to exterminate each other again and the Indo-Pakistani conflict was killing millions.  The world had turned to shit, but that was no reason to treat us like shit.

Damocles was indiscriminate in its victims, not caring about race, creed or colour.   As it swept through an area, the population demanded revenge for what had been done to them, at least those that were still alive depending on the variant.  

The thing that did confuse me though was everyone was blaming everyone else for Damocles.  We blamed the Muslims.  They blamed us. The Serbs blamed the rest of the Baltic and India and Pakistan blamed each other.  All the time, funds, resources and people, which no country could afford to lose, were being sent to war.  Fifty years of intermittent conflict had destroyed economies and devastated populations.   Much more of this and humanity would be facing extinction.

I decided that we had to make a stand.  I had eighteen months if I wanted to make a big statement on a day that would be significant to everyone.

We put the city in order, clean and tidy first.  We had law and order, but above all we had equality.  Yes I must admit I tended to dress a bit fancier than most of the people that we had, but as I was told it was expected.  Also, Alex liked the way I looked and dressed.  Despite everything that had happened he was still the person I turned to for support in all I did.  I made myself seen.  I cleaned the streets with the others and planted food.  I fished and I taught the children.  All the time my popularity was growing, being reinforced by my actions.  They didn’t like it over the water on The Wirral, but as I explained to them at the barrier, if they sent anyone over to try wrest control from me, I would personally send them back.

On the radio the stories about me started, first just local news about the mad creature who had taken control of the City.  Later on I began to be described as a Muslim sympathizer, a fascist dictator, a communist infiltrator and a "mad freak of a Deever."  It was obvious to all who listened to the broadcasts that these were just labels put on me to try and instigate hate and rebellion within my people and I don’t think anyone in Liverpool believed any of it.  

We took no hostile action, though certain acts were blamed on us.  I cannot believe they thought we really did it because food and people kept being pushed through the tunnel.  We started our own newspaper putting, out our version of the news to our people and the radio attacks became more violent.  They decided I was a "Monster" and, with my nickname still being used by many, I became "The Mother of the Grendel" and "The Queen of the Deevers." a bigger threat to the people of Britain than the monsters that started the war.

Through out 2050 I stockpiled food and equipment and at the end of the year I explained my plan to the City Council.

"We have been pushed here, into a useless ruin of city that no one wanted, to die," I told the council.  "We didn’t die, so they sent Alan Jones to make sure we knew our place, but we removed him and made this city fit to be lived in again. 

What did they do then?  They decided, because we weren’t willing to live in shit and die, we were a threat to them.  We have done nothing to the people of this country except be born and be the victims of a war that has ruined much of the world.   Now the time has come to show the people of England that we are not animals.   We are not going to be shoved in cages and shot if we try to escape.  August of next year we will march out of this city; not in fear, not in anger.  We march out of this city proud of what we have done and we will give them a message they will not be able to forget.  We will march on London and make them treat us like people, to talk to us like people and to recognize us for what we are.  We are the victims of this war not the aggressors."

"What if they decide to attack us?" one man asked.

"We go with everyone, the children, the old and the sick.  They will see we are not an aggressive force and above all these people are British like us.  We didn’t start this war.  We didn’t loose Damocles on the world and, above all, we do not kill innocent people.  We are not Muslims like the sick bastards who started all this.  We are decent British people and we demand our place on this earth," I told them and a cheer arose from the hall and I had them.

We continued our preparations with the full support from the council.  Yes, I was in charge and what I said was done, but I tried to work with them.  In June, as the hot summer cheered everyone up, I told the people what I was doing.  I told them that I was going and if we all went together, then they wouldn’t be able to ignore us any more.  The people I had brought out of fear and starvation into the city as it was now, a place where people could walk around at night without fear, agreed with me and told me where I led they would follow.

Last night though, as I lay next to Alex, the doubts assailed me.  What was I doing?  Why didn’t I just stay here and live off the scraps that were offered?   I worried about the government’s reaction.  Janet Kipling, our illustrious Prime Minister wasn’t exactly a tolerant personality, but none of my people had been offered the chance to vote for her.  I would be leaving the city tomorrow with children with me and no woman, a mother herself, could attack children and kill children.  Now, as my people cleared a path through the minefields and barbed wire of Garston, I knew we didn’t have an option.  We were doing it.  

The people of Widnes, and then Runcorn, hid as we marched through their towns and across the bridge over the Mersey.  No one challenged us and some joined us.   Just outside Runcorn, we camped for the first night of our freedom.  That night, as the campfires burned, I was in my makeshift tent working things out.  We had done less than twenty miles today, but that included the minefields.  We had two weeks to the 11^th of September and less than 200 miles to the centre of London.   We would make it, but I hadn’t left us that much spare time.

On the second day we started to get interest in our march; first helicopters, military and civilian, later cars and people with cameras in the distance.  Also others came to join our march.  Banners began to be made by my people, "We are not animals," "We demand the same rights as anyone else" and many similar slogans began to appear and proliferate.  The next day there were dozens as I took the lead with my closest friends, proud of all of them.

The fifth day we had a visit rather than the leaflet drops they had been using to try to make us go back.  A man in a full biological protection suit, with an armed escort similarly dressed, was waiting for us in the middle of the M6 motorway east of Coventry.

I walked up to him and offered my hand.  I could see the conflict in his face, but held out my hand until he took it and shook it.

"You don’t need your boys with the guns.  This is a non-violent demonstration," I told him.

"I will decide that," he said sharply.  Then, with more than a little disgust in his voice, he added, "Who are you?"

"I am the son of a hero of two countries, Kevin Harris’s son Sam.  I am Mother Sam to the children abandoned by the country they have been born to and Mother of the Grendel to the press for trying to make their life a little better.  I am the person who led more than thirty thousand people out of Liverpool and I am the person who leads fifty seven thousand people now.  So who the fuck do you think you are talking to me like that when you are too chicken shit to meet me without a suit?" I shouted at him.

"You are Mother Sam?" he asked shocked.

"Yes.  Now give me your name or fuck off as we are coming through," I replied.

"Major Jason Kennedy.  I have been sent here to tell you to turn around now and head back or action will be taken," he said regaining his composure.   "We dropped leaflets telling you that, but I expect that reading skills are limited in Liverpool."

"Who the hell do you think you are prejudging us?  We have a hundred percent literacy rate and a crime rate near enough to zero as to make a police force unnecessary.   Now we are on a peaceful march to London to demand our basic human rights.  We are victims of this conflict that has been raging for to long, not criminals. You can go and tell them that on the eleventh we will be in Westminster," I said angrily.

"If that is your decision, I will go and report it, but don’t start taking yourself too seriously.  We are fighting a war here and you are just a minor inconvenience," he replied in a patronizing voice.

"I am a minor inconvenience.  With ten people we are an irritation.   With ten thousand we are a problem. Now, with over fifty thousand people, we are a voice that must be and will be heard," I told him and walked back to the head of the column of people.  In silence we started walking again.

That night, as we camped he returned, again with his escort.  I invited him to sit down and he did so, clumsily in his all encompassing bubble.

"Sam you seem like an intelligent and reasonable young woman … er … man," he stumbled on his opening speech.

"Try person or, if that’s too much to concede, maybe Deever," I told him spitting the word out like a weapon at him.

"No one likes that term," he said quickly.

"Oh so I am not ‘The Mother of the Grendel’ and ‘Queen of the Deevers’ as the BBC has been announcing for months?  Other broadcasting agencies’ comments aren’t as pleasant," I reminded him.

"Sam I am here with an offer from the PM.  She says, if you head back now then considerations will be made for you and your people in Liverpool.  There will be special considerations for you personally for your cooperation now and only now," he said quietly trying to calm me down.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" I shouted standing up.  "We are not here to be bribed and told to go back like good little boys, girls or whatever else we are.  We are not here just for what we can get, as we want nothing material from you.  We sorted out the shit that was imposed on us in the form of Alan Jones and his band of murdering bastards.  We are here to claim the rights that are due to all and we shall get them.  Go now.  The sight of you sickens me and the thought that you think we, or I, would sell out everything that we believe in for mere considerations makes me want to rip you apart myself."

"Look," he said struggling to his feet.  He rushed after me and placed a hand on my shoulder to stop me.  "As I said, don’t take yourself too serio … Aeiee!"

He screamed as I dislocated his right arm with a twist of my body while holding his arm.

"Lets get something straight you testosterone soaked animal.  If I wanted to kill you, your men with guns couldn’t stop me.  I could do it with one movement.   But I will not.  I won’t even rip open that suit," I told him watching the fear in his face with satisfaction.  "We will not be bribed and we will not be turned.  Now go.  You disgust me."

He left and a cheer rose from my people.  I felt no satisfaction for what I had done.  I sat in silence, with Alex’s arm around me.  I was not happy about the fact they felt they could bribe us.  What sort of people did they think we were -- Muslims or something?

That night, after I let Alex make love to me, I lay awake, enjoying the warmth from his body and thinking.  What had I missed thanks to Damocles?  Yes, I gained some enjoyment from our lovemaking and I had delicious tingles when he paid attention to my nipples, but this was not what I was born to be.  I was not intended to be here in a man’s arms in a nightdress.  I shouldn’t have to put on a bra and panties.   Makeup, hair, stockings and such like should be something worn by a woman to gain my interest, not by me for Alex.  So much was screwed in this world and I didn’t intend to let my people down, but what was I?  Why did I care?  What would become of these people if I failed them?  Certainly no one else cared?  My final thought was how would it make my life better?  I didn’t know and I fell asleep wondering.

The next morning was wet and cold.  The people were starting to get hungry, the ones from Liverpool had plenty for their trip, but, when shared with the others who had joined us, it meant rations were short.  We started moving by eight in the morning and had been walking for around four hours when the first military aircraft were seen.   Then, far ahead we could see the roadblock across the motorway.

"We go around across the fields, then back down onto the motorway," I told the people and we climbed the embankment.  As I helped people across the fence, I could see the troops redeploying across the fields.  There were a hell of a lot of them.

"This is to be done peacefully," I shouted to the masses.  "No violence under any circumstances.  These aren’t Muslims we are facing here."

The shout was repeated from one end of the crowd to the other and we started walking towards the soldiers.  The first shots were a shock.  We had children with us and none of us were armed.

"Down everyone," I screamed as bullets whizzed past.  People were screaming and one of the people who fell wounded was Alex.  He must have been the largest target on the field and he had been hit twice in the chest.

"Get down stay down," I shouted.  "Help the wounded.  When they realize we aren’t fighting back they will stop shooting."

I crawled over to Alex and found that he was already dead.  I kissed him and moved on, helping others as the shots rang out above us.  We were at an advantage with the rolling landscape as we were protected by a slight ridge in the field only a couple of feet high, but it meant that they couldn’t shoot us as we lay on the ground.

Eventually the shots ceased and I could hear a voice I recognized, Major Kennedy.

"This demonstration is illegal.  You will all disperse now leaving the person responsible for this crime, Samuel Harris, and no further action will be taken against you.  Otherwise you will be forcibly returned," he shouted through a megaphone.

I stood up and walked towards the troops alone.  I could here the mutters and comments behind me.  No shots came and I walked the long walk to within a couple of hundred yards of the troops.

"We are unarmed, we have children with us and all we ask are those rights to which all are supposedly entitled.  Not one shot has been fired at you as you are not the enemy.  Neither are we though you kill us.  We are those that have been forgotten.  This country suffers to pursue a war to ensure those same rights that we seek.  We are like this because of that war and now we come to remind those in power that we are real people and not just something that can be forgotten.  Remember, all of you, it could be you or your children here next," I shouted to them and turned around.  I walked slowly back to my people fearing the shot that would end my life.   It did not come and lay on the ground.

"Create dissent and weakness within their ranks and let them stew on it for a while," Mr. Kay said as he came crawling over to me.

"Yes.  It is the only weapon we have.  I cannot believe they would slaughter us in cold blood.  We are not the enemy."

"You are right and you are wrong Sam," he replied and he saw my confusion.   "What you have done is right, all of it, and needed to be done.  You have done this because you are good person.  Even this march and the fact that you insisted on no weapons was the right decision, but you are an idealist and you believe those in power are intelligent and honourable people with at least the same concept of good and evil as you have."

"What are you saying, that they would kill their own people -- us?" I asked.

"Probably," he admitted, "though what you have done is of monumental importance."

"But what of these?" I asked as I looked at the fields full of cowering people.

"Some will survive and tell others what happened here.  The word will spread and eventually things will change, but it will take time," he said sadly.   "You do not need to stay here.  Get somewhere safe."

"I’ll stay.  I started this and I’ll stay to the end, but we must get the children and anyone else who wants to leave out of here," I told him and the orders were passed back into the crowd.

Over the next three hours people started moving back, heading north, but a large number stayed.  I looked around the fields there must have been fifteen thousand people here still.

"Why don’t you go?" Mr. Kay asked me again as I surveyed those who had stayed.

"This is my place and this is my time.  I brought them here and I’ll stay with them.  It is the least that they deserve," I explained.   "Good luck my friend."

"And you, Mother Sam of Liverpool, are an idealist, a fool and a noble and brave person.  Good luck also my friend," he said with a smile on his ancient face.

I could hear the sound of aircraft approaching, fast jets.  I thought of my father and stood up.

"Hands in the air walk forwards," I shouted. "Do not hurt anyone."

I started walking slowly forward, others joining me.  Two aircraft flew overhead and there were a number of explosions behind me.  I was thrown to the ground, but stood again.  Looking back I saw the devastation of what had been the far end of the field we had been in.  Bodies and wounded were everywhere, smoke drifted across and obscured some of the scene thankfully.

I helped Mr. Kay to his feet and the two of us continued walking forward.  Others joined us and from behind me I heard mumbling as someone prayed.  I tried to think of any prayer that I knew and the only one that came to mind was the twenty third Psalm.

"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.
He leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul.
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake."

"Yeah though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I shall fear no evil," the words echoed from about me as I prayed.  Mr. Kay grabbed my hand, still held in the air, and held it tight.  I glanced across to him and saw determination on his face. I grabbed the hand of the person on my right and looked at a face I didn’t know -- he/she as it was a Deever like me -- that smiled back at me.   They were repeating the Psalm also.  I squeezed the hand reassuringly and it was returned.  The guns opened up in front of us, but for some reason most of the shots seemed to be going over our heads.

"I will fear no evil: for thou art with me;
Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies." 

"Do no violence," I shouted as the Psalm continued.  "These are not the enemy."

At my side Mr. Kay stumbled and fell.  I glanced down to see him clutching his stomach, not all the shots were going high.  Someone from behind moved forward and took his place next to me and took my hand.  We were within five hundred yards of the troops now and some of them appeared to be arguing.  Others were firing high, but some were hitting.

Three hundred yards and we could sense victory within our grasp.

"Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over." 

Two hundred and fifty yards and a lot of the troops were running, retreating.   Weapons were abandoned.  I saw one soldier raise a weapon and fire at an officer.

"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life," 

Two hundred yards.  It had cost too many lives, but Mr. Kay was right.  This had to be done and we had done it.  No one was firing now.  The soldiers were routed without a shot being fired by us, without us descending to their level.  We had kept our principles we had proved that we were right.

"and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever." 

I heard a noise and looked up.  Two aircraft shot overhead and something caught my eye.  An object fell towards us ... and a second one …

 

The End Of Part 2

 

 

Chapter Three: The Return to Eden

 

 "Year by year," said Simon philosophically, "science puts more power into our hands"

"So that we may throw bombs at the wrong people?"

"Science like love," said Simon, "is blind."

"I prefer love," said Angelo. "It makes less noise"

                                                                                Private Angelo by Eric Linklater 1946

 

 

"Father why did they kill Saint Samuel?" I asked when my father told me the story.

"There was a sickness in the land caused by the followers of Laden.  It not only affected the people’s bodies but their minds also," he answered, tolerant to the questions of a six year old.

"But why did they kill him?  Couldn’t he have fought them like he did the Muslims in the sky?" I asked.

"It was after he was a warrior; when he had sworn that he would not fight again. In the ship that flew through the air, he fought and he was lucky to survive.  Many didn’t.  God knew he had a purpose for Samuel and spared him, but as a price for saving him he gave him the ‘Curse of Damocles,’ to show him his next task.   People hated those that had been cursed because it was a plague from Allah.   It was Saint Samuel’s job to show the people that the plague was a curse against them for being unfaithful to God, not a curse from God to the wicked," he explained.

"What happened to the Evil Queen who wanted him dead?" I asked eagerly.

"The soldiers that wouldn’t kill Saint Samuel saw the death that she brought from the air.  They saw the people burning and tried to help them, but it was too late for Samuel and for many thousands of those who walked with him.  The fire had consumed them leaving nothing but ashes.

The soldiers decided that Evil Queen Janet was in league with Allah, so they marched to Westminster with those that still lived and those that Samuel saved by sending away.   There they dragged the Evil Queen from her great palace and, as Ben the Great spoke solemnly of the time when the Evil Laden started the war -- fifty years to the day from that day, they killed her with sticks that spat death," he said, repeating the end of the story.

"How can a ship fly?  How can a stick spit death?" I asked urgently, "and can you tell me the story about the Merry Can that called the Sun to Earth to save his people?"

"That is Merican not Merry Can," my father said laughing, "and I will tell you another time.  It is time for bed now.  Don’t forget to say your prayers."

"I won’t," I promised him.

My Father was a religious man and wasn’t ashamed to admit it.  In my earliest memories I think I can remember my mother telling me the same stories.  They are about the only memories of her I have.  As I lay down to sleep I could hear father reading the two holy books we had, The Bible and Protect and Survive.

"When an air attack is expected, the sirens will sound a rising and falling note," he repeated from the book.  I preferred the stories of the old times.   I knew all the names of the devils loosed on the world, Napoleon, Hitler, The Sheriff of Nottingham, Bin Laden and Saddam Hussein.  There were others as well, but I was six I wanted stories of the great battles and good against evil.  The great heroes were something I wanted to be associated with, Churchill the Great, Bush the Avenger, Blair the Smiling and Thatcher the Woman of Iron, who was friends with Reagan of the Apes.  The last two confused me I must admit, but my father said Reagan was a kind and wise leader who loved all creatures so much so he had an ape in his home.

Some of what was found in the Book of Kapangpangan was very confusing, even for father, but Kapangpangan had been there when Saint Samuel had fallen.  He had been wounded by the soldiers and his survival was the first miracle associated with Samuel after his death.  There were other miracles:  the feeding of the children of Liverpool, the battle he won on his own against the evil that came to his city and many more.

Kapangpangan said that Samuel had told the people "do no violence" and the people, seeing what violence had achieved, told the world.

"No more shall we send our young men to die in strange lands.  No more shall the mothers and the wives weep for their loss and no more would our lives be spent trying to destroy others," they said to the people of the world.

"Traitors.  You stab us in the back when we need you the most," The Merican leader had screamed.  "Communists and cowards you all are."

"We will not fight," the people told him as one.

The Merican leader, at the time fearing a new threat, "The Yellow Menace," tried a new type of war.  TNW it was spelled, and through TNW he loosed the Sun on the Earth and the Merican was forever silent.

There was a lot more like that written by Kapangpangan, of the time of Saint Samuel and after, but a lot of it was about impossible things.  I fell asleep thinking how I could make the little boat that father let me use fly.

I remember the incident with the horse.  I must have been ten years old and I was fascinated by the huge creature with the black and white stripes.

"What use is it father?" I asked as he went to try and catch it.

"A horse.  It is a strong and noble animal that works with man.  It will carry burdens that a man cannot carry for many miles.  With just a man on its back, it can run faster than even you," he explained.  He was wise about such things.   The horse did make a change from rabbit though and lasted for many months smoked.

Hickling Broad, the area around our home, was well stocked with animals and alive with birds of different types.  I spent a lot of my time, as I grew older, exploring the broads and especially the ruins of the towns.  Father said that before I was born there used to be a man who came around trading.  He had said that the man knew at least eighty other families that he traded with, the nearest only two or three weeks away.   I thought he must have been lying because in all my explorations I had never seen anyone.  Yes there had been people, that’s why the houses and towns had been built, but that was long ago as could be seen by the ruins.  Hundreds and even possibly thousands of people might have lived in Britain at one time.  Father said that he had been to a city once, Norwich, where tens of thousands of people had lived.   I thought he was telling me a story like Apollo who reached the Moon with a strong arm.

Then, when I was thirteen, my happy life changed.  As usual, I had been out exploring far from home on the pretence of hunting and had been out since early morning.   It must have been past noon when I saw the smoke.  I started paddling back towards home as fast as I could, but the distance made it seem like an eternity.  As I got close, a voice could be heard, not my fathers.

"Let the bastard burn in there," someone shouted.

If my father thought we were under attack, he would have gone into the fallout room and made himself secure in the Inner Sanctum as it said in Protect and Survive.  I knew he would be safe there, as that was what it was for, protection from attack, and this was most definitely an attack.  I hadn’t heard the warning that it said would come in the Holy Book, but I thought of what it said if I was caught in the open.

"If you are in the open and cannot get home within a couple of minutes, go immediately to the nearest building.  If there is no building nearby and you cannot reach one within a couple of minutes, use any kind of cover, or lie flat (in a ditch) and cover the exposed skin of the head and hands," I recited and looked around.   There were no buildings.  I climbed into a damp ditch nearby and pulled some branches over me.

Lying there with the exposed skin of my head and hands covered, I waited for the explosion for a long, long time.  I must have fallen asleep at some point because when I awoke it was dark.

I woke up with a start and suddenly remembered where I was.  I listened for a while, but the silence only broken by the crackling of the embers of what had been my home.  I hadn’t heard the all clear siren, but I hadn’t heard the attack warning either.  Would there be fallout?  What did it look like?  Too many questions I didn’t know the answer too were surfacing in my mind.  I decided to move slowly and quietly across to the farm.  My father would know the answers to these questions.

The house looked in a bad way, one of the barns was burning too.  The roof of the house had fallen in and some of the walls looked unsafe.  The inside was still too hot to think about entering so I sat there, waiting for it to cool down, knowing that my father would be safe within ‘The Inner Sanctum’ for up to fourteen days.

This had to be the work of Muslims.  No one who believed as a Christian could break the Ten Commandments and these people had stolen.  I decided to empty the shed nearest the barn of the tools and equipment in there, as the fire looked like it might possibly spread.  I spent the next few hours emptying the building and examining what I found there.  A lot of it had belonged to my mother’s father, who had worked this farm before I was born.  What use my father and I had for things such as pig castrators I don’t know, but, as I was told many times, "waste not, want not."

After doing this, I returned my attention to the house and I started to get concerned.   Through the broken glass of the window I could see into "The Fallout Room" and it didn’t look good.  The boards against the wall which composed the "Inner Sanctum" had fallen in.  The boxes and bags of earth had been destroyed by the heat and, I realized, the object on the floor had an uncomfortably manlike appearance.  If so, the black object stretched out in front of it would be an arm.

I sank to the floor, not wanting to believe what I saw.  Protect and Survive was written in the old days, prepared for the Home Office by the Central Office of Information, as it said at the end  How could it be wrong?  We had been careful.   The only thing missing was the fabled "radio," which father said was an item of faith.  If we believed enough, then God would speak to us, giving us the further reading, Nuclear Weapons and Domestic Nuclear Shelters available from Her Majesties Stationary Office.  But we had done everything Protect and Survive had told us and we had our faith.  Why had it failed us? 

I wept for a long time lying on the ground in the farmyard.  I didn’t know what to do.  I kept looking into the house hoping that I was somehow mistaken, but I knew I wasn’t. 

As dawn came, I was able to enter the remains of the house.  The charred figure that was inside the smoking remains of the "Inner Sanctum" bore no resemblance to the man I knew as my father, but I knew it was him.  I attached identification to his body and buried it next to my mother and the smaller grave of the girl child who lasted four days longer than my mother, barely long enough to be named Emily.  This was supposedly a temporary grave as no radio instructions had been given, so I marked the spot as it said in Protect and Survive.  Even if I had lost my faith my father had died with his.

I looked through the things I had rescued from the shed.  The thing that caught my eye immediately was the object that had most held my interest for many years, the crossbow that had belonged to my mother’s father.  My father had told me that he was a man who had little interest in the teachings of Saint Samuel.  He believed in being ready for when the Muslims came.  I had tried to use this many years ago and had been berated by my father.  The bow I used for hunting game he said was a suitable weapon.   This, he announced, was an evil weapon designed to kill men.

I had asked him why he didn’t destroy it. 

"The choice of which path to walk is something you must make.  The fact that this weapon is here should make you stronger by not using it," he had replied.

Now I would make my choice and I was glad my father was dead and would not see it.   I improvised a frame to tie a sack to and filled it with which items I wanted.   With it on my back and the crossbow in my hands, I turned my back on the remains of my home and set out seeking revenge.

I set off west on foot and I soon caught sight of smoke ahead.  I left my pack and slowly crept up on the fire, as if I was hunting rabbit.  In the grassy clearing ahead I could see four figures lying on the ground.  Various items from my home lay beside them, including the jewellery that had been my mother’s.  I put my foot in the stirrup of the crossbow and drew back the string with the hook.  Once cocked, I placed one of the small quarrels in place and took aim.

"Blessed Saint Samuel forgive me for what I am about to do," I whispered and pulled the trigger.

The sound of the mechanism seemed as loud as a shout in the quiet of the morning, the thud of the bolt hitting the man even louder.  But nothing could have prepared me for the scream that the man let loose with.  I ran.

"Oh Jesus Mike, some bastard got me," I heard the man scream as I ran.

"Who the fuck is out there?" another voice shouted as the man started screaming again.  "Where are you?  I’ll rip your fucking balls off and shove them down your throat before I kill you."

I kept running until I was far from the men.  Then I hid and waited.  When the sun was high, I moved again.  Picking up my pack from where I had left it, I headed back to where the men had camped.

The campsite was deserted and of to one side was a fresh mound of earth.  My shot had counted and my belief that these were Muslims was reinforced.  They hadn’t marked the grave.  I picked up the quarrel that had been discarded, wiped it on the grass and continued following the remaining three men.

What I had done to the first man sickened me, not just for breaking the sixth commandment, "Thou shall not kill," nor because the thought of taking a life was horrific, but I was elated that I had done what was necessary.

As the sun got lower, I got my next sighting of the three men, about half a mile ahead. Again I dropped my pack and cocked the crossbow, but didn’t place a quarrel in it.   I ran quietly through the trees to the left of them and got slightly ahead.  I placed the quarrel in the weapon, took aim and fired. This time I shot low and took one of the men in the thigh.  He screamed loudly and the two remaining men came running in my direction, but I kept low and moved back in the direction from which I had come.   The searchers were easy for me to avoid.  They didn’t know the area and they made a lot of noise as they searched for me.  I made my way up to their fallen comrade, he was lying on the ground, blood staining his dirty trousers.

"Who are you boy?" he snarled at me as I approached.

I remained silent and armed the crossbow again.  This man was too large for me to tangle with up close, even wounded.  I looked at him so I would know what a Muslim looked like.  He was dirty with an unkempt beard and tangled hair.  His clothes were ragged and patched and his left arm seemed to be deformed.  It was shorter then the right hand one and had no fingers on the hand.

"Mike.  He’s here Mike," he started screaming loudly.   "Oh Jesus son, don’t do it.  Please don’t do it.  It was Mike.  He burned your father not me.  He made me do it."

I took aim at his chest and fired. Then, I finished the job by cutting his throat as if he was a wild pig or a cow.  The quarrel in his leg, I removed.  The one in his chest was too deep, so I left it, grabbed the man’s pack and ran again.  That night, eating cold smoked meat from our stores recovered from the second man I had killed, I thought about what I had done.  Yes, I felt guilty, but I also felt justified in my actions.  Yes, I would go to hell for my actions, but at least these men would not kill again.  I went to sleep that night, for the first time I can remember, without saying my prayers -- intentionally.  I freely admit that the two men I had killed visited me that night in my nightmares.

The next morning I tried to find the last two men.  The body of their comrade had been left to rot where I had left it.  For a moment I considered giving it a decent burial, for a moment anyway.  I started looking for the last two.  It took me two days before I picked up their track.  They had headed south of the direction that they had been travelling, keeping to open ground where they could.  This meant that I had no opportunity to sneak around them and plan an ambush.  The crossbow gave me an advantage, but it was difficult to load and took time that would not allow me to attack the two of them at once.  The short bow I had would give me a better chance but it didn’t have the range or the power needed to bring down a man so I decided to bide my time.

The next day, I started to see the remains of buildings ahead, lots of them, some larger than anything I could imagine a man building.  This had to be the city my father had talked about, Norwich.  I followed the two men into the city and started to try and understand the way these tracks worked to get ahead of the men and still ensure I had a chance to escape.  The streets were confusing, some of them going nowhere, others blocked by fallen houses or rusted metal objects that had been dragged across them.   Some of the objects had wheels, but I could see no way of attaching a cow, or even a horse, to pull them along.  I worked out how the streets ran parallel to each other and got ahead of the two men.  On a corner amongst rubble where two of the streets met and a building had crumbled, I waited.

The two men, that I knew so well from the back, approached.  They were strange in their movements.  One was extremely tall and cloaked with a hood -- a giant.   The other was strangely twisted in his posture.  He seemed to be bent over and his head was held at an angle.  I decided the large man in the cloak was the bigger threat and the crippled man I could take alone, so I took aim and fired, taking the giant in the belly.  The cripple shouted his rage, and with surprising agility, ran towards me.  I drew my knife and stood my ground.

"Who are you boy?" he demanded standing about ten foot from me. 

I remained silent.

"Come on boy, tell me who you are who kills my crew without warning.  Tell me why you didn’t even have the courage to stand up and fight us?" he shouted.

"It took four of you to kill my father, it will only take me to kill all of you," I told him.

"You’re the son of the Jesus freak?" he asked with surprise in his voice.

"What?"  This term was unknown to me.

"Jesus freak.  Bible Basher.  God Botherer.  Religious Nut.   Take your choice.  You are the son of the fool in the house?" he asked again.

"I am Simon, the son of David, who you murdered and now you will die," I told him trying not to let my voice crack.  To my surprise the man laughed.

"You have more balls than all three of the idiots you have killed," he replied.  "I could do with a lad like you on my crew.  Are you healthy?   Ten fingers, ten toes and one and two of everything else that counts?"

"Yes," I admitted cautiously.

"So you are one of the rarities in this world now, a healthy child.  Some of the freaks I have worked with would make you sick just to look at them.  I’m not exactly picky who I work with.  As long as they’ve only got one head I don’t give a toss what the rest of them look like.  Worked with a man with two heads once, nothing but arguments between them, over women usually.  Two different tastes in women, only one dick," he told me.

"Look I have no idea what you are talking about, but I am going to kill you for what you did to my father," I shouted and started advancing on him.

"Please," he shouted falling to his knees.  "Please don’t kill me.  I’m just a poor wretched mutation, despised by all, including that God of your father.  My mother took one look at me and left me to die.  Since then I have just tried to survive."

I was close now and a hand shot out.  A large fist contacted with my testicles and I sank to my knees with a groan.  Pain lanced through me.  A hand grabbed the knife from me and another wrapped itself around my throat.

"Well aren’t you a pretty thing," he said, his face inches from mine.   "We are going to have a little fun, then we will get along just fine."

Beneath my hand I could feel a piece of a brick from the ruined building.  I swung it around catching him in his face.  I could feel teeth and bone crack as it impacted.  To my astonishment he didn’t go down, but knelt there with astonishment on his ruined face.  My knife, in his right hand, was thrust deep into the muscle of my upper arm. I screamed and hit him again with the brick.  And I kept hitting him until his face and skull was unrecognisable as anything human.  Blood and brains covered me and I looked at what I had done.  Then I vomited and lay there next to the body for a while.

The pain and ache from my testicles and the pain in my arm, where the knife was still embedded, forced me to regain control of my body.  Whereas everything that had happened in the last few days had been surreal, the pain was real.  I carefully sat up and looked at my arm, the blade was still deeply embedded in it.  I took a deep breath and pulled hard. 

For a second or two the world wobbled as I tried to remain conscious, then I looked at my arm again.  It was bleeding badly so I stripped off my shirt and, using some of the cleaner parts of the dead man’s clothing, made a bandage.  Then I walked over to the tall man I had shot first.  He was still alive. I pulled down his hood and was shocked to find he had pink eyes and a skin so pale that it sickened me to look at.  I took a deep breath and cut the man’s throat, as I would any wounded animal, and left him there to die. Finally, I sat down and cried for a long time.

The cold of the evening roused me and, using a flint and steel, I started a fire with some scattered wood from the ruined houses.  Then, I spent my night curled up by the fire not sleeping, not moving.

The dawn chorus made me realize I would have to start moving, but where I didn’t know.  I only knew of three places by direction:  home, to the east, where there was nothing left for me, Norwich, where I was now -- and looking around there was nothing for me here and Saint Samuel’s city of Liverpool to the northwest.  I didn’t know what I would find there, but it couldn’t be less than here. A search through the personal belongings of the two corpses produced very little of use.  For some reason the last one I killed had almost ten pounds of jewelry in his bag.  This man had been like a jackdaw, collecting shiny objects.  He was obviously sick in the head as well as the body, but I took them along despite the extra weight that it involved.

Three days later I knew I was in trouble.  My arm was not healing and I had pain under my armpits, in my groin and around my neck.  The wound was red and puffy, occasionally oozing a green-coloured pus.  It was more and more difficult to move and I couldn’t get warm.  I started looking for a place of shelter with nearby food and water as I knew that soon I would not be able to walk.  At first, when I saw the light of the campfire ahead, I thought I was seeing things.

I cautiously moved closer and closer until I could see what was happening.  There were six people and some of them were obvious mutations the dwarf and two men with strange protrusions who appeared to be so deformed that they had to wear different clothing.   One of these was younger than the other and had dark skin.  The other three men seemed reasonably normal.

I lay hidden there for a while wondering who they were and where they were from when one of the men asked, "Are you going to come and get warm boy, or do you want to freeze out there all night?"  I realized he was looking in my direction.

"Come on boy.  We haven’t got all night and if you wish to eat you come now, as we all eat together," he said still looking at me.

"Hush Jacob.  You will scare the child," one of the deformed men said in a pleasant voice.

I stood up slowly, not from fear, but because it was the only way I could stand up.   I cautiously walked into the camp, examining the people around me.

"Welcome to my camp boy.  Give us your name, your story and enjoy our fire and hospitality," the man spoke formally, as if reading from The Bible, and stood holding out a hand.  I didn’t know what to do with it so I copied his movement.   He grabbed my hand and pumped it up and down.

"What is your name boy?" he asked.

"I am Simon, son of David," I said as I took the indicated seat on a log near the fire.

The older one of the two men dressed differently walked over with a plate of food and passed it to me.  I tried to take it with my left hand, unwilling to have something in the one hand I could use my knife with, but my hand wouldn’t work properly and I dropped it. When I bent down trying to pick up the plate the world swam round me for a moment. 

The man who had handed me the plate helped me up and placed a soft hand on my head for a moment.  "Jacob.  This child is ill," he said in a serious voice.   "Get him into the caravan now."

The large man who had invited me into the camp suddenly picked me up, grasping my infected arm in the process.  I screamed and the world went black.

My dreams, for the long time that I was asleep, were of the men I had killed and were full of pain.

"Well, back in the land of the living are you?" came a voice.  I blinked my eyes trying to get them to focus and looked in the direction of the voice.  It was the man Jacob.

"Yes," I said weakly.

"Good.  If you had left the sickness in your arm much longer, then Ester couldn’t have saved the arm," he said as I glanced over at the bandaged arm.

"Thank you."

"Good.  At least you have some manners.  Now you will answer some questions, honestly.  Do you understand the difference between truth and a lie?" he asked in a serious voice.

"Yes," I told him.

"Good.  You have received the hospitality of my home and family and now I need some answers.  You arrived here with a lot of jewellery and a bad knife wound.   You have a selection of other people’s clothing and three spare knives.   How did you come by these things?" he asked.

"I killed four men," I told him honestly.

"Why did you kill these four men?" he asked.

"Does it matter?" I asked.  "I have killed and for that there is no forgiveness."

"It makes a big difference Simon son of David.  I gather you are a religious man and that is what concerns you.  So tell me why you killed these men, because I do not think it is in your nature," he said kindly. 

I told him everything.

"You killed the Hunchback?" he asked, the glee obvious in his voice when I’d finished.

"Yes," I admitted.

"Well, then have no guilt.  You have done what is left of mankind a service with the death of that animal.  I know of at least sixty people he has murdered and it was only luck that he got away last time.  You sleep now, I needed to know the circumstances of what you had done, but I would not have sent you away until you were well.  He saw the worry on my face.  "Relax.  You are welcome to stay with us or leave as you wish.  Now rest."

"Thank you," I said again.

"It is a refreshing change," he said with a smile on his face.  "A child with manners."

I slept again.

I awoke to movement in the "caravan" as Jacob had called it.  The younger, dark skinned, strangely dressed man was in the room with me.

"Good.  The slayer of demons is awake," he smiled, but he spoke in a strangely accented voice.

"Er ... yes.  I’m awake," I admitted.

"Would you like something to eat?" he asked.  "Jacob said that as the wounded hero you are to be fed when you are hungry -- after Ester threatened him."

"He threatened Jacob?" I said astounded, for Jacob was a lot larger than Ester or me.

"No, she did silly," he said walking out of the caravan.

Ester was a woman.  I couldn’t remember my mother and she was the last woman I had seen.  Did this mean this other one was a woman also?  I lay there trying to figure it out until he returned.

"I have some food for you," he said sitting on the side of the bed.   "Do you think you can mange it on your own?"

"Yes, thank you," I answered while looking carefully at him.

"What’s up?" he asked with a smile on his face.

"Are you a woman?" I asked, and for some strange reason the smile turned to tears and he was gone.

"What did you do to Aeisha?" Jacob asked with a face like thunder as he came storming into the caravan, making it rock.

"Nothing," I said quickly, fearing his anger.  "I just asked ‘Was he a woman?’  I didn’t mean to offend him."

"Him?" Jacob said with astonishment written all over his face.

"Yes.  Did I do something wrong?" I asked quickly.

"Have you ever seen a woman Simon?"

"Well I think I can remember my mother, but I was only three when she died.   Then I lived with my father until they came and killed him."

"Well then I will go and explain to the girl that no offence was intended and I advise you to start apologizing as fast as you can." he said with a smile.

"So Aeisha is a girl?" I asked.

"Yes.  And start apologizing as soon as she gets in here.  Explain what you just told me, because the one thing I don’t need in my happy camp is an irritated woman.  They can make your life hell as you will find out my boy," he said, his smile growing even broader.  "Later I need to talk to you."

"Yes," I said, feeling even more confused as he left.  A minute later Aeisha returned.  She had obviously been weeping.

"Jacob told me to come back here.  So what have you got to say?" she demanded.

"I am sorry for asking if you are a woman.  I didn’t mean to offend you," I said quickly.  "But the last woman I knew was my mother and she died when I was three.  Since then I only knew my father until the Hunchback arrived and killed him."

"You have never seen a girl before?" she asked.

"No," I answered honestly.

"Well, what did you think we were?" she asked.  I thought about it for a moment and decided the honest answer of mutants might not be the wise course.

"Kind people," I answered.

"You haven’t touched your food yet.  Why not?" she asked suddenly changing the topic.

"Because I was worried I might have hurt your feelings," I told her and she smiled.  It was nice.  For some reason my stomach felt very strange.

"Come on.  Eat," she said sitting down on the bed next to me.

"Sorry.  I didn’t mean to upset you," I said to her.

"I know you didn’t mean to," she said sticking a fork in a potato and raising it to my mouth.  She continued feeding me until I had finished the meal.   Then she disappeared with the plate, but returned a moment or two later.  She sat down on the side of the bed and I wondered what to talk about.  I was as scared of her as I had been by the men I had killed.

"So I’m the first girl you have seen then?"

I nodded.  My throat was dry and my voice seemed to have deserted me.

"What do you think then?" she asked and I had the distinct feeling that my answer could be wrong no matter what I said.

"I like you," I said carefully and slowly.  "You’re a nice person."

She smiled and I knew I had passed whatever test this was.

"Rest now.  The more you rest, the faster you will get better," she said and left me alone again.

 
        The next morning, Ester came in to me with a breakfast of fruit and inspected my arm.  The wound was still an angry purple and the skin at the edges was yellowish, but it was a lot better than last time I had looked.

 

"Well Simon, you are a lucky young man.  Much longer and it wouldn’t have been just the arm you lost," she said after her inspection.

"When can I get up," I asked eagerly.

"Any pain under your arms?" she asked.

"A little," I admitted.

"I’ll send Andrew in to help you dress as I don’t want you doing anything with that arm.  Outside, you will sit down and not move a muscle," she said and glared at me.  "Do you understand me Simon?"

"Yes Ester," I said meekly.

"Good.  Wait here.  Andrew will be in shortly."

After she left I got out of bed and slipped on my trousers.  I was trying to sort out my shirt when the dwarf arrived.

"What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?" he demanded.

"Getting dressed," I answered.  "I don’t need help."

"Listen this may be Jacob’s camp and he may be boss, but no one disobeys Ester.  Do you understand me?"

"Yes," I replied, wondering why everyone seemed to be asking me that question.

"Now sit on the bed and let me help you with that shirt.  Some of us aren’t as tall as you," he said with a smile.

"Yes," I said unsure how else to reply and I sat down to let him help me.

"You don’t talk much do you?" he asked looking me in the eyes.  He was a small man, no more than four foot tall, and his head seemed large.  His fingers and hands were small though and he seemed to walk in a strange fashion.  Despite his strange appearance, he had a friendly smile.

"No," I admitted.

"It’s not how I look is it?" he demanded.

"No.  Oh no," I told him quickly.  "I admit I have never met a dwarf before, but before this week the only person I had that had ever talked to was my father."

"Ah, that explains it," he tsked.  "Lack of social skills, but it is ‘little person,’ please."

"Sorry," I answered.

"It was not said with any offence intended, so stop apologising," he told me with a smile and held out a hand to me.  Remembering what Jacob had done, I shook it.

"I’m Andrew."

"Simon," I said smiling.

"Yes.  Simon, the lad who hunted the Hunchback," he said.   "You did us a favour there, but I think Jacob is a little disappointed."

"Why?"

"Because he wanted that honour," Andrew said with a smile.  "how did you do it?"

"He had me by the throat, so I hit him with a brick on the side of the head.   He shoved the knife in my arm and I kept hitting him until his head ..." I stopped, remembering what I had done to another human being and started shaking.  I felt sick again, the breakfast I had just eaten begin rising to the back of my throat.

"Are you ill?" Andrew asked with concern in his voice.

"No.  It’s just what I did to him.  Iit sickens me that I could have done that."

Look.  I saw what Aeisha’s family had done to them by the Hunchback and his men.  I’ve seen six families wiped out by that bastard and death was what was needed.  They nearly got him a few weeks ago.  He tangled with a farm that was expecting him.  They killed nine of his men, but he got away," Andrew said and placed a hand on my shoulder.  "You did a good thing."

I stood up, not feeling any better, and walked to the door.  The sun outside was blinding for a moment or two.  Outside I could only see Ester and Aeisha as I carefully came down the wooden steps.

"Where is everyone?" I asked.

"Oh, Jacob and the boys have gone hunting," Ester said.  "Now you aren’t to tire yourself."

I nodded and looked around.  There were four tents and the painted caravan in which I had been sleeping.  I sat down near the fire.

"Why does Jacob travel around?" I asked Ester.

"For a number of years he has been looking for the Hunchback, but his main purpose is to try and learn what happened to our world," Ester explained.

"What"  Like Saint Samuel and the Mericans?" I asked.

"The Americans.  Yes, but who is this ‘Saint Samuel?’"

I told her of the book of Kapangpangan and of what it said of Samuel’s time and I was still talking when Jacob and his sons returned.  They sat and listened to the story as it finished, then I had to repeat it as Jacob began writing it down.

"I have heard of this Samuel before," Jacob said.  "But not of his end and after."

"So it is of use to you?" I asked him.

"All knowledge has purpose," he said making his notes on paper.

"I believed in Saint Samuel all my life, until my father was killed.  Then I doubted if the holy books were true.  I lost my faith," I admitted.  He put his pen and paper down and looked at me long and hard.  I felt as if my father was sitting there.

"Your faith in the books you had wasn’t the basis of your faith in God," he said firmly.  "Those books are not what makes God exist, and the fact that one was wrong or misunderstood was a human fault.  In your time of need you were brought here by God’s will.  So, though you may question him, he does not question you."

I was silent.

"When you lose a loved one, you question your faith.  I had three sons and a daughter, but now I have just two sons," he said, the sadness obvious on his face.   "The beast that you killed murdered both of them and their families.  I questioned my faith and what use I was to God.  What I found was that what had been done was not done by God, but by man, and that God still had a purpose for me.  But I never would have thought it would be to rescue a Gentile boy and a Muslim girl."

"A Muslim girl?" I asked shocked.

"No, they are not the creatures of legends that you are thinking of," he said quickly.  "I have travelled throughout this country and what I have been able to learn of the times of the wars was that it was caused by a few.  The actions of a few on both sides caused this devastation that you see.  Atrocities were done and ignored for too long.  When Mother Sam of Liverpool died, your Saint Samuel, the people of this country decided enough was enough.  It was pure luck that we had pulled out just before the American President ordered the final attack."

"So the A-Mericans caused this?" I asked.

"No, no,  Mankind caused this, with its self-centred view of existence.   Mankind caused this with its lack of tolerance for anything slightly different.   And mankind caused this with its belief that anyone who calls God by a different name is evil and wrong.  Never once did the self-proclaimed experts in God’s dealings on earth look for the similarities in the beliefs.  The differences are what counted and thus their own rules did not apply, as the enemy were sub human -- heathens -- and beyond redemption.  Only with the death of Samuel did some people start realizing who the real enemy was and what the hell we were fighting and dying for.  Only then did it look like the insanity was stopping, but rather than spreading the word and talking to everyone to get them all to stop the war the fools just deserted those they had been allied with for so long, leaving them to their destruction.  The Americans had no choice.  They believed they had been deserted and did what they thought would save their people," Jacob said to me and I sat there trying to understand what was being said.

"Do you want to know the greatest secret in this whole mess?" he asked me and I nodded.  "The seeds of our own destruction were sown by us.  We gave the people who started this the weapons to do it, we trained those people and we allowed them to live in our countries.  While they were killing others we didn’t care -- it was not our problem. Then, when they killed us, we loosed Damocles on the world."

"The Muslims let loose Damocles on the world," I protested.

"No, the father of your Saint Samuel did -- of that I have no doubt.  We are all to blame for the fact that our race is dying and I don’t think man has changed in the two hundred years since Samuel," he said sadly.

I sat there for a while trying to make sense of what I had just learned, it did fit in with what Kapangpangan’s writings said.  I couldn’t believe that people in those days could have been so blind.

"Jacob?  If all this was happening then why did the people allow it?" I asked.

"The world had a sickness called selfishness -- I have what I need and I will only look at others when they have something I want, or they stop me from having what I want.   Wars occurred, but too often for the wrong reasons.  War is not a solution, but occasionally it is necessary.  Too often that war was fought because others live differently or to protect the profits of a few.  Too often atrocities were ignored because there was no profit in fighting, or the ones committing the atrocities were allies at the time."

"Where does God come into this, if this was a holy war?" I asked.

"He doesn’t.  God had absolutely nothing to do with the wars.  It was man’s doing and man’s alone," he shouted.  "God has been used for too long as an excuse for death and those that kill in his name lie.  Why did you kill?"

"For revenge," I answered. "I killed those that killed my father."

"In that you are justified, but if you had come and killed everyone in my camp?" he asked.

"Then I would have been no better than the Hunchback," I replied.

"Well, people believed then, that as long as the guilty were dead then it didn’t matter who else died as it was God’s will they did."

"What people, the Muslims?" I asked him.

"No everyone."

"I don’t understand.  I’m sorry Jacob, I just can’t make sense of it at all."

"Good," he finished leaving me to my thoughts.

"Jacob can be a little rough with his truths," said Andrew standing in front of me.

"Is what he said true?" I asked.

"Oh yes.  His father started this quest for ‘the truth’ as he calls it.  He has just put the pieces together.  He has a great library hidden in a cave in the west of the country and has knowledge of many things," Andrew explained.

"That I would like to see," I told him.

"One day you will," Jacob shouted across to me.

I was unsure how to deal with Aeisha after the revelation that she was a Muslim.   This girl was the living form of all that I had hated and feared as a child.   Her attempts at pleasant conversation I allow myself to be drawn into only far enough to politely end them.  Later on, after Ester had sent me in to rest again, she followed me in to talk to me alone.

"What have I done?" she asked.

"Nothing," I replied.

"There is something up.  You treat me so coldly.  I have done something to upset you," she said the tears starting to roll down her face.

"It is me," I said grabbing her hand.  "It is me.  I’m trying to make sense of all that I have grownup believing over the years.  I was taught that the Muslims were the cause of all that had befallen us.  Now I have found that it was a lie."

"So it is not me you hate, but what I am?" she asked still crying.

"No.  I find it difficult because I could never hate you yet all I have been taught says I should."

"Good," she said and hugged me tight, still crying.  I found the contact enjoyable but it brought my emotions to the surface.  I soon found myself crying also.

"Why do you cry?" she asked me through my tears.

"Because, I have lost my father, lost my beliefs and become that that my father would hate, a killer."  I sniffled and she hugged me tighter.  "... and because I have upset you."

She was suddenly squeezing me tighter to her and I was in danger of broken ribs.   When she stopped and looked at me again a cloud on her face.

"Why do you not hold me?" she asked, her voice slightly accusing.

"Because I don’t know what to hold, where I can hold, and I didn’t want to upset you anymore." I admitted sheepishly.

"Don’t worry about it, just hold me tight," she said in a huskier voice that normal -- and I did.  It was interesting and I admit it was enjoyable.  Why she was so enjoyable I didn’t know.  We held each other for a while, then, eventually, she broke away from me and kissed me, leaving me alone, confused and sad.

Andrew woke me the next morning.  "Come on.  You’re on the mend.   Ester says you are to get up if you want to eat," he shouted in my ear as I protested that I wanted to sleep.

"Fine.  I’m getting up," I said sitting up.

"You have made a big impression on Jacob and Aeisha.  Don’t go spoiling a perfect record by taking advantage of the girl," Andrew said as he helped me get dressed, the arm was easier to move today.

"Advantage of her, how?" I asked.

"You can’t be that naïve, can you?" he asked looking at me.   "Yes, I guess you can," he sighed, " and I am afraid that our illustrious Jewish leader might not be the best one to tell you.  Perhaps Ester?"

"Jacob is Jewish?" I said in astonishment.

"Yes didn’t you know?"

"No, I didn’t know what a Jew looked like," I admitted.  "So he doesn’t believe in Christ then?"

"Does that make any difference?"

"No.  Muslims, Jews, Little People and me.  Who cares what you or I call God?" I asked.

"Well I am a Disney Fundamentalist.  I believe that Snow White was the embodiment of the spirit of nature on earth and a goddess," he said with a serious expression.

You do?" I said wondering what a "Disney" was.

"No.  It’s a Little People joke, and when I find someone who understands it I will have found my people," he said sadly.

"There are others like you?"

"There were many.  Both my parents were Little People as were their parents.   I am looking for a woman I don’t have to stand on a log to look in the face, then I intend to have her carry me away into the sunset," he smiled, "and you my friend need some schooling.  Yes, Ester is the one to talk to you about it."

"About what?" I asked.

"You wouldn’t believe it, if I told you," Andrew said with a grin and he was right.  I didn’t.

Over the next month we moved north.  I was evicted from the caravan to a tent as it was Jacob’s bed.  I was also introduced to horses.  I found that they were useful and Jacob seemed upset that I said they were nice smoked.  Jacob’s sons, Joseph and David, left us.  The quest for rhe Hunchback was completed when they saw his body and both of these serious men thanked me for avenging their sister and brother.  I met people, lots of them.  I never realized that over a hundred people lived within a couple of weeks travel from my home.  I saw the ruins of Saint Samuel’s city from the Wirral, the place he had lived before his exile.  There looking at the two great cathedrals in ruins over the Mersey, I prayed for the first time in a long time.  I was going to throw the crossbow, which I still carried, in the river when Jacob stopped me.

"No that is not the way," he said.  "Keep it and do not fear using it when you need to, but always question if there another way before you do."

"It is easier to be rid of it," I observed.  "What if I keep it and make the wrong decision?"

"Why do you think life should be easy?" he asked and to that I had no answer.

I continued travelling with him for two years, reading the books he carried and learning.  One day, as we sat next to the fire, I told him the dreadful conclusion I had reached.  From what I had read in the old books and what I had seen.

"Jacob, do you know anything of what is going on in the rest of the world?" I asked him.

"Very little, mostly the same as here, in some places worse," he answered.

"Mankind will die then.  We are not growing in numbers we are failing, another two hundred years and we will be gone," I told him.  "Too often we go to places you have been welcomed in the past to find there is no one alive."

"That is what I had decided years ago," he said sadly "and I see no way of stopping it."

"There is.  We have enough people to make it possible but we are too fragmented.  I would have died alone without you and my life would have had no meaning.  We need to get people together.  Together we can prosper, but individually we will fade and die."

Distrust is too great and people dislike moving from their familiar surroundings," Jacob replied and I thought about it for many days.

We were working our way south, to a place called Cornwall, where Jacob wanted to check on some friends as he called all he knew.  I looked at the countryside around us.   It was a beautiful place, the earth was rich and fertile and some trees caught my eyes.  I walked over and saw they were apple trees.

"What was this place called?" I asked Jacob.

"Evesham," he replied.  "The Vale of Evesham."

"It is like what I imagine Eden looked like," I said.

"It is the sun that does that.  In the wet it looks like anywhere else," he laughed.

"No Jacob.  This is a place where a lot of people could live and thrive," I said as I looked around.  "Here we could gather and save our race."

"How would we get them here?" he asked.

"That I would leave up to a sweet talking itinerant Rabbi.  It would not be the first time one such as you made an impression on humanity."

"You ask a lot of me -- and people."

"And I will ask more of you and your family than anyone else except myself and Aeisha," I replied.  "Your family said they owed me a debt for the death of the Hunchback.  I have never requested anything for that and I will not now.   Instead, I ask that you see if your sons would be willing to  live here with me and to welcome any others that you find."

He looked at me for a long time.  "So you are going to start a new world with a Christian, a Muslim, a couple of Jewish families and an old wandering Jew?" he asked.

"No I am going to start a new world with friendship and, I hope, understanding as the basis of what I believe."

"It’s better than sitting down waiting to die," he acceded with a smile.

"Aeisha will you be my wife," I asked the beautiful woman who was never far from my side.

"After all this time waiting for you to ask me why should I?" she asked with a smile.  "I have been waiting since the first day you were awake and you have taken so long."

"Because I love you," I told her and I knew I had passed another test by her reaction -- it was a very nice reaction.

"That was many years ago now.  There have been bad times and good times since," I told the children gathered at my feet.  "The good times mean that our town grows and thrives.  Too often though, the bad times come and, thank God, eventually leave, unfortunately, taking with us those that we love.  But we must hope that they are happy in the company of whoever they call God, because at the end of the day, no matter what they believe, they were friends and we loved them and we weep for our loss.  For with the loss of one person this world is a little sadder and we have lost someone who can’t be replaced, but we will remember them."

I was thinking in particular of the day that Ester had returned alone and the sadness it brought us all, then only one hundred families.  Yet every family united in their love for an old Jewish man who brought us here to Eden and hope, no matter what their beliefs.  Joseph took his father’s place and, as always, Andrew went with him, looking for his people as he did till his death.

"What of Saint Samuel, grandfather?" came from a young man at the front with a serious face.

"Well Saint Samuel was the son of a brave man, Kevin Harris.  It was a time when the world was sick," I said looking at my beloved Aeisha smiling at me from the doorway, but slightly disapproving of the crowd of young people in the house.

"One more story then out of my house," she said laughing, "and that goes for you too husband of mine.  I have things to do, as have you.  You have a town to run and a library to organize."

After the story the children left and I turned to Aeisha, working in the kitchen.   "I’m sorry my beloved," I said sneaking up behind her and slipping my arms around her.

"Don’t be," she said turning around in my arms to kiss me.   "They are the only important thing we leave in this world and what they learn from us dictates how our world will be in the future."

"You are a wise woman," I said hugging her.

"You better remember that or your life will be hell," she said with a smile.

"Life with you my love?  Never," I told her.

 

THE END

 

Thanks at this time need to go out to many of you out there, Jeffery, Sara, Bob, Prue, Nomad, Nora, Ted, Lynn, Michelle and many, many more for telling me to carry on putting my thoughts down and the help they have given me . They are also to blame…

Hypatia

 

 

 

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