Evolution's Voice

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S. E. Byron

EVOLUTION'S VOICE

S. E. Byron

Copyright 2008 S. E. Byron

All rights reserved. No part of this e-book shall be reproduced or transmitted in
any form or by any means, without prior written permission of S. E. Byron.

To Susie

Special thanks to
Laura Rhoades-Yokai

PROLOGUE
Evolutions Voice S. E. Byron

2

OCTOBER 24, 2180
FI NAL PRESI DENTI AL DEBATE
J OHN F. KENNEDY CENTER

The truth is clear, said Davis Keller as he stepped clear of his podium. Our
future is threatened. A Dark Age is upon us.
Davis strolled toward the center of the rectangular stage and pressed a finger to
his lips. A large projection screen glowed behind him, blue except for the gold banner
and the phrase AMERICA CHOOSES A PRESIDENT 2180, all of which seemed to float
over his head. His provocative words aroused the audience from the sleepy tedium of
the debates previous hour. A silent energy replaced the murmur of idle chat from the
depths of the cavernous auditorium. The stage lights pulsed methodically through a
swirling mix of reds, whites and blues.
You sensed the danger and have come to this debate tonight in search of
visionary leadership. I have spent thirty years fighting the darkness. Fighting to hold
back the irreversible forces of decay. As I have said at the start of this campaign, and
as I say again tonight, we need not descend into this doom.
Davis opened his arms and the audiences single, unified breath broke the
silence.

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With your support, prosperity is achievable. Hope will be restored.
He sealed his hands together and turned toward the man towering over the
second podium.
But we must first defeat fear.
President Sam Hardin leaned forward, pressing his mass into the podium until it
creaked in submission. His rust-brown eyes narrowed to slits, while contradictory
expressions of frustration and amusement battled to dominate his hard facial lines.
Davis tested the limits relentlessly, despite the commanding presence and authority of
the office Hardin had come to personify; but his infuriating tactics were so cleverly
entertaining.
Hardins face settled into a tight scowl as he tapped his thumb near the flashing
LOAD FILE DK119? prompt on his electronic tablet. Victory was proving elusive tonight,
but discipline and timing were the keys to any counterattack.
Do not let that emotion control you, Davis continued after breaking eye contact
with Hardin. He turned to the audience and elevated his voice. Do not let that emotion
trick you into accepting the miseries of today over what selfless sacrifice may bring
tomorrow. Let our nations rich legacy inspire your hearts again. Revive the patriotic
spirit that gave birth to our nation four centuries ago. Do not let this great civilization slip
into oblivion. The future is yours to choose.
The audience cheered and stood as Davis returned to his podium. He sipped
water, then dabbed a bead of sweat from the edge of his graying hairline. Despite
decades of public service, he still radiated a calm enthusiasm and noble charm the

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nation now seemed to crave. He returned the glass to its cubbyhole and adjusted his
suit across his sturdy shoulders.
Thank you Senator Keller, the cheery moderator said. When the applause
finished and the audience sat down, he continued. Mister President, he said.
Senator Keller has summarized his stance of the preceding hour. Will you please do
the same?
Of course. Hardin smiled graciously. Despite the vision of disaster Mister
Keller always presents, there is no real evidence of any Dark Age. We have
occasionally fallen on bad times, but never have we been broken. And we never will, so
long as I am President.
My policies of domestic rejuvenation and strengthened federal power have
already restored our national pride. This country has excelled in commerce and quality
of life. We have not been seriously challenged in battle for over one hundred and fifty
years, not since our victory during the Brazilian Wars of the Twenty-First Century.
Hardin chuckled. I dont think the people have any reason to feel fear. Our supremacy
is unquestioned by everyone in the world. He gestured toward Davis. Everyone, that
is, except Davis and his Melioris Party.
Thank you Mister President, the moderator said. Ill get back to the subject of
Senator Kellers political party in a moment. Lets change focus a bit. With the election
now two weeks away, this is probably the last time we have to get personal. The two of
you entered the Senate at the same time. What were your impressions of one another
then? You both seemed to get along well then, even admire one another? Is that a

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safe assessment?
Hardin smiled. As safe as can be under tonights circumstances. The
audiences laughter faded quickly. But its true. We met in Twenty-One Sixty-Four,
when we were freshman senators. I came in under a different party than Davis, and I
certainly had never heard of his Melioris Party until then. Ill admit, Davis has always
had a way with words. You couldnt help but stop to listen when hed get up and talk.
As I recall, Davis interrupted. It did take you a few months to stop heckling
when I spoke. But that didnt seem to stop you from seeking quiet interruptions.
Well, I did supply the others with tomatoes. He laughed at a pleasant memory.
But those old guys couldnt throw worth a damn and you could take a splattering with
such dignity.
I guess my curiosity is getting the best of me, the moderator said. How was it
that the two of you eventually managed to cross your party lines in those early years,
and come to share a common view?
Hardin rolled his head sideways. Well, as Ive said, Davis can be persuasive.
Sam and I were something of rebels, Davis said. Despite our different
backgrounds, I think he and I both understood that our country had stalled. I would like
to point out that Sam didnt take much convincing to recognize the threats I saw.
Hardin scoffed. I said you were persuasive. Not a hypnotist. I just enjoyed
having another person in the Senate who actually had a little fight in him. Im used to
charging in and forcing things to happen. Thats my military background. Thats how
Ive always been. I think Davis found me a bit rough, but he knew I could twist arms and

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force deals.
Yes, Davis nodded. I found you rough. But you were skilled where I was not.
You worked best in the trenches, Sam, after the speech that inspires the battle. The
early years were the most promising of our careers. My only regret is that we came to
disagree on how to fix the problem.
The moderator spoke. What do you think is the biggest factor behind the
differences in opinion that developed between you?
Davis paused to rub a dull pressure building in his temples. The hot lights and
old memories challenged his calm. Our experiences in early life were vastly different,
and I have always felt that was the source of conflict between us. My family has always
taken the progressive side of issues. We have supported the forgotten causes and
fought the shortsightedness of government. Politics are part of my family heirloom, I
suppose.
I was encouraged to serve the public, so I studied politics, history and
economics. I served Texas in the state legislature, then in the Federal House of
Representatives. Now I serve both state and country in the senate. My early years
granted me knowledge of how politics and economics reflect underlying social trends,
and helped me see the problems I speak of tonight. But it was my familys legacy that
taught me not to fear the consequences of serving a cause.
Im not sure you ever understood the emotion called fear, Davis. Hardin smiled
and bore his teeth. I was afraid as a child growing up in a tough neighborhood. But I
learned to embrace fear, and all my-, he paused and tapped his electronic tablet, -

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emotions. Thats what helped me grow strong. I may not have had the opportunities
your familys wealth provided you, or the benefit of family heroes to measure my
righteousness by, but I made my own glory.
I fought in two wars, and commanded in one of them. I secured victory and
subdued the enemy. When I was stripped of my commission because my style ruffled
feathers, did I let the discharge break me? No, I remained strong. I took from my
experience a sense that our national will had weakened. So I entered politics, because
I wanted my country to be powerful again.
That was the problem that ended our alliance, Sam, Davis said as he
straightened his back. And it is still our problem today. You refused to see the
fundamental decay of our society, and preferred to chase the power instead.
Hardin dropped his shoulders and narrowed his eyes, then ran his fingers
playfully down his digital tablet. He pressed the button beside the flashing LOAD FILE
DK119? with a slashing movement. A secret thought curled his lips into a thin smile.
Perhaps, Hardin said, letting his voice trail off, we are still pursuing the same
goal?
Davis searched Hardins satisfied expression, unable to understand the sudden
menace. The moderator cleared his throat to break the silence.
Senator Keller, lets return to the topic of your Melioris Party. A recent article by
Rhonda Finch pointed out what seems to be two faces to the organization; one that is
comprised of passionate and dedicated supporters, and the other a party ruled by elites.
Would you please explain to those of us who live outside your home state of Texas

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what is the Melioris Party, and would you please comment on these descriptions?
Certainly. Davis nodded and shifted his weight from one leg to the other.
When I decided to run for national office, I needed a party, having lost faith is the
established parties. Candidates have been forming successful independent parties for
over a century, so my supporters suggested that course. The Melioris Party was born
from their tremendous enthusiasm, but I think the spirit of the party existed for many
years before that day.
What I think people should understand is that we have always desired the
restoration of American greatness, not as a military power, but as a beacon of
civilization. We are not, as some have suggested, a party for elite rule, but a source of
inspiration. We only exist to help, to make life better. The day my supporters and I
formed the party we named it Melioris, a Latin word meaning better. That is what we
want to help this nation become.
Hardin crossed his arms and rolled his eyes slightly upward.
Now, Davis, he said, casting off the moderators irritated expression by holding
up his hand. This is something I must again disagree with. Ive gone to great lengths
time and time again this evening to prove that we are already better than we were two
decades ago. Weve all sorts of examples from you of how this Dark Age illusion of
yours is about to run us down.
Hardin emphasized his points by ticking off each finger as he spoke.
A drop in the standard of living. The endangered middle class - a fine choice of
words, I might add. Loss of art sponsorship? Hardin raised his eyebrows and shook

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his head. Drops in food production, and-what was the last one? Hardin tapped his
jaw. Ah yes, my favorite. Technological contraction. That was your favorite factoid
when we entered the senate, and Ive heard it every year since. Only, in the beginning,
you had to speak into a crackly old hand held microphone, and tonight these new
Doppler mikes almost speak for you.
The audience chuckled with Hardin. Davis tapped his fingers together and
allowed himself a muted smile.
That is very true, Sam. I do remember how those old microphones sounded,
and how the Majority Leader used the staticy irritation as an excuse to shut me down in
mid filibuster.
Hardin slapped his podium. That maneuver was called the Keller-buster. We
would first waited to see if one of your migraines would fire up; when we saw you rub
your temples, we knew the end was near. But if the migraines didnt come, and your
words started influencing votes, that was the only way to stop you. Hardin laughed
enthusiastically. It irked him relentlessly when you started bringing that awful karaoke
radio so that you could continue. He laughed again. The microphones back then
were awful, Davis, but they were the best for the day. I just dont see them as evidence
of falling brain power.
In fact, Sam, the microphones are perfect examples. These new doppler mikes
are a rediscovered technology, not a new one. They were first invented in the early
Twenty-First Century, used extensively for three decades, and then forgotten as our
technological capacity declined. The truth is that our situation has always been far

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more dangerous that the vocabulary of your Presidency acknowledges.
Hardin shrugged and bowed his head. An image of a piece of paper appeared
on his electronic tablet. The question DISPLAY DK119 NEXT? blinked below it, and he
quickly slapped his thumb on the YES answer button.
In fact, Davis continued, unaware of Hardins invigorated posture. The
advances you tout as prosperity are illusions. What is real are the desperations of daily
life, the stories I have passed on this evening and during this campaign. I have spoken
to families that have not sent children to college in generations because they must now
chose between the enormous cost of daily life and the enormous cost of education. The
middle-class dreams of millions have turned to nightmares, but Mister President, you
offer no comfort.
I have visited the farmer mourning the sale of his farm as he drives past deserts
that once grew seas of wheat. The capacity of agricultural technology has failed to
keep up with domestic demand for over fifty years. Twenty million people have starved
to death during this centurys famines, and our population continues to crash. But
Mister President, you cut food programs to pay for a new army division that your
comments here tonight suggest is not needed.
In every city, I have attended the funerals of children, lost to diseases that
ravaged their innocence, diseases that have returned from extinction to consume our
next generation. Yet, Mister President, you say happiness abounds.
Hundred of millions of people struggle to survive, forced to abandon comfortable
lives for filth and despair, forced to watch helplessly as darkness overwhelms them,

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forced to believe the tale that the last four years have seen their lives improved. But
you, Mister President, can at least offer them microphones. I can offer them something
more. A voice. May they use it to speak passionately again of the future.
Applause thundered but Hardin was not concerned.
Davis, my old friend. You make it seem as though I am the monster. Nothing is
farther from the truth. You and I once agreed that the country had fallen from her old
glories, but we never agreed on the solution. I sought action, something immediate,
something more useful than pretty words. Hardin stepped from behind his podium and
advanced slowly toward the middle stage.
My accomplishments during this first term are more than you give credit for.
Those old glories you constantly refer to are returning. Have returned. Ive launched
grand projects to rebuild our capitol citys crumbling monuments, and I have funded
small projects that restore electricity to rural towns.
Most importantly, I have restored the prestige of a federal government that long
ago let the petty needs of states and cities take precedence over the greater good.
That was the problem that ended our alliance, Davis. You keep seeing things as great
historical trends, or in terms of the rise and fall of nations. But the truth is that our
nations problems have been caused by a lack of authority and the need for a strong
commander. My military experience taught me that, and it taught me that quickly when I
led troops during the Lake Maracaibo War. A decade studying books and earning
degrees still hasnt taught you that lesson, Davis.
Your battles with me through the Senate these last four years should also have

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taught you that the people do not believe your predictions of doom. The people do not
want a long-term plan, like the one you propose. They want results, things they can
feel.
Hardin smiled. Most people are driven by their feelings, Davis. Have you
forgotten? You have forgotten quite a lot, I suspect. Like what drives our countrymen,
what has always driven this nation forward. The pursuit of glory. And we have always
accepted that glory requires pain. We are not afraid to feel pain, Davis. We are not
afraid to suffer in order to achieve greatness. We are not afraid of anything.
You are mistaken, Sam. Davis said coolly despite the pain spreading behind
his eyes. You have always been mistaken. Our early days of united ideological
crusade in the Senate ended when you chose to ignore the magnitude of the problem in
order to pursue the politically advantageous view. The people gave you an opportunity
to prove that view was correct. I believe you have failed, and I believe the people will
elect a better path.
An evolved path, perhaps? Hardin smiled and approached the screen. Like
the one offered through your Melioris Party? We will understand where that path leads
tonight, Davis. Your magical words hide secrets, Davis. Lets reveal that hidden truth
now, shall we?
Hardin returned to his podium and tapped the DISPLAY DK119 NOW button. The
banner and words on the projector screen dissolved into a flash of white. The paper
from Hardins tablet appeared slightly out of focus.
I think we can all agree that what is being debated here tonight is nothing less

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than the fate of our nation. Hardin approached the screen. You say it can become
better. In the hands of a man whos party is run by elites? In the hands of a man who
has suffered from debilitating headaches for decades? Can you handle the challenges
you imagine we will soon face, Davis? Will you lead four hundred million people into the
future? I think the real question is whether or not you have any interest in us at all.
The projector sharpened and zoomed on the bottom of the document. Davis
could easily read his doctors signature, but he did not consider this a betrayal; Hardins
spies were very effective. Davis rubbed his temple again but maintained a perfect lack
of emotion.
Read carefully, and understand Senator Kellers truth. This is why he shuns
emotion. This is why he should not lead us. As signed by Doctor Phillip DeGuire six
years ago, a confirmation that Davis Keller is, in fact, a new species of man.
The audience fell horribly silent, then burst with gasps and panic.
He thinks he is far superior to the rest of us! Hardin shouted over the noise.
Take his advice and do not elect a monster to the presidency!
Hardin glowed in the chaos his treachery had ignited.
An evolutionary monster like him!
Shouts and emotion pounded the stage. Davis sat patiently before the people,
and held steady against the explosion of rage. Now, as Hardin paced triumphantly,
darkness obscured hope; the Presidential election became a choice between evolution
and extinction. The people needed to understand. They needed to see Davis was not
the monster Hardin wanted him to be. They sought a hint of benevolence. They

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needed him to calm their fears.
Davis rose from his chair, clasped his hands together and walked into a sudden
silence.
What you see is the truth. I have evolved.
Davis stopped at the edge of the stage.
I have evolved. But I am not stronger, or faster, immortal or omnipotent. He
tapped his head. I have evolved here.
Davis stepped off the stage and walked the aisles.
To avoid confusion and lies, I will tell you what lead to this discovery. Medical
science, according to the paper President Hardin presented to you, has determined I
possess brain structures never before seen in the species Homo sapien. Besides the
awful headaches that cripple me daily, these structures give me the ability to tame my
emotions, to regulate that which has plagued all civilization. This gift brings with it a
freedom of thought that subverts old barriers, and allows an unobscured vision of
harmony. Peace. Prosperity. Strength. Greatness.
The crowd absorbed his words and yearned for connection.
Although I am a new species, I am still human. That is something which cannot
be lost. Look at me. Despite my controls, I still share with you humanitys basic
emotional threads. I am not different. I love. I need. I protect. I hurt with every loss.
Though I can control an emotion like feat, it is an understandable reaction to my
evolution. Even I was concerned at first.
Again, look at me. Am I hideous? Am I a monster? No. Do I toss bolts of

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lightning at those who anger me? Do I write my name in light? Has anyone bowed as I
pass? Ive seen many gestures in the last few minutes. Bowing was not one of them.
Laughter followed Davis back to the stage.
Prophecy is my only power. Davis looked to the far side of the stage. Hardin
smiled, unfazed by the strong retaliation. What I say frightens men like him. Their
feast of spoils would surely end if I can persuade any of you to see me without fear.
There is simply no reason to fear change, and therefore, no reason to fear evolution. Or
me. Only those who fear progress would tell you otherwise.
Davis paused to point an outstretched hand at Hardin.
This man cannot lead you through the dangerous times ahead. He and his
allies will fall victim to the same Dark Age weaknesses, the same disastrous faults that
bring famine, war, slaughter, and shattered lives. Our society evolved from this
savagery to elegant prosperity. President Hardin and those like him will make decisions
that affect you based on pure madness. They will destroy our world for the sake of their
insecurities and we will suffer for generations to come. Will you allow those men to drag
you down, or will you choose to change? Will you choose to evolve?
Davis knelt at the edge of the stage.
Everything evolves. Creatures evolve. Ideas evolve. Nations evolve. We, as a
civilization, evolve. Evolution is complex. There must be losers, or there could be no
winners. I say to you tonight, that we can all be winners. If you are prepared to witness
the birth of a new nation, an evolved nation. A nation that cannot fail.
The crowd pulsed with excitement and shouted his name.

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All you must do is turn away from him. Together, we shall guide our newborn
nation to the future, not the past. Together, we shall never fear again.
He walked to the edge of the stage. The people reached for him.
This I swear to you. Not because I have evolved, but because I am human.
The applause thundered. Hope rippled through the audience and the nation, and
washed the pain from Davis temples. He allowed himself a genuine smile.
The future would be saved.
Senator Keller, the moderator asked enthusiastically. Have you named your
species?
Yes. Davis surveyed the jubilation. I gave myself the name Home melioris.
Hardin watched his old friend basking in the lights and the victory. He gripped
the bridge of his nose and shook his head, then huffed and smiled despite the loss. The
night belonged to Davis; but in battle, there are always contingencies. He turned and
stared at the man waiting patiently in the darkness backstage.
Tallon Richter stood at attention, obscured by the distance and the curtains into
little more than a shadow and a fist. Hardin nodded and the apparition dissolved into
his tacit orders. Hardin winked when Davis turned to bow respectfully to his opponent.
Davis paused, looked away, and then headed off stage to be interviewed.
Hardin greeted the diminished crowd cheering for him outside the auditorium with
hugs and handshakes. He hummed during the drive back to the White House and
laughed at the electronic newspaper headline waiting for him on his desks computer.


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DAVIS KELLER REVEALS HIS EVOLUTION, WINS DEBATE.
IS PRESIDENT HARDIN AN ENDANGERED SPECIES?

Hardin tapped the screen to make the article disappear. Davis might possess
evolutionary gifts, but he did not possess control over the powerful and wealthy few now
enjoying the benefits the current President provided. Davis might have the loyalty of the
voters, but not that of the men who knew how millions of electronic voting machines
could be pre-programmed with the correct votes. Davis did not possess Richters skills
for persuasion and intimidation, or control of the agents enforcing their Presidents laws.
Hardin relaxed in his chair and looked at a picture of himself beside the worn rim
of a tanks cannon. Davis also lacked an effective military. Without steel and muscle,
there was no bravado, no power. As persuasive as Davis could be, some arguments
were best won without flowery words. Hardin smiled deeply and let the tension of the
evening bleed from his body.
What Davis lacked most of all was a guaranteed re-election.

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J ANUARY 16, 2181
I NAUGURATI ON DAY
UNI TED STATES CAPI TOL BUI LDI NG

Davis Keller pulled his wool coat tight against the bitter January cold of
Inauguration Day. To his left, the Capitol Building swooned in the flags and ribbons of
celebration. To his right, rows of seated senators, judges and other dignitaries sipped
coffee and chatted over how they had secured the coveted inaugural invitations despite
their opposition to their Presidents re-election.
Davis stood beside them, hovering on the periphery and shunned by his peers.
His presence this day was merely symbolic, a display of unity and graciousness after a
stunning defeat. Despite strong evidence of electoral fraud, the mechanism of power
worked in Hardins favor. There would be no investigation about the allegations of vote
tampering. Davis temples tightened and he slowed his breathing in response.
He knew Hardin was capable of such treachery; Henry Marek, the Meliorans
National Director, had warned that ballot tampering was underway a week before the
election. But Davis had believed-hoped, really-that Hardin would somehow resist the
temptation to shatter the most cherished democratic bedrock. Davis knew he should
have expected this outcome.

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He sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose. The Dark Age was so close,
nearly unstoppable now. The fight was now so desperate, and his supporters morale
was so low.
The brass band on the opposite side of the platform kicked off the first notes of
the Presidential March. Hardin stepped out of the Capitol Building. Ice crunched
beneath his boots as he swaggered leisurely to his spot in defiance of the wind biting
his flesh.
Davis stared out to the grounds between Hardin and the white obelisk of the
renovated Washington Monument. A crowd of less than five hundred huddled tightly for
warmth. Most wore fine furs and affluence. Some wore military uniforms and deep-set
eyes. He paused, looking harder at one soldier who resembled Henry Marek. After a
moment, Davis let his eyes settle on Hardin again. It could not have been Henry;
Meliorans were not on the guest list.
Boots crunched urgently through the ice behind the guest stand. Before Davis
could turn and investigate, a man stopped within an inch of his side and a firm hand
squeezed his shoulder.
Davis
Davis recognized his friend Freeman Tyler at once. He turned to offer a greeting,
but did not care to speak when he noticed the retired general wore his uniform beneath
his heavy trench coat. Freeman leaned in and whispered in rapid and tense bursts.
The pain in Davis temples exploded so suddenly, he though his skull had fractured.
Is Freeman telling the truth? How did it come to this?

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* * *

President Sam Hardin seized the podium and tightened his grip on the top. He
stood firm against a powerful gust, then leaned into it with great resistance. Frosty
clouds of breath charged out from his flared nostrils, and the wind rippled his hair like
the mane of a warhorse set to trample the Earth. Hardin inspected the audience before
him and saw a scruffy soldier who looked like Davis national party director. The crowd
began to cheer and Hardin did not concern himself with that man anymore. A watch
beeped the time and he turned to stare down the senators.
Davis face had turned a cold shade of white; perfectly free of all emotion,
desolate to the very last. Another oddly familiar man stood close to Davis side and
whispered something into his ear. Hardin returned his attention to the people below,
then snapped back when he remembered the strangers face. Freeman Tyler, a
general and a Melioran. Both men returned Hardins gaze; a flicker of deep thought
flashed red on Davis forehead. Hardin motioned for his security men to investigate
then resumed his inauguration.
On this cold day, I believe in great victories-
A car exploded into heat and shrapnel. Machine gun fire popped behind the
museum. The troops within the crowd pulled pistols and cried out vengeance in Davis
name. People scattered through screams and bullets and blood. Hardin stood boldly
undisturbed and watched the senators stumble over each other until a burst of sniper

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fire tore through them. Davis and Freeman had vanished.
The strong hands of Hardins security men dragged him into the Capitol Building.
Federal soldiers poured from concealed positions and met the rebels on the steps. The
rhythm of battle drew Hardin to an upstairs window. His heart pounded in cadence with
the surge of men, tanks and death. The man who must have been Henry Marek
charged toward the Capitol Building and disappeared into a puff of incendiary smoke.
Blood trickled down the marble steps. Men lay in pieces across Hardins private
battlefield. His soldiers showed no mercy to the brothers who had turned traitor. Hardin
smiled as the coup collapsed against a rapiers edge of Federal power.
But military aides were already delivering grim reports. Fort Nelson had raised
the Melioran flag. California was sacking its governor. Air Force squadrons were
dogfighting over Kansas. Hardin whistled and issued his directives. On this cold day,
events deviated from expectation. The army splintered. The nation chose sides. Davis
had escaped.
On this cold day, the Melioris Rebellion began.

PART ONE

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J ULY 28, 2182
AUSTI N-BERGSTROM I NTERNATI ONAL AI RPORT
AUSTI N, TEXAS

Inacio Alvaro leaned against the observation deck window and watched ground
control guide the passenger plane to the gate. He worked his hands together, locking
and unlocking his fingers in a nervous rhythm. The letter announcing his sister Sabinas
return had sounded neutral, reluctant. It offered only a date, flight number and a
partially erased smiley-face as clues to her mood.
Inacio could picture her, probably slouched in her window seat, as she had done
five months before when a combination of tragedies forced her to seek comfort back
home in Brazil. Or, perhaps she drummed her fingers impatiently on the armrest as she
did to repress excitement. Still, he did not know which it would be. Passengers waved
from each tiny window to silhouettes resembling loved ones. Inacio turned away from
the window and pressed his back against the glass. Maybe Sabinas seat was on the
other side of the plane.
The pilot throttled back the engines, which increased the impatient buzz of
waiting families and friends. The exit ramp slid to the plane, dipped to align with the
hatch and sealed itself against the hull. The counter clerk announced the flights arrival.

24
Inacio dug his hands into his pockets and walked to the rear of the crowd forming near
the gate.
The doors swung open. A long line of travelers dispersed into hugs, kisses,
handshakes and warm chatter. Inacio peered down the ramp, uncertain if he would
recognize Sabina. More passengers disembarked, pushing the mob toward Inacio and
the main hallway. He sighed again. Perhaps she skipped this flight. The push of
strangers and the public setting helped Inacio subdue the stronger emotions.
A round man exited the gate and stopped to talk with friends. A tall, beautiful,
refreshed and poised woman, with shorter black hair and fewer American fast food
pounds, stepped around him, her dark eyes scanning the terminal. Inacio harrumphed
a mix of surprise and joy; a smile escaped his gloom.
Sabina? He called.
Inacio towered over the crowd, enhanced by his faded red knit shirt and coarsely
combed black hair. Sabina smiled and waved, but Inacios sulky expression made her
cautious. He waved again and she approached quickly.
Oi Inacio, she said softly.
Their hug was soft and hesitant, full of unspoken sorrow and mutual regret.
Inacio pulled away, brushed a few strands of hair from his brown eyes and took her
bags. He walked his sister through the summer heat to his car, opened her door and
stowed the bags in the trunk. Sabina turned to him when he merged onto the highway.
Inacio caught her stare, nodded and smiled weakly.
I visited Bellisas grave a few times while you were with Mama and Papa, Inacio

25
said. Kept the flowers fresh. Picked the dirt from the engraving. He stumbled over
his words. The grass has filled in
Sabina did not respond and his voice trailed into deeper memories. She
stiffened with anxiety as the traffic near downtown Austin stalled their progress. Inacio
sighed. A part of him wished the embrace of family and the simplicity of life in their
Brazilian jungle village of Campoalmas had kept Sabina from returning to this miserable
place. But he understood that she could not stay away from the baby shed lost in a
premature birth. Inacio sighed again, settled into his seat and let his mind drift through
old memories. His jungle home was a great distance from Austin, in kilometers, time
and tragedy.

* * *

Inacio left Campoalmas for the first time when he was ten. Papa and his uncles
invited him on a boat trip into Manaus. The magnificent city burst with colors, cars,
rudeness and toys. Inacio followed the men impatiently, tugging against Papas strong
grip to demand a walk down isles full of glitter and fun. Papa always said no. They
paddled slowly home, talking and rationing the meager food purchase. Sparkling glass
buildings radiated from the jungle, taunting Inacio to choose between a new world and
the old.
He swam twenty meters from the boat before Papa retrieved him.
Campoalmas seemed dirtier after that trip; simple child pleasures became

26
unimpressive. Inacio insulted kids playing in the mud, refused to splash with his friends
in the filthy water, and watched planes while the other boys dreamed of working with
their fathers on the new highway. Mama grew tired of his pouting. One day, while
cuddling with Sabina, she invited Inacio to join them in her hammock.
Do you remember your Uncle Faustino? He left the village to find excitement,
when you were little. Youre just like him. If he bothered to write, Id have him write
you.
Inacio rolled out of the hammock and ran in circles. Can I live with him?
Mama stretched out and Sabina curled up near her belly. Why do you want to
leave? Life is good here. You have friends and a sister who adores you.
Inacio spun in frustration. Manaus is better!
Sabina lifted her head and frowned. Qual a sua? she spat out.
Whats his problem? Mama repeated with a laugh. His problem is that he was
born red all over and screaming like an angry scarlet macaw. They watched as Inacio
howled and spiraled down to the dirt floor. He hasnt changed. He was born with fire
in his heart. The fire keeps getting him into trouble. And trouble chases him like fire
chases the trees.
esse fumo? Sabina asked as she peered over the hammocks edge.
No, theres no smoke, Mama chuckled. Just dust. She leaned over to see if
Inacio was still spinning on the floor. I could tell you about your uncles adventures.
Inacio sat up. Yeah!
Mama sighed and pressed a finger to her lips, tapping gently for several minutes

27
before telling a jumbled and uninspiring story.
For a year, Mama and Papa told stories about Uncle Faustino, sometimes
interesting, sometimes contradictory, until one evening Papa said no more. The village
elder, the Sapa, replaced tales of adventure with lessons on history. Inacio listened to
the legends until he was fifteen, when the stories of defeat and willing surrender hurt his
head. Even daily life seemed to teach failure. Fish. Hunt. Watch Papa come home
too early from the day labor camps.
I tell you Sapa, Papa said one night as he sat outside the hut with the other
men. The boss yells all day but wont come out from under the trees and demonstrate.
When progress is slow, he withholds pay. Progress is always slow! He keeps the
budget for himself instead of buying concrete! Papa gulped his beer. I could take him.
I could! I could hit him with a dart and give him poison. The men grumbled at his bluff.
I could hit him in his ass, between the seam in his pants where no one would want to
look. I could do it Sapa.
Sapa laughed. No. Be patient.
Papa went silent, then talked about Sabina. Inacio slipped out of the hut before
dawn and pushed a canoe into the river. The current carried him beyond the river bend
and he pushed the paddle so hard it found mud. Uncle Faustino would understand.
Sapa watched from the darkness, thinking over the conflict within Inacio.
When Papa caught up to Inacio, he cut the boats engine and coasted behind the
canoe. Inacio exhausted himself and stopped paddling, then stood clumsily and tipped
forward into Papas arms. The canoe rolled and sank beneath a swirl of muddy water.

28
In Sapas hut, the lecture was a brutal punishment.
Ours is a good life, Inacio. You have a good life here.
When he was twenty, Inacio was eligible to work with Papa on the road project.
He followed the others to the day labor camp, gripped the chain-link fence and waited
until the boss motioned for him to join the crew. Inacio climbed into the diesel trucks
open bed and waved to Papa, who was not selected. The truck jostled in ruts and
sprayed mud across Inacios face.
At the site, Inacio jumped off the truck, scraped filth off his face and rubbed his
sore spine. The boss assistant tossed him a smoother and pointed to his post. Sweat,
heat, anger and concrete lapped his boots.
The boss and his assistant argued constantly over the roads condition. The
boss patted sweat and paranoia from his brow, fearful a worker might expose him, or a
competitor might spray him with bullets, or the government would uncover his crimes.
The assistant smiled reassuringly at the end of the day and slipped into the office. A
few minutes later he emerged, toying with something in his pocket before releasing the
workers. Inacio dropped his smoother and joined his friends standing behind the truck.
This road is a disgrace, Inacio said. Papa was right to criticize it. Look. That
section was finished last week and already the pavement has cracks and the roadbed is
eroding.
What do you care? His friend snorted. It pays.
Thats the problem. I could earn money from bad work and live as I have
forever. Inacio pulled a rolled magazine from his back pocket. But thats no life for

29
me. You boys can have your mud and the girls from two villages over. He flipped the
pages to photos of American blondes. Im looking for this.
His friend laughed. Shes not looking for you. You dream too big.
My uncle made it work. Inacio rolled the magazine and popped his friend. Ill
do it. Youll see.
You mean your dead uncle?
No. My Uncle Faustino.
Yeah, him. They found him dead in a dumpster in Receife ten years ago. He
fell in with bad people.
Inacio slumped forward. What?
Your Mama didnt tell you? His friend shook his head. Shit, Inacio. Youve
been chasing the wrong dream. This road is the only future we have.
Inacio followed his friend onto the truck bed. A short, ugly man bumped him from
behind and backed off. Inacio sat on a toolbox, examined the crumbly road through the
sideboards and picked at bits of concrete entombing his shoelaces. Uncle Faustino
resisted and failed; family and friends abandoned him in death. Inacio cursed softly.
Thats him. The ugly man returned with the boss assistant. I saw him take it.
You, the assistant pointed at Inacio. Stand up.
Inacio squinted and folded his arms. The two men lifted him off the toolbox. The
ugly man dug into Inacios back pocket and pulled out the magazine. The assistant
unrolled it and something metal dropped onto the floorboards.
What is this? The assistant bent over and retrieved the tool. What is this?

30
What do you need a metal file for in your thatch hut?
Inacio clenched his fists and both men flinched.
This man saw you take it. Both men stepped back. Inacios friends did not
move. You are a thief. All of you are thieves. The assistant looked for disagreement.
You lose your pay this day and so do the rest of you for not turning him in.
The assistant slid the file into his pant pocket and ripped the fabric. Two disks
tumbled down his leg and clattered across the bed. He chased them to the edge,
crouched on one knee and put his hand over one of the disks. The ugly man jumped off
the bumper and ran to the office. The assistant turned to investigate a noise and Inacio
kicked him in the head.
Do you think I dont know your games? Inacio slammed him onto the
floorboards. We know your scam! Plant a tool on someone, make an accusation, and
keep the pay for yourself! He pounded the assistants head against a rivet. Were not
so stupid, are we? We know all your scams!
Guns clicked and Inacio froze. The assistant spit blood and weakly called for
help.
What are you doing to him? The boss and his guards were ready for trouble.
What are you talking about?
Dont say it, Inacio, someone whispered. They mean trouble for all of us.
Inacio calmly leaned over and seized the trembling assistants wrist. The boss
tapped his pistol and narrowed his eyes. Everyone in the truck fell silent.
Beside the pay scam your assistant runs, which I believe you know nothing

31
about, Inacio said. He also delivers information to your competitors.
Inacio motioned toward the disk closest to the end of the truck bed. The boss
stepped forward, picked up the disk and opened its plastic case. Inacio ran his other
hand across the floor, found the second disk, and slid it into his pocket. The boss
frowned and snapped his fingers.
His guards charged forward. Inacio rolled the assistant off the truck. The guards
seized the traitor and dragged him into the jungle. The assistant stopped screaming
after one gunshot. A guard emerged and the boss motioned for the driver to leave. The
truck jerked forward and Inacio tumbled onto his back.
Damn, Inacio, his friend shouted after the truck left the work site. You
shouldnt have done that!
And let him steal our money?
Thats how it is here. You saw how that man died. There is no justice in the
wilderness. You just shut up and live to work another day. The boss owns us.
No. Inacio reached into his pocket and pulled out the second disk. Not
anymore.
His friend jumped and cursed. Do you know how dangerous that disk is?
Trouble follows you! He knocked the disk from Inacios hand. It spiraled out of the
truck and splashed into the muddy road. Inacio walked to the edge.
Leave it Inacio. We have a good life. Id like to keep mine.
Inacio turned his head. You dont have a life if you always surrender.
He jumped from the bed and rolled to a stop. The truck sped away and

32
disappeared into the jungle. Inacio retrieved the disk, dried it with his shirt and walked
home in the dark.
Campoalmas welcomed an unexpected visitor a month later, an athletic recruiter
from an American university who sought out English-speaking talent in exotic places.
He was short and intense, with a big heart and an inability to ask the right questions.
Inacio, banned from working the roads and wandering restlessly through the village,
was his only prospect.
Im looking for someone tall and fast, he scanned Inacio and grinned widely.
Id say youre it. How would you like to come to Texas on a basketball scholarship?
You know how to play basketball, right?
Inacio tightened his brow as the man walked. Mama, Papa and Sabina looked
on curiously. Sapa stepped from his hut, rolled his favorite stone carving tool in his
hand and returned to the shade.
Basketball? Surely this sport was easy to learn, though he wondered why
Americans were so crazy about a game that required a ball made from a basket. Sure.
I can play that.
Inacio stuffed a change of clothes into his new orange bag and followed the
recruiter to a boat. Sabina followed him out of the hut and joined Mama and Papa by
the riverbank. The recruiter reversed the boat into the river and roared away. Sabina
shared a long wave with Inacio, until he disappeared behind his smile and the jungle
wall. Mama buried her head into Papas shoulder and wailed uncontrollably over her
only surviving son.

33
Dont worry Mama, Papa said between her cries. Dont worry. He needs to
go.
Once Inacio settled into Austin, he surprised his coaches with a complete lack of
athletic ability. For a few weeks, at least, he tried to bond with his teammates, but his
heavy accent and boredom with the sport made acceptance impossible. He spent his
free time wandering the campus and found himself spending more time in the library,
where yellowed books fed his malnourished mind with obscure philosophies and
scientific truths. By spring his grades were good, he lost his heavy accent, and forgot to
attend half his required basketball practices.
Because most students despised what they considered foreigners on charity
scholarships, Inacio could not break from his isolation. Americans, better educated and
held to higher expectations, hated competing with the jungle savage. Friends were
scarce and girls preferred pasty nerds or drunken rich boys. When the basketball
season ended, Inacio was kicked off the team and had no hope of fulfilling his
scholarship obligations. Sapas words droned endlessly in his mind.
You have a good life here in Campoalmas.
Inacio drifted into a street rally one dreary evening, held by a group calling
themselves the Melioris Party. Their leader, Davis Keller, spoke eloquently of apathys
dangers and their obligation to guide the nation. His subtle passion and strong words
captivated Inacio. He inched into the crowds edge, and then someone tapped his
shoulder.
Hello, a tall but skinny poster child of American wholesomeness offered a

34
handshake. Im Brennan Korier. Youre the one who wrecked the curve on the
economics test? Good job! You and I were the only ones to pass. Inacio? Is that your
name?
Yes. Inacio felt comfortable with Brennan.
Well, Inacio, its funny youre here. I was telling our national director about you
yesterday. He wanted to meet you, but I didnt know if you could make the rally. I hear
youve been kicked off the squad. Will your scholarship default after May?
Inacio paused, weary of Brennans intent. Yeah. Theres no hope of a transfer
to another sport. No one wants me around.
Brennan leaned forward. We can fix that, find you a job and get financial aid
flowing, so you can stay and learn your potential. We offer success. Material. Political.
Intellectual. True success.
Inacio agreed, and took the oath to brotherhood and the Melioran cause. The
groups national director, considered the number two man after Davis Keller, greeted
Inacio personally.
Im Henry Marek, he said in a dry voice as he scratched his beard. Brennan
speaks highly of you, but says you have a money issue?
Inacio retold his story, probably too much of it. Henry Marek cut him off with a
polite smile and a handshake.
Dont worry. I know the right people to fix your troubles. Did you say you enjoy
Anthropology?
Yes, much more than sports.

35
All right, the director straightened into a surprisingly commanding pose. Ill
suggest you to the department head. And I can get you a paid assistantship there as
well. He scratched his beard and smiled. That should be a good place for you. The
Melioris Party is well established here. Things will work out nicely.
The rally dispersed as Davis Keller left the small square podium and waved to
Henry. When the director left, Brennan slapped Inacio on the back.
I didnt even get that strong of a greeting. Henrys an admirer of intellect, and he
wants the movement to bring out the best of our potential. I think youre set, Inacio. I
think your set.
The Meliorans became family, yet the old bonds with Campoalmas did not break.
Sabina would occasionally write to him, asking how his new life was different, and telling
him her dreams for her future. Inacio believed his sister was brilliant, full of potential,
and destined for disappointment in Campoalmas. She deserved to join the elite.
Without asking her thoughts or permission, he did what a good brother should. He
pulled a few Melioran strings and secured a scholarship for Sabina.
That act, more than anything else, haunted Inacio the most.

* * *

The car attempting to merge honked. Inacio jumped in his seat and tightened his
grip on the steering wheel. He accelerated to make room and saw Sabina in his right
side mirror. Five months away from Bellisa added to the redness in her eyes. Inacio

36
exited the highway and turned onto a quiet road. He sped over a hill and decelerated
abruptly to avoid missing the cemetery entrance.
Inacio coasted into the tranquil park, rolled around the second bend, passed the
mausoleum and turned right at the obelisk, then parked beneath the oak. The
passenger door opened before he could jam the car into park and Sabina ran to Bellisa.
He opened his door and stood in a patch of sun, then turned and rested his head on the
car.
Sabina sat in the grass, leaning on one arm while touching Bellisas tiny granite
marker. Her head dropped and her body shuddered gently. Inacio turned quickly and
pressed his fist into the cars metal roof. A squirrel dropped an acorn and it banged
loudly onto the car. Inacio cursed, seized the acorn and launched it into the tree. The
nut clacked against a branch, missed the squirrel by a tail length and ricocheted off a
tombstone three meters away. Inacio muttered, turned and leaned his back into the car.
Distant church bells cascaded into a familiar melody. Inacio looked at his watch.
It was seven oclock; the time Austin church bells tolled for the wars dead. Despite
strict Federal controls, Austin was where Davis Keller started his political career, and it
secretly supported him.
Inacio clenched his teeth until his jaw popped. Joining the Melioris Party ruined
his life. They were responsible for Sabinas suffering. They were responsible for his
misery. They were responsible for murdering his better life.
A far off gleam of sunlight reflecting on neat rows of white stone caught his eye.
The cemetery had a special section separated from the distinguished tenants.

37
Mourning families called it Melioran Hill. The brilliant white tombstones betrayed their
recent placements and the youthful ages of the dead. Perhaps it was a good sign that
Melioran Hill crowded toward full capacity; dwindling gravesites meant fewer rebels
remained to fill the empty spots. No matter, Davis Keller would be captured soon, and
justice would kill the bankrupt Melioran cause.
Inacio folded his arms across his chest, waiting for a sense of satisfaction that
never came.

SAGE VALLEY CEMETARY
CEDAR PARK, TEXAS

For six wonderful, incredible, brief months, Sabina Alvaro was a mother.
Throughout the tension between her husband and brother, she endured as a mediator.
Throughout the pain, the burning in her belly, and nightmares that made the last months
of pregnancy unbearable, she endured with anticipation. She rose above it all to give
life to one she never met, but knew would be wonderful. Through it all she swelled with
hope and love.
In a span of time incomprehensibly brief, the dream ended in a cruel finale. Her
baby was never meant to feel her mother's soft touch, gasp for her first breath, or see
the smile and loving face of another. Sabinas daughter would never know life.
Sabina sat beside the small limestone marker and ran her tear-softened fingers

38
over the cool stone. The words 'Bellisa Dawn Korier: January 10, 2182' tugged her
fingers. Sabina fondled her necklace and a tear splashed into the carved letters. She
imagined Bellisa, cooing and gurgling in her arms, tugging aggressively at the pearls.
More than the dreams of motherhood ended that day. Her American family, and the
future Bellisa came to symbolize, crumbled as well.
Sabina settled into the grass and turned to check on Inacio. He was staring into
the distance, his mind no doubt fixated on the epitaph of his ambitions. She could still
remember the day Inacio abandoned his true home for a flashy future. Back then, she
thought life in Campoalmas was perfect; family and friends were always close and
comforting, and the jungle offered a daily parade of fascinations.
She most enjoyed the evenings, and stood at the edge of the jungle to listen.
She was quick to learn the unique sounds of one animal over another, and could easily
pull any birds song, frogs chirp or monkeys howl from the tangled blast of jungle noise.
A few years before Inacio left, Sapa decided to dabble in the tourist trade. The
villagers built a sloppy collection of huts by the river, and dressed a dozen or so men
and women in loincloth and feathers in order to present a scripted view of ancient
Amerindian life. Sabina convinced Sapa to let her serve as a tour guide.
Tourists were collected at Manaus. Parents were drawn in by the chance to
experience the rituals and language of a dying culture; their children excited by the offer
to blow darts at rats. As the boat motored slowly to Campoalmas, Sabina amazed their
guests with her encyclopedic knowledge of the jungle. By the time they reached the
riverbank, the tourists were fatigued by the lengthy boat ride and tropical air, and Sapa

39
sat them down to hear his stories.
He told them the legends, the great and sorrowful list of events that swirled
around the tribe since the deep shadows of the past. For the last hundred years, since
the end of the Brazilian Wars, their people had been able to settle in relative peace and
abandon their nomadic ways. When Campoalmas was settled, it was nearly devoid of
life. The jungle had been reduced to cropland, but the wars and lawlessness of the 21
st

century had all but extinguished humans from the Amazon. Over the decades, the
jungle returned, seeded by patches of forest preserve.
Some primeval patches remained uninhabited, he told them, for the spirits of the
dead held them. Rarely did those who entered return, and those who did come back
possessed, haunted in the mind, and doomed to a quick death. This somewhat true
story always scared the children, and helped keep the more adventurous tourists from
wandering off. The illusion of a subsistence lifestyle would fall apart if someone found
the real village of masonry family huts, radio antennas and satellite receivers.
When the visit was over, the tourists were ushered into the boat with their
overpriced trinkets, feather headdresses and Stone Age tools. The natives offered a
traditional farewell as the boat departed, then changed into their modern ways, counted
the thick rolls of money and laughed about gullible gringos. Papa enjoyed pretending
far more than building the road.
But the tourists always disembarked from the same spot where Inacio so eagerly
leapt into the recruiters boat, and Sabina could not forget his smile as he disappeared
around the river bend. When the money was counted, and the villagers had settled

40
down to discuss how to spend it, she would sit by herself and wonder why her brother
wanted to go.
Mama and Papa told her that he was restless, and her friends whispered that he
was in trouble with the thugs on the road project and had to leave. But there had to be
more. As she grew older, and saw her life through mature eyes, Sabina came to
understand that Inacio did not leave. He escaped. Inacio left because he was angry
over a lost past, over what should have been, over a surrendered collective future.
Inacio wrote to her sometimes. He always said positive things, even though his
letters were short and vague at first. She thought maybe he regretted his choice; that
the loneliness and distance from home was too much for him, and that maybe he would
come home and sleep contentedly in his empty hammock. Instead, Inacio found the
Meliorans, and discovered what he was looking for. He wrote Sabina often after that,
with thousands of words describing the golden age of his life and putting in her head the
whispers of fascinations beyond the known world.
Then he made Sabina an offer.
I can get you into college here. Come to America and discover a new destiny.
Sabina pressed Inacios letter between her hands. She had always assumed
her destiny was that of all the generations before; to live life as it was offered to you, not
to insist on more. She had expected to start a family of her own, not become a student
in a foreign land. But Inacio had achieved something better; maybe America would
bring Sabina something unexpected. Maybe her family waited in America, or maybe the
village needed a teacher, or both.

41
So Mama stood weeping as her only surviving daughter drifted in the boat
around the river bend. Sabina could feel her mothers spirit growing distant, her fathers
heart beating slower, and Sapas wisdom going silent. For a moment, she felt desolate,
like all the chatter and vibrancy of her soul was suddenly snatched away, and only an
empty shadow remained. Sabina nearly jumped into the river and swam home, but the
boatman smiled at her, aware of her hesitancy, and told her Sapa was proud.
Campoalmas would always be home.
Inacios cheery greeting was Sabinas only warm American welcome. Like
Inacio, she exceeded all expectations, but struggled for recognition. Her scores
impressed professors until a Brazilian stood when they called her out for
congratulations. Romantic evenings always degraded into clumsy, perverted,
misinformed and insulting advances by domineering men wanting to do her a favor.
Sabina broke down after finals and packed for home. At least Inacio had his
Melioran friends to erase bad memories and shield him from worsening American
attitudes. Inacio and Brennan interrupted her e-ticket purchase and spoke a few
strategic lines.
Mama and Papa believe you can succeed, Inacio said. I believe you can
succeed. Sapa believes you can succeed. You know you can succeed. If not for
yourself, for Campoalmas.
Brennan gave a poorly disguised Melioran argument to prove intellectual pursuits
transcended suffering. She relented and tossed her bags into the closet. Inacio and
Brennan misjudged her convictions and began yet another attempt to recruit her into the

42
Melioris Party. Sabina let them talk into exhaustion before chuckling her rejection.
How can I achieve intellectual success when the meetings happen every night?
Classes and isolation resumed in the spring. A biology professor joined her on
the bench outside her evening class and made a proposal. Sabina built a wall with her
books, aware of Doctor Thomas Waynes love for pretty young students. He tapped his
foot and nervously scanned the halls, fearing a colleague might see him with the
Brazilian.
I noticed from your essays that you have knowledge of tropical life and
medicines. I also know youve been ignored. I have research interests in the rainforest
and I need an assistant. If youll help me, Ill mentor you, even into graduate school.
Sabina accepted immediately and he hurried out of sight. She walked home
after class, wondering how badly graduate school would alter her plans. Excitement
blinded her to three men looking to fulfill a fantasy. One muffled her screams as the
others carried her behind the apartment. They laughed when her skirt tore.
Wood cracked bone. The man squeezing her thigh screamed and crumbled to
the ground. The others cursed, dropped Sabina and ran.
Bastards! Inacio yelled out. His baseball bat missed the next target and he
chased them into the street.
The man lying beside her growled and hobbled to his feet. He fumbled for a
switchblade. Brennan jumped him and pinned his arm. The blade clattered on the
asphalt. Brennan pushed the man away and kicked the weapon out of reach. The man
staggered then ran before Inacio returned. Brennan knelt beside Sabina and pressed

43
her head to his shoulder. She cried for a moment then breathed deeply to regain
composure.
Are you hurt? Brennan asked.
Ill be fine, she responded, suddenly aware Brennan was more to her than
Inacios friend.
Inacio ran to them and caught his breath. Why are you looking at him like that?
He furled his brow as Brennan and Sabina smiled at each other. He just wanted to
save you. I remembered to bring the bat.
When Sabina married Brennan, her lifes goals seemed achievable; but then
Davis Keller lost the Presidential election, Inacios Melioran friends and protectors died
in the failed coup, and the nation collapsed into civil war. The Meliorans wanted
soldiers, but Inacio refused to fight. His friends expelled him with fists, but Brennan
reluctantly sided with his brother-in-law. Life formed an unsteady equilibrium between
past and present; the Melioran defeat at Fort Hope a year ago ended their peace.
The Federals occupied Austin and directed their hostility at everything Melioran.
Inacios dean delivered a short letter, written under the shadow of threat, invalidating his
graduate and senior level credits. Colleagues viewed him suspiciously. Old friends
denied his existence. The police harassed him for being weak, arrested him when they
wanted, and released him when Sabina brought money. Melioran taunts at work and
school relented only as the war diminished their numbers.
Brennan lost himself in news reports and visited the graves of fallen brothers.
Sabina held him tightly, accepting cold kisses as reassurance of true love. The

44
Meliorans tugged on Brennan, twisted his sympathies and convinced him Sabina was a
limitation. He was not happy when she became pregnant, and became enraged when
she lost the baby.
Inacio brought Sabina home from the hospital, argued with Brennan over his lack
of compassion and presence, and left for class. Sabina slept poorly, holding her hand
out to the empty spot on the other side of the bed. She rose and stumbled to the
dresser. The blanket Mama made for Bellisas inscription into the familys huaca, their
family tree, was missing from the top drawer. She struggled into the living room and
spoke over news reports of a raid near the Mexican border.
Brennan, have you seen Bellisas inscription blanket?
He batted his head against the headrest and spoke with sharp words.
It was buried with her.
Buried? She fell back. But-
That inscription ceremony is idiotic and not appropriate. Brennan jumped out of
his chair. We couldnt just let you cremate her and take her back to Brazil! She
belongs with me!
Is that what you did instead of looking after me in the hospital? She leaned
against the wall and shivered. You should have taken care of me instead of stealing
her from me! She is my baby!
Brennan brushed her when he entered the kitchen.
Why Brennan? After all that has happened to us, why did you do this? Shes
my baby also. You didnt tell me. You didnt let me see her go. You didnt want me to

45
see her burial?
She deserved an appropriate burial. You would have protested. We decided to
do what was necessary. Brennan banged dirty dishes in the sink and kept his back to
her.
Sabina clenched her fists. Your Meliorans told you to do it, didnt they? Your
damn Meliorans! They have no business in our lives! They have done everything to
ruin us!
No, dammit! Brennan waved a soapy knife in his hand. You ruined
everything! He stalked her around the couch and into a corner. You ruined
everything! My friends warned me about marrying you, but I didnt listen! They told me
you would do anything to hold me back. Is that why you got pregnant? To hold me
back? How fucked up is that? They were right. You were never good enough! You
couldnt even make a healthy baby!
Her legs quivered and she clutched her belly. Then leave. Leave if Im not good
enough. Leave us. Were already a broken family because of you! You chose them
over me years ago. I just wish Id believed it then. She held her tears and stood tall
despite the pain.
Leave!
Brennan retracted the knife and backed away. He turned and walked to the
door, but stopped with his hand on the knob. He looked over Sabina and scowled.
Inacio kicked in the door. Brennan fell back onto the wall but did not release the
knife. Inacio punched and kicked with full hatred until he controlled the knife. He

46
pressed the blade to Brennans throat and Sabina pleaded for him to stop. The tears
she pressed into his back paralyzed his rage. Brennan slipped away to join the war
and his Melioran brothers.
Inacio said nothing as the days ticked off, his silence hard despite Sabinas cries
for support. He stared into old pictures, scratched the faces off Melioran friends and
searched for someone to blame. Alone and distraught, Sabina saw no resolution to her
grief in their tiny apartment. She knew, as the plane pulled away from the gate and he
waved goodbye from the terminal window, that Inacio wanted to sort his jumbled
emotions in private.
Her family in Campoalmas greeted her warmly. Sabina laid Bellisas new gown
into the ceremonial fire and stepped back into Papas arms. The edges curled over
and blackened; bright yellow flickers diminished and the gown joined the fires ashes.
A dull sparkle on Sabinas cheek slipped into the darkness. Sapa worked a small clay
urn through the hot ash. He chanted softly and walked with Sabina to the riverbank.
Although Bellisas body is not with us, he said, her spirit will make the journey
to the ancestors.
Sabina knelt and emptied the urn. A soft splash deafened the jungle cries; ashes
flowed between her fingers and swirled into the night. Sapa walked her to the familys
hut and inscribed Bellisa into the huaca. Mamas tight embrace offered strength and
love. Sabina fell into old routines. Chores and busywork consumed her days; her
worn and comfortable hammock cuddled her to sleep. Mourning turned to smiles and
Mama left Sabinas side to greet tourists at the fake Campoalmas.

47
Sabina hummed a song and scrubbed Mamas favorite blouse. Playing children
rolled into the closest mud puddle. The boy laughed and ran into the jungle. The girl
caught sunlight in her wet clothes and called for out for her mama. Misery returned.
The clean shirt fell from her hands into the soapy wash. She had wanted to return to
Campoalmas with an American husband, an education, a baby. Life lost all meaning.
She longed for Bellisa. Depression mutated into suicidal thoughts.
Mama entered the hut and tossed her feathered headdress to the ground. Her
favorite blouse dribbled water down the table leg. She moved to pick it up and
knocked over a warm pot. Water spread across the table and dampened the cut
remains of toxic leaves and poisonous berries.
Sabina and her teacup were missing.
Mama searched her only daughters favorite spots, whispering Sabinas name
while poking through the dense ground cover. She found Sabina in a clearing, staring
into the darkening jungle and the fading colors of day. Her nervous hands sloshed juice
from the teacup.
I dont know why Im still here Mama, she whimpered. I want to be with Bellisa
but I cant leave this place. I cant do it.
They cried together until the juice hardened to a paste.
Sapa summoned her the next morning. He sat down with his carving stone, and
rounded a knotty piece of wood before looking Sabina in the eyes.
Sabina, the loss of your baby was felt throughout the village. Over these last
months we have all shared in your grief. But a greater tragedy would happen if we lost

48
you.
He sliced off one more sliver, then got up to place the tool on a table. He sat
beside her and Sabina noticed a lifetime of suffering etched in his face.
Our legends say the birth of our ancestors the Payaruna was a lonely event.
For a thousand generations, the Payaruna lived alone, consuming the fertile valleys
without respect for the life they destroyed. Ice came from the mountains. The valleys
dried up. The Payaruna knew their Gods were displeased.
And then, from the mountains came the Nauparuna. The Payaruna invited the
Nauparuna to stay and make their homes among the villages. Marriages and children
bonded the two peoples together; peace made the land thrive, and food came in
plentiful amounts. The Gods had rewarded them for living in harmony, and the
Payaruna came to appreciate the gift of life and all the creatures of the Earth. The
Nauparuna did not.
They saw themselves as different. A hundred generations passed, yet the
Nauparuna could not accept life with the Payaruna. They left the villages to make
homes of their own, claiming far away valleys and abandoning the very ways that saved
the Payaruna.
The Payaruna were disturbed by this, and approached the Nauparuna to ask for
their return. They could not convince the Nauparuna their lives were worse. A new
tribe had appeared in the Nauparunas valleys; one they saw as superior to the
Payaruna.
Tempted by the Incan tribes need for empire, the Nauparuna became a part of

49
them. When the Spanish came, the Nauparuna were punished for abandoning the old
ways. They were destroyed; claimed by those sharing the Nauparunas lack of respect
for life.
Sapa sat in silence for a moment, longing for his tool while thinking about what to
say next. Sabina rose to retrieve it. He smiled at her, made a deep cut, and continued.
The Nauparuna forgot that every life has value and purpose. They perished
because they saw the Payaruna as different, and saw more value in life with the Inca.
Our legends say we are the children of the Payaruna. To forget what they have learned
means we have not listened.
Sapa took a long breath and exhaled. When you left for America, I thought you
made a mistake. But then I decided you had to go, so that you could return and teach
our children the worlds knowledge. I wish tragedy never found you, but you should
hear our ancestors whispering louder than your grief. They tell us every life has
meaning, even one as short as Bellisas. He took another breath. Her life has
meaning to others that may not be felt or understood for years to come. You and
Bellisa both have much to teach us. You still have reason to live, even if you do not
believe that now.
She hugged him, and her tears soaked his shirt. He smiled at her again.
Every life has purpose. That is why your loss would be such a tragedy to us.
It was then she decided to return to America.

* * *

50

Sabinas thoughts faded and she ran her tear-softened fingers over her
daughters marker. Bellisa should be here, cooing softly and tugging her mothers
necklace instead of existing as a few samples of blood and tissue collected after her
death. At the time, Sabina just wanted to have a part of Bellisa, but now she intended
to use them.
The doctors failed to understand the cause of death, wasting time and credibility
searching for viral infections, reading body scans for signs of brain damage or
deformity, and running detailed genomic analyses on both mother and child. The data
came back so inconclusive and outrageously abnormal that the lab equipment and test
procedures became suspect. Despite all the science and technology at their disposal,
the doctors could not understand the cause and ruled Bellisas death as unexplainable.
Sabina stood and wiped the drying tears from her eyes, then stooped to touch the
stone. She was every bit the good scientist as her doctors, if not better, and she could
find the answer herself.
Inacio leaned against the far side of the car, oblivious to his sister's approach.
He stood rigidly in silence and stared toward a far hill.
Inacio, Im ready to go. Sabinas soft voice returned him from his daydreams.
She walked around the back of the car. The hardness in his face, the same look
of stone that gripped him five months before, remained unbroken.
Thanks for bringing me here, she said. I will probably get too busy before long
to come and see her. I need to prepare a lesson plan for freshman biology. I need to

51
finish my old research project before I can graduate. I just hope the freezer vat didnt
destroy it.
She put her arm behind his back and he rested his chin on her head.
I am glad you decided to come back, he said. I was lonely.
Sapa talked me into it. I needed to come back for the village, Bellisa, and you.
Inacio walked her to the passenger side, then fell into his seat and started the
engine. The car hummed to life and demanded action. She saw the tombstone-crusted
hill Inacio found so captivating. Melioran Hill. The rebellion still clouded his mind.
Inacio looked west to the setting sun. Crimson rays splashed against his face.
Inacio, Sabina hesitantly asked as they drove away. How have you been?
Same as always.
Her heart trembled. The answer was what she feared.

52

AUGUST 29
THE WHI TE HOUSE
WASHI NGTON, D.C.

Ill have the scenarios encoded for viewing shortly, Mister President, Tallon
Richter said. He ran two fingers across his silver chin stubble, then typed a few last
minute commands into the War Rooms master computer.
Richter was lanky, but he intimidated with the harsh angles of his face and the
raptor-like eyes that seemed to examine every person as if they were meat to be taken
at his leisure. His skin was rough from his years of operating in the blazing tropical sun,
yet pale from decades of intricate political activity
Richter also had odd surgical marks near his temples, which he never discussed.
Hardin knew of them, because he had first met Richter in a Venezuelan field hospital
immediately after the surgery that made them. The write-up referenced some type of
head trauma requiring an emergency fluid draining. Since then, Richter kept himself
bald by shaving his entire head, save the eyebrows, twice a day. Some people thought
Richter was crazy to do it, but that was probably the idea.
I only want good news this morning, Richter, Hardin said as he picked lint from
his sweat stained army green sweatshirt. It was necessary for a President to maintain

53
the physique of authority. Hardin was not the enormous hulk he had been as a lad, but
a daily routine of exercise held back the weakness of aging. In many ways, Hardin
considered himself more adept at command now then he had been in Venezuela; his
mind was sharper, his huskier voice more threatening, and the sun-etched battle lines of
his face coronated him like a warrior king. Hardin was in his prime.
Shave off whatever you need to, Hardin continued as he watched Richter toy
with his chin. But make sure this briefing is short.
Richter frowned briefly but did not pause from his task. Hardin chuckled; Richter
had no sense of humor before breakfast. Pre-dawn meetings never bothered Hardin;
they got the job done in the army, during his governorship of Venezuela, and they
worked especially well in Washington. Nothing kept the military chiefs prepared and
afraid like Hardins unscheduled war reports.
The door to the War Room opened and Hardin faked a yawn as his chiefs
sauntered in.
Good morning, gentlemen. Hardin smiled cheerfully. He stood, walked to the
breakfast bar to grab a pastry and pour a cup of coffee. Please excuse my attire.
A perk of being President was that no one dared criticize your private
appearance. The formal events, like meetings with world leaders or more interesting
people, naturally required formal attire: but 5 a.m. was never a formal hour. It was
possible the chiefs, the general staff, or even the nation as a whole, did care about their
Presidents pre-dawn appearance. But who would dare tell the great Sam Hardin, still
reeking of his morning exercises, that he did not smell Presidential?

54
Hardin wiped his forehead with a musty towel and plopped down next to a young
spinster from Media Relations in a thousand-dollar look. The two smiled at each other,
and Hardin wondered if this young man grasped the magnificence of the well-worn War
Room. Many a splendid war and secret international incident had been directed from
this room.
Over the centuries, the tools of strategy had changed significantly. The simple
map tables and pencils of the Twentieth Century gave way to computer animation, real-
time satellite imagery and Hardins favorite, an antique three-dimensional holographic
map table used since the mid 21st Century. The device focused an array of colored
lasers, concealed in the tabletop frame, to produce the illusion of space by aiming them
at a sunken, spinning metal coil. The resulting display could be zoomed, flown through,
spun around, or draped with the angle of light from any given day and time. The
operator could follow a rivers course or a highway, and plot the location of every soldier
and tank on a battlefield.
Ah, yes. A great machine, even if Hardin had absolutely no idea why it worked.
If everyone is ready, Richter said. He took one last look at his assembled facts
and intelligence, then switched the master computers display to the holographic table.
Lets begin.
Everyone turned to face the map table. The spinning metal coil reached top
speed, looking like a shallow dome as it sped past human perception. A square shaped
slice of the Southwest winked into view. The image zoomed slowly into eastern
Arizona, New Mexico and western Texas. Three-dimensional icons of green soldiers,

55
brown tanks, and white barracks hovered over the positions of infantry units, armored
cavalry and regional bases. Smaller red soldiers hovered over the positions of known
or suspected Melioran troops. It was clear from this view that the Meliorans were
spread thin.
As Richter approached the table, a small red and white target appeared over
Tucson and began moving east toward New Mexico.
Approximately three hours ago, Richter said, we received intelligence that
Freeman Tyler and possibly Davis Keller were in Tucson. We have confirmed the
information, but learned they had left the area twelve hours earlier.
Hardin knew that Richter like to confirm through bribe or torture, or both.
Whatever the method, they had never been this close to squashing Davis or Tyler. He
leaned forward and watched the little target move into New Mexico.
The informant was not clear with his vehicle description, but suggested a recent
model van or off-road vehicle was the probable mode of transportation.
Richter paused as the target reached Gallup. New Mexico and split into three
targets that moved in different directions. One remained in Gallup, the second
continued east and south to El Paso, Texas, and the third turned west and returned to
Arizona.
The informant was also less than clear on Mister Tyler and Mister Kellers
destination. This is why you see three extrapolated routes. There is reason to believe
all three are viable. There has been a recent spike in encrypted Melioran radio traffic
originating near Gallup, suggesting this town as a possible rendezvous point with these

56
rebels suspected to be in Farmington. Tyler is a crafty man, and it is not out of
character for all of this information to be a decoy intended to draw us to a phantom
target so he can backtrack and move freely further west. Richter lazily studied the map
he had created and the creased faces of the other men.
We have also received information from a reliable source, he continued, that
the pair intend to join with a small Melioran platoon believed to be near Laredo and
cross the Rio Grande into Mexico.
Richter, like Hardin, made his legend in Venezuela. The claw, as the young
intelligence officer Richter was known back then, was an uninspired play on his name
meant to compliment his ability to ensnare the craftiest rebels and safely eliminate even
the most popular critics. His value increased as Hardin gathered power; his cunning
sharpened on years of political prey.
Hardin had also met Freeman Tyler in Venezuela, where they were uneasy allies
until Hardin became military governor. Tyler repeatedly refused his governors orders,
lived by the wrong code of honor, and became the only officer in all of Venezuela that
did not knuckle under to Hardins blunt rage or Richters shadowy pressure. Tyler was a
problem they could not silence, and a snitch who damn near got Hardin executed over a
trivial bit of collateral damage.
Tyler was an old danger in a new war, still capable of beating every trap,
screwing up every strategy and dragging this war out far beyond the initial one-month
battle plan. Even after the Meliorans were nearly crushed in a brilliant double
envelopment at the Battle of Fort Hope, Tyler did not surrender. He fought on, thwarting

57
three great plans and forcing the adoption of a few radical alternative strategies. The
best of these alternatives was the simplest.
Forget Davis. Kill Tyler.
Hardin stood and walked to the side of the table near Laredo. He crouched to
inspect the topography of the Rio Grande and the Mexican side of the river.
Hell have a long way to run for the mountain cover if he crosses at Laredo. The
plains are barren and we could easily have the Mexicans hunt them down for us. That
option is a ploy.
Yes. I would agree. Richter walked closer to the table so he could point out the
area near El Paso. I think they will cross here. With the scattered Melioran regiments
believed to be safehoused in Las Cruces and Carlsbad.
Hardin turned his head to look at Richter. Why El Paso? The last time he
crossed was through Arizona. This is a ploy to divert us so he can cross in Arizona.
El Paso is big enough to hide his numbers and border security there is easily
bribed on both sides.
Hardin tisked. I thought wed fixed that. Fire all the border agents there. Bring
in people who respect a short leash. He then stood straight and turned back to the
table. He watched the second target symbol cross the Rio Grande at El Paso. Tyler
must be planning something, another trick, another strike. The last time he crossed, he
regrouped in the mountains, invaded and damn near claimed the whole southwest
mineral belt. I want armor and troops to cut him off. Send those units in western
Colorado south. Where do you think he is now?

58
Richter answered. Assuming the informant was correct, Tyler was moving
quick. Most likely in the Albuquerque area now.
All right, Hardin continued. Then deploy the three regiments from Fort Bliss to
seal the Mexican border. The units from Colorado can block any a return through
Arizona. And have them track that signal in Gallup and destroy it. Hell, search the
whole town to rule it out as a safetown for Davis and Tyler. Any resistance; raze it.
Hardin turned and walked for the exit. Thats all. He paused at the doorway
and scoffed at his chiefs. Youve all been quiet this morning. Im beginning to think I
can run this country alone with just a little help from Mister Richter.
The chiefs switched off their electronic tablets and grumbled silently. Richter
squinted his eyes slightly, made an imperceptible dip of his head and watched the target
blinking slowly over Gallup. He folded his arms, then lifted a hand to his face and
began slowly tapping a finger against his cheek.
Mister Richter, Hardin said as he stepped through the door. When youve
finished here, come to my office.
Richter nodded and returned to the War Rooms main computer. Hardin moved
swiftly through the halls of the White House, acknowledging greetings from the few
staffers he liked, while ignoring the rest. He entered the Oval Office by throwing open
the doors in a flurry of drama. Inside, his desk was already tarnished with token
legislation requiring his attention, and he hesitantly took his seat. The desk's flat screen
display scrolled through his itinerary for the day.
Dull crap, all of it.

59
Hardin pulled the first piece of paper from the stack and placed it in front of him.
This was a bill authorizing the post war reorganizing of state governments hed
requested three months earlier. Congress was slow to act, as always, but still did what
it was told. The purge of the opposition during the last two election cycles was proving
very effective. If Congress stayed too meek, he might have to lift his beloved state of
emergency.
The secretary knocked and opened the door for Richter, who walked to Hardins
collection of antique weapons. Secured to the walls were polished medieval swords,
maces, crossbows and a chipped battleaxe. In smaller cases situated on the shelves
were pistols and rifles from most every war the nation had fought. At the center of the
collection, beneath a spotlight and crystal glass, was a bronzed grenade that an
insurgent had thrown at Hardin while he was Governor of Venezuela. Hardin liked to
tell his guests that it was still live, and then count the number of steps politely taken
back.
Richter, Hardin said after he signed the second bill. He placed his pen down,
rose from his chair and walked over to join him. I do not want Tyler to escape this time.
He thwarted the original plan to mop up the rebels in a month. Then he strengthened
his army such that we had to abandon the second plan. Then he sniffed out the double
envelopment at Fort Hope and escaped with a guerilla army and Davis. This war has
gone on long enough. Weve had our fun, broke the Melioris Party and silenced the
West. But I learned my lesson in Venezuela, Richter. Flex your muscle and annihilate
the opposition quickly. As long as Tylers out there thwarting us, we look weak.

60
Hardin admired his chipped battleaxe, supposedly used at the Battle of Hastings.
Unlikely, but it made for a good story.
I know Tyler, he continued. Despite his honorable exterior, he wants what I
have. Hell never stop til he takes my office, Richter. Poor, dumb Davis is just along for
the ride; probably unaware hes being used. Its too bad you never met Tyler in
Venezuela, Richter. You could have personally killed him and saved us all a lot of
trouble.
Richter took his attention away from a 15th Century dagger and looked at Hardin.
I doubt he would have accepted my invitation to meet. He knows a trap. For that
reason, it is possible Tyler will not cross into Mexico at all. He may anticipate our
deployments and move north.
Possible, I suppose. Place a detachment from the Amarillo garrison on alert.
Richter turned away and focused on the brass grenade. There is the still our
fall-back plan. It is still in order, but now that Tyler and Keller are potentially in our
grasp, it requires your final sanction.
Hardin turned to face Richter and propped his arm beside an encased pair of
dueling pistols. You have my authorization, but this plan could be messy. You and I
are the only ones who know of all its parts. Make sure it stays that way, and tidy up any
lose ends. He turned again and walked to his desk. Let me make it perfectly clear
that I prefer Davis and Tyler to end up as a smoking crater.
Yes, Mister President. Richter walked to the doors then stopped. I believe
they will not escape this time. Your old friend Keller will soon be dead.

61
Hardin snapped his head up and stared down Richter until the man turned away.
Davis chose to be the martyr. I entered this war intending to see that it happened.
Richter nodded and left the office. The doors closed and there were a few
moments of silence before the clock chimed six a.m. Hardin took up his pen and
reached for the next bill. His eyes fell on the bronze grenade and he began to hum an
old war hymn he had not sung since he sacked Caracas nearly twenty years earlier.
He wondered if he would sing the song celebrating Davis bloody demise.

NORTHEASTERN ARI ZONI A

Davis Keller leaned carefully to his right, searching for a better view from the
passenger seat of a rusty truck. He watched the rocky terrain slide past his window and
scratched his graying beard. Evening sunlight enveloped the Arizona desert with
ghostly luminescence and colored the desolate land in furious shades of red. The
unmistakable crescendo of advancing jets had just ended the uneventful leg of the trip
from Tucson.
Davis pressed his weight into the cushion as he scanned the darkening sky. The
spring that had been pressing into his numb leg for the last two hours popped with a
twang. Bits of powdered foam erupted from a split in the vinyl seat cover and mixed
with the dry, dusty air.
Freeman Tyler, who had driven the entire trip without saying a word, pulled one

62
hand from the steering wheel to cover his nose and mouth. The cloud blew through his
fingers before settling in his lap. He coughed and snorted angrily.
My apologies, Freeman, Davis said as he worked the spring back into the seat.
I thought I heard a plane.
Freeman flared his nostrils. I did too. But I havent seen it yet.
Davis watched his friend regain his mental focus and continue a patterned
search of the sky. Freeman had honed many skills during his decades of military
service; spotting aerial threats was one of his strongest. Now that the eighteen-month
rebellion sputtered toward failure, however, divulging strategic efforts seemed to be his
weakest.
The catastrophic defeat at Fort Hope twelve months before robbed Freeman of
the bold style and tactical brilliance of the rebellions first six months. With half the
Melioran army lost in a few hours of terrible slaughter in the fields outside the forts
gates, Freeman began ignoring Davis requests to regroup in favor of spreading the
remaining troops across the western states. Instead of direct assaults, Freeman turned
to guerilla raids; instead of decisive challenges, he offered phantom armies to bait the
Federals away from the battlefield.
The stress of this idle maneuvering had reduced Freeman to a rumpled heap.
His decision in the coups aftermath to run the details of a war covering half the United
States left him little chance to sleep, eat or recover. His dingy gray shirtsleeves hung
loosely over his once powerful arms. The legs that once propelled him across the steep
inclines of Venezuelan mountain valleys and the jungles near Lake Maracaibo wobbled

63
if he stood to long. His cheekbones protruded beneath misty eyes, and added shadow
to a speckled skin that was once flush with pride and color.
Davis rubbed his temples, then ran his fingers across the dashboard and the
pitted model emblem. This truck was a symbol of Americas great successes crushed
by a growing Dark Age. According to the generous man who donated the truck for
todays journey, it was the final vehicle built by the manufacturer before it went bankrupt
fifty years before. Davis and Freeman both agreed it would provide anonymity for their
trip; no one would search for a fugitive rebel leader in a beat-up junker.
Davis pulled the glove box open and rummaged for a moment before pulling out
an empty white bottle of aspirin. He tossed it aside and reached for his canteen. He
poured out a handful of warm water and splashed it across his face. Dirt and sweat
dribbled down his ears and nose, but he did not feel clean or relieved.
Davis swung down the visor and looked into the cloudy mirror. New wrinkles
etched his face, but his blue eyes still sparkled, his silver-streaked brown hair remained
thick enough to flap in the breeze. A supporter once called him everything an evolved
person should be. His headache throbbed toward agony.
Davis, Freeman asked with detached interest. Are you alright?
Another headache, thats all. Ive finished all my aspirin, so kindly tell the Feds
Id prefer no surprises today.
Freeman scoffed. After Fort Hope, Freeman took Davis security personally,
using his concerns about spies to drag Davis someplace different each night. That
policy changed abruptly two weeks ago, after a surprise Federal patrol forced them to

64
take refuge in a sympathizers home. The family offered food and stories of the sons
who sacrificed themselves to the cause. The father wept openly despite his wifes
comforting.
Once the threat of capture passed, Freeman dropped Davis in Tucson to gather
supporters, assigned two soldiers to protect their leader, and drove off to conduct
inspections alone. He returned yesterday, urging this road trip to a sympathizers ranch
near Clayton, New Mexico to greet troops and personally raise morale. Freeman
looked so worn and ragged.
Davis rubbed his temples and returned to searching the sky. The Federal Air
Force held total aerial supremacy, but after annihilating every Melioran squadron within
the first month of combat, never used it effectively. With the air war lost, Freeman could
only stare at his maps and shudder. Melioran columns were horribly exposed,
committed to a battle plan that calculated three months to seize key positions on the
Mississippi River and the infrastructure linking East to West. Without air support,
destruction seemed inevitable. But the expected attack never came.
Instead, uncoordinated masses of planes were spotted attacking far off hills and
cities. Bombs were seen falling on playgrounds and schools. Missiles flew wildly off
course and chased the planes away from the front lines. Freeman later learned that the
Federal Air Forces centralized command and control network failed shortly after the last
Melioran plane was shot down, and there was no evidence that the system was ever
repaired. That was a lucky break. Hardins pilots were trained to be robots; without
computer and satellite guidance they were only useful for tracking targets and directing

65
troops. They were only dangerous to Meliorans trapped in the open.
Or a few Meliorans riding in a rusty pickup truck.
Metal flashed on the horizon.
There it is Freeman, at three oclock.
Only one? Freeman said. Hell have a wingman. There must be another
nearby.
Groundtruthing satellite data, you think? Davis squinted and watched the plane
bank to the left.
Those satellite pictures take an hour to process and interpret. They wont see a
picture with this truck in it for another hour at least. Theyre chasing someone else.
Freeman eased off the accelerator. Still, Id feel better with a hiding place. Were
approaching a village. Maybe we can find shelter and information.
The drop in speed surprised the two soldiers riding in the trucks bed under the
camper shell. One of them banged the sliding window. Davis opened it so they could
talk.
Sir? The odors of sweat and gun oil wafted into the cab. Why are we
slowing?
Possible trouble ahead, Freeman said. Aerial patrol. Well take shelter soon.
Our rendezvous in Clayton will be delayed.
The soldier rubbed his eyebrow and frowned. A girlfriend waited for him in
Clayton. Understood, General. He returned to his space and broke the news to his
companion. The restless soldiers kicked at the tailgate, distressed by the thought of

66
swapping dates for further guard duty. Rebel life was never easy.
Jets rumbled nearby. Freeman accelerated into the village, a collection of mobile
homes and a three-way stop. He stopped at the entrance to a plain white home with a
wooden carport. Evening drew rapidly across the landscape, yet the streets were
empty. No children on bikes, no chatting neighbors, no lights in any home, no cars in
this driveway. Freeman pulled slowly beneath the empty carport and waited for the
owner to emerge from his home. A minute later, he stopped the engine and banged
twice on the rear window. The two soldiers jumped from the back and held their
weapons at ready.
Sir? One asked as Freeman stepped from the truck. Where are these
people?
In the hills, probably. He reached behind his seat and pulled out a small
transmitter. The locals know to get out when the Federals approach.
Davis stepped out of the truck and surveyed the village. The homes were rusty
in the corners; old metal glinted through patchy coats of paint. But at least there were
no bullet holes or trails of smoke to signify a recent Federal visit. Impoverished for
centuries, Hardin found this powerless region an easy place to terrorize during the
rebellion. A bright red and yellow riding toy lay on its side, ridden a hundred feet toward
safety before a frightened parent grabbed the child and fled to the hills. Davis pressed
a finger into his throbbing skull.
Freeman attached an antenna to the transmitter. This wont work near all this
metal. Freeman pointed to the smaller soldier. You come with me. He turned to the

67
taller soldier. And you stay with Mister Keller. Freeman motioned to his guard. Lets
make this fast.
Sir, the taller soldier said to Davis. We should hide in the trailer. Stay here
while I check it out.
The soldier slowly opened the unlocked door and thrust his automatic rifles
muzzle inside. He stepped cautiously up the creaking wooden steps and stood at the
entrance. Is anyone home? he said confidently before entering. A brief pause with no
response, then he disappeared into the darkened room.
Freeman and his guard setup in the grassy area behind the home. Freeman
toyed with the dials and shifted the small antenna. He pressed the headset closer to his
ear and talked furiously into the mouthpiece. The guard stood over him and watched
both sky and ground. The hills seemed most threatening; from that distance the
villagers, well known for their marksmanship, could easily mistake them for Federals.
Sir, Davis guard said, the trailer is clear.
Davis stepped inside. A small black and white television crackled softly in a
corner, and a snowy and indistinct pattern of people flickered on the screen. The lights
were off throughout the home, as they were in the entire village. Davis stepped into the
kitchen and found a switch. A pale yellow light sputtered from a hanging fixture. A
small round card table doubled as the familys dinner table. Five bowls of food and a
high chair waited patiently for someone to return. Bits of meat and vegetables sprayed
out from two bowls. A tiny plastic spoon lay on the floor beside the high chair, a
greenish paste splattered beside it.

68
Shattered lives.
Davis sat at the table and rubbed his temples. The headaches came daily,
squeezing the delicate tissues of his brain to extract the price of evolutions gift.
Medicines and treatments failed to end the pain, and for decades the specialists could
offer little more than condolences. He suffered stoically, accepting the pain as a solitary
struggle, until a dizzy spell after a contentious filibuster in 2176 forced Henry Marek to
haul him into the office of the distinguished neurologist Doctor Phillip deGuire. They all
sat and talked when the tests were complete, the doctor turned pale and stammered
while he searched for words.
Your headaches are caused by cerebral structures Ive never seen before, he
said. The pain you feel is the result of an evolved brain trapped within an inferior skull.
Overcome with joy, the doctor held back tears.
Davis, Henry stammered. You constitute a new species!
Davis remained tranquil. Evolution could not happen so abruptly, not in one
person. Doctor deGuire pressed on. The structures were located in regions of the brain
that fired emotional responses. At that moment, Davis ceased resisting and understood
his life.
Subdued in an age of aggression, logical in the presence of chaos, he was
intuitive in seeing the deeper meanings to thoughts and actions, never driven to error by
wild swings of passion and fury. The revelation redefined his personality and his past
actions; the force behind his lifes mission was clear. His remarkable emotional controls
seemed mandated by nature to guide his battle for humanitys survival. Concealed in

69
his subconscious from birth, the evolving instincts drove him to protect, and pushed him
relentlessly into politics at the insubstantial age of twenty-three.
Even then he sensed the great threat, a nation in agony and a decay too
widespread for others to see. All he wanted to do was help, to make the country better,
to lead the nation from the darkness enveloping it. Warnings were made and heard,
and the people rallied to the cause. Not even Hardins rigged election and seizure of his
second term halted the momentum. Protests became rebellion. Hardins tyranny
would not stand.
Yet eighteen months after it began, the noble cause seemed doomed. This time,
luck could not be counted on to chase away the threat. The disastrous battle at Fort
Hope reduced military strength. Patrolling the sympathetic western states stretched
resources. Time dampened morale. Hardin controlled the media and freely spread his
masterful propaganda to warp the facts.
On average, a species can expect to exist for two million years, Hardin said
during one national address. At that point, the species will either coexist with its
descendent or be driven into extinction. Davis Keller will drive us into extinction!
Remember that in his mind, only the strongest will survive, and we are all weak!
Hardins abuse of Presidential power, and the ongoing state of emergency he
declared within hours of the coup, helped spread the messages of fear. Federal troops
poured into the western states to extend the stranglehold. Elections were dissolved in
favor of military governments. Eleven states, even Davis Texas, abandoned plans for
secession votes. The rebellion seemed in danger of fading away. Despite the power of

70
his vision, and his unyielding drive to liberate his people from the Dark Age, Davis could
not beat fear.
The soldier scooted a chair away from the table, sat down and stuck a finger into
the nearest bowl. This food is slightly warm, he said. He licked his finger. Bland, but
edible. He grabbed a spoon and stuck it into the dense broth.
The wood steps creaked and Freeman entered the home. He stopped abruptly
and stared at Davis, moving only when his guard bumped him forward.
We do not steal food from the starving people we swore to protect.
The soldier retreated from the table and stood at ready. Sorry, Sir.
Freeman looked over Davis. The Federals are moving south.
Do you know their exact location?
To our east. Moving out of Colorado toward southwestern New Mexico, I hope.
Will this affect our rendezvous? Should we postpone?
No, Freeman snapped. They are just behind schedule. We will still meet the
troops at Clayton.
Freeman claimed a chair beside Davis. He cleaned the soldiers spoon with a
napkin and placed it beside the bowl. I leaked information that I was in New Mexico,
meeting with my commanders near the Mexican border. Lately, the Feds seem more
interested in capturing me than you. I think Hardins still steamed that I got him kicked
out of the army.
Then you expected us to encounter the Federal Army?
I expected them to miss us by several hours. The Federals think I frequently

71
cross over into Mexico to hide, even though Ive only done so twice. By releasing
troops from Fort Bliss to guard the border, and by moving troops in Colorado southward,
they hope to trap me. While this maneuver is going on tonight, well shelter at a
safehouse in Cortez. Tomorrow, we should be able to move behind them and reach
Clayton. And the nearest threat will be bottled up in the opposite corner of the state.
Is this happening now?
Yes. My contact confirms the Federal Army is near Shiprock. They must have
taken longer to mobilize than I expected. They are still run by a government, after all.
Freeman sneered, pressed his hand to his shirt pocket and closed his eyes.
A low rumble swept closer and exploded overhead. Freemans guard jumped
from the trailer and ran to the street. Second jet! He ran back into the trailer.
Second jet just buzzed us! Its headed east!
They abandoned the trailer. One soldier propped his weapon on the trucks
hood. The other fell behind the rear tire and positioned himself to fire on anything
approaching from the west. Good training made them oblivious to the insignificance of
a two-man army. Freeman peered through his binoculars.
No Federal troops. Were clear.
Davis walked to the road and watched the second plane join the first. They
pulled up, afterburners bright against the blue-black dusk, then dipped slightly. Four
missiles ignited and raced to the horizon. Distance muffled the engine roar and then the
sounds disappeared. An orange ball erupted from beyond the hills. The color faded to
black smoke before the gentle bang reached the village.

72
Another Federal atrocity. Davis dropped his head.
The planes engaged this time. They must have used laser seeking missiles to
chase tags placed on a target by army spotters. Freeman stood beside Davis and
folded his arms. That could have been my informant in Shiprock. Damn. Damn.
Damn.
Hardin cannot stop us all. We cant lose, Freeman.
Freeman turned slightly. But every day he grows stronger. He still bombs
playgrounds. He still murders our supporters. He tears up the nation looking for us and
tells the people its your fault.
He is the Dark Age, Freeman. The people know this, but they are afraid.
Youve struggled for so many years, Davis, so this would not happen. So
families would not mourn their sons or abandon their homes to hide and die in the
desert. People lost faith.
I know. There must be a way to revive their support. Davis turned to Freeman.
The people know my message, but I cant emphasize it anymore. They remember me
from the debate, when I promised to beat fear. But have I? I promised to share my
evolutionary gift with them, but I have not. Davis watched the black smoke curl over
the rising moon. How can I while I hide?
I took the name Homo melioris for my species. Melioris: Latin for better, I told
them, what I want this nation to become. I gave the name to my followers many years
ago, and the Melioris Party was like a light. I gave the name to this rebellion, as a
promise. We havent kept that promise, Freeman. Thats why we fail. We must keep

73
that promise.
Freeman stood rigidly. Flashes lit the horizon. The soldiers crouched nervously
beside their leaders.
I remember your final speech at the debate, Freeman said. Your words were
so much stronger than guns. He kicked the dirt. And when we beat fear, what then?
We rebuild what Hardin destroyed. We restore the nation to what it was. We
defeat the Dark Age.
We fulfill our promise?
Yes. We fulfill our promise.
Freeman sighed and watched until the flashes stopped. I think the Federals
have finished with Shiprock. Well head north, through the San Juan Mountains. No
one will expect us there, certainly not in that truck. Freeman allowed himself a smile.
Not with your preference for fancy cars, Davis.
They returned to their vehicle. Freeman started the engine, backed out to the
road, drove to the intersection and stopped. He turned left to scan the road heading
north to the mountains.
It may be time to find a new strategy. Something that has worked before. He
stared at the road to the right that led to Shiprock. If they take my deception, the
Federals will move through Gallup and continue south. Theres a chance they may see
through my strategy and hold up at Gallup. If that happens, theyll have an army close
enough to catch us while were in Clayton. Freeman tapped his finger on his chin. But
if I time things right, they wont be able to finish us off.

74
Freeman paused a minute before turning north. The tires rhythmically struck
asphalt seams. Freeman fumbled with the malfunctioning windshield wipers but did not
switch on the headlights. He dripped surrender from his pores at solitary moments like
this, but Davis trusted him. For all the trouble and sacrifice they endured together,
Davis owed him no less.
They both knew the outcome of capture. They both knew the consequence of
failure. The fate of millions traveled with them, a passenger whose survival outweighed
all other needs, even the safety of those in a truck bouncing through the desert night.
They both knew the rebellion could not fail.
Davis relaxed as his headache subsided. Freeman sighed and fidgeted behind
the steering wheel, his body stiff from a long and frustrating journey.

AUGUST 30
UNI VERSI TY OF TEXAS STUDENT UNI ON
AUSTI N, TEXAS

Sabina smiled when she stepped from the student union and spotted Inacio. The
outdoor patio beneath a scraggy old tree was his favorite place to hide. Inacio sipped

75
orange juice and taunted a fat squirrel with a handful of peanuts. Despite her
frustrations, she really wanted to laugh; her brother could be so entertaining when he
thought no one watched him. She crept up on him, careful not to shake her breakfast
basket too loudly.
Teaching intro biology is such a waste of my time! Sabina exclaimed as she fell
into a chair. Inacio popped out of his seat and spun to face her. New freshman class,
more energy, more drive. Bull! Sabina finished then slumped against the armrest.
Come on, sis, Inacio said. Youve been here long enough. You should know
by now their energy is reserved for party time.
I should be teaching the genetics lab by now, Sabina grumbled. Doctor Wayne
is such a sexist. I wish hed just come out and admit I wont ever teach because I wont
sleep with him. I cant believe I have to deal with this crap!
Inacio spit orange juice across the table and dribbled the rest down his chest.
The squirrel eating peanuts off the table flushed juice from its eye.
Whats so funny? Sabina demanded.
You! Inacio dabbed his shirt with a napkin. You really expected to be taken
seriously?
Doctor Wayne knows what Im capable of. My research project was funded for
the second year. Im the one all the genetics majors come to for help. Im the one who
edited his textbook and found the mistakes! Im the one who should teach the lab!
Miss Modesty! Inacio pushed her playfully. But youre right. Hes a pig. The
rumor is that Cassie got the genetics lab job because she was willing to be the good

76
doctors personal genetics experiment. What some people will do to further the cause
of science.
Sabina laughed as Inacio pumped her chair.
Ew! Hes too creepy for that sort of thing! Still, I wonder how they fund their
research?
With Cassies money. He leaned forward to whisper. I once saw him get
money from the cash machine over there. He looked like he was up to something. Ill
bet hes using Cassies card behind her back. Hell probably need a new assistant
when her card runs dry.
Inacio winked at her. Sabina slapped him on the arm.
Shut up, you ugly monkey! She grinned wide and let out an evil chuckle. I
cant wait until his textbook comes out. When the tenure committee sees all the
mistakes I left in, hell find himself teaching junior college.
Youre cruel! Inacio gave her a strong handshake. We could have had so
much fun together as kids. Why did you wait until now to go bad?
Im bad from time to time, I just never get caught. Unlike you.
Sabina continued complaining between bites of breakfast burrito. Inacio half-
listened as usual, distracted by something trivial. His cheeks rose as he forced back a
smile. If they had not suffered through the same life, Sabina would have thought he
was the happiest, most confident man-child ever to swing out of the jungle. She
reached into her basket for the salsa cup and he covered his mouth coyly. Some things
he just could not hide from her, like the fact he mixed liquor with his orange juice. A

77
furry paw scratched her hand. Sabina screamed and Inacio erupted in laughter.
I knew youd do it! He slapped his palm on the table. I knew youd never get
off your rant long enough to see the squirrel climb into your basket!
Shoo! The squirrel ran into the tree and jumped noisily from branch to branch.
When were you planning to tell me my breakfast was feeding two?
Inacio looked away for a moment, eyes darting as he chewed his nails. Sabina
reached for his hand, feeling the tension even in his fingers. Any connection to Bellisa
made him uncomfortable; five months alone was not enough time for him to grieve.
Inacio, she said. Its all right. Im not hurt. I miss her every day, but I, we,
have to go on. Being home was good for me. That time allowed me to accept what
happened. I wish you would do the same.
He turned red and looked away.
Inacio, nothing we did killed her. It was something biological. Nothing you did
killed her. It just happened. I dont even think Brennan could have-
Inacio stiffened suddenly. So how is home? Residual pain pulled down the
corners of his mouth. Sabina rubbed his hand. Now she understood; the events
leading to Bellisas death triggered his anguish; the past he never dealt with, but
struggled to disconnect from, still tormented him. She wanted to break the Melioran
shackle clamped so tightly around his neck.
Well, home is still home. Sabina knew he was ditching the subject, but at least
he was talking. Why?
I just want to know. Hows Mama?

78
Mamas fine, she misses you. She and Papa both wanted me to come back and
keep an eye on you. You really need to write home more often. They still think you
play basketball.
Its been that long? Man, I do need to write.
The whole village is doing fine. They took good care of me while I mourned. I
dont think I would have made it without their love. Id forgotten how peaceful home can
be. You know, we finally got the best of that work boss, the homicidal one who fired you
at gunpoint.
Really? Inacio leaned closer.
Paulo took a job with the transportation department, in the Port Velho district
office. Enough people complained to him about their treatment that he did some sort of
investigation. The boss was pulling down millions illegally. The government, the army
actually, came for the boss. He died violently.
Inacio rolled his eyes and let his head fall against the chair.
I thought youd be happy! Hes dead and gone! The new boss pays on time.
The Brazilians come to tame the frontier again, and were the first to latch on.
Here we go again.
Sabina sighed. You dont understand! Its not the same.
You slept over dirt floors when you were in Campoalmas, right?
Yes, but-
Then there has been no improvement.
Let me finish! She pushed his head below table level. Ill admit, were still in

79
poverty, but that will change. The government is serious this time about protecting all of
us and our homelands. Brazil is becoming a major factor in this hemisphere again, in a
good way this time. Why shouldnt we jump at a good thing?
Sure, Ill admit Brazil changed after the wars, but that doesnt mean they have
our best interests in mind. What if the new boss paid a better bribe to get the job?
What if nothing really changed? Paulo may be in government, but he has no power to
protect us. Sapa should take charge of the future, get someone to hold office, make the
laws, defend the villages.
Why dont you come home and tell that to Sapa? Hell listen.
Hah.
He will. Youre a man of the tribe, a wise man of the tribe, whether you want to
be or not, and he will listen to what you have to say.
No he wont. His ear is reserved for people outside the tribe.
She groaned. Grouch! Why do you want to stay here so badly? I just dont get
it.
Its the land of opportunity, sis. Didnt you read the brochure?
No it isnt. Not for us. Campoalmas is your home. All your life, youve been
running around trying to be so cosmopolitan. One day youll have to pick a home.
I can have the best of both nations, I do it all the time. When the paycheck
comes, I go right to the bar and raise a glass to my adopted home. Its the American
way. The next morning, when the clock goes off and I dont feel like getting up, I do
what every good Brazilian does. I ignore the clock and let the bed seduce me back to

80
sleep. I never live by the clock like all these idiots. He folded his arms and bobbed his
head.
Sabina put her hand on his shoulder. Leaving home the way you did was the
worst thing you ever did. You really should come back home to visit. You havent been
home in thirteen years. Well go this Christmas break, O.K.? Sapas not mad at you
anymore.
That wont last. Ill ask him the same thing I always ask, and Ill get the same
lecture.
My friend Isabel will be glad to see you. She thinks youre a rebel.
Isabel? Shes only sixteen.
Inacio, that was thirteen years ago! Do the math.
Oh. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. She does have pretty
blue eyes. Ill think about it.
Of course you will. She slapped his shoulder.
Ow! Thats twice youve hit me there! My shoulder is still sore.
Sore? Youre still playing basketball?
No. I have stitches. He waved his arms in protest the second she understood
the implication of stitches.
Youve been fighting again? Inacio!
Ill tell you about it later.
A siren blared as a police car rolled to a stop beside the student union.
There they go again. Inacio calmly sipped his drink, unusually tranquil despite

81
his history of arrests. The police are jumpy lately. They never miss a chance to bust
kids.
Why? Whats going on?
The police want the Federals to think they go out of the way to catch Meliorans.
Whenever a Federal representative is in town, and thats been just about every week,
the cops pick up every funny looking punk. They parade em around like war criminals,
then let them go when the Federals leave.
Do the Meliorans even operate around here?
No, not anymore. Not after Fort Hope. Its like they abandoned the region.
Strange considering this is their home base. Youd have thought Henry Marek would
have planned out a better defense for Texas, when he was planning his little war. I
dont care what Brennan said. Someone had to have planned for a war beyond the
coup. Military defections arent spontaneous. Ol Brennan loved his National Director,
so he blamed General Tyler instead.
Sabina felt a surprising mix of anger and sorrow. The worst battles between
Inacio and Brennan were always about Henry Marek. She turned her head, and pushed
the memories away. Inacio did not notice the effects of his casual remark.
But Henrys dead and he cant tell his side of the story, Inacio continued. After
Fort Hope, the Feds rolled down Congress Avenue and a general set up in the
governors mansion. They confiscated Kellers house and invited people to come and
gawk. I went down there one weekend, just to see where it was.
Sabina raised her eyebrows. You didnt do anything, did you?

82
No! There were guards running around, and they had the gate barricaded. I
couldnt have gotten very close. He tapped the side of his cup. Not without trying,
anyway.
I wonder when it will end? Sabina said as she turned to look for the police car.
This rebellion is such a waste.
I know. Inacio squeezed her hand. But the Federals are confident they will
have Keller by the end of the year.
Inacio smiled when the police officer slammed a student against the car.
How did you hear that? Sabina scanned his face. The Army is always
pessimistic on television.
I know people in the right places. Inacios face grew hot. He stabbed the straw
into melting ice. They will get Keller, and there will be justice for what has happened.
Shit, theyve been prosecuting the case for the last three months. I cant even
remember what all theyve charged him with. So many states have charges against
him, its unbelievable. No one can decide who will get to try him first. Theres no
precedence in a case like this. No ones ever attacked the United States from within
like the Meliorans. If Kellers lucky, California will try him first. They dont have a death
penalty.
Inacio squeezed his fists and held his breath. Sabina wanted him to talk, no
matter how harsh his words or where he directed his anger. Maybe he felt bitter about
her return, since her marriage kept Brennan in the family. Maybe he just wanted to cry
uncontrollably within the safety of her presence. He needed to do something, before he

83
lost control.
Inacio felt her probing stare and slid his rage back into an untouchable crevasse.
He collected himself and lifted the corners of his mouth into a fake smile. Sabina
laughed and smiled at him, hiding her frustration over his silence. If he would not
cooperate, she would make him talk. She leaned over and slapped his shoulder.
Tell me about the stitches.
Ow, dammit! He rubbed his arm. Youre worse than Mama!
Sabina raised her arm to strike again.
Ill talk! I went to a university lecture over the Brazilian Wars last month.
Sabina groaned. Every year was the same; Inacio attended that lecture in
search of arguments and she faked interest in his adventures. He normally only
exchanged hot words and bluster, but this time he drew blood. She sighed as he ticked
off the lectures topics on his fingers.
Inacio never embraced violence when he lived in Campoalmas. He was angry
as a teen, but always in control. That discipline gave him confidence, and brought him
mastery of every task he threw himself against. Home was the only place to accept him
unconditionally, his people the only ones to see his true potential. None of his qualities
mattered to anyone here, not even the Meliorans.
America was no place for him; his talents would shrivel in the land that kept him
down. Campoalmas was no place for him either, because he hated the passive life. He
existed for conflict, a fruitless, self-destructive quest for a wonderful life in spite of the
past. A lecture about a terrible war between Brazil and America seemed a perfect

84
metaphor for Inacio: a lingering tension between conflicting homes and unhappy
experiences.
Inacio smiled as he continued his story. The lights are off while the introduction
video is on, so no one can see where theyre going. I hear a thump and a loud aw,
shit. It was this junkie fresh from a hit. Of all the places he decides to stumble into, its
the chair next to me. I knew he would be interesting; he was wearing a stars-and-
stripes shirt.
Sabina blinked her eyes rapidly. He bumped into you?
No! Youre not listening to me.
Yes I am. You were complaining about how the professors lecture is always the
same, year after year; how he goes chronologically from Twenty Twenty-Six to Twenty
Sixty-One, instead of something more dramatic. She smiled because he believed her.
Anyway, the guy leaned over and said, hey brownie, what are you? I gave him
a dirty look and he backed off. Hey man, I wasnt trying to piss you off. I just wanted to
know what side youre on. I said the winning side. He thought I meant his side!
Sabina leaned into her palm. I take it this lecture was set up like all the others?
Oh yeah, Inacio said. The junkie, I call him Mister America, humphed the
minute the professor said anything positive about Brazil. He was a pain the whole time;
complaining about Brazil and Brazilians and how we started the war.
Sabina watched Inacio rub his shoulder. Is that when he beat you up?
No, Mister America was just an irritant. He figured out I wasnt an American
pretty quick when I cheered the theory that Brazil invaded all of South America in

85
response to famine and diminishing resources. He thought the war was solely for
empire and kept distracting me the whole lecture. I missed most of what was said
because of him. I missed the professors reasons why America entered the war, all the
battles, Brazils nuclear bluff to end the war, the way we manipulated America at the
negotiating table and got restitution payments and food shipments. I missed all the
good stuff.
Sabina sighed. So you beat up Mister America after that?
Inacio rolled his eyes. Stop interrupting my story. Almost, but he shut up long
enough to listen to discussions about the occupation.
Sabina tried to advance Inacios tale. Let me guess. He disagreed with you
over the real factors leading to the second stage of the war. He believed Brazils refusal
to sign the Global Nuclear Disarmament Treaty indicated hostile plans, even though we
had no strategic or tactical nuclear capability. He thought America was justified in
breaking treaty requirements, causing more famine, civil war and instability in Brazil. Of
course, phantom nuclear technology in rebel hands was dangerous, so America had no
choice but to invade an unstable country and restore democracy. Thats a cover story,
you know.
Yes! Exactly! American troops occupied Brazil to protect the world from
extremist rebels, but really came to extract revenge. See, you like this stuff too. You
should have been there. If the speakers just-cause view was right, the Americans
would have left behind a government instead of looting everything except Brazilian soil.
They would have captured the last rebel leader before his nuclear suicide, instead of

86
killing millions of civilians and kidnapping jungle tribes for medical experiments.
Sabina gasped from shock. The professor said that? So your theory is right?
No, its still just a rumor, but the population in the jungle did thin out dramatically
during that time. Someday Im going to prove the Americans had something to do with
it.
Sabina fidgeted, tapping her fingers as she plotted a way to revive the old
conversation. Inacio narrowed his eyes and finished his orange juice with a loud slurp.
Anyway, that was the end of it, so I walked outside.
And Mister America was waiting for you.
Yeah. He started arguing with me. He said we got what we deserved during the
occupation; I said America was beaten by a smarter class of people. He said I was full
of shit.
I could have told you that.
Hush. We argued for a little while longer. This big crowd showed up and
started chanting. Mister America said were nothing more than beaten losers who paint
and write about how great we think we are. I walked right up to him and said we didnt
want to imitate America, because Americans are once-great people who cant see out of
the past to see theyre past their prime.
Sabina groaned. Why do you always have to say that to people? You know
that just gets them mad. What did he say to you after that?
Those were pretty much the last words we exchanged. He had a blade on him.
Dont look at me like that!

87
Youre the only scientist I know who goes to a lecture and gets in a knife fight!
What am I going to do with you? Only our ancestors know what trouble you would get
into if I didnt come back and keep my eye on you. Is this how you got the stitches?
Yeah. Dont worry! He got a lucky first strike. I took care of him after that.
Inacio, you have to stop going to these lectures. Youre going to start another
war if youre not careful.
Nah. America has too much to deal with at home to mess with me. Besides, its
too much fun.
Sabina surrendered. Oh, Inacio!

SI LVERTON, COLORADO

The narrow road began in Silverton, where it passed a garrison of Federal troops
before entering the valley. Davis peered into the side mirror and watched the small
town drop away as the truck climbed toward Red Mountain Pass. He watched for signs
of movement; lumbering troop trucks, alert soldiers or sweeper cars in pursuit. As the
truck pressed on, the valley walls climbed higher toward the peaks. There was no hint
of trouble.
The air at this altitude was cold, despite the August sun burning though the thin
atmosphere. Davis gasped against the low oxygen levels and a pleasant haze crept

88
into the corners of his mind. Pine trees spilled across the valley floor, carpeting the far
slope to an elevation where even they could not survive. Davis watched the rocky wall
beside him crawl past as the truck struggled up the incline.
Davis, Freeman shifted his focus from the road to the mirrors and back. Its
rare we can enjoy something this peaceful.
I agree. Davis rolled his window up to stop the wind. This place feels
untouched.
Freeman rubbed his chest pocket. A car zipped past, filled with teenagers on a
joy ride.
I forgot how fun these mountain passes can be, Freeman said. With a sporty
car and a few ladies clinging onto you because they cant stand to look over the edge of
the road.
Davis chuckled. I almost went over once, when a girlfriend grabbed my arm and
pulled the steering wheel. I came within inches of hitting the guardrail, not that it would
have stopped us. Not at the speed I was going.
Freeman laughed. It was nice to be young and immortal, wasnt it? Wind
ripping through a full head of hair, your whole life ahead of you and completely void of
any clues to destiny? The future needed no consideration.
Freeman smiled for the first time since Fort Hope. Davis smiled and looked at
the two soldiers in the back. One rested on his back, while the other sat against the
side. A pile of money and snacks grew between them, spoils in their ongoing card
game. Their loaded guns lay against the tailgate.

89
I could almost believe life was back to normal, Davis said. Freeman rubbed his
face and the smile faded away.
Do you think these kids will thank us?
Davis tilted his head. Of course, this struggle is for them.
I wonder about that, sometimes. Freeman looked into the mirror. Whether or
not the youngsters even care. Weve been fighting for eighteen months, but no one
seems to notice. The recruiting drives are failing. The sympathizers turn us away. The
victories get smaller and smaller.
Davis scratched his beard. Yeah, I know, he said. Ive known for some time.
Its difficult to mount a major offensive with the troops scattered as they are.
Freeman turned his head quickly.
I would like to hit a target, Davis continued. I think we should put out a call for
other soldiers to meet us in Clayton, so that we can make a plan. There is a federal
distribution site in Raton. We can take it easily.
Freeman gripped the wheel tightly. Im not so sure, Davis. The soldiers are
getting tired and weak. Desertions are up, morale is down. Im convinced we need a
totally new strategy.
Like what?
Freeman watched the mirror for a long stretch of time. He rolled his eyes and
blinked away a sudden daze. The road made a turn to the left and followed a rise
across the valley floor. The soldiers stopped their game as Silverton came into view.
Like something political. Freeman watched for Davis reaction.

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You have something in mind already, dont you?
Yes, I do. Do you remember, back in the Twenty-First, when extremist groups
switched over to legal political parties? Oh sure, the militant factions kept on hitting, but
the political party would distance themselves from the extremists and take the electoral
approach. Theyd get themselves into Parliament, hit the floor and debate for hours,
forcing votes and working through the accepted process to make changes.
I remember. They had some success that way.
Have you ever thought about trying it again? Reviving our political party?
Freeman smiled. We could form a puppet party and run someone we trust, maybe
even you. Shit, that wont work. Youre a criminal.
We could run some of the younger supporters, maybe find someone as gifted a
speaker as you used to be. Get some young bucks to run for office, some kids with big
muscles and charming personalities. Someone from the next generation who believes
your message and makes it unquestionable. The kids will follow, the old-timers will
follow.
Davis smiled. I dont know. The Congress is weak now. Hardin grew strong at
their expense. My speeches lost their impact because I couldnt overcome his
intimidation. That was why I ultimately decided to run for President, to challenge him in
the only arena that remained. Clearly that failed as well. Its futile to wage war through
the ballot box when Hardin doesnt grasp the concept of democracy.
You said a good point after the coup, Freeman, when we decided to let the
rebellion continue: Hardin loves war, and Marek just offered Hardin the perfect excuse

91
to roll his army over us. He wont stop until every Melioran is dead.
Davis paused. You were right. War was never in my plans, but we had no
choice. We still have no choice. Hardins a dictator now, a tyrant. He can only be
toppled by force.
Im not sure about that, Freeman responded. Hardins a tyrant, but hes an
elected tyrant. He believes he is rescuing the country from weakness, and he believes
in the image of America. He declared a state of emergency when the rebellion started,
but he used it as an excuse to weaken state governments. Hes always despised the
power the states held, not the institutions of federal government. He doesnt grasp the
deeper meanings of democracy, that much I learned when he demonstrated his
methods for protecting democracy after the Lake Maracaibo War. But he hasnt yet
used the rebellion as an excuse to postpone the next Presidential election, and I think if
we go away for a while, he will end the state of emergency. Lots of people Ive talked to
think the same thing.
Davis stroked his chin. That may happen eventually. But if there is no one to
stop him, hell abuse his power and seek to extend his presidency indefinitely
Thats just it, Davis, Freeman said. He cant resist the power. Eventually, hell
pull a fast one. He'll use the weakened Congress and his vassal state governments to
amend the constitution to make him President for Life, or something like that. If we
have a presence in Congress, we can block it, or sound a new fight against him.
Davis dipped his head to the side. .
Freeman sensed he was losing his audience. Let me put it this way, he said.

92
Hardins actions during the rebellion have made him unpopular. The people are tired of
the military governments and the occupation. They are smart enough to know he wants
to be President for life and they wont stand for it. So if he wants to be a dictator for a
while, let him. Hell only do so as long as he feels like hes in a fight.
So we do this: keep up a few hits here and there until he cancels elections.
Then well Freemans voice trailed off as he grasped for the right word. Well
surrender. Not really, just symbolically. Well disappear for a while; demobilize the
troops, while maintaining a ready cache of weapons. In the meantime, we throw our
support to the kids running the political angle for us. They discretely work the
grassroots, fanning the resentment that already exists toward Hardin. Its still there
Davis; its just that Hardin squeezes so much.
If we do this correctly, hell believe hes won, and slack off. Hell even reinstate
elections, even though theyll always be rigged in his favor. Hell do it because he loves
the illusion of democracy. Then our young politicians strike and run his allies from
power. I can tell you from experience, Davis, that when he is isolated, he is powerless.
I learned that after Lake Maracaibo as well.
Freeman exploded into a wide grin. Then we can impeach him. Hes unpopular
and hes been sloppy with his war crimes. If necessary, we still have our army available
to drag him from the White House.
Freeman turned to Davis. Its a rough plan, but it will work. Its not the
gladiatorial combat this rebellion has become, the kind Hardin is best at, but thats the
point. We can do just what weve always wanted. Stop the Dark Age. Save the

93
nation.
Davis shook his head after several minutes. Freeman looked away.
Im sorry Freeman, Davis said. In a different era, maybe. The political process
isnt trustworthy. The Feds will know we support the party and strangle it. No. The
rebellion is still the only way.
Freemans mouth cracked into a thin chasm. A slow breath drained out as a
vapor, revealed as the sun burned through it. The cloud drifted skyward, blown through
the trees on the turbulent wind. Fatigue dulled Freemans eyes.
The road curved to the right and followed the valley wall again. Davis looked
down the slope, attracted by a shiny object on the rocks below. A trail of metal debris
led to a grove of trees one hundred feet away. Resting against a scorched trunk, the
charred remains of a car lay with its underbelly exposed to the sky. Three other
shattered cars lay on the valley floor.
A soldier banged on the rear window.
Sir! He screamed as Davis opened the window. The other soldier tore at his
weapon. Sweeper car approaching from the rear! It was hidden by the trees!
A black car rounded the turn and accelerated across the valley. Freeman
watched his speedometer rise slowly.
You men lie down now. Ready the firing holes and stay out of sight. When I say
so, open fire.
The two soldiers fell on their bellies. They punched out small, prepared holes in
the tailgate; decoys made to look like the other rusty scars. The soldiers rested their

94
gun barrels on the rims of the holes and froze their bodies in place.
I dont know if theyre onto us. Freemans voice was tight. If I speed up, theyll
know for sure.
They arent speeding up, Davis said. He looked up as a puffy shadow crossed
the road. The electrical storms are building. The helicopters wont fly in that weather.
Not with the winds are bad as they are.
Thats why they send the cars. Freeman looked into his mirror. To sweep
Meliorans off the road when the helicopters cant blow us apart. The same reckless
young kids we just talked about drive those cars. Youngsters looking for points.
Ahead the road made a turn to the left, following the side of a small canyon
incised into the valley wall. Freeman accelerated toward the turn and looked into his
mirror.
Theyll give up in a few minutes and pass us, Freeman said, If nothing
suspicious ha-
The truck hit a deep pothole. The rearview mirror darkened with a soldier thrown
into the air by the collision. The sweeper car sprinted toward them. Freeman slammed
down the gas pedal.
Shit! Goddamn road! Freeman pleaded with the speedometer. Come on!
Davis looked down the steepening valley slope. If they catch us before we can
round this corner-
Theyll ram us over! I know! Freeman looked back. Theyre coming up fast,
but not at full speed. I dont think they realize this truck is made of solid steel.

95
The sweeper cars engine roared.
But arent they armored? Davis asked.
They have a cheap frame made of plastic and low-grade aluminum. Were
heavier with the gear in the back. Its all about mass and physics. Hang on!
The impact threw Davis into the dashboard. The truck lifted off the road, its rear
tires squealing to full speed. The sweeper car backed off and dropped the truck onto
the asphalt. Davis fell sideways. The truck skidded across the road and swerved
toward the edge. Freeman howled and twisted the steering wheel. A cloud of dust
kicked up as the rear wheel tipped over the edge. The truck veered to the left and
grabbed the road.
The sweeper car had failed.
They wont miss again. Freeman shouted to the back. Take out the driver!
Rapid fire exploded from the rear. Davis leapt forward and covered his ears.
Freeman grimaced in pain. The shots grew louder, joined by sharp popping noises.
The shells fragmented as they hit the sweeper car.
Damn! Freeman thumped the steering wheel. The road turned sharply to the
right, tracing the curve of the canyon head before returning to the valley. Even the
glass is bulletproof! Shoot the tires!
Shells punctured the rubber. Smoke puffed out and the car swerved. Freeman
cursed when the tires did not deflate.
Federal issue reinforced rubber. Theyll get ten more miles out of them. Plenty
of time.

96
The sweeper car accelerated again, charging at full speed. Another curve to the
left loomed ahead.
Hang on!
The car plowed into them, pushing the truck toward the edge. Cold air poured in
through Freemans window as he struggled to break free. The tops of thirty-foot tall
trees poked above the roads edge. Freeman forced the truck to the left. The sweeper
car dug into the bumper.
The truck spun sharply to the left. Freeman rounded the curve and veered
toward the valley wall. He spun the steering wheel, slamming the truck to both sides
before regaining control. The sweeper car fell back. Metal screeched and sparks
showered the road.
What was that? Davis spun around. Theyre caught on our bumper.
Freeman exhaled sharply. Stupid bastards! They ripped it off. That should stop
them for a moment.
Sparks sprayed from beneath the car as the bumper scratched the pavement.
The car swerved from side to side, trying to pry the bumper out of the front tire.
Fire on them, so they cant get out and remove it.
The soldiers aimed for the doors, firing shots that shattered against the windows.
What next? Davis asked.
Freeman surveyed the road. It curved to the right and followed the head of the
valley, then turned left toward the mountain peaks. A shallow slope, occupied by
abandoned mining towers and stubby trees, descended into the valley.

97
Were almost out of the valley, Freeman said as the gunshots ceased. They
wont let us out of here alive. Theyll try to get ahead of us, where our guns cant get
them.
The sweeper car roared closer, one flat tire thumping uselessly against the road.
Force them to go around us! Freeman shouted. I want them to pass!
The soldiers fired, leaving mottled white circles on the windshield. The car
swung to the left and pulled alongside the truck. A soldier behind Freeman shifted his
position and fired through the camper shell. Bits of glass cut his face.
The road turned to the right, and the two vehicles headed for the top of the
valley. The soldier behind Freeman continued to fire as the car sped forward. Bullets
pounded the unbreakable rear window. The sweeper car inched forward until the
passenger door aligned with the trucks front tire. A tinted window slid down and a
smiling Federal soldier pointed his gun at the trucks windshield. Freeman slammed the
breaks and rammed his front bumper into the sweeper cars rear tire.
The sweeper car swung violently to the right and spun out of control. It sliced in
front of the truck as it spiraled across the road, then jumped over the edge and rolled
down the slope. Shattered glass floated through the air. The car slammed into a tree,
crushing the middle section and snapping the frame. The tree fell over, smashing down
where the front seat used to be. The impact echoed through the valley. Freeman did
not slow down to look for bodies. His soldiers pressed their faces against the glass.
That was awesome, sir!
Freeman looked at his watch and turned out of the valley.

98
This isnt over. Get back there and check your weapons! Were switching
vehicles on the other side of the pass and I want both of you to cover our rear.
The soldier who had fired through the glass rubbed his eyebrow. Were not
transferring with you? He remembered the cut on his face and pressed his glove to his
check.
Freeman collected himself and softened his voice. No. That attack cost us too
much time. Mister Keller and I will have time to change places with the front seat
passengers of the swap car, but thats it. Theres not enough time to transfer you and
get your replacements settled into your truck bed positions. This truck will have to be
ditched and you two are better prepared to run. Freeman stared at them in his rear-
view mirror. Check that wound. Youre bleeding badly. You dont want to leave a
blood trail for the dogs.
The soldiers looked at each other then retreated to their duties. Freeman rubbed
his head.
That was dumb luck, he said to Davis. They could have killed us if theyd been
just a tiny bit smarter.
But they didnt, Davis said flatly. What they probably did was radio in. The
garrison in Silverton has probably mobilized to hunt for us. We have to make it to the
switch point before they catch up.
Freeman slowed his breathing and looked into his side mirror. This has to stop.
This has to stop.
It will. When weve won.

99
Freeman sighed. It will take us ten minutes to reach the switch point. In fifteen
minutes the topographic blackout ends and the satellite will take a picture of us standing
in the road. At least the winds and the canyon walls are on our side.
The soldiers inventoried their gear, making minimal noise as they moved the
clips around. Davis watched a gray cloud roll above the trees. The winds ripped it
apart, sending wispy threads to the horizon. The victory cheered him. As minor a
success as it was, it must be a sign. Perhaps Freeman was right about altering
strategy. Freeman knew what he was doing; the crushed sweeper car in the valley was
a fitting testimony.
The truck crossed the pass and the downward stretch went quickly. Davis
listened for aerial threats but expected none. Only the satellites could pin them down
now, and that would be a difficult feat. The truck emerged from the gentle peak and
immediately gripped the side of a narrow and impressive canyon. The road thinned and
descended rapidly. The rocky gray slope on the far side appeared bottomless from
Davis vantage; a gorge cut straight to the center of the Earth. The distant sound of the
river churning and smashing rocks broke the illusion. Had the sweeper car found them
here, the canyon would have shuddered with their impact as if struck by a meteor.
A blue sedan with a flat tire rested against the rocky wall. Freeman flashed his
lights and pulled in behind it. The car flashed its hazard lights for three seconds. Two
shabby, middle-aged men got out and hovered beside the tire.
Need help? Freeman shouted. Its an awfully peaceful place to have an
accident.

100
The closest man replied. Id love to see the blue sky from a flatter place.
Freeman looked at Davis. This is our car.
Davis got out and stretched his legs. Freeman hurried to the oldest man, talked
for a moment, then swapped overshirts with him. Davis traced the rock wall until it
blended with the sky. The canyon was so narrow, that a satellite could only image it
from directly overhead. What it would see, in exactly one minute, was the red truck
roaring out of the canyon into the town of Ouray, while the driver of a blue sedan
struggled with a flat tire. With any luck, the analyst looking at the picture would not
suspect the switch.
Cmon Davis, Freeman motioned. Get in the car.
The two shabby men from the blue sedan brushed passed Davis, acknowledging
him with only a curious stare before stepping into the trucks cab. Davis hopped into the
cars passenger seat and turned around. Two thin and hungry soldiers, clad in teen
fashions and battle-worn faces, looked back. The truck sped away toward Ouray, and
Davis caught a last look at the two soldiers who had guarded him since Tucson.
Freeman pretended to tinker with the tire until the satellite moved out of range.
He started the hidden air compressor and reinflated the tire, then climbed in calmly and
looked over the two kids in the back seat. Freeman started the car, checked his
rearview mirror for other cars on the ominously deserted road, and accelerated to a
comfortable speed. The lack of traffic likely meant the Federals had closed the road on
the other side of the pass. Time was short.
The canyon bottomed out and the road shifted into a set of winding switchbacks.

101
Davis sighed as they entered Ouray. Freeman stopped at a red light and looked
around.
I told those men to abandon the truck before reaching Montrose. They can lose
the Feds in a foot race through the San Juan range. There must be hundreds of
Meliorans hiding in these mountains. This wild terrain doesnt allow easy search and
capture.
The light turned green and Freeman drove until he found a small grocery store.
He drove around back and parked the small car between two large trucks. He killed the
engine and addressed the soldiers sitting in the back seat.
Well pick you up at that basketball court over there, in twenty minutes. If you
dont hear from us, or if you see us get captured, contact your squad commander.
Yes sir. The soldiers bailed out of the car and popped the trunk. The smaller
kid pulled out a scuffed basketball and bounced it on the asphalt. The pair walked
innocently to the court, talking trash and wielding pistols beneath their baggy shirts.
Well get some supplies here. Freeman said. The owner is one of us.
Good. Davis said, rubbing his stomach. Our supporters always have food
waiting.
The opening door rang the bell as they entered the store. Floorboards creaked
beneath their heavy boots. The clerk eyed Freeman first, then Davis. She did not
acknowledge them.
Davis wandered to the fruit display, a wooden box close to the front window.
Freeman marched toward the cooler. He grabbed a six-pack of beer, two loaves of

102
bread, lunchmeat and two boxes of chocolate bars. He placed the items in front of the
clerk, smiling as he pulled out his money. A postcard display caught his attention.
Freeman pulled two from the holder. One was a sunny picture of two young children on
horseback, the second a picture of a solitary horseman riding into the crisp mountain
sunrise beneath the caption, wish you were here.
Davis tossed an apple to Freeman, forcing him to slap down the postcards and
snatch it from the air. Freeman smiled, happy his reflexes saved him from an
embarrassing hit. Davis turned and watched a waterfall stream over the red cliffs
surrounding the town.
Somewhere in those mountains, Meliorans waited for new energy. They toughed
out harsh conditions, struggling through winter snows and Federal hunters to bring a
great nation back to life. The soldiers carried the rebellion on their shoulders. They
were the champions of justice and salvation.
Freeman was right to split the Army. Giving them a chance to regroup and grow
strong again was a brilliant idea. The need for a new strategy to justify their sacrifice
was an even better idea. Freeman, the wise and experienced one, was right when he
convinced Davis to start the rebellion, and was right to suggest it now needed a new
direction. Together, they would find a way to resurrect the sleeping Melioris Rebellion.
The cash register chimed and Freeman walked to Davis side. Three Federal
trucks, filled with armed troops, roared past the store.
You told them to abandon the truck, Davis whispered. Someplace where it
might not be found too easily?

103
Yes. Freeman rocked gently from front to back. He stood taller than before,
noticeably calmer in the way he casually cracked open a beer.
Then they should not be caught. They will survive to fight again soon.
Freeman breathed deeply and sighed. He took a moment to look at Davis before
fixing his gaze on the mountains.

UNI VERSI TY OF TEXAS
E. P. SCHOCH BUI LDI NG

Please, please, please, Inacio, Doctor Jane Lewis clasped her hands together
and pressed her forehead into her thumbs. Please.
Inacio tapped his pen against his knee and shifted in his seat. It was tough to
say no to his advisor. Doctor Lewis sat across her desk from him, her back against a
window that spilled sunlight over the piles of books on the floor. Her hair had turned
silver a few years back, and she accented it with purple highlights. Beneath her copper
eyeglass frames, her green eyes sparkled with a domineering hint of mischief. Years of
fieldwork in the high Andes had turned her skin a dark brown and slightly leathery, but a
recent facelift had pulled out the wrinkles. In a further attempt to hide, or possibly flaunt,
her maturity, she liked to wear floppy sandals and red toenail polish. Doctor Lewis was
impossible not to like.
Im sorry, Inacio started. You already broke my spirit with all that bone

104
cataloging last semester. I couldnt possibly-
Ill flunk you if you dont. She raised the notebook he had given her to read
earlier into the air. After I toss your dissertation notes right out the window.
Youre bluffing, old timer. The windows closed
Doctor Lewis stayed motionless through a dramatic pause, then placed the
notebook in front of her. Argh! Youre right. But please, Ive got a crate of artifacts
from Peru moldering in the museum basement and I need them dated, like, now.
Inacio squirmed in his seat. He really hated telling her no. Doctor Lewis had
advised, taught and mentored him for over a decade. She didnt give a damn about the
politics, the rebellion, or his Melioran connections. She had a love of South American
anthropology and archeology, and was drawn into the legends of Campoalmas and their
ties to the old Incan Empire.
She had also helped him through the toughest months after the rebellions start,
when he lost his job at the lab and the money dried up. Inacio often thought he could
return her generosity by sending her to Campoalmas so she could plop down in Sapas
hut and pepper him through every blasted story he knew. A bonus would be that the
villagers would then stop asking Inacio to come home.
Theres grant money involved, she rubbed her fingers together against an
imaginary dollar bill. I could arrange for you to receive a thousand
All right, all right. Ill see if I can fit it into my schedule. Right now Im waiting for
another set of DNA samples to arrive for identification.
Forensics! She mocked. I thought I was molding you into a respectable

105
human originist, like I used to be. This side job is taking time from your dissertation.
She returned his notebook to him. I want to see some conclusions by Christmas,
Inacio.
Inacio stood up, walked to the door and turned around. Easter?
She made a tisk-tusk noise. Dont let anything get between you and your
conclusions and my crate of pots.
I havent said yes, Inacio rolled out of her office and walked to his mailbox.
You will! She shouted back.
Inacio scoffed and pulled a letter out of his mailbox. The return address told him
it was from a federal prosecutors office in Washington, D.C. He hoped it was his next
consultants check; rent was due. These envelopes used to go to his apartment, but
when Sabina came back, he had them mailed here instead. Inacio stuffed it into his
backpack and avoided the department secretarys stare. Anything legal drew attention
these days, what with so many ex-Meliorans on the razors edge of imprisonment.
Inacio smiled at the secretary as he walked out the glass doors into the hallway.
His watch beeped eleven oclock in the morning. He had enough time to grab a quick
lunch before going to see Doctor Lewis pots. He jogged to the Student Union, scarfed
down a burger and slowly sipped his drink. Curious about the envelope, he pulled it
from his backpack and examined it further.
He let out a soft sigh of frustration. He had misread the return address. The
envelope was not from the prosecutor, as he had hoped, but from a poorly funded
Washington, D.C. based non-profit group calling itself Bring Them Home. Their mission

106
was to identify human remains found in the deserts and battlefields of the West, and
they were Inacios official side job. When they had DNA in need of a name, he was
their preferred low-cost lab analyst. He pulled the letter from the envelope; it was a
notice of shipment delivery, not a check. Rent was definitely going to be late.
Well, Doctor Lewis has me pegged. I guess Im cataloging her pots for sure.
Inacio sighed again, put the letter back in the envelope and slid it into his
backpack. He was at first horrified when Bring Them Home approached him about the
job a few months after the war started. But he needed the money, and he had plenty of
free time after his credits were cancelled and he was suspended from school for a
semester. He never told Sabina about the work; she would have been angry to know
he hoped to identify Brennans bones.
His work for Bring Them Home eventually got him noticed by Lindsey Foster, a
federal attorney who needed help prosecuting a Melioran claiming to be Davis Kellers
nephew, and to possess the same evolutionary gift. A quick exam of a cranial
Tomograph proved he was a normal Homo sapien. A look at the fools genograph left
no doubt of his evolutionary status; he then confessed to faking insanity.
Genographs were really more Sabinas expertise, but Inacio knew enough about
them to distinguish a modern humans from other human species. This may have been
why Henry Marek let him see Davis Kellers genograph, as a favor after the last
Presidential debate when the world found out about his evolution. The genograph
looked normal, and yet also tampered with. Granted, the data was of an older format
that didnt transfer well to the newer machines, but he saw no clear speciation

107
indicators. Inacio often wished hed never seen that genograph; it caused him to
question Kellers evolution claim, and voice his confusion to Brennan and Marek.
And then the Meliorans cast him out, discarded him, beat him
Inacio crushed the hamburger wrapper and smeared it between his palms. A girl
two booths over turned to see. He covered his outburst by wadding the wrapper into a
ball and shooting it towards the nearest trashcan. It missed.
Damn basketball, he muttered as he collected his things, walked over to the ball
and carefully dunked it into the trash.
He strolled outside and took a sip of his soda. He walked mindlessly through
campus, enjoying the sun and his pleasant mood. Ever since Sabinas return, he felt
happy. Even her perpetual nagging and probing for emotional scars amused him; it was
refreshing, something normal after the crushing isolation of her five month absence. In
the grip of that terrible loneliness, he felt cut off from his senses, like he was kicked out
of humanity.
A kid walking past hacked and spit at Inacio.
Traitor. The kid kept walking. Youre a fuckin traitor.
Inacio turned and puffed himself up, but he couldnt think of any counter-
argument. Either the kid was right, or Sabina was also a pacifying force.
Another man stepped out from a dark sidewalk and shoved the kid. Get a clue,
bitch, the man growled.
The kid took one look at the man and scampered off.
Hey, Inacio, the man slurred.

108
Inacio did not recognize the man at first. John? John Fallon?
Yeah. I havent seen you since they finished teachin us over at Fort Hood.
John approached, but stopped a few feet from Inacio. He looked terrible, like hed been
strung out for months, or just quit cold turkey. Inacios heart sank. When the Meliorans
kicked John out of the party, he replaced them with cocaine and heroin.
John, are you well? You look like shit. What happened to your face?
Cops beat me up. John shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other.
Ive been clean for a week.
Inacio stood silently, staring over the wreck of what used to be one of the
Meliorans best recruiters. He felt sorry for John, mixed with a powerful urge to walk
away.
I need to talk to you, John stammered. Ive been looking for you for a few
days. I found out some things. Im talking to a reporter tomorrow. He looked around
and became agitated. Maybe this wasnt such a good idea. He turned and headed
back down the sidewalk. Keep reading the paper. Youll understand. I wont say your
name.
Inacio watched John disappear around a corner. He tried to figure out what had
happened, what had just been said, but couldnt pull his mind from the shadow of death
that haunted Johns eyes. Inacio turned and continued back to the museum and Doctor
Lewis pots.
For once, Inacio knew he was fortunate.


109

OURAY, COLORADO

Freeman approached the Federal roadblock that stood between him and the
road out of Ouray. The two young soldiers hiding beneath blankets and supplies in the
blue sedans backseat fingered their weapons. A solid Federal soldier standing on the
road held out his hand and demanded Freemans permits. Military vehicles crowded
around the red truck abandoned in a clearing on the side of the road.
Freeman watched the activity. A soldier busied himself by sifting through the
trucks glove compartment while two others hovered around the open tailgate. A pair of
howling bloodhound jumped from underneath the trucks camper shell. They pressed
their noses into the dirt and lead their trainers toward the woods. A patrol quickly
formed, checked their weapons and followed the bloodhounds into the forest. The
guard returned the papers and waved them through the blockade. So intent were the
Federals in capturing young Meliorans they did not see a threat in the two old men or
the rumple of blankets.
Freeman drove a meandering route through the high country and river valleys of
Colorado and New Mexico, switching cars two more times. The uneventful stretch of
time and asphalt gave him time to recover from near-death. Davis seemed completely
at ease; his mind occupied with new strategies and bold plans. The young soldiers
slouched in the back seat, spoke slang and described lives they one day planned to
have. Freeman reached Clayton at dusk two days later and pulled into the

110
sympathizers ranch. He inspected the troops and equipment gathered in a rotting barn,
then turned in for a short, merciless, sleep.

111

SEPTEMBER 3
WASHI NGTON, D.C.

Im looking at a grainy still shot of a man changing a flat tire, Mister Preston.
Hardin slid restlessly in his limousines seat as he examined the photograph on his
electronic tablet. He pressed the zoom button and rapidly tapped the center of the
image until the man and his blue car were lost in a pixel fog. And despite the poor
resolution, your analysts insist this is Freeman Tyler?
The speakerphone in Hardins armrest stayed silent for a moment. That is
correct, Mister President.
Hardin leaned back in his seat, lifted the Generals hat off his head and ran a
hand over his hair. It was late, the rededication ceremonies for the Smithsonians
American History Museum had run long, and the discussion now at hand was
unwelcome and irritating. Outside his idling limousine, the museums guests waited
restlessly in the courtyard beyond the perimeter established by the police escort. No
one could leave until Hardin departed, and he did not intend to budge until this matter
was resolved. Hardin restored the hat to his head, straightened the medals on his dress
uniform and leaned forward.

112
And yet, not three sentences ago you told me the entire satellite network, the
much feared Global Surveillance Network, has been hacked by the Meliorans?
A dropped pencil clicked in the speakerphone. The ghostings in the real-time
displays, plus the graininess of the high-definition still shots are consistent with a
disruption of encrypted transmission. Mister Preston paused again. There are no
other candidates capable of breaching our firewalls.
Richters gruff voice broke into the conversation. Mister Preston is correct.
There are no foreign entities capable of penetrating the networks deeper defenses. It
has to be the Meliorans.
Thank you, Richter. Hardin switched off his electronic tablet and let the night
envelop him in darkness. And thank you also, he whispered softly, for pulling this call
together after a dull night with historians.
Hardin reached to the wet bar and pulled out a small bottle of whiskey. He took a
long draw and smacked his lips before turning to look out the window. The museums
crisp white landscape lighting weaved through trees and vines to scratch shadowy nets
across the new marble veneer. Hardin had argued against restoring the building to its
21st Century configuration, but popular demand won out. So little of the museums
collection survived the riots and floods of the last century, why try to restore it? So
many ancient American tales were already lost, why hold on to past glories? It made no
sense. Fresh history was being written today.
Ill be blunt, Preston, Hardin continued after another sip. This entire network is
shit.

113
Mister President, the system is over one hundred years old, Preston
stammered. We have replaced every satellite three times, and have upgraded the
current software to push the technology beyond what was thought possible-
The satellites are shit! Hardin thumped the speakerphone. We inherited the
system from a global coalition that couldnt agree how to build or operate them. They
were originally intended to detect illegal nuclear emissions after the Global Nuclear
Disarmament Treaty went into affect during the Brazilian wars! How the hell did we go
from finding radiation to pinpointing a man changing a tire on a mountain pass road?
Clearly we did not make the switch successfully!
Mister President, Preston forced authority into his voice. Richters support was
making him combative. The current Phase Four satellite design is a different
technological platform from the original Phase One model. They are generations ahead
and equipped to-
They are not equipped to resist hackers. Hardin pressed his fingertips together
and spoke slowly. I receive more accurate and timely intelligence from little old ladies
in the desert. I have strangled the rebellion with no help from the satellites and would
just as soon let my air force use them for target practice. I will give you two weeks to
correct the security problem. If not, I will send you and your staff to the Western
Theater.
The satellites are still useful, Richter said. His voice became clearer as he
leaned closer to his speakerphone. Let Preston trace the security breach back to its
source. Maybe he can provide a pleasant surprise.

114
Doubt it. Nothing can undo the report from Ouray checkpoint that two men in a
blue sedan were permitted through. Tyler has Davis with him, Richter, and that dumb
ass manning the checkpoint let them through.
Richter and Preston were interrupted by a knock at their door.
Mister Richter, a distant voice said. Youre needed in Ops.
Richter shuffled his papers loudly and clicked the door shut behind him.
Well, Hardin spat. I guess were done. Two weeks, Preston.
Hardin slammed his fist on the disconnect button and the speakerphone fell
silent. He drank the last drops of whiskey, tossed the bottle near the trash, and
ordered his motorcade to depart. The crowd of dignitaries milling outside the museum
were clearly relieved.
As the limousine drove alongside the empty expanse of the Mall, Hardin admired
the spotlight glow of the Washington Monument. It was the first of the capitals ruined
monuments he had ordered rebuilt during his first term. There had been complaints, of
course, that the money could have been better spent or that he was trying to rebuild the
capital in his image. But the claims of historians that it was not quite right, not identical
to the one that crumbled in the riots following the embarrassing pullback from the Niger
Delta War five decades before, had at least sparked national curiosity. The nation
needed its glorious symbols, a fact the historians seemed to overlook even as they
celebrated the rebirth of their own museum.
The secure intercom chirped. It could be only one person.
Richter, Hardin said in a flat voice. Ive already made my decision about the

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satellites. This fuss over space debris is making me very unhappy.
Then I have something that will change your mood. Richter did not seem
bothered by Hardins demeanor. Ive uploaded a file to your tablet.
Hardin collected his electronic tablet from the seat and switched it on. The
screen flickered and the image of a note appeared. He read it and laughed.
How old is this information?
It was received in the New Mexican Military Governors office this afternoon, and
he immediately forwarded it to me via secure fax line.
You are confident that this note is referring to the same location you received a
tip on his morning?
Yes. Richter said. My source is reliable. The Little Old Lady in the Desert has
never failed me. A satellite pass of that location indicated suspicious activity. Cargo
trucks, and what appear to be depot areas beneath canvas covers. Not the sort of
equipment normally found at a cattle ranch. Scouts have just reported from the area
and confirmed it as a safehouse. The note from the Governors office confirms that
Tyler and Davis are there. The intelligence is authenticated, and we can act on your
orders. We have them, Mister President.
Hardin read the note again, then switched off his tablet.
Poor dumb Davis, along for the ride.
The satellites backed our intelligence up for once? Hardin chuckled. I may
very well reconsider their fate. Im surprised Preston did not offer this up in his defense,
very unlike a man who fears for his job. Be sure to thank The Little Old Lady in the

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Desert for me. Did you once refer to her as Athena?
Richter seemed surprised. I did, once, in the early days. It was the initial
codename.
Hardins limousine entered the gates of the White House. Athena is on our side,
then. The Goddess of War herself.
And wisdom, as well, Richter said. She was also the one to bring civilization to
mankind.
War is the way civilization is given to the world, Richter. The limousine rolled to
a stop beneath the north portico and Hardin straightened his uniform Have the chiefs
meet us in the War Room in ten minutes. Davis and Tyler dead or alive, Richter. End
it.
Circumstances have already transpired that may make the first choice less
desirable.
Oh? So be it. If they survive, then your plan of last resort has the green light. It
is in place?
Yes, but there are a few loose ends that need my personal and immediate
attention. I will need to depart once we have finalized the battle plans.
Very well, Hardin seized his electronic tablet and tucked it under his arm. You
would have enjoyed this evenings dedication. Lots of eggheads to pick on.
Richter chuckled. I will have my compensation soon enough.
A guard approached the limousine and opened Hardins door. Richter, he said
as he placed his finger over the disconnect button. When this is done, you can finally

117
come out of the shadows.
A low profile is necessary for my work. Ive worked behind the scenes since
Lake Maracaibo. I can wait a little longer.
Hardin ended the call and stepped out into the oppressive night air. Two rows of
guards snapped to attention.
Poor, dumb Davis. Im going to miss kicking you around.
Hardin leisurely ascended the stairs then crossed the entrance. A pair of guards
fell in behind him and they walked through a yellow torchlight cast by the atriums
hanging lanterns.

SEPTEMBER 4
BROKEN SADDLE RANCH
CLAYTON, NEW MEXI CO

Freeman awoke before sunrise, startled and confused by the unfamiliar
surroundings. His room was a cramped addition to the attic of the ranch hand quarters.
It was dusty, and smelled of leather, hay and sweat. Freeman rubbed his face and
swung his feet across the bed. The floor of his room was splintery and rough.
Freeman stretched the stiffness from his neck. A fresh newspaper lay neatly
folded below the window. He walked to it and read the date. Two-day-old news was
better than no news, even if every word was propaganda. A bird started his morning

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territorial songs, triggered by light spreading on the horizon. A pair of soldiers on
horseback trotted along a dusty ranch road.
The ranch was a safe harbor because everyone in this region hated the
Federals. The sympathizer maintained a herd of five thousand, and employed two
hundred cowboys, all of them Melioran. In return for this hospitality, the Meliorans
protected him from rustlers and other troublemakers. From any point of view, the
arrangement was perfect.
A patrol could scour the ranch on horseback, following any of the herds without
presenting the expected Melioran appearance. A Federal force could drive by the
soldiers and receive a tip of the hat as greeting. The soldiers would then flash a coded
message to another patrol several miles away, using lights and silent signals instead of
radios and monitored communication.
The message would pass from one team to another, working its way quickly to
the rider nearest the ranch. He would then deliver the message personally to his
commander. Travel time never exceeded five minutes, plenty of time to conceal the
troops before a Federal inspection. The method worked because the Feds never saw a
messenger galloping away, and never felt a need for suspicion.
A lone rider appeared on a nearby ridge and was soon engulfed in the sunrise.
Light splashed across the newspaper and Freeman snapped open the front page.
Large headlines praised the Federals for tightening the noose on murderous Melioran
rouges. Freeman laughed as he read the article, amused by the obvious
misinformation. His army was not responsible for destroying a century-old bridge

119
spanning the Missouri River. The Federals were not massing troops in Washington
State in preparation for a final campaign. Davis was certainly not spotted driving a
tanker across the Mojave Desert; he had not driven a car in thirty years.
Freeman finished the article and searched for the authors name. Rhonda Finch.
He recognized her instantly. She was on vacation in Idaho in the early summer of last
year, when an orienteering trip placed her on the edge of a Melioran bivouac. A poorly
muffled scream brought her to the attention of experienced snipers.
Rhonda screamed out her credentials, probably wishing she had taken a cruise
instead, as the soldiers knelt her down and placed their muzzles behind her head. Then
Freeman intervened. She quickly forgot the precious gift of extended life and
demanded an interview in exchange for not revealing their location. Freeman laughed
and granted her request on the spot. She presented an outlet to say the cause was
pure and not intended to harm his beloved nation.
She did not soften him with easy questions. The American people demand to
know why you sided with the Meliorans and helped instigate a violent rebellion.
Venomous interrogation was part of the tabloid mystique, so Freeman took the
question objectively. He folded his hands together, slouched into a comfortable
position, and told her the simple force driving him. Like Davis, he felt the trends no one
wanted to see.
The problems began early in the 21st Century, when national concern for less
government and low taxes led to budget cuts and a depleted military. The politicians
and the populace pretended their cuts made the nation stronger, until the Brazilian Wars

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came along and a famished, unstable country fighting with imported American
technology outwitted the worlds last superpower. The Federal government naturally
sought scapegoats.
The President blamed the states for hoarding too much power at the beginning of
the century. According to one-sided official reports, past policies that weakened federal
authority in favor of state power prevented the United States from subduing the
Brazilians. With fear of Third-World aggression rising, the United States rebuilt the
military, levied taxes and borrowed money from the states. No one objected to using
the new, stronger military to further the cause of democracy when the United States
invaded and occupied Brazil in 2048 to end that countrys bitter civil war.
Freemans eleventh-grade history teacher once concluded the Brazilian Wars
proved America could never nap. There was always some upstart nation eager to test
its power against the greatest country in the world. One of the radical punks in the back
of the room earned detention for asking what the occupations alleged atrocities proved
about America. Freeman booed the kid, but asked himself the same question not long
after receiving his first command.
In his position of authority, Freeman learned classified facts about the
occupation. The generals in charge of the operation each suffered some personal
humiliation or tragedy during the earlier war with Brazil. They had orders to enter Brazil
and eliminate rebels, but had no code of conduct. The classified files burst with
accounts of hostile actions by American soldiers, of Brazilians protesting American
atrocities, and of vindictive generals plotting to leave behind a wasted country.

121
Freemans army was a force of aggression and a show of strength to the world.
In the decades of political strain caused by the Brazilian experience, the army turned
into a force used against internal and external enemies alike. The cause of protecting
democracy, the mission of Freemans life, was a fraud.
Rhonda pressed on, looking for something sensational. She asked Freeman if
hed met President Hardin during the Lake Maracaibo War.
In fact, he said, containing a laugh at her ignorance. I served with him, and am
the reason he was discharged. The reasons are not well known, as they are damning
to Mister Hardins ambitions. Freeman leaned forward in his seat. Let me share them
with you.
Rhonda was at first suspicious, but she was also a lover of secrets. She wrote
furiously as Freeman began his story. The Lake Maracaibo War was the last in a long
line of wars for domination of upstart countries and control of the vital resources needed
to fuel Americas growth. The lake covered an oasis of oil that was not readily available
to American needs. So, in 2157, a war was declared, and fought bitterly for two years in
the jungles and Andean foothills of Venezuela.
Freeman and Hardin were both Colonels then, and fought together in several
engagements, including the final taking of Caracas that forced Venezuela to cede
autonomy to the United States. Hardin was installed as military governor, as he was
already showing a knack for political combat.
Then as now, Freeman told Rhonda. He demonstrated his barbaric nature.
Hardin controlled his Venezuelan enclave through threat, depopulation, torture

122
and execution. Freeman was ordered to take and raze a rebel stronghold as reprisal for
a car bombing that killed a dozen Americans. When it turned out to be a village of
women and children, he refused. Hardin ordered Freeman court-martialed, but did not
expect his mutinous underling to fight back. So many soldiers spoke on Freemans
behalf, and were willing to denounce Hardin for his crimes, that Freeman was
exonerated. But Hardin had bribed and manipulated enough of the right people to
protect himself from charges. Freeman was promoted to General and returned to the
United States, while Hardin was quietly discharged and became a Senator.
I watched in disgust as Hardin transformed himself and continued to grab for
power. I retired early rather than serve under his Presidency.
By then Rhonda had stopped writing. When the article was published, she would
only comment that Mister Tyler has no kind words for the President.
Rhonda unfolded her arms and clicked her pen. And what about Davis Keller?
Freeman met Davis five years after he returned from the war, at a social event
honoring freshman congressmen. He did not think much of Davis; the man had crazy
ideas about dark ages and governmental lack of vision. Freeman shook his hand
anyway, talked about meaningless trivia, and quietly began to forget the name Davis
Keller. As it turned out, they had many views in common.
Davis spent most of his senate terms promising to fix the United States, and went
to great lengths exposing the cracks beneath the surface. Freeman listened as Davis
fought his desperate battles, and felt the passion of bold insight. Freeman soon
understood that Davis vision reached far beyond the pettiness around him, and found

123
something to believe. The decision to join the Melioris Party was a very easy one to
make.
Everyone wants to know, she taunted, why an honorable man such as yourself
would have led the Melioris Party into open war after the coup attempt. Why didnt you
just order a stand down?
Freeman thought before answering. The truth he could not say. Henry Marek
had planned the coup, the defections, and the rebellion in total secrecy. It was only
through the accidental leak of a classified memo twelve hours before the coup that
Freeman realized what was about to happen. By then, he could not stop the storm from
breaking.
Freeman had gathered what details he could. He pieced together the list of
defecting military units by intimidating a frail young Melioran idealist who had lost his
nerve on the eve of the coup and stayed in Austin. This young man then spilled the
details of Henrys war strategy, a bold yet vague plan to sever West from East. Henry
expected to seize control of the vital agricultural area of the plains, seize the Mississippi
River, lay siege along the Appalachian Mountains, and force Hardin to rely on the
unfriendly Europeans for support. Henry believed six months would be enough time,
and that Hardin would be forced to abdicate in favor of Davis. It was obvious to
Freeman this plan was written by an academic.
Freeman tried to contact the rebel commanders, but they were already in
blackout, waiting to charge into battle at Henrys appointed hour. All he could do was
secure Davis, which he did at the last possible second, and try to establish some kind of

124
order. When he finally established contact and command over the rebel forces, Hardin
was already in pursuit. There was no choice but to modify Mareks battle plan and fight
for survival.
Freeman wanted to tell Rhonda he had been pulled into the commanders role by
circumstance, despite the appearance of his hand in what transpired that cold January
day. But that would cast weakness on what to that point was a successful campaign.
A cease-fire order would not appease the barbarians lust for battle, was how
he finally responded to Rhonda.
With the rhetoric dispensed, Rhondas questions turned personal. A patriot since
childhood, Freeman enlisted at eighteen. Advancement came rapidly because he just
seemed to grow respect in his back pocket. His superiors perceived him as a soldiers
officer with great potential to lead, and everyone under his command loved him. He
praised his troops often and corrected them with firm compassion.
The army assumed the role of family, and his soldiers were more like his children
then he would ever let them know. While he taught his men the value of discipline and
the rewards of service, they taught him the obligation of command. As he learned the
secrets of the 21st Century, the lure of battle seemed less appealing. He could not ask
them to do what he would not, to sacrifice themselves on a lost cause.
Freeman folded the newspaper and tossed it to the floor. He kept a copy of that
interview in his shirt pocket, and it often entered his mind. He wondered if his answers
to those demanding questions would be the same. So much had changed after the
assault on Fort Hope. So much had been betrayed.

125
The soldier on the ridge turned and galloped toward the ranchhand house. A
moment later he dismounted and rushed into the building. A fist pounded anxiously at
the door. Freeman turned around slowly.
Enter.
The door opened. A young lieutenant stepped into the room and saluted his
general. Freeman responded in kind. This lad was just too young.
Sir, scouts report a Federal squadron approaching from the east. Theyll be
here in one hour.
Whats their strength?
The scouts counted fifty grunts plus three tanks, sir.
Larger than the usual strike force, more than I expected. They must have
reports of our presence. Wake the men; tell them to prepare for evac. Have you told
Mister Keller?
No sir. Hes still asleep.
Good. Ill inform him. Carry out your orders.
Yes sir.
The lieutenant saluted and shut the door behind him. Freeman pressed his palm
against the folded paper in his chest pocket and listened to life erupting beneath the
rising sun.


126

SOUTH COLLEGE APARTMENTS
AUSTI N, TEXAS

John Fallon wheezed as he climbed the steps to the dilapidated apartment he
shared with three other junkies. He dropped his copy of the morning newspaper onto
the pile of recent newspapers by the door and fumbled for his keys. That dumb reporter
never printed his story, not in any of the last four papers. Did she think he made up the
story? John cursed for his missing keys, then remembered how no one ever locked the
door. He pushed the door open and stepped into the darkness.
The curtains were drawn, but a sickly yellow light filtered through the living room.
Trash, bottles, and syringes littered the table, the floor and the dirty futon. The
television was on, but his buddies were gone. He shuffled into the kitchen and rifled
through a few drawers. All the stashes were gone. It had been a week and a half since
his last anything. That was too long.
The floor creaked beneath Johns feet as he entered the bedroom. If he was
lucky, his buddies hadnt raided the hoard he kept under the mattress.
A big shadow moved out of the corner. A forceful man knocked him onto the
bed. Two other shapes floated out of the bathroom. There was a rip-thwack of duct
tape and John tried to fight.
Track marks on his arm. The force holding him down had a voice; a deep,
angry, deliberate voice.
Im clean! I swear! I swear! Not in a week, man!

127
The forceful man pulled Johns arm out across the bed.
Im disappointed in you, John. One of the men from the corner spoke. This
man reached over and flicked a light switch. John struggled harder.
Its you! Richter? Richter? No Johns voice trailed off and he slumped
against the forceful man pinning him down. The resemblance was terrifying. No!
Youre m-
The third man forced the duct tape over Johns mouth. John was too stunned to
fight.
John, Richter said. You spoke to a reporter. She told me all about it. That
was stupid John. She was one of my agents. You could have screwed up all sorts of
things. But you didnt.
Richter snapped his fingers and the third man produced a syringe. It was big,
much too big. John struggled, but he could not break free. The needle pierced his arm
and he felt the drugs burn his blood.
Im glad, though, Richter said as the room began to spin. Im glad it was you
who snitched. Youre the most expendable of all. I would have hated to do this to one
of the others. Ive got places to go now, John. Just thought Id stop by and say
farewell.
The burning spread quickly, then faded into a cool and pleasant haze. The
weight holding John down seemed to evaporate and he no longer cared. What a gift.
Sound ended. The room went black.
At least I didnt tell the reporter about Inacio.

128

BROKEN SADDLE RANCH

Everything evolves, Davis told the audience at the presidential debate.
Creatures evolve. Ideas evolve. Nations evolve. We, as a culture, evolve. Evolution
is complex. There must be losers, or there could be no winners. I say to you tonight,
that we can all be winners. If you are prepared to witness the birth of a new nation, an
evolved nation. A nation which cannot fail.
Davis stood in front of his podium. The crowd at the presidential debate pulsed
with excitement and shouted his name. Hardin tucked his face behind his hand and
turned away.
All you must do is turn away from them. Together, we shall guide our newborn
nation to the future, not the past. Together, we shall never fear again.
He walked to the edge of the stage. The people reached for him.
This I swear to you. Not because I have evolved emotionally, but because I
have evolved my humanity.
Silence.
Davis was confused. This was not the response. The people cheered for him,
called for him, bonded at that instant to the great vision.
Silence.

129
The audience evaporated. Pounding at the doors. Hinges popped in thunderous
unison. Davis shivered for warmth and clasped his hands together. Something
unstoppable poured into the auditorium. Color and texture vanished. Thunderous
decay replaced jubilant applause. Darkness spilled into the aisles and pooled at Davis
feet.
The Dark Age.
A light pressure to the arm woke Davis. He mumbled about the fading horror of
his dream and squinted his eyes. Golden rays pierced through the holes of a badly
woven curtain, casting spots on the walls. Davis rubbed his eyes and sat up, alerted to
Freemans presence by the desiccation in his voice. The sad droop on his friends face
restored memories of failure, and Davis expected bad news to come from this visit.
Freeman bolted from the room before Davis comprehended the warning,
stumbled out of bed and pulled clothes over his chilled skin. Dust on the mirror glowed
in the sunlight. Davis brushed the glass clean and watched his pupils dilate. Combat
never felt so close as in this last week.
Davis submerged his hands into the water dish on the dresser and splashed the
sweat from his face. Calm returned quickly as he sorted his thoughts. His destiny was
not to die here; victory was inevitable. Light faded from his reflection and Davis admired
the confident man always lurking in the shadows.
Davis stepped from the house into the final stages of evacuation. The soldiers
stopped and listened to his quick inspirational speech about saving the fight until the
advantage was theirs. He wasted little time in elaboration. The Federals were now a

130
half-hour away.
Freeman shouted for the men to load into their revving vehicles. Davis claimed
the passenger seat of a converted produce truck in the middle of the convoy. Freeman
leaned out of the lead vehicle and motioned for the trucks to proceed westward. The
caravan dispersed within five minutes.
The lack of cover in the grasslands concerned Davis. No trees dotted the plain,
and the road was one of a few in the area. While the trucks hid beneath the camouflage
of commercial vehicles, a procession of twenty trucks traversing this sparsely populated
land would not go unrecognized.
Davis relaxed after forty minutes of hard driving and thought about where to go
next. The plan was to stay together until Raton, then split up, take separate routes, and
regroup at a saferanch in Santa Fe within four days. The sympathizers there were old
friends with deep grudges toward Hardin. A chance to recuperate in a friendly city was
a rare diversion. Davis watched the landscape through the drivers side window.
Massive volcanic hulks rising from the earth hinted at a violent past. A flock of birds
hung effortlessly above the horizon.
Sir? The young driver spoke with a quiver in his voice. Sir, the rest of the
caravan is speeding up. Im not sure I can keep up with them. This truck wont go over
sixty.
A burst of static from the radio broke the tranquility of the morning.
We--spo--lico--and are hea-
Davis recognized Freemans voice and worried silently; Freeman requested radio

131
silence. He picked up the mouthpiece.
One, this is eleven. Repeat.
The radio crackled. -surro--esta--on volc-
The vehicles in the rear swerved around and drove on the wrong side of the
road. The forward trucks sped up, and bits and pieces of their camouflage littered the
road. The lead vehicle broke through a fence to get off the road and kicked up a cloud
of dust. Other trucks followed, and soldiers hiding in the beds raised their weapons.
Davis and his driver looked at each other as the caravan broke apart.
Sir? A touch of fear entered his drivers voice.
I dont know what Freeman is up to. Davis talked into the mouthpiece. One.
What is going on?
One word broke through the static.
-trap!
Blood drained from Davis face. His senses detected threatening sounds; jets
rumbling far overhead; trucks roaring as they panicked for cover; his drivers breathing
growing shallow and quick; subtle thumping sounds delivered to his ears on the wind.
The flock of birds so casually dismissed minutes before seized his attention. The
unmistakable shapes of thin and deadly attack helicopters reflected sun from their
metallic skins as they turned and readied to strike. The patrol that flushed his army
from the ranch now herded them toward the real danger.
Freeman was right.
This was a trap.

132

H.J . MULLER EXPERI MENTAL SCI ENCES BUI LDI NG
AUSTI N, TEXAS

Doctor Thomas Wayne was a middle-aged, graying man lodged firmly in his mid-
life crisis. A divorce years ago permanently damaged his ego and turned him from a
reclusive intellectual to a fashion-conscious pleasure-freak. A research trip deep into
the Brazilian Carnival enlightened him to Sabinas nationality. Six months did not cool
his flames. He found her in the lab office and leaned against the doorway. She
continued grading quizzes and screamed silently as he laid down one smooth line after
another.
So, Ill bet youre glad to be back in America, huh?
Well, she said, the solitude I found in the forest is very peaceful. But, yes, Im
glad to be back. I have a lot of research to finish.
Oh, come on now. You cant spend all your life locked up in the lab. That sort
of thing cost me my marriage. On the other hand, now I have more time to play. What
do you know? Spending time in the lab makes you playful! Maybe you should spend
more time in the lab. Just let me know if you need any help.
He leaned closer, revealing a greasy mass of hair clinging to his artificially
tanned chest. His repulsive, infamous cologne swelled Sabinas throat linings. A

133
sneaker squeaked down the hall. She leaned over enough to see Inacio stalking toward
the office, and bit her lip to keep from sharing his grin. Doctor Wayne finished his
proposal. Inacio crept beside him.
Hows the stud business?
Doctor Wayne jumped and spun around.
Oh, hello Inacio. I was just chatting with your sister.
I dont have a problem with that. Inacio entered the office, brushing Doctor
Wayne before taking a seat.
Well, Sabina, Ill talk to you later. Doctor Wayne scurried away.
Oh, thank you Inacio! He makes me want to retch!
Inacio laughed. I told you hed use up Cassie. Theres probably an opening for
the intro genetics course. If youre connected properly, that is.
Oh, shut up! What that man needs is a mother to pull on his ear once in a
while.
Its not his ear he wants pulled, and he doesnt want a mother. He wants you.
But why? Sabina sprayed air freshener into the lingering cologne cloud. What
would I want with him? Hes so much older, and hes already going gray! The men in
Campoalmas dont go through that until they pass sixty.
You never should have told him to visit Rio. Now he has a taste for Brazilian
women. You brought this on yourself.
Inacio always enjoyed his encounters with Doctor Wayne; implying threat made
him smile, even during the worst moments of the past years. Sabina noticed more

134
skinny grins in her brother, even when he had no apparent reason to feel happy. His
life must feel normal again, with his advisors praising his excellent work and his sister
back in his life.
Well, Im glad youre here, Sabina said. Thanks for chasing him off.
Inacio chuckled. My pleasure. Did I just screw you out of your thesis grade?
Sabina shook her head. Doubt it. Its behind schedule, and I cant complete my
experiments until the electron microscope is repaired. Plus, the hooded benches arent
working. I could vent bacteria back into the lab and infect us all. Im thinking of
switching to a new topic, but thanks to you, Ill have to work twice as hard to get Doctor
Waynes permission.
Inacio ignored the jab. How long have you been working on this thesis? Arent
you close to finishing?
Almost. I stopped last fall because of the pregnancy. I got as far as infecting
the bacteria with viral DNA before freezing the experiment. I wanted to come back to it
in the spring, but I never got any farther than that.
Inacio looked concerned. Youre not working with those mutated cancer cells,
are you?
Oh, no! Sabina knew the incident to which Inacio referred; it was famous
among many medical researchers. Those scientists used engineered cancer cells to
provoke cancer fighting antibodies in mice. They got sloppy with the viral RNA during
the engineering process, and had to kill three hundred lab mice when the cancer spread
to mice not involved in the experiments. They created a viral cancer! Can you believe

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that? None of that mess for me. Im just using viral bodies to insert genes into bacterial
chromosomes. I have to say, though, Im having a hard time doing that. This field was
successful until about halfway through the last century, then no more papers were
published. Its like everyone just gave up on the field. Not many people have
conducted research since then, and Im having to feel my way around in the dark
because no one made it as far as I have. She sighed. Genetic medicine may have
been a bad specialization choice. You Anthropologists have it so easy.
Inacio snorted. Humph! I just spent the last two days sifting through musty
papers and dirty old pots! I hope Doctor Lewis appreciates all my free help. Its not my
fault she agreed to write a textbook during her field research in the Andes. This is the
dullest crap Ive ever done. Inacio slurped his drink and pulled a thick notebook from
his backpack. At least I get paid.
A note slipped out from the notebooks front cover. He unfolded it, read it and
laughed. Sabina suspected Doctor Lewis must have written another plea for his help.
She possessed the remarkable ability to dump last minute projects into Inacios lap,
assuming he would welcome the distraction. He was not so welcoming this time.
Perhaps his Melioran past was not so heavy. Perhaps now, if the subject felt
comfortable, he would talk.
You know, she said. I was thinking the other day about Coach Walthrip. Do
you talk to him anymore?
Not since they kicked me out of the department. He was a nice guy, wasnt he?
Even though he gave the basketball scholarship that brought me here?

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He was a very funny man. When he visited our village, I thought he was the
strangest person Id ever seen.
Well, he wasnt exactly prepared for what he would find, Inacio said as he
placed his drink on the table. He fell into the head recruiters position and wanted to
make a big impression. He needed to beef up the entire athletic department, so he
went all over the place looking for talent. He followed every rumor, no matter where it
took him.
Thats what led him to us. He attended one of those lectures you like and
learned some of the Brazilian high-level strategists and tough foot soldiers came from
our region of the forest. He jumped out of his seat, all excited about the possibility of
good athletes, and interrupted the speaker with all the commotion he made.
Inacio laughed. Yeah. He hopped on the first flight to Brazil. Then he had to
wait for his assistants to arrive because he forgot his passport and recruiting papers in
his office. The guy was unbelievable.
Sabina leaned back in her chair. Everyone told him to waste no time on those
jungle people. Everyone told him we were slow to learn, slow to grow, and didnt even
reach puberty until about fifteen. Someone else told him that we were always five
physical years behind the other children. Im glad he didnt listen to those stories. I
mean, to a degree, they are true. We are slow to develop physically, but thats probably
just poor nutrition. People just assumed that if we were slow to develop physically, that
we were slow to develop mentally.
Yeah, Inacio responded, too many people believe those stories. It was just too

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bad I couldnt play basketball well enough to shut everyone up. Just because Im tall
doesnt mean Im a natural.
There was a pause as Sabina wondered what to say next. Inacio, rather than
falling into silence, leaned forward and changed the subject.
So what are you thinking of switching to? Your thesis?
Sabina blushed with surprise and collected her thoughts. She wondered how
much to tell him, but decided to leave herself out of the list of reasons for changing.
When I was home, there were two infant deaths in the village up the river. I
thought I might try to tie the high infant mortality rate in our regionsixty percent for
Mama and Papa-to some type of environmental contaminant, something mutigenic.
Inacio stroked his chin. Something left behind from the Brazilian Wars, maybe?
I told you something odd happened during the occupation stage of the war. Someone
probably used our ancestors as guinea pigs.
Sabina shook her head. I dont think anything that sinister happened. I just
suspect that with all the chemical weapons used, the defoliants, the overall secrecy and
loss of records from that era, there was probably a nasty mix of chemicals in the soils
and water when our ancestors resettled the region.
That could be, Inacio said. The histories Sapa used to tell could be a clue.
When the village was resettled after the wars, the land was barren. There were no
trees, the soil was heavily cratered, the water was black and foamy, the roving armies
and mercenaries had consumed every crop and cow for hundreds of miles. All the
people who lived there before the wars were gone. But the ancestors could feel them,

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so they named the place Campo des Almas. The Field of Souls. Ill bet you never
shared that with the tourists.
No, Sabina said. I never explained the name Campoalmas, and no one ever
asked. Sapa did tell them about the haunted forest.
Now that storys hard to believe. Disease rates can be rampant in the jungle
preserves that survived the wars, but spirits possessing people who wander in? They
got encephalitis from mosquitoes. Every one of them got encephalitis.
Sabina raised her finger. Or they were contaminated by toxins in the soil or
water. Im hopeful I can get Paulino to pull strings and have someone ship some soil
samples to me. Before I left, I convinced a few of the villagers to go get a genetic
sample taken and sent to me as well. She decided to leave out the part about Bellisas
genetic sample, and that hers would be the first studied.
Inacio pressed the backrest as far as it would go. What a project! Let me know
if I can help. I always felt bad for Mama and Papa. I always felt bad for everyone. He
folded his arms over his head and whistled softly. A sparkle lit his eyes. Sabina saw
her chance.
Inacio, Im worried about you. Mama, Papa, Sapa; theyre all worried about
you.
He looked at her suspiciously, and Sabina doubted her timing. After a few
moments of silence, he spoke.
Whys that?
Well, youve spent so much time alone since Bellisa died and Brennan left. You

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wont talk about how you feel, but I can tell you hurt. She rolled her chair in front of him
and blocked the escape. Thats never a good thing to do.
Inacio picked up his soda and sucked nervously on the straw. A wary smile
spread across his face.
I feel fine.
Inacio, I dont believe you. Mama said you used to be a happy kid, but youve
just kept getting worse for as long as Ive known you. She grabbed his hand.
Lifes been rough.
Inacio, I need you to come back. I need for you to be the way you used to be
when I first came here. Dont you remember how much fun we used to have? I know
you feel guilty about what happened, but you dont have to anymore. Im ready to move
on. I need you to come with me.
Inacio took a long breath and released it very slowly. His eyes opened to her,
something she never expected to happen again.
I dont really know where wed go. He pushed the notebook away. Sometimes
I wonder if theres any point to finishing all of this.
Of course there is. Thats when we can start over. You finish your Ph. D. this
year; I get my degree next year. We can go back home and start over.
Inacio sighed. Ive put too much into this place to go back to Campoalmas. I
want to stay.
You said it yourself. The Americans dont care for you. You know they dont
want you here. Come home with me.

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I cant. Im not finished here. I, I like the life I have. Maybe I could go west and
get a university position. I could start over in America, if
Inacio trailed off as he wiped his eyes. Sabina rubbed his hand and smiled. This
was the opening she wanted. Inacio radiated embarrassment but did not flee.
If? Sabina touched his cheek. If only they gave a damn about you the way we
do?
Yeah. If only my past didnt matter. Inacio held back his tears. If only those
damn Meliorans hadnt ruined everything. If only I knew better. If only I wasnt so
fucking stupid.
Its not your fault, Inacio.
No, its not. Not entirely. I want so much for things to be as they were, when I
was fresh from the jungle and thought life was finally good. I dont believe things can
ever go back to the way they were, no matter where we go. There cant be anything for
me, not so long as Meliorans still exist. Im doomed until my past is dead and buried.
Inacio looked into Sabinas eyes again and pleaded for hope. She remembered
something Sapa asked her.
Inacio, when I was home, we talked about you, Sapa and I. He told me you feel
more than just bad for everyone. He thinks youre frustrations are a confused pride.
Pride? Inacio raised his eyebrows. Pride? We could have been so much
more. Maybe its shame.
No. Pride and powerlessness. She rummaged through her purse. You did
something after the whole road project fiasco, when you almost got killed? Sapa

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wouldnt tell me what it was, but he said he realized how much you loved home after he
talked to you, and how he should have listened instead of trying to teach you. Sabina
pulled out a scratched computer disk and showed it to Inacio.
Sapa said I should ask you about this, about what was said between the two of
you.
Inacio snatched the disk from her. This is what almost got me killed. Sapa
thinks its a sign of love for home?
I guess. What did you say to each other?
Inacio sat quietly, rolling the disk between his fingers. His eyes seemed to water
for a moment, and then he slumped forward and let out a long sigh. Crazy old man,
he said with a hint of respect to the tone of his voice.
Sabina listened intently when he finally slipped into his story. Maybe if Papa
had been chosen to work with me that day, it wouldnt have happened. But it did. I beat
the assistant, almost got shot, and yet escaped with my life and my name. I walked all
night with this stupid disk, thinking I might do something with it. I wondered what my
friends told Papa when they got off the truck and I didnt. I got home at dawn

* * *

Inacio snuck into his shadowy hut. Sapa greeted him.
Inacio, he said calmly. Sit.
Inacio paced then sat by the exit. Sapa hummed a traditional chant for the

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ancestors, signaling the story to come. Inacio sighed and prepared to listen.
The Payaruna were born in the mountains, Sapa began, in the fertile valleys of
plenty. They were given an appreciation for the balance of life, and a respect for all
living things. The Nauparuna came one day, wandering into the valleys, looking for
food and homes. They were accepted immediately, because the Payaruna knew no
other way but respect.
But hundreds of generations passed, and the Nauparuna never felt a part of the
Payaruna and their ways. The Nauparuna saw themselves as different from the
Payaruna, and the tribes separated. The division between them grew, and the
Nauparuna fell to temptation. A cunning new tribe appeared in the mountains. They
called themselves Inca. The Nauparuna saw them to be a good match, and ran away to
be with this tribe, leaving the Payaruna behind.
Over time this new tribe built an empire. Only when this empire was
unquestionable, did the Payaruna join it. Because the Nauparuna helped the new tribe
create their glorious empire, they reaped great rewards. The Payaruna chose to live as
they always had.
Then one day the empire fell. The conquerors came from the other side of the
world with strange weapons and rules of war. The Nauparuna fought and were
scattered to oblivion. Decaying ruins are now their only legacy.
For the Payaruna, living in peace became the only way to survive. Conquerors
would come and go, forcing new ways of life and ideas upon them. But they were alive,
remembered in flesh, not stone.

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We are their children, Inacio. Would you have asked them to fight and die,
insuring you would never be born? Our way of life is not important. That we live is
important.
Sapa picked a sharp stone tool from his pouch and sliced a thin layer of bark
from a branch.
How often has the Payaruna legend changed to suit our conquerors? Inacio
sighed, resuming when Sapa ceased his carving. How many more times will it
change? We submit so quickly. The Spanish. The Portuguese. Christianity. The
Brazilians. The Americans. They conquered us without a fight. Sapa, when I hear this
story, I hear that our greatest days are in the past. Why should we live that way?
If you challenge the boss, you may not live at all.
He is another conqueror. He steals our money and works us beyond
exhaustion. Inacio pulled the disk from his pocket. But at least he can be beaten.
Theres proof on this of his corruption.
Sapa looked at the disk and whittled furiously for several minutes. Even if we
exposed him, he will be replaced by a duplicate. Our treachery will be known, we will
be passed over for work and the road will be built without us. It is best to forget handing
that disk over to his competitors; no good will come of it. Sapa placed the branch and
carving stone on the ground. He waited for Inacios expression to improve; after a few
minutes he slumped his shoulders and spoke anyway.
You have a good life here.
Inacio stood and stared at the disk. I cannot just surrender. Doesnt that

144
cheapen the life the Payaruna valued over everything else? He flipped the disk in his
hand then handed it to Sapa. Honor the ancestors as you see fit.

* * *

Inacio wiped away a tear from his cheek. All I ever heard was we have a good
life here. I heard it so much I didnt believe it. It was like everyone was trying to
convince themselves, not me. Id hoped Sapa would take that disk and ream the road
boss, really tear him up. I hoped Id make things better.
You did. Sabina leaned in. Sapa gave the disk to Paulino. Paulino read the
contents and picked up on the pay scam, and a few others. You remember the rest of
story. She seized his hand and resisted his attempt to pull free. You made things
better for Campoalmas. When were done here, lets go home. You can have a good
life there; better than anything youll have here.
Inacio looked away but did not protest.
Urgent footsteps approached. Sabina turned around as one of her students
burst into the office.
Miss Alvaro! Have you heard yet? They found Keller! The Feds have found
Keller!
He ran out of the office, shouting the news to everyone he found. The hallways
filled with noise as people hurried to leave the building.
Inacio, I dont believe it! Did you-

145
Sabinas hopes collapsed the instant she turned around. Inacio smiled viciously,
his animal strength growing as he clamped his hands tightly around hers. She yelped
and pulled away.
I guess we should make our way over to a television. This could be an
important event.
Inacio burst from the office, leaving Sabina behind to overcome her frustration.
She slammed her chair beneath the desk, closed the door and jogged to catch him.
They walked to the Student Union in silence. Inacios grin destroyed all chance of
conversation. The television room felt hot and stuffy as people pressed in to witness
the breaking news.
Sabina stole a seat and grabbed Inacios arm. He did not seem to notice her
anymore, despite her attempt to gain his attention. She called his name, but he was
deaf to her needs. His anger hardened within, returning his face to the stony mask he
wore the day she left for Campoalmas.
Just when he was ready for her help, the old life returned.
Inacio focused greedily on the television, waiting impatiently for scenes of a
bloody Davis Keller. The thin new bond pulling brother and sister together had
snapped. Sabina could only clench the cold knot in her stomach and watch him drift
away again.


146
SI ERRA MADRE VOLCANO
NORTHEASTERN NEW MEXI CO

The helicopters charged in unison. Explosions and smoke engulfed the forward
trucks. The attack made Davis jump. His driver screamed and crashed though a fence.
Davis ducked as part of the wooden post smashed the windshield. When he looked up,
the helicopters completed a slow, confident turn to the left, toward him.
Oh my God! Oh my God! The driver swerved the truck again. Theyre going
to kill us!
Davis mouth dropped when puffs of smoke rose from the rocket launcher.
Explosions drowned out all other sound. The concussion wave and clumps of earth
bombarded him through the window before he could close his eyes.
The truck flipped effortlessly in the air. Explosions and thumping blades echoed
somewhere in the distance. The truck slammed into the ground and his window
shattered. A heavy weight fell against him, pressing his face into the clumpy soil.
Grass tickled his cheek. A warm liquid trickled down his neck. Davis opened his eyes
and found himself staring at the dead driver. He shoved the body away.
Unseen helicopters swirled around him. The sound of gunfire was intense and
close. A rapid firing of rockets ended with a torrent of explosions. The ground
shuddered beneath him and the helicopter strafed the ground. The ground erupted as
bullets punctured the soil. Screams were replaced by footsteps, gunfire and shouting.
A hiss of rocket propulsion sounded above the truck and Davis prepared himself to die.
Metal groaned and ripped apart; shattered glass tinkled against the truck; an expanding

147
ball of flame thrust him down.
The chaos was not his. Through the cracked windshield, Davis watched the
helicopter arc toward the grass. It came to rest barely a hundred feet away; its brilliant
pyre celebrated by the men surrounding Davis truck.
Keller!
His soldiers turned the truck back on its side and ripped away the door. Davis
fell out onto his hands and knees and vomited into the grass.
Mister Keller! Are you hurt?
Davis sat up and relished the smell of air.
I think Ill live.
Four trucks burned while the others drove madly around the battlefield. A rocket
launched from the back of a truck and headed into the sun. A dull rumble spilled across
the field, and a black ball of metal plunged from the sky.
Mister Keller, we need to get back to our trucks. The Feds are going to catch us
from behind if we stay here much longer.
Davis limped to one of the vehicles and stared at the wreckage of his own. The
missile that flipped his truck exploded in the ground a few meters from the rear axle.
His driver took the brunt of the weapon when shrapnel tore through the truck. The boy
died instantly, while Davis received three shallow gashes.
General Tyler wants us to regroup and dig in at the summit of the closest
volcano over there.
Davis raised his eyebrows. Freemans alive?

148
Yes sir. The first attack took out trucks three, four, five and six.
The remaining helicopter sputtered westward, smoke pouring from its side. It
burst into flames and plunged into the side of the same volcano Freeman wanted to
scale. A pillar of thick gray smoke blossomed into the sky to guide the Federal troops.
A cloud of dust on the western horizon confirmed the battle was not finished.
The decimated caravan struggled up the gently slopping flanks of the volcano.
Gullies and deep etchings from millions of years of rain and wind made the thousand-
foot climb treacherous. They reached the top after a half-hour and the trucks quickly
drained of men and equipment. Artillery shells detonated below them. Even the
abundant shrubs would not provide adequate cover.
Freeman ordered the trucks driven down the dirt roads and tipped over to serve
as roadblocks. The patrol that found them this morning charged up the volcano. An
even larger force approached from the west as a curved front, the mass of tanks and
armored transports rushing to encircle the base of the volcano. The crackle of machine
gun fire and rumble of tank gun shells increased.
Freeman crouched beside Davis. He took a long look at the armada and spoke
in a slow, flat voice.
The patrol we encountered this morning is advancing up the east flank, but
slowly. Their tanks wont make it past the roadblocks. The rugged terrain is slowing the
enemy down, but we are most likely already in range of their weapons.
This does not look promising.
An artillery shell exploded dangerously close. Freeman ran off and began

149
barking orders. Gunfire erupted around Davis, and very quickly he found himself
crouching behind a bush. Bullets bounced dust into the air. Twigs snapped and
stabbed his back. Davis closed his eyes and wished the volcano was still active. A
flood of hot lava would solve this.
Artillery shells rained from the sky. Davis was certain the voices he heard were
victorious Federals coming to kill him. He felt strong hands pull him away from the bush
and drag him through the scrubby grasses and hard earth. Another explosion blew the
bush apart just as he opened his eyes to see it happen.
Davis scampered past dead and maimed bodies, crawled on his belly through a
bloody mud, and breathed in a foul mix of powder and rot. He crawled behind a boulder
just as a rocket hissed over his head. A tank drove into the missile and exploded.
You old fool! Freeman said as he fell beside Davis. You should know a bush
has plenty of holes for bullets. Standing up would have gotten you better cover.
Davis raised his head to see his friend smiling at him. A small trickle of blood ran
down Freemans face. Rockets fired and became shrieking explosions. Gunfire
erupted from Melioran weapons.
I had to let the Federals get cocky. We offered such little resistance at first that
they charged all their tanks right up to the barricades so they could all get in hits. Hold
on. Freeman pulled out his radio. Let the foot soldiers go. Keep shooting to make
sure they dont come back, but waste no more ammunition than you have to.
Copy. The gunfire diminished.
The Federals sent that patrol up here for no good reason. Freemans face

150
stretched long and filled with worry. They could have killed us off with those
helicopters or even with those tanks if they hadnt driven them so close.
Davis rolled over on his back. So how bad off are we?
Twenty-six dead, ten wounded. We lost a lot of equipment during the helicopter
strike, including a whole load of rockets. We spent five of them shooting down those
choppers, and three for the tanks. Weve got three left. Theres at least three dozen
armored vehicles running circles down below. I wouldnt be surprised if more
helicopters show up soon. Theres not much ammunition left either, probably enough
for a good hour of gunplay.
Thats not good. Has the main force started their charge yet?
No, theyre just surrounding us now. Davis, they could take us very easily if they
want to.
Weve escaped plenty of traps before. Davis rolled over and watched the
Federal force close the circle around the volcano. I have no doubt we will be
victorious. We must succeed, and we will succeed. The Melioris Rebellion is far too
important to give up, even in the face of defeat.
Freeman leaned against the boulder and looked toward the growing Federal
mass. A soldier appeared over the ridge and ran toward them.
General Tyler, sir! I think you should take a look at this!
They walked to the soldier. He led them to the summit, where most of the
wounded lay under shade trees. The radio operator kneeled on the ground, scanning
for information.

151
Sir, Jones and I were looking and listening for signs of reinforcements when I
thought I saw metal reflecting in the sun. So I looked through my binoculars and
confirmed several trucks, only these werent military trucks. See that volcanic cone over
there? Thats were I saw it. Its Mount Capulin, the national monument. Theres a
parking lot and a paved trail up on the rim of the volcano. Take a look.
Freeman stared through the binoculars and sighed. How long have they been
there, soldier?
I just found them about ten minutes ago. It takes about ten minutes to get to the
top, then they would have to set up their equipment. Not to mention the time it takes to
get here once they got word the battle started. Id have to say they were there before
we started climbing this volcano, sir.
What are you talking about? Davis asked. Whats over there?
Freeman spoke. Television trucks. And theyve got a real nice view of the
action.
I confirmed that right after Gilleti told me what he saw, Jones responded. I
intercepted three news feeds, and theyre definitely here because of us. He pulled out
a small, flat screen from his gear pack and turned it on.
After I picked up the radio signals, I turned this on. Jones handed the screen to
Freeman. Just push that button in the corner to change channels. Youll see were on
every station.
Davis crowded beside Freeman as Jones continued. Theyre live and
everything. Theyve even shown recorded footage of the helicopter strike. They must

152
have been there before we even knew what was about to happen.
Freeman shook his head. The Federals tipped them off. Hell, the only reason
they sent those soldiers up after us was so that the world could see how the Meliorans
kill Americas sons. Damn!
Exploding tanks and retreating soldiers filled the television screen. Freeman
looked through his binoculars.
I see more news trucks in the distance. The Federals could easily stop them, if
they wanted to. So I dont think they want to. His binoculars fell limply around his
neck. Jones, tell the others to make camp below the summit. I want patrols along the
barricades, watching every move the Federals make. I want snipers set up wherever
possible. I want reports every half hour. And keep that television on. I dont care what
station.
Yes sir.
Freeman walked to Davis and spoke softly. I dont think the Federals are going
to attack us anytime soon.
What makes you say that?
Theres not enough media presence yet. The Federals want the whole world to
see us in defeat. Four or five news trucks wont cut it. We can use them also, to do our
reconnaissance for us. Ill bet they allow the media to accurately present their strength
and determination. When the Feds make any kind of move, the reporters will tell it to
the world. Everyone in the country will be watching, and the Federals will want to put on
a good show of strength.

153
Can we talk to them? What the Federals are saying has to be one sided.
Im sure it is. But if they catch us making transmissions, the Federals could
decide to attack early. We should just lay low and stay out of camera range for now.
The media will concentrate on the Federals if they cant see us. Lets hope they act
rudely.
Davis agreed and sought the shade of a large boulder. He could do nothing
except wait as the day passed uneventfully into night. Lights flickered in every direction,
from the burning lamps of the Federal camp, to the camera lights strung along the side
of Mt. Capulin, to the indifferent stars glowing cold in the black sky.
The Federals broke the darkness with spotlights, illuminating the wrecks of
helicopter and tanks for cameras to see. Davis dismissed the spinning lights as mere
distress signals, a display of desperation and fear. Fear was motivation for every
Federal action. Hardin turned the rebellion into an evolutionary battle raging for
supremacy over humanity. To him, there could be only one outcome: the extinction of
one species in favor of another. How convenient for Hardin, that fighting under the
premise of survival calmed his fear of losing power.
Davis sighed and listened to the dull buzz from the camp. A place existed for
everyone in the society yet to be, from the unborn children to the soldiers patrolling the
foot of the volcano. They were all welcome to join his perfect world, one free of tyranny
and darkness, if only they would hear his message shouted with the firing of every
Federal gun. Davis easily fell asleep.


154
* * *

He scaled the capitol building steps in triumph, the people cheering him as the
Dark Age faded into history. He stopped before Hardin; the Presidential power
exchanged through tightly clasped hands. Hardin dropped to his knees and wept at
Davis feet.
The smell of coffee washed the illusion away.
Davis, its time to get up.
Freeman crouched down and placed a cup beside Davis head. Davis sat up and
stretched, feeling very energetic.
Any developments, Freeman?
Theres not a single inch of road that doesnt have a news truck on it. About four
this morning, another armored cavalry division showed up.
I see.
Theyve made no indication they plan to attack, but Im sure it will happen today.
When they come, it will be unanimous, and overwhelming.
There is a way out of here for us, Im sure of it.
Id like to hear it, if you have any ideas.
I dont at the moment. But give me time.
He and Freeman approached Jones. A television reporter described the
situation as Jones laughed.
Good morning, Sirs.

155
Freeman spoke. Private, why dont you fill Mister Keller in on the recent events
while I grab my breakfast?
Yes sir.
Davis sat down beside him. Give me the news.
Just like General Tyler thought, the media havent been able to keep their
cameras off the Federals. Not much happened though, until the reinforcements arrived.
They broke down a big section of fence to get into the field. A herd of cattle nearby
panicked and ran through the opening. The rancher came out not too long after that
and raised hell with the General about his cows. I think at that point they arrested him,
or at least detained him in one of the personnel vehicles. While the reinforcements
were arriving, the soldiers got angry with the media for getting in the way, a few fights
broke out and some shots were fired.
Was anyone killed?
Not that I know of. But then, the Federals wouldnt allow that sort of thing to go
public, would they?
Not likely.
Nothing else has happened. I have not been able to pick up any information off
the radio. The Federals are just sitting down there. When you and the General walked
up, one of the escaped bulls was charging a few of the news trucks. See, hes charging
them again! Jones laughed. Here comes a couple of soldiers. Oh, they shot it! They
shot it! Man, that rancher must be pissed.
The camera turned toward the summit of Mount Capulin. Jones spoke.

156
Theyre looking back toward the north.
The sentries shouted out as a squadron of attack helicopters emerged from
behind Mount Capulin. The formation remained tight, flying low and fast over the rows
of news trucks. Dust blew across the Federals as the helicopters touched down behind
the reinforcements camp.
We wouldnt be facing this much firepower, Jones mused, unless the Federals
knew you were with us.
I agree. Davis said. We were betrayed.
Any one of a hundred people could have turned us in, Freeman said sharply as
his shadow fell over Davis and Jones. Im surprised this didnt happen sooner. He
spat out his sour coffee and watched the helicopters. Id say were in trouble. The
helicopters arent shutting down their engines. If they fly against us, we dont have the
rockets to take them down.
Have patience, Freeman. Davis was calm. We cannot be defeated.
Sirs? Jones reached for his rifle. The Federals are looking active.
The Federal force came to life in a matter of minutes. Soldiers poured from
personnel carriers and tents. Tanks moved to face the Meliorans. The helicopters lifted
off and circled the volcano. Video cameras looked for signs of activity in the Melioran
camp. The reporters spoke of the futility of conflict and predicted the end of the
Melioran Rebellion.
Shut that damn thing off! Freeman snarled and stormed to a higher viewpoint.
Davis slowly worked his way to Freeman.

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Davis, Ive never lied to you about anything during our rebellion, you know that.
I wont start now. If they feel they will be unable to capture us, they will kill us all.
I dont think they want the world to see them act as butchers.
Better to be seen as strong than continue to flex their muscles on cows.
Hardin wants us to look weak on television.
Hardin wants us dead. Weve made him look bad for too long. Look at all this
firepower. Were outgunned and outnumbered at least a hundred to one. Make no
mistake, Davis, they will attack hard right from the beginning. Whenever we do finally
run out of ammo, theyll rush up here, cut us all down like weeds, and laugh about it
when its over. Your body will be the first one the cameras see.
A rumble came from below. From a stopped position, the lead tank fired a shell.
The concussion echoed off the surrounding terrain. The shell hung in the air for an
eternity before exploding half way up the mountain. The charge began immediately.
Freeman ran to Jones and began issuing orders through the radio.
Davis dove to the ground as a helicopter passed overhead. Gunfire erupted
behind him. A second helicopter strafed the ground to his right. Soldiers screamed in
agony. A rocket streaked from behind a stand of bushes. The second helicopter
exploded behind the far side of the volcano. The other helicopters broke off their attack
and flew across either side of the volcano.
Tanks fired continuously. Shells exploded in a tightening ring of destruction.
Behind the tanks, thousands of soldiers marched without fear. The helicopters
attacked. A second Melioran rocket leapt forward and tore the tail rotor from the lead

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craft. It spun in circles and crashed into the volcano. The broken rotary blades
chopped into the earth and spat dirt across the sky. The summit erupted beneath a
volley of Federal missiles. The third and last Melioran missile corkscrewed past the
charging line of helicopters and exploded uselessly against a brushy slope.
Davis ran behind the boulder where Jones yelled into his radio. The television
lay on a rock, smashed and useless. He picked it up and imagined his capture
televised world wide, from a hundred angles and perspectives. Those who might weep
at the end were by now numb, fixed to their television screens, waiting for a sign that
the rebellion was crushed. He tossed the television away and stared at the sinuous line
of news trucks along the road.
An explosion rattled the ground and dropped Davis to his belly. Jones pushed
his head down as a bullet ricocheted off the boulder. Freeman was right when he said
the Federals would murder everyone and call it justice; Hardin proved that when he was
military governor in Venezuela. Without Davis to lead and fight, the Dark Age would
rule civilization for centuries. No one who struggled and suffered to bring humanity to
this point would want their sacrifices forgotten; no one who gave a damn could possibly
want this future.
A bullet shattered the television casing. The idea came abruptly.
The cameras!
Davis fumbled on all fours, forcing Jones to tackle him before stupidity made him
a target. A hundred or more cameras watched this tragedy because the people wanted
a sign. They wanted to see their savior in a moment of strength. They wanted to hear

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his words. His messages stopped when the rebellion turned to war, and the Federals
became strong in the vacuum. His words were always the weapon of greatest success,
the bringer of hope to a time of fear.
The tanks rolled past the barricades and a column of Federal soldiers fired
defiantly at patriots.
The people did not want this anymore, a fact Freeman once tried to make Davis
see. Now the course of action was clear. The military side of the Melioris Rebellion
ended today; a greater weapon was his to use. The people would hear his words again,
when he took the stand for his crimes against tyranny. The helicopters returned to
strafe the ground. Davis grabbed the radio out of Jones hand. The people would never
forget the Melioris Rebellion.
Freeman! Are you there?
Yes, Davis! Do you have a way out of this yet?
Yes. Jones looked up at him in surprise. Davis smiled.
Lay down your arms, and signal the Federals that we surrender.

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SEPTEMBER 5
UNI VERSI TY OF TEXAS STUDENT UNI ON

Inacio stayed at the Student Union long after Sabina left, watching coverage of
the initial strike at the volcano. When they closed the building and kicked him out,
Inacio ran to his car and realized Sabina had taken his keys and driven herself back to
their apartment. He dashed through the streets and darkness, hoping Keller would wait
a few more minutes before dying. He unlocked the door and threw it open, flipped on
the television, and continued his vigil.
In the morning, he decided he needed coffee and company, so he walked back
to the Student Union and reclaimed his seat from the night before. Sabina found him
there after stopping by the television room on her way to a 9 a.m. tutorial. Inacio
guessed she believed he had spent the night in that spot.
Inacio sipped his coffee, and sat quietly in stark contrast to those around him.
The room swarmed with loud, exited fools struggling to see the wall-sized television.
Fights and shouting matches broke out between pro and anti-Melioran sides. Inacio
despised them all.
The booing and taunting continued as Inacio drifted in thought. So the Federals

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finally trapped Keller. It was an unlikely feat, since Keller never exposed himself at any
point during the rebellion. Even when he made an appearance in a major city, he was
shrewd enough to get out before the Federals knew he was around. Of all the places to
slip up, Keller was least likely to do it in the middle of nowhere. Someone snitched,
someone in the Melioran army. They were fanatical bloodsuckers and back-stabbers,
and they would probably fight to the death.
If the Federals were smart, they would capture Keller alive; martyring a hated
enemy was not a good plan. They needed only to keep Keller silent, locked in jail and
isolated, or killed at the hands of a bribed inmate. A better solution was to prop a
drugged but unharmed Keller before a camera. He could read a script and confess to
all his crimes; a sincere, pacified warmth to his voice as he took responsibility for every
death his grand scheme caused.
A half-empty foam cup sailed over Inacios shoulder. It hit the wall and sprayed
ice across his back. Sabina ducked just in time to avoid stopping the cup with her head.
She shouted over the noise.
Ill have to remember it takes a cup of ice to get your attention! Where has your
mind been? Theyre about to interview the general of the Federal forces!
The room went quiet. The general brimmed with pride.
I would like to make official at this time, that Davis Keller and his Melioran Army
surrendered unconditionally to me earlier this morning. This is a great day for the
United States of America.
The reporter began the interview. Tell me, general. How were you able to

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determine that Davis Keller was in the area?
A patriotic informant told us late last week that Keller was en route to Clayton,
New Mexico. We confirmed the location of a major branch of the Melioran Army
through Air Force reconnaissance and were successfully able to predict Kellers next
move.
The reporter continued. The initial attacks on the Melioran convoy were
repelled. Were you confident that Keller could be captured?
First off, let me say that many of our soldiers have died during this war;
yesterdays attacks were no exception. The Meliorans have demonstrated time and
again, that the lives of Americans, military or otherwise, mean nothing to them. The
helicopter pilots and the platoon lost shortly afterwards gave their lives as part of a
greater mission to end the Melioris Rebellion. The trapping of Keller and his army at the
summit of Sierra Madre volcano was an opportunity we dared not pass up. Through his
own miscalculation, Keller provided us the chance to end his bloody rebellion.
Fortunately, he surrendered and made it easier.
General, how do you feel now that the rebellion is over?
The general laughed and made victorious statements to the nation. Inacio
doubted the general intended to take Keller alive. Only President Hardin could have
pressured him to accept surrender. If Hardin wanted a trial for Keller, instead of a
shallow grave, so be it. Inacio drank his coffee in one long gulp, and smiled broadly.
Anything Melioris would soon be dead and out of his life forever.
The reporter continued. General, what will happen next?

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Keller will be delivered to Washington, D.C. for immediate trial. He was indicted,
if you recall, several months ago. Now that weve caught him, the prosecution can
begin immediately. He will be tried on numerous federal crimes. All state prosecutors
have agreed to postpone their cases pending the outcome of the Federal trial. The
states he has campaigned in would all like a shot at trying him, but we get him first.
Mister Keller has a lot to answer for.
Sabina shook her head. I cant believe its over.
Sabina, Inacio said. If Im not here when Doctor Lewis wants my finished
artifacts catalogue, could you take it to her?
Sure, Inacio. But why wouldnt you be here?
Inacio smiled. Their lives would soon change for the better.
Because I will be in Washington soon. I will be called as an anthropological
expert, to testify for the prosecution in Davis Kellers trial.

PART TWO
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SEPTEMBER 5
SI ERRA MADRE VOLCANO

The swarming Federal helicopters thumped uneasily overhead, drifting slightly
from left to right as the gunners resisted the instinct to shoot. The rotor wash battered
the hastily assembled Melioran delegation with dust, dry wind, and the hot anxiety of a
fragile armistice. Davis, Freeman, and the wounded Privates Jones and Gilleti stood
firm; the tattered white and blue Melioran banner Jones held at attention fluttered
vigorously, defiantly, in the tempest.
Though surrender was imminent, Davis could not help but feel a similar lifting of
his spirit.
The Federal delegation approached without caution, a line of nearly one hundred
soldiers and officers marched with guns ready. Two tanks lumbered along the rutted
jeep trails to flank the quiet and disarming Meliorans gathered on the rocks near their
commanders. The Federals halted, formed into a semicircle, then remained motionless
except for the constant shifting of their eyes and the curving of their smiles.
The Federal commander stood in the center of his forces, turning slowly on his
heels while inspecting his troops, the enemy and the field of victory. He motioned to the
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soldiers nearest him, and to the two men bearing the American flag and his divisions
colors. They formed a line and approached the Melioran delegation.
I am General Ober, he said. I hope you are making the sane choice.
Davis exchanged a quick look with Freeman before speaking. General, I am
Senator Davis Keller. I have chosen to surrender.
Wise, though a bit late, the general jeered loudly against the noise from the
helicopters. And you are no longer a Senator. You were impeached.
Davis nodded. I expected no less.
Freeman approached Jones. After a salute, he placed his hand on Jones
shoulder, and wrapped his other hand around the Melioran banner. The two men
stared blankly at each other until Jones reluctantly released the pole. Freeman locked
his heels together, maneuvered the wooden flagpole to rest on his shoulder, and
marched in a perfect glide step toward General Ober.
I am General Freeman Tyler, he bellowed. Commander of the Melioran Army.
I surrender myself and the Melioran Army to you.
General Ober accepted the Melioran banner and handed it to the nearest soldier.
Freeman unsnapped his holster, removed and unloaded his revolver, and surrendered
the weapon. General Ober turned it over in his hands, smiling as he rubbed the worn
wooden handle and the black metal barrel. He then placed it in his empty holster and
clasped his hands behind his back without returning Freemans weak salute.
I accept your surrender.
At General Obers signal, the helicopters departed and a cheer rose from the
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soldiers at the volcanos base.
Davis clasped his hands together. The Federals swarmed over everything, yet
he felt like a spectator, a witness to the trauma of conquest. Freeman was forced to his
knees and General Ober personally shackled him. Jones, Gilleti, and their Melioran
brothers were rounded up and marched away. Davis wandered through the brush and
the dirty haze until reality and the Federals surrounded him.
Something cracked loudly behind him. Davis turned before the soldiers escorted
him to a transport vehicle idling near a tank. The wooden flagpole lay in two splintery
pieces on the ground; while soldiers giddily ripped the Melioran banner and let the white
and blue shreds scatter across the volcano.
The crushing end should not have cheered him, but Davis sensed a great
awakening to come; for too long he had been out of sight, out of words, out of touch.
The transport rumbled from the volcano and delivered him to a gravel airstrip west of
Raton. He was transferred to a waiting jet transport and cuffed to his seat. The journey
was relaxed. The guards chatted softly, ignoring their prisoner and the moments
significance. They were relieved. They were happy.
As the jet crossed the Mississippi River, Davis could see the grassy plains of Fort
Hope on the northern horizon, and with it the terminal line of the Melioran advance.
From here, the arid brown deserts and the parched, yellow grasslands they had battled
over for so many turbulent months quickly gave way to the cleansing blues of rivers and
the bursting greens of untouched lands.
When the jet landed at Andrews Air Force Base, a plain van carried Davis to a
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detention facility in Alexandria, Virginia. He was processed, allowed to wash in a sink,
clad in an orange jumpsuit and lead down a damp hallway to his dark isolation cell. A
guard forced the heavy metal door closed, and the deep boom rattled everything inside
him. Davis settled onto his cot, closed his eyes, tuned his breathing to a slow rhythmic
rise and fall, and let the silence drape over him like a cloak.
Thoughts overcame him. The coup. The struggle. Fort Hope. The tears rolling
down Freemans face, the smile breaking uncontrollably on his face as the shackles
snapped shut.
Davis flexed his emotional controls against his quickening heartbeat and the dull
throb in his temples. Slowly, the tension subsided, the pain released, and he was
composed once more.

* * *

When the chains clamped around his ankles, Freeman prepared himself for
reprisals. A burly pair of captains escorted him to an armored troop transport and
compressed him into a narrow seat. Two rows of soldiers marched in, rifles ready and
aimed for a clean shot. The last pair sealed the rear doors and took their places.
Bodies shifted as the van rolled from grass to pavement; eyes remained victoriously
locked on Freeman. The days and nights filtered through a painted and barred skylight.
The transport slowed and reversed before stopping. The soldiers stood in
unison; two opened the rear doors, while all but one jumped into a loading area and
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formed a defensive arc to prevent escape. The remaining soldier unfastened Freeman
and nudged him forward. He jumped down and one soldier twitched. The others
steadied their wavering rifles and focused the scratched muzzles at Freemans chest
pocket. He stiffened and waited for the fire; the bullets would shred the article and rip
apart his list of reasons, but the Federals probably planned for that.
A warden arrived and the soldiers backed off. Through a gap in the loading area
doors, Freeman caught a glimpse of the Washington Monument far away across the
Potomac River and guessed the federal detention center in Alexandria was now home.
Hardin wanted him close, for a more personal torture experience. At least Venezuela
taught him what to expect: break the body with yelling, abuse, ridicule and starvation;
break the mind with subtle invasions by strong men and strong wills. Their goal was his
renouncing of the rebellion. The defense was standard as well; name and rank, take a
punch and ask for more.
The warden motioned and the soldiers pushed Freeman to a long hall. Heavy
bootsteps echoed through the empty cellblock. A special place waited when the march
ended, one with a single soiled cot in place of two bunks. A narrow window perched
over a rusty sink and toilet, and freshly welded bars on front of the glass offered perfect
views of a white stone wall. The prison guard centered him beneath an uncovered bulb,
unlocked his chains and backed into the hall.
Freeman claimed his cot and turned to fix his stare upon his captors. The gate
slammed shut, but the guards and the guns remained vigilant.
170

SEPTEMBER 23
U.S. DI STRI CT COURT
WASHI NGTON, D.C.

Lindsey Foster tapped the heel of her shoe on the courtroom floor. Stacks of
paper notes and scenario flowcharts lay on the table, reviving unwanted job stress. The
bullish man called boss flared his nostrils every time he reminded her of the expected
convictions and death sentences. Acquittals meant disaster for more than national
security. She opened her briefcase and retrieved a new pencil, the third in one hour.
Sullivan Price, the small, curly-haired man beside her, frowned when she placed it
between her teeth and gnawed.
Stop that. Sullivan popped her wrist. Youre leaving wood shavings all over
the floor. This isnt a rat cage.
He pinched the pencil and yanked it from her mouth. Lindsey stiffened as the
camera above the judges bench switched on.
No, Sullivan. But we are on display.
A strand of her brown hair dangled ticklishly into her eye and she brushed it
behind her ear. Lindsey adjusted her dark suit, pulling the lapels to the proper
symmetry as the camera swept slowly across the wide double entrance doors. The
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audience members entering the stuffy courtroom expected high drama. The camera
whirred and focused on her table, and Lindsey felt eyes investigating her. She reached
for her glass of water, waiting for the ripples to fade before taking a sip.
Tops in her class, pursued by big firms with incredible histories and elite
clientele, Lindsey had instead opted for government work. Admitting the patriotic desire
to protect cherished institutions was never fashionable, and her dumbstruck friends
demanded an explanation. All a part of her plan, she explained, to make a name for
herself on the national stage. She had not expected her big break to come so early in
her career.
She chewed on small time crooks and plea-bargaining Meliorans for three years,
growing hungrier for justice, success, and recognition. She forced her way into the club
of experienced lawyers planning the case against Davis Keller, not waiting for
acceptance to point out flaws in their strategies. Evidently they listened, or finally saw
the obvious leader, and selected her to make the case. So here she was, in Federal
Court at last, to bring justice and punishment upon the great traitor Davis Keller. A
mixture of fear and exhilaration churned in her stomach.
Sullivan whispered softly and pointed to the ceiling. We owe the Big Guy
upstairs for giving us this one.
We owe ourselves, Lindsey said. We earned our place in this trial.
Well, Sullivan said while jingling change in his pocket, say what you want, but
Im building churches when this is over.
He whistled and continued scouring the latest reports as Lindsey choked back
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her laughter. Sullivan last talked about building churches the day he argued himself out
of a thousand dollar traffic fine. He did not impress her when they first met. Fresh out
of Georgetown and a twelve-year degree chase, he seemed squeaky-clean and
dedicated to cheap suits. Yet his grasp of deception and human behavior made him an
excellent hunter. Few people gave him the chances he craved, instead whispering
behind his back and speculating about a willingness to prostitute ideals for money.
Lindsey soon recognized his potential, but taking his help only damaged her
already bruised reputation. Her appointment to this case upset many of the older men.
They cut her from the inner circles and slandered her success as the payoff of adultery.
Sullivan claimed they were impotent, an obvious explanation for their obsessive use of
sex in metaphor. He was a perfect ally.
The bailiff called for silence. All rise for the Honorable Judge William Marshall.
The judge appeared, a somber expression carved into his face for the sake of
appearances. He pushed the ornate chair aside and stood behind the bench, taking a
moment to caress the gavel and survey the crowd. Judge Marshall sat, squeaking his
seatback sharply as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the padded desktop. He
extracted a pair of glasses from a pocket and turned to the title page of his notebook.
The strong whisper of his heavy breathing was the only sound until he spoke.
These are the rules of this courtroom.
Lindsey folded her arms as the judge made clear his dislike of interruptions and
all things spontaneous. Sullivan pushed his electronic tablet in front of her. She never
liked the new toy, a recent craze among trendy lawyers that did not suit her classic
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tastes. She tilted it until the words observe the rats in their cages became visible.
Lindsey returned the tablet and looked to her left.
Daniel Grey, a wispy, ashen-haired man, bobbed forward and scribbled into his
electronic tablet. She knew Keller was lucky to have a man of integrity leading his
defense; Daniel would never allow anything except total commitment to his client,
whoever that client may be. But she was just as certain the psychological pain from
being charged with reducing Kellers sentence must be intense for someone
predisposed to stances against injustice and corruption.
The defense team huddled together, exchanging notes and panicking over their
impending failure. The youngest members deserved the most pity, for this was a career
ending situation. If victorious, they would take the brand of Melioran and traitor; if
defeated, they would stand accused of sabotaging the case for personal reasons. Their
bodies slackened in silent protest to a job forced upon them in the name of
constitutional rights. Career number two would start early for all of them.
Judge Marshall turned a page of his notebook and continued reading his long list
of rules.
Read this. Sullivan slid his tablet to her. These are the statements taken from
a guard in Kellers prison block. Youll find them useful.
Lindsey scrolled through the report, a concise but subjective reading of Kellers
mental state. The government isolated him in a private prison block to protect him from
assassins carrying out any of the thousand daily death threats. Kellers only interaction
came from the guards who brought his food and watched him during solitary recreation
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time from a snipers nest. Despite this environment of fear, Keller slept regularly,
exercised in his tiny cell, ate his food and made pleasant small talk. His manner and
attitude seemed more appropriate for a man excited by an unknown future, rather than
a rebel leader facing death. The report ended with the last statement he made to the
guard.
I have always spoken the truth. When I speak before the court, you will
understand me, and Melioris, again. There will be nothing left to fear.
Lindsey returned the tablet.
Its tough to gauge the reliability of the guards statements, Sullivan said quietly.
I cant prove it yet, but I think hes a sympathizer. If thats true, his testimony is phony-
baloney. Personally, I think Kellers just numb.
Reading reports is helpful, but Id like to know his mental state for sure.
Lindsey kept her eyes on the judge. I want to see his reactions as the trial progresses.
That would be good for strategy. Did you say we might have access to video
surveillance of his cell? Is that true?
Yeah. Sullivan pointed to her left. But if you want to watch his reactions live,
just watch him. Sullivan pointed to a spot just beyond the defense table. Hes right
over there, remember?
Lindsey let her gaze fall casually on that spot. Wedged between the defense
table and the far wall, stood a bulletproof glass chamber bathed in a shower of camera
light. Davis Keller sat inside; a display of terrorist failure in an orange prison uniform
and a dark gray flak jacket. The cages soundproof construction eliminated his voice,
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making his silence an illusion. An intercom box sat on the defense table, linked by
cable to the headset Keller pressed against his ear. Keller stroked his beard as if a
wise man.
Lindseys eyes bored into Kellers back, until he sensed the stare and turned his
head. A shiver rattled through her spine when he met the gaze. There was a look to
prosecuted Meliorans, a burning hatred consuming the soul or a withered decay
clouding the eyes. In Keller there was only the quiet, calm Melioran essence. No
emotion. No remorse.
The Judge turned to a new page in his notebook and cleared his throat. Miss
Foster, if you are ready? We will now hear your opening comments.
Keller struggled in his cramped cage to view the show. He smiled softly when
Lindsey approached the jury box and bowed his head to her bravery. Applause was the
best description for his reaction.
Miss Foster? The judge peered over his eyeglass rims. We are ready.
Thank you. Gentlemen of the jury, Your Honor, citizens of America. The
Melioris Rebellion is over. Eighteen months of destruction, death and conflict have
tested our resolve, and strengthened our national will to survive. But is our way of life
secure? Will our three centuries of history continue? Have we succeeded in upholding
our cherished democracy? The answer is obvious. Yes.
But at what cost? The rebellion has wasted countless lives, crippled the
infrastructure of the West, and diverted trillions of dollars from social and domestic
programs. So much of our best potential was lost. Think of where we could be now, of
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the greatness we could have achieved, had that man, she turned and pointed into the
glass cage, Davis Keller, not pursued his cause so militantly. Yet he tells us the
rebellion is for us.
Lindsey stepped lightly toward the jury box. Forbidden to appear on camera, the
twelve men, hulking is size and demeanor, stared back at her from darkness. Twelve
faces, like mirrors, reflected cold in the absence of illumination. The jury felt wrong,
hostile. She bundled her arms and backed away. Perhaps switching to the short
version of her speech would help.
One and a half years. Do we really know why he forced this suffering upon us?
A Dark Age, he says, is in our future, threatening to engulf us, to crush us, to set us
back centuries.
She peeked at her table. Sullivan scrolled furiously through his tablet. He did
not expect the sudden alteration to her statements and did not bother hiding his
confusion.
The defense team will tell you Davis Keller is our savior, our last best hope.
They will tell you how a Senator from Texas dared stand against a fraudulent election,
and fight in the name of democracy. They will tell you how a mere man discovered his
great genetic potential, and how he offered his evolutionary gift to us. Davis Keller, they
will tell you, has evolved from the emotional cage and fights to free us from ourselves.
They will tell you Davis Keller is a hero, and that this rebellion was for us. Well, I
agree.
The defense table ceased activity for one second. The young ones rolled their
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eyes in thought and continued scribbling on their electronic tablets. Daniel whispered
into the intercom, explaining her strategy to his client. Keller squinted his eyes playfully,
silently congratulating her for maintaining an interesting speech. Lindsey turned to
Sullivan. He shrugged, not expecting the enemy to find the spectacle of opening
statements so entertaining.
This rebellion has always focused on us, she continued. From the beginning
of his career, when Keller voiced a radical cry of doom, we were always in his mind.
Only, not in the way weve been told. It is true, that Keller foresaw a coming Dark Age,
one in which he would never achieve his potential. It is also true, that Davis Keller
hated this future and spent his life fighting it.
But why? This Dark Age was but one possible future. Of all strategies, a
rebellion is least likely to prevent such decay. Yet this man tells us otherwise. He says
his evolutionary controls give him great clarity of thought, that he can overcome emotion
and embrace all possibilities. Why, then, did he start his rebellion? Why would the
evolved wage a destructive rebellion that offers no benefit?
The answer is simple. It is evolutions oldest rule: only the fittest survive. One
species is replaced by another. The weaker animal is thrust into extinction. The
rebellion was never for our benefit, but for his. To Davis Keller, we are the weaker
animal. And we stand in his way.
We will prove, without a doubt, that Melioris is the name Davis Keller gives our
extinction. We will prove that Davis Keller intended to destroy our nationality, our races,
our species! We will prove his real evolutionary gift to us is genocide!
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The audience murmured softly. Lindsey hoped their voices would resonate with
a deep understanding of cause, a gasp of primal fear at the revelation of evil. Instead,
there was only the false declaration of comprehension, as if they overlooked the horror
for the sake of denial.
We will also prove, she exhaled loudly, that in order to secure our genocide,
Davis Keller committed acts of treason, insurrection, and sedition. He advocated the
overthrow of our government, tampered with the loyalty of our armed forces, and
committed countless acts of conspiracy and murder. At the very least, his crimes
demand permanent incarceration. But the serious crimes of treason and genocide, the
ones for which no punishment can offer justice, demand his life.
When Keller began his rebellion, he believed victory was inevitable. He evolved,
after all, and deserved no less. What we never knew, apparently, was that we deserved
a different fate. We, it seems, along with our basic, weaker, human emotions, were
destined for forced extinction. We are left to assume his evolved sensibilities found
divulging our place in his Dark Age world distasteful. Perhaps he pitied us.
By the end of this trial, gentlemen of the jury, you will have no such feelings for
him. Lindsey pointed to Keller, who listened intently within his cage. You will see he
is not the bringer of hope he pretended to be, but every bit the murderer of our nation,
the death sentence of our species, we have come to fear!
The cameras whirred and electronic eyes locked onto Keller. He ran a thumb
down his beard, and lifted his head as his eyes drifted toward the ground. He spoke
into the microphone. Is that how peop-
179
His staticy voice trailed off abruptly as Daniel turned down the volume. A brief
and silent exchange took place before Daniel replied softly to the question. Lindsey
could make out part of the answer, the words many, yes.
Thank you Miss Foster. The judge turned the page of his book and dipped his
glasses to the end of his nose. Mister Grey, you may begin your opening statements.
Lindsey returned to her table and fell into her seat. Daniel stood, bowed his head
as he prepared to speak, and walked to the center of the courtroom.
That was short. Sullivan was upset. You cut out so much of your speech. I
was expecting two hours.
I went with the summary instead. Sorry I couldnt shout that out to you. She
noted the redness in his cheeks. I felt the jury pulling away from me. If I went with our
epic like wed planned, Id lose them.
Sullivan thrashed through his collection of notes and data. Well that speech
wasnt part of my strategy. But I guess I can work with it.
Dont worry Sullivan, she said while watching the jury. Nothing else has
changed. We pursue genocide and use treason as a fall back. Thats what you wanted
and I agree.
Daniel attacked a minor procedural flaw in Lindseys statement. The twelve
jurors watched him stroll across the room, their faces warmed from within and bright in
the shadows. Marshall fidgeted as Daniel stared down each juror. An orange blur
swayed in Lindseys peripheral vision. Keller rocked calmly in his chair, pressing his
seat against the cage as he struggled for comfort. The perception of concern lingering
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since his last conversation with Daniel vanished as he enjoyed the humor made at her
expense.
Lindsey scribbled circles on her notepad and the scratching sound attracted
Sullivan to her frustration. Maybe the rumors of Melioran coercion were true. Keller
prophesied a revival of his power; was this his new strategy? If force failed to secure
his goals, perhaps conventional methods of corruption would bring victory. But jury
tampering required leadership, something the rebels no longer possessed.
Marshall tapped the spine of his notebook and stared over the rims of his glasses
at the jury. The twelve men swayed and coughed, deleting their smiles and settling in
for a long speech. Daniel paused, fascinated by the jurys sudden change.
No, jury rigging seemed unlikely. The heavy media scrutiny made hiding a plot
impossible. Even if the Meliorans had bought themselves a jury, a verdict grossly awry
from the facts would expose their crime. Besides, Marshall would never allow a
Melioran presence in the dispensing of justice.
Lindsey capped her pen and set it down. Sullivan smiled and resumed his work.
181

SEPTEMBER 27
PAI NTER HALL LABORATORY ANNEX
AUSTI N, TEXAS

Sabina stepped into the Genetics Isolation and Microvectors Laboratory, pressed
the bank of light switches and waited for the fluorescent lights to flicker toward full
power. Considering the late-night hour, the absence of even graduate students
surprised her. Sabina appreciated the possibility of solitude; no gossipy colleagues
watching her work, no curious advisors offering social companionship during a lonely
night of lab work.
Sabina strolled through the lab, looking for signs that other researchers might
soon return. Four other rooms completed the laboratory complex. There was a
darkroom for developing films and x-rays, a cold room for storing tissue samples in vats
of liquid nitrogen, a black-walled room housing binocular microscopes used for
microinjecting DNA strands, and the high-risk contaminates room on the opposite side
of a sealed door. Her low risk experiments freed her from the nerve-wracking suit-ups
and sterilizations required of other researchers.
The main room contained glassware, warming benches for cell cultures and
hooded benches to prevent accidental inhalation of chemicals or microorganisms. The
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cluster of expensive and outdated genetics machines linked to a central computer used
for data processing and sequencing instructions. Another wall housed a garment
sterilizer and storage bins marked for biological waste. The garment sterilizer was full,
and all other rooms were unoccupied. She was alone.
A wall chart of the human genome, the culmination of a mapping project
completed early in the 21st Century, covered a large portion of a third wall. Millions of
dollars went toward mapping a hundred thousand genes and producing the coveted
standard genome model. At every convention, someone provoked an argument over the
effect of genetic variation. The attendees failed to rectify competing models. Yelling and
insults turned to fistfights. The natural variation was just too small for all the fuss, but
stuffy scientists just need an outlet for their childish aggression.
Sabina started the central computer and listened to the slow progression of
chirps and startup bells. The main menu appeared and she activated the microscopes
and DNA machines. The equipment churned through initialization modes and clanked
moving parts loudly in search of malfunctions.
Sabina laughed as she settled into her chair. Doctor Waynes motivations were
so blatant and easily manipulated. She went to him earlier in the day seeking approval
to modify her experiment and avoid violating her grant stipulations. He said yes quickly,
never looking beyond her body long enough to ask if tonights new tests complemented
her long-running thesis. He mumbled something about an attempted break in to the
labs genetic database by a suspected data broker earlier in the month, and handed her
the days security code. He smiled coyly, like he wanted an invitation to join her, but
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Sabina just thanked him in her sweetest voice and drifted out of his office. All she
needed was a clingy outfit, and he would agree to anything, perhaps even a dive from
his fourth floor office window.
Sabina tugged at the loose sweats donned immediately after evacuating Doctor
Waynes office. He, like most Americans she met, was simple to understand. The gift
of reading hidden thoughts was a valuable tool to her success, but it never seemed to
work on Inacio. His side job identifying the wars dead was a complete shock, but his
casual admission that the Federal Prosecutors Office had retained him to serve as an
expert witness in Kellers trial left her speechless.
Inacio told her his story so remotely; his words almost lost in the angry chanting
over Kellers capture. He had accepted the governments offer to testify in April, when
he was alone and mourning everything. Inacio opened his office door and nearly shit
himself at the sight of two waiting FBI stereotypes; his involvement in the movement
factored into his selection, but was never mentioned. They spoke for hours of Melioran
atrocities not mentioned in the news, all part of their plan to secure Inacios help.
Inacio made the deal quickly, needing little persuasion. His best effort and
knowledge would serve them in trial, in exchange for cash and protection. The agents
nodded and offered powerful handshakes. All three understood the Meliorans would
come for Inacio if word of his involvement leaked. During breaks from trial preparation,
Inacio traveled with them to Fort Hood to learn about firearms and self-defense. The
agents took personal pride in making sure he could fire a rifle and hit the target dead
center with one shot.
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A calm had overtaken Inacio since Kellers capture, growing stronger until the
second he boarded the plane for Washington. He was probably in his enormous hotel
bed, sleeping beneath a contented grin that hinted to the plot of his dreams. The
thought of his new happiness disturbed Sabina; he seemed like he was finally moving
away from his Melioran past, and now, suddenly, he made it clear he would never let
go.
The instruments beeped readiness in unison. Sabina checked the equipment for
sterility then gathered glassware. An experiment consisting of little more than flasks of
bacteria suspended in a rose colored nutrient solution sat on a back bench. After
incubation, the bacteria would make the voyage downstairs to the viral lab, and become
infected with influenza or some other weak strain. Sabina laughed; it was Cassies
experiment. Now that Doctor Wayne no longer wanted her, she would learn biology like
everyone else.
Sabina pulled on her lab coat, sat down at the central computer, and opened her
daughters file. Old feelings returned; every tear, every thought, every suicidal wish.
She sighed slowly, drawing out the pain and releasing it from her body. This
experiment would test more than causes of death.
The file contained the autopsy report, digitized test data, and a few chaotic notes
written before leaving the hospital. The doctors had performed the appropriate tests,
but offered results riddled with errors. The autopsy report had listed too many rare and
contradictory causes of death; potential assailants ranged from pneumonia to rare
diseases striking one in ten million births. Four separate genomic analyses came back
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with an unmatched forty-fifth chromosome, impossible because human chromosomes
come in twenty-three pairs. Only human error could cause that mistake. Sloppy
science, not technological stagnation, prevented discovery of Bellisas killer.
Sabina doubted they would have found the answer anyway, not if her suspicions
about environmental toxins were correct. So many generations of her family, and her
people, had suffered from high miscarriage, infant mortality and birth defect rates that
some long lasting chemical must be to blame. Paulo from her village had used more of
his government strings to have soil and water samples tested for chemical pollutants,
and had the results sent to her. In addition to proving their lands were a still-ticking time
bomb, a cancerous gift leftover from the Brazilian Wars, Sabina knew what toxins to test
for.
The genetic tests run on Bellisa were not entirely irrelevant; it was possible that
one or more of the chemicals in question existed in concentrations high enough to be
mutigenic, but the tests Paulo had run were only able to identify, not quantify. If a
mutagen was at work in Campoalmas, then at least the faulty gene had to come from
Sabinas side, which would make the search easier since Brennan disappeared without
the courtesy of leaving behind a sample. Sabina snapped a pair of rubber gloves
around her wrists and walked to a nearby workbench. She pulled all the necessary test
kits from a cabinet, laid half of them out in a row and labeled them Sabina.
The first kits were gene ID and sequencing tests, designed to break down cellular
membranes, free the chromosomes and hunt for specific genes. In the process of
tagging and sequencing each chromosome, faulty genes could easily be found. The
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only item not included with the kit was a nurse to collect blood. There would be no
partner this time, because she trusted no one to keep her experiment a secret.
She wrapped her hand around the automated sampling gun, a new model with
self-directing needle, and repeated the line drilled into her during medical training:
taking blood was simple and nearly painless. She rolled up one sleeve, placed the gun
against her arm, took a deep breath and cursed the person who decided Blood Gun
was a cute name. Sabina jumped at the sudden sharp pain. The gun collected the
required amount of blood thirty seconds later, chirped happily, and gently retracted the
needle. Sabina dropped the gun on the bench and grabbed for antiseptic. She gasped
passionately as the cooling gel deadened the pain and clotted the wound. The gel
hardened into a protective skin and she let her coat sleeve unravel. A good sign of
emotional recovery, Sabina thought. She never would have taken her blood six months
ago.
Sabina divided blood between the test kits, and then put the remaining blood into
a centrifuge set on low spin. She strolled into the cold room and stopped in front of vat
number four, touched a few buttons on the control pad and listened as the vat
automatically moved two sample tubes into the thawing chamber. Freezing was the
best way to preserve cells for future study, but the thawing process was risky. If the
cells thawed too fast or too slow, they would burst.
Sabina watched the control pad for an eternity, giving a motherly pat to the
machine when it signaled the sample was ready. She reached into the thawing
chamber, pulled out two small tubes, and held them to a light. Opaque dots sloshed in
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a yellow liquid. The labels appeared as she rotated the tubes. Faded black letters
spelled Bellisa. She shuddered and hurried back into the main room.
Sabina laid the second set of genetic test kits on a different bench, adjusted each
to receive thawed samples, and labeled them Bellisa. She portioned out samples from
the first tube into each kit, and then sealed each carefully. She slid each kit into ports
within the DNA machines, and then double-checked the connections.
Sabina unwrapped a thinner, longer glass chromatography sample tube and
unsealed the metal cap. She sighed as she took one last look at the second sample
tube, turned it so the faded label was facing away from her, and then slowly and gently
transferred its contents into the chromatography sample tube. She walked to the Vapor
Chromatography and Biochromatography machine and inserted the sample tube into
the injector port. The machine hummed as the thin capillary needle threaded itself
through the metal cap and into the empty space above the sample. After Sabina typed
instructions into the central computer, all the machines whirred into action.
Sabina sat up and stretched. Although all test results would be ready tomorrow,
she would deliberately avoid reading them until Inacio returned. She stopped the
centrifuge and examined both test tubes. The heavier white blood cells sank to the
bottom under the force of high spin, leaving the red blood cells floating higher in the
plasma. Satisfied with a good blood cell separation, she pulled out the test tubes and
prepared a slide for each.
She walked to the karyotyping microscope, a boxy contraption with a blue cable
connecting it to the main computer, and a tiny television screen instead of eyepieces.
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She opened a small door on the side of the microscope and inserted her two slides into
a glass tray. An internal light snapped on automatically, and a color image of her white
blood cells appeared on the tiny screen.
She pressed a button when she identified a big cell with unobstructed
chromosomes, and the microscope emitted a soft buzz. She flipped to Bellisas slide
and repeated the process. She now had a photograph of each cell. Sabina pressed a
second button and the microscope exported both pictures to the central computer. A
program would search for the forty-six chromosomes in the nucleus, digitally cut them
from the picture, then automatically sort them by size. Another hour passed before the
program finished the hunt, and Sabina instructed the computer to download the finished
karyotypes into Bellisas file.
She placed her lab coat back into the sterilizer, and looked at the clock to learn it
was four in the morning. She flopped into a lab chair and switched on the small black
and white television mounted below the ceiling, hoping to regain visual focus before
driving home. A news station two channels past the Spanish novellas offered a recap of
the trial. The reporter babbled his lines and shared the screen with a still photo of Davis
Keller in his glass cage. Silent as he now was, Kellers voice still influenced millions.
Sabina snapped off the television. Keller was a deserving scapegoat for Inacio
and everyone else. All the shit forced upon hundreds of millions of people would fall on
him with great vengeance, but a guilty verdict and a death sentence would never restore
Inacio to his full self. The Meliorans took so much from Inacio, not just a year of study
and a delayed graduation, but a part of his spirit.
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Inacio had once loved being Melioran; in them he found the respect and
understanding Campoalmas could never provide. But there was something lurking in
the background, something easily overlooked in the excitement of a national
reawakening; something like a deception, or a nasty little ulterior motive. Sabina had
felt it the first time Inacio brought her to a meeting. There were smiles and polite
welcomes, ideals and activism. There was also the sense of entitlement in the choice of
words, the territorial claims to political spoils, the naked ambition of men like Henry
Marek. And Brennan. And Inacio.
Inacio never questioned the cause until Marek showed him Kellers genogram.
There was something normal about it, nothing at all mutated or new. And yet, there
were errors, miniscule gaps, micro misalignments; more like a corrupted file or a splice
done poorly. In the five seconds Inacio held it in his hands, a million doubts sprang up.
Mareks quick retrieval and reminder that it was a special viewing for a trusted Melioran,
a rare viewing through the window of evolution not to be shared with anyone, did not
sooth his suspicions.
In those five seconds, Inacio lost faith.
Brennan had shrugged off the implications of Kellers genotype the moment
Inacio confided in him, and Marek privately questioned his loyalty. Sabina offered to
help him decipher the genotypes hidden messages, but then Hardin stole the election,
and events drowned out all other concerns. When the rebellion began, Inacio stood at
his bedroom window. A Melioran bonfire sizzled in the distance, burning his
convictions. Brennan painted his face for war, swore to brotherly bonds and pulled
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Inacio to the rally. Mindless Meliorans screamed violence over the stolen election and
their leaders evolutionary purity. The mob demanded Inacios devotion. He hesitated
and was purged.
Brennan reflexively shielded Inacio from the closest fists and stones. They
escaped into a darkened park and emerged near a bridge. Inacio galloped onto the
bridge, but Brennan fell behind to catch his breath. Men leapt from the darkness and
beat Inacio into hallucination. His body dissipated into fists. He felt weightless as the
attackers threw him over the rail and he fell through the air. The cold water of the
Colorado River reminded him of pain. Brennan called softly for help. The attackers ran
away, consumed with Melioran power.
The river dumped Inacios broken body onto a sand bar. Brennan found John
Fallon, who had also been purged, and together they carried him to the hospital. When
Inacio healed enough to stand, Sabina and Brennan helped him to the mirror. Inacio
ran his fingers over his purple, swollen face and swore he was not Melioran. Sabina
walked him to bed and smoothed the sheets around his intravenous tubes. Brennan
stepped into the hall to weep for his lost ambitions.
Sabina sighed and forced her tired body out of the lab chair. The chance for
Inacio to speak his mind and make a stand against the leader of his tormentors would
give him something like peace, but little more.
Sabina made one last check of her tests. Convinced everything was error-free,
she disposed of the leftover samples, not pausing long enough to attach an identity to
them. She walked into the labs short entrance vestibule, passing through a bank of
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ultraviolet lights designed to break apart viral bodies. Her sweats glowed white as she
listened to the humming machines.
Sabina opened the exterior door leading to the hallway. The atmosphere in the
lab remained at a lower pressure than the outside world, effectively preventing any
floating germs from blowing out of the lab during exit. A puff of air blew across her
neck, whispering into her ear as she turned to back out of the lab. She heard a childs
voice in the gust, calling to her from somewhere, speaking without words. Sabina
stared back into the cold room. Sadness, for Bellisa and for Inacio, overtook her before
she could turn off the lights.
192

OCTOBER 1

The Judge wishes to see you in his chamber.
Lindsey halted her morning preparations and followed the bailiff. This summons
must be about Daniel, who disappeared into the judges chambers ten minutes ago.
Frustrated by the trial, he did not wait for Marshall to invite him for a chat. The defense
team watched the chamber door open, hoping to learn their leaders fate as Lindsey
was ushered in.
Thank you for joining us, Miss Foster, Judge Marshall said from behind his
desk. Procedure requires your presence for this discussion.
The Judges chamber differed dramatically from the courtroom. In public, the
Judge lived sparsely; a plain robe, an antique gavel, and a thick book of his personal
notes and references. In private, surrounded by his dusty law books and framed
statements of authority, his shielded persona emerged. Lindsey took a seat between
the two rigid and tense men.
Mister Grey has made a complaint. The Judge spoke deeply. A procedural
complaint.
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This is not a simple grievance, Your Honor. Daniel crossed his arms. My
ability to cross-examine has been severely hampered. I simply request an explanation
of your decisions.
The argument deteriorated rapidly. Daniel claimed the Judge was too quick to
overrule and block questioning. Judge Marshall stated his reasoning bluntly and
passionately, defying Daniel to find proof of biased rulings. For all his bluster, the Judge
deflated and relented when Daniel offered his resignation. Lindsey flinched nervously,
expecting the sudden silence to attract the bailiffs attention. Marshall flipped furiously
through his notebook. Daniel paced through the chamber with the same display of
intensity he reserved for trial. He seemed more driven then angry, perhaps looking to
escape a sacrificial assignment.
Marshall stopped flipping pages and stabbed his finger into the notebook.
Resignation was not acceptable, but fewer restrictions on questioning fit the Judges
idea of a speedy trial. Daniel accepted quickly and dismissed himself. The judge
motioned with a speedy, swiping hand motion for Lindsey to leave. She jumped at the
dismissal and jogged back into the courtroom.
What happened? Sullivan leaned over as she sat down. The chambers
sound proof. Whats going on?
Daniel requested greater range in questioning.
Sullivan twitched. Marshall didnt grant that, did he?
Daniel threatened to quit. It was either that or a six week hunt for a new lead
prosecutor.
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Damn. Sullivan grumbled and tapped his electronic tablet. Damn. I wish he
hadnt done that.
Daniel finished debriefing his client and dropped the headphones on the table.
He twisted his neck, fixed his eyes on the prosecution and leaned against one finger.
Sullivans furious pace amused him.
As requested, Sullivan said as he slipped the electronic tablet in front of
Lindsey. Footage from Kellers cell. I had to splice the film together. I didnt think you
wanted to sit through eighty-eight hours of unromantic video.
Youre right. Lindsey pushed the on-screen play button. The video time stamp
changed abruptly over splice points.
Weve done a good job hammering him during the first week. Sullivan smiled
and ran his hand over his new haircut. The witnesses painted a grim picture.
Lindsey did not respond; the black and white images held her attention. As their
strategy called for, the first week of testimony came from those physically and
emotionally broken by the rebellion. Some identified the locations of battles, some
testified to the number of dead, some confessed to spreading the flyers, reports, and
propaganda held before the jury as evidence. Mothers mourned their sons, children
told the stories of homes and innocence burned away by Meliorans. Vicious words
foaming from their mouths, they stabbed fingers at Keller and buried hate in his heart.
The last witness, a Melioran crippled during the attack on Fort Hope, flexed the
stump of his leg and shouted the pain of betrayal: there was no darkness before the
rebellion. Keller? Hardin? I no longer see the difference! Lindsey held high a picture
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of the witness as a vigorous recruit. He stood stiff and strong, saluting Keller during an
inspection of trainees. She told the jury that destruction was the common theme in
Kellers rebellion, and left the courtroom stunningly silent.
I dont see much difference in his behavior, she said after reaching the end of
the video loop. Keller sits on his bed, paces in his cell and makes friendly with his
guard.
Oh no, Lindsey, Sullivan said. Watch closer, hes changing before your eyes.
You saw how he started pacing? He does that when he becomes angry. All the
Meliorans who saw him said that was a sign of rage. In lieu of big emotional displays,
he screams in body language.
Lindsey thumped the notepad. Hes not speaking at all. Does he ever make a
sound? All I hear are static bursts and microphone hisses.
Sullivan fiddled with the knot of his tie. Yeah, he makes noises. All kinds of soft
noises, stuff the microphones wont pick up. I asked about that, trust me. Forget about
it. What he says does little to help what were after here.
Lindsey returned the tablet to Sullivan and watched Keller. Sympathizers turned
on him, soldiers renounced his leadership and the people he claimed to protect spat at
the sound of his name. Yet Keller surrendered no emotion, not during the trial or in the
privacy of his lonely cell. Without a wrinkle of anger or sadness to gauge his mental
state, Sullivans theories were the only way to determine the success of her attacks.
The Judge exited his chamber, sat down and looked to Lindsey. Call your
witness.
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Your Honor, Lindsey stood and motioned to Sullivan for her notes. The
prosecution calls Senator Jacob Bates.
A large man with a body rounded from success strolled confidently to the witness
stand. Keller leaned sideways and rested his head in his palm. A flash of recognition
passed between the two men as the Senator took the oath, assumed his place on the
stand and closed his suitcoat.
Senator Bates, Lindsey said as she approached. You began your career in
Twenty-One Sixty-Two, in the office staff of then freshman Senator Hardin. How long
did you work with Senator Hardin?
I served the Senator through both his terms, and his first term as President.
At that time you were elected to the Senate?
I was appointed by President Hardin to finish the term of my late predecessor,
who was killed along with many others during the attempted coup.
I see, thank you Senator. Lindsey tapped her toe on the floor and slid into a
comfortable stance. Senator Keller was first elected to the Senate two years after you
started working with Senator Hardin. What was your first impression of him?
Our office was across the hall from his, but I did not interact with Senator Keller
for several months. At first, I found Senator Keller to be slightly reclusive because he
did not interact with those around him. However, I soon attributed this quality to his
passion for the work. He seemed to have the pulse of his constituency at his fingertips,
and they respected him deeply for that. I did not really talk with Mister Keller until the
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freshman dinner, but I found him to have a radiant personality, and to be a superb
speaker. I must say, I had nothing but respect and admiration for Davis Keller.
So, at the beginning of his Senate career, Mister Keller had admirable goals?
I thought so, yes.
What was his admirable goal?
He sought to prevent a great national decay.
In other words, a Dark Age?
Yes.
Lindsey flipped her notepad. Did Mister Keller ever explain his views to you?
Yes.
Would you tell us about the first time Mister Keller explained the problem to
you?
The Senator shifted in his seat. It was a few months into the session. Senator
Hardin had requested that I pick up some documents from Senator Keller, who was
working a bill and looking for support. The Senator looked quickly into Kellers cage.
He invited me to his office and asked what I thought the future held. I had not thought
much about long-term prospects, being young and not having studied economic or
political facts as intently as he. But I took a guess and answered him as best I could.
He smiled and extrapolated my ideas, and we had an interesting conversation.
When I had no more ideas, he leaned forward and clasped his hands above a
piece of paper. He told me our future was in danger, not from the unstable countries
nipping our heels, but from within. He handed me the paper and I read it.
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Lindsey slipped a piece of paper from her table and held it high. Is this the
paper, Senator Bates? She handed it to him.
Yes.
The paper is a one page letter, written by Mister Keller, summarizing his proof of
a looming Dark Age. Tell us a little about the paper, Senator.
Well, I was surprised by the brevity of it, but his data was referenced and
appeared well analyzed. In a few paragraphs, he detailed the economic, political,
technological and social signs that our nation had peaked and entered a regressive
period of growth. When I finished, he asked me if I was alarmed. I fumbled out a
response, trying not to worry needlessly, and asked what he planned to do about it. He
pulled a thick binder from his bookcase and invited me to read it before delivering it to
Senator Hardin.
Lindsey picked up a copy of the book from her table, using both arms to hold the
heavy and fragile binder steady.
At my leisure, of course. The Senator chuckled.
Lindsey handed the book to the bailiff. Not exactly overnight reading. Can you
tell us a little about that book? How realistic were his suggestions?
I found his reasoning to be very logical. The agenda outlined, asserted, in that
book was a well thought out and highly detailed instruction. I understood him better
after reading it. He cared very deeply about our national prosperity. But Mister Hardin
felt the desired outcome, the passage of a suite of legislation aimed at avoiding or
minimizing the Dark Age, was too ambitious to ever receive majority support. Senator
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Hardin had his own ideas for attacking the issues raised by Senator Keller, and I tended
to agree with his point of view.
Did you ever tell Mister Keller of your misgivings?
Yes, after a meeting hed called with Senator Hardin. He accepted my choice,
although I sensed his disappointment.
He expressed no anger or resentment at your disagreement?
No. He commended me for choosing to advocate for the future of America, in
whatever manner I saw fit.
Tell us a little more about the book. Was there any mention of the need for open
rebellion to accomplish his goals?
No. He never mentioned any such thing.
How about hatred for the unevolved?
Daniel stood. Objection. I dont see how this line of questioning relates.
Your Honor, Im attempting to demonstrate Mister Kellers state of mind.
The Judge rubbed his fingers against his chin. Overruled. Continue, but
rephrase your questions.
Thank you. Senator, Did Mister Keller ever mention genocide, or rebellion, in
the book or any of his conversations with you, or any conversations with Senator Hardin
in which you were present?
No. The Senator stiffened in his seat.
Lindsey circled the court. So Mister Keller had a plan. He wanted to save us
from the Dark Age and he had a detailed strategy in place for this task. She returned
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to her table, and Sullivan handed her a thin report.
I have here a history of Mister Kellers voting record during his three Senate
terms. She opened the report and handed it to Senator Bates. Senator, tell us about
Senate Bill Sixty-Seven dash Five Sixty.
That Bill concerned a change in tax law intended to lower income tax and
encourage personal investing.
Was this one of Kellers Bills?
Yes. It was his third to reach a vote. Four others never made it from
committee.
How did Keller vote on that bill?
The Senator scanned the report. He voted against it.
Against it? Lindsey turned to the jury. Why would Mister Keller vote against
his own bill? Senator Bates would you tell us the reports description of the rider
attached to this bill?
The rider allocated money for continual analysis of the tax breaks effect on the
economy.
Do you recall Mister Kellers opinion of this rider?
He was unhappy with it.
Is that why he voted against it?
Yes.
In fact, Lindsey retrieved another piece of paper from her table. He wrote this
letter to the Senate Majority Leader. In it he said, I am deeply concerned by this
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frivolous waste of money. The figures I have supplied are accurate, and represent the
predictions of many world-renowned economists. I implore you to discourage future
amendments to my bills, as they are precisely constructed to bring about a specific
outcome. Modifications will render the laws powerless. Senator, was Keller offended
by the Senates lack of confidence in his projections?
Yes.
So he voted against a bill he wrote, because someone tinkered with it.
According to Kellers voting history, he went on to vote against many of his bills for
exactly that reason. He also wrote many more letters to the Senate Majority Leader
during his first term. Eventually, he used wording like unwise alterations created by the
uneducated, and the appalling ignorance of my colleagues will surely intensify the
decay threatening our nation. Yet, the record shows no amendment, to any of his bills,
which served to undermine his plan of action. They were merely meant to monitor
progress. Why would Mister Keller find these so offensive? Is it because people do not
like to be monitored when they commit illegal or immoral acts?
Objection, Daniel said confidently. Speculation.
The Judge looked at his notepad, and then eyed Daniel. Sustained.
Prosecutor, be careful.
Yes. Lindsey returned to her table and retrieved a newsletter. Daniel seemed
troubled by his success. Senator, this is a copy of The Congressional Weekly, dated
November Twenty-One Seventy-One. There is an article in the back on Keller, in which
he denounces his exclusion by the Senate body. What is he talking about?
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By the time of his second term, very few Senators wanted to associate with him.
Senator Hardin seemed to be one of the only ones who enjoyed his discussions with
Senator Keller.
How did Mister Keller react to this distancing?
He seemed unhappy. He once addressed the Senate by telling them their
arrogance left them unable to accept the path his legislation called for. Their prosperity
might weaken, he claimed, so they placed self-interests before the good of the nation. I
would say the Seantors attitudes toward him only made him more determined to
succeed.
So he believed that only he could stop the Dark Age?
Yes. During his second term, he came to view himself as the only one capable
of saving the nation.
He said this?
Not in those specific words. The Senator looked to the judge, who motioned for
him to continue. He was speaking with Senator Hardin, whom I was accompanying at
the time, and was using vague terms along those lines.
So he did not say this directly? In deposition the Senator felt more certain of
his answer, but sometimes trials made witnesses nervous. Are you conjecturing based
on his actions?
The Senator fidgeted in his seat. No. He displayed a pattern of behavior, which,
which in context, can show he views himself as the only leader.
Lindsey stepped toward him, raising her eyebrows as the Senator wiped his
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brow. What behavior, Senator?
After his first reelection, which I thought he would lose after voting against his
legislation, he grew bolder. He was gaining support across the nation, though losing it
in the senate. He insulted the party leadership, publicly insulted them. He wrote
editorials and appeared on debate shows, promoting his anti-Dark Age agenda, and
degraded those who doubted him during his first term. He would filibuster for hours,
opposing any bill not compatible with his vision, and singling out other Senators for
ridicule. He was reprimanded many times for his behavior.
So he was aggressive. The Senators testimony was back were Lindsey
wanted it to be. Odd that a man used to public scrutiny would stumble over a simple
retelling of history. He had a mission to save the nation. But did he demonstrate
contempt? Contempt for the people or the system of government?
As the years went on, yes.
Lindsey returned to her table and shuffled through her notes. In what way did
he voice his contempt?
He commented that the people seemed unable to comprehend the dangers
facing them. That they seemed to choose ignorance over prosperity.
In fact, Lindsey found the paper she wanted, a copy of an article torn from a
university newspaper, and read. He said, the people deceive themselves so easily.
They want a better life, but they cannot muster the courage to fight for it. What they
need is a leader to create the right future, but I wonder if they will have the courage to
accept their role in this new nation. Do you remember those words, Senator? You
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were present.
I-I suppose. It was a long time ago. He said more, as I recall.
Of course. These comments were made near the end of Kellers second term,
at a dinner in his honor held at Georgetown University. A dinner sponsored by his
Melioris Party, which was active and strong at the time, even outside Kellers home
state. It should be noted, that the article was buried on the back page of the campus
newspaper, a page most students do not read. Senator, did Mister Keller ever say he
hated the government?
Yes.
Lindsey held back a smile. Then he hated the government and, and viewed
others with contempt. Was it after this point he stated he was the only one capable of
leading the nation away from a Dark Age?
Yes.
When? Was this a public statement?
No. The Senator looked away for a moment, then clasped his hands together
and leaned back in his chair. Senator Hardin and I had gone to his office, after Davis
finally was censured for his behavior. It was late, and the three of us were alone. I
knew he would get himself censured eventually. He didnt seem to care. Why should
he? He had unheard of popularity at home.
How did his censure come about?
Another of his bills had been defeated, voted down seventy-three to twenty-
seven. By this time, Senator Hardins policies had gained majority support, and Senator
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Kellers coalition was breaking up. After the vote, he interrupted one of his opponents
while she had the floor. He stood up and walked to her, calmly pushed her aside, and
explained himself without raising his voice. We were to blame for the coming collapse,
and therefore, the legislative branch was unfit to correct the problem. She then blasted
him for undignified behavior and conduct unbecoming a Senator. The Vice-President
agreed and Senator Keller was censured.
I see. Lindsey paced back to the table. Sullivan drew a smiley face on his
tablet. So, you accompanied Senator Hardin to Mister Kellers office after the Senate
voted to censure him.
Yes. When we walked into his office, we found him standing in the dark by his
window. I remember that night because the storms fit the general mood of the Senate,
and I could see his silhouette against the lightning outside. I could see him rubbing his
temples. He suffered from some God-awful headaches I could never imagine. Senator
Hardin motioned for me to stay in the parlor, then he knocked on the doorframe to get
Kellers attention. Mister Hardin stepped out of sight into the office without closing the
door, and casually asked him how he was doing. Then Mister Keller asked what
Senator Hardin believed in.
What did he say?
He tried to be humorous and said, I believe in the United States, same as you.
Then Davis rolled his head back and let out a very long sigh. He said, the United
States we believed in no longer exists. That is very clear to me. Senator Hardin asked
again if he was feeling well. Mister Keller then spoke with a very calm voice Id never
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heard before. He said, only the same type of self-deceiving, emotionally plagued
leaders that started this decline would believe otherwise. Mister Hardin laughed and
asked if Davis was referring to him.
What did Mister Keller say?
Yes. He was blunt. You have become the problem, Sam. You have just lead
your army of followers against what I stand for, against what we once stood for. I
cannot continue our alliance. I cannot allow you to silence my message, now that it is
spreading through the nation. That you have turned against me is not unexpected; you
have always easily sacrificed others to achieve power.
I could hear Senator Hardin scoff under his breath, but Keller continued: I have
seen the fundamental truth of our situation. Only I can lead our nation from destruction.
I will not let my warning go unheeded. I will not allow you to savor victory. I will not let
you make this nation fall. I will not allow your Dark Age to come.
It grew very silent between them. Ive imagined that they were staring each
other down, waiting for the other to blink. Senator Hardin spoke last: Goodbye, Davis.
Its been fun. I never really understood what the exchange was about until the
Inaugural Day bombs went off.
Objection. Daniel remained in his chair.
Judge Marshall huffed and looked at Daniel over his eyeglass. Overruled.
Prosecutor, continue.
So the last time Mister Keller exchanged words with Senator Hardin as friends,
he said the words that guided his rebellion. This, after he called the people ignorant
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and the government useless.
Yes.
No further questions.
Lindsey returned to her seat as Daniel began his cross-examination. Sullivan
trembled with excitement and he squeezed her arm tightly.
That was great! He subdued his voice. We just proved Keller voiced all the
ideas necessary for both the treason and genocide charges to stick! And all from one
damn witness.
I know! I think we can bypass a few of the weaker witnesses.
I agree. Sullivan scrolled through his tablet. I suggest we go straight to this
one. Weve demonstrated Keller has the potential to commit treason and genocide.
With this witness, we can prove he acted on both offenses.
Yes. Lindsey smiled.
Daniel completed his short interview and returned to his table. He squinted at
the Judge but turned away before the stare crossed over into disrespect. Senator Bates
pushed himself from the witness stand and refused to look at Keller as he left the
courtroom.
Prosecutor, call your next witness.
Lindsey rose and clasped her hands behind her back. Your Honor, I call
Captain Edward Wahl to the stand.
The Captains boots drummed the floor as he approached the stand. He took the
oath and sat stiffly in the chair, tugging at his uncomfortable orange prison jumpsuit.
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Lindsey carried a small notepad with her to the stand and rested against the banister.
Captain Wahl, according to seized Melioran records, you first served in an
armored cavalry unit. Did you see combat?
Yes. I fought in two battles, both in Iowa.
You were transferred out of the unit after that. Is there a reason why?
I found it difficult to continue fighting against soldiers I once trained with. I spoke
to General Tyler about this problem, and he agreed to assign me non combat duty.
Was Mister Keller consulted over this decision?
No. Personnel matters were left to General Tyler.
You were placed in charge of the Mount Shasta Detention Camp. Would you
explain briefly what that was?
That was our POW camp in California. During the early months of the rebellion,
the camp was in the open. After Fort Hope, when the Federals began regaining control
of the region, I was ordered to burn the camp and take the prisoners to a nearby
sympathizer city. We basically turned the entire city into a POW camp, using every
house as a cell.
How long did this camp exist?
The camp was discovered and captured in March of last year. We surrendered
without confrontation.
Can you describe for the court the conditions at the camp?
At the onset of the rebellion, the camp conditions were within international
standards. However, conditions deteriorated once the camp was moved.
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Lindsey walked around the courtroom. Captain, rumors spread about Melioran
camps. Even today there are serious allegations of human rights violations. Captain,
were the prisoners treated brutally?
Not at first. But as I stated earlier, prison conditions were allowed to deteriorate.
The heat was cut off during the winter and meals were reduced to once a day. There
were beatings and overwork. The welfare of the captives became a low priority as the
war progressed. Toward the end, even the town sympathizers were abused. I received
orders authorizing killings to cut the prisoners morale. I did not accept this order.
However, many of my subordinates did.
So there were executions?
Yes.
I see. Lindsey paused before continuing, her voice trailing off as she scanned
her notes.
The records show Mister Keller paid the camp a visit in late November of last
year. Is this true?
Yes.
What was the purpose of his visit?
I requested a personal meeting. I wished to discuss my dissatisfaction with the
treatment of the prisoners. He and General Tyler were present.
Tell us what happened.
I met with them and gave my opinions. I received no impression Mister Keller
found the conditions unacceptable. He walked around the room, mentioning his
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sureness about victory. General Tyler reminded me that Federal soldiers were our
enemies. I took them on a tour of the camp, pointing out the condition of the prisoners
and the townspeople. Mister Keller made no pledge to improve what he saw, and
dismissed my input as trivial.
You wanted to improve the condition of the camp, then?
Yes. Treating the soldiers as ordered served no purpose I could see. Until I
met with Mister Keller, I was sure he would see things the same way.
Why do you say that?
When I met Davis Keller that day, I met a man who stopped recognizing the
humanity in others and saw them as beasts. I think it made the whole task easier.
Lindsey stopped her pacing and watched Keller. What task?
Cleansing himself of his enemies.
Keller folded his arms, forming a wall against his chest.
Did he say this?
Not in those words, but that was the impression I received.
Daniel spoke softly. Objection. Witness is speculating.
The Judge agreed, but did not direct his harsh voice at Lindsey. She flipped
through her notes, annoyed by the Captains unplanned answer. In pre-trial interviews,
he said yes. Lindsey looked to Sullivan and shared with him a troubled thought about
tampering. The Captain needed prodding to remember his renewed Federal allegiance.
Captain, she continued. As a ranking member of the Melioran Army, you were
made aware of policy. Is that correct?
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Yes.
Was it policy to overthrow a sitting President, one elected by the people, and
bring Davis Keller to power?
Yes.
Was it policy, that to bring about this goal, human life was secondary to
success?
The Captain paused. Yes.
In your position at the Mount Shasta Prison Camp, you have witnessed actions
definable as atrocities and human rights violation. To this you have already testified as
true. She approached him and his eyes darted from side to side. Tell us Captain.
Were civilians interned at this camp?
Yes.
Were they subjected to the same acts inflicted on Federal prisoners of war?
Yes.
Civilians were killed at this camp?
The Captain looked down. Yes. Civilians were executed at my facility.
Keller pressed the earphones tightly against his head, listening intently to every
accusation. He scratched at his beard and tilted his head, but his face remained solid
and unblemished from emotion.
Camp records indicate the facility was under expansion at the time of its
liberation, and the plans were to increase capacity to one hundred thousand. Is that
true?
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Yes.
Why?
To house POWs and the increasing number of those who fought against us.
Those who fought against you. In other words those who were not Melioran. Is
that true?
Yes.
So this camp was to become a place for executing members of a group that did
not subscribe to the Melioran plan. Is that true?
Yes.
It was the policy of the Melioran leadership to exterminate any who opposed it.
Captain, during your post-capture debriefing, you gave the reason behind your
surrender. You said, I cannot continue to fight for a man who views the people as
inferior and worthy of nothing. I cannot continue to champion the cause built to achieve
the supposed birthright of an evolved being. These are your words, are they not?
Yes.
So people were going to die. Millions of people all over the nation. An entire
group of people would die because they were not Melioran. Is that correct?
Yes.
Genocide involves a willful destruction of a human population.
The camera mount whirred softly and the camera settled on the Captain.
Lindseys shoes tapped loudly in the vacuum of a silent audience.
Captain, who ordered the executions?
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The Captain did not look her in the eyes. General Tyler gave the orders.
Lindsey fell back and froze. This was not correct. This was not the Captains
answer in his sworn deposition. She spun around to face her table. Only Sullivan
moved; the others sat locked in positions forced by rigid muscles. The camera turned
toward her.
Sullivan shrugged and snapped his fingers to resurrect the staff. The table
skidded forward as papers and bodies slammed against it. Judge Marshall cleared his
throat and demanded the trial continue.
Lindsey howled and spun to face him. Captain! Are you telling us that General
Tyler is solely responsible for the atrocities committed during the Melioris Rebellion?
Yes. He held his breath and twitched his fingers. At no time was Davis Keller
consulted on the executions. Mister Keller did not care what happened, so long as he
assumed the Presidency. He views us as dogs and did not care what became of us.
General Tyler had many enemies and saw the rebellion as his chance for revenge.
Neither holds value in human life. They only desire power.
Lindsey stormed forward and slammed her notepad onto the banister.
Have you read the papers for the last year? Do you know how much evidence
exists to refute that claim? You Goddamned liar! Do you know the penalty for
perjury!?
Prosecutor! Judge Marshall banged his gavel and summoned the bailiff.
Lindsey paced in a tight circle. A gray fog dimmed the lights and a cold sweat
dampened her forehead. Lindsey was not aware her anger was so obvious, not until
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the bailiff stood in her way and she saw the gun bulging in his holster. The dull pain in
her palms ceased when she forced open her fists. She looked at the Captain until
anger forced her to turn away.
No further questions.
Sullivan held up the file of another witness from the POW camp; the Captain was
not the only one with access to Kellers true plans. Lindsey retreated to the table,
slammed the notebook down and fell into her chair. Judge Marshall flipped a page in
his book and relaxed as the tension in his courtroom subsided. Keller swayed in his
seat, looking distant and ignoring Daniels attempts to explain the Captains testimony.
If Sullivan was correct about Kellers method of emotional display, was his rigid
detachment a display of conceit, a hint of joy over the revival of Melioran power?
Daniel stood and approached the witness. Lindsey pressed her hands against
her mouth, screaming inside to drown out the nagging fears whispering inside her head.
The victory expected and demanded was no longer certain. The bigmouths back in the
office would roast her for this mistake, and certainly try to have her fired for
incompetence. Even now, they were probably contrasting her abilities against Kellers
evolved cunning.
Daniel completed his examination quickly, needing little time to revel in Lindseys
generous gift of testimony, and dismissed the Captain. He circled the courtroom,
stopping to fumble through his notes when he neared the prosecutions table. A piece
of paper fell from his notepad and floated into Lindseys field of view. Five hand-drawn
boxes cluttered the sheet. Three boxes near the top each contained a number; twelve
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on the left, one in the center and one in the right. A box in the lower left corner was
empty, while a box in the lower right corner contained the number one. In the center of
the sheet, written in big letters, was the word DECIPIO.
Sullivan pounded at his tablet, scanning files until he became aware of the paper.
Before he could lean over the table edge and satisfy his curiosity, Daniel snatched it
from the floor and returned to his team.
Im sorry, Sullivan said nervously. He peeked around Lindseys shoulder then
stared toward the judge. I thought the Captain was on our side. We give him immunity
from prosecution, and he ups and turns against us. The Meliorans must have gotten to
him.
If the Meliorans got to him, think who else theyve gotten to. I still wonder about
the jury. Lindsey pressed her head into her palms and stared at the floor. Dammit. I
dont understand what just happened.
Judge Marshall banged his gavel to adjourn for lunch. Lindsey peered across
the courtroom without shifting her head, hoping to see Daniel gesturing for her attention.
Was the paper with the boxes supposed to be a warning? He locked eyes with the
judge, brushed notes into his briefcase, and hurried out of the courtroom.
Dropping the paper must have been an accident; a secret he knew and didnt
want to share. It was probably something he discovered before visiting Marshall at the
start of the day. That whole episode about questioning restrictions must have given him
an advantage. Lindsey scoffed. Not nearly as big an advantage as the one she and
Captain Wahl gave him. If Daniel wanted to gloat, he could have found a less cryptic
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way to do it.
She slapped her palm on the table and pushed out of the chair. Judge Marshall
and Sullivan raised their heads and smiled at her obvious frustration.
217

OCTOBER 6
ALEXANDRI A FEDERAL DETENTI ON CENTER
ALEXANDRI A, VI RGI NI A

Time passed, an unexpected punishment developed.
The guard came three times a day with food, watched Freeman shave and
relieve himself, but refused to enter into a conversation. Commands were flat, quick
and resistant to human contact. There were a few visitors; his lawyer told him to
prepare to take the stand against Davis, and a few supporters not on the governments
watch list brought news that was otherwise censored. But the visits stopped within a
week, and the low hum of heaters substituted noise in place of chatter. Freemans cell
was in the dungeonous, yet empty, Melioran Wing. It should have been crowded with
captives this far into a war, but it only echoed with ghosts of the repentant and the
executed.
At night a sickly light oozed weakly from the stone wall into his cell. In irregular
intervals a blurry shape of guard and gun eclipsed the light and plunged him into
shadowy menace. The heaters shut down every night at midnight, chilling bones and
transforming the groans and pops of metal into ghostly whispers. Spirits hovered in the
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murky darkness, restless for an explanation. Hardin was a master; isolation was the
best torture.
Freeman splashed cold water on his face and returned to his cot. Quiet solitude
accented fears and deprived his mind of sustenance. Abundant time gave memories
power. Boys in mass graves, brothers again, clutched each other without politics or
hatred. Refugees fled battles, leaving behind bullets, bombs and mementos of a life
burned away. The suffering masses never pretended the sacrifice was worthwhile.
Freeman rose from the cot and paced from corner to corner. The rebellion could
have ended so many times. At first, the Federals made generous offers of protection
and amnesty in exchange for silenced Melioran guns. Freeman sifted through
increasing volumes of offers as the rebellion gained momentum, but everyone believed
in victory. The final letter arrived after Fort Hope, a simple memo demanding surrender
or suicide. All other offers came with bullets.
Davis refused to accept facts. Fort Hope killed thousands and all chance for
military success. Instead of seeking to save the cause, he detached himself and
pushed the loyal few aside like decorations. Someone so evolved should have seen the
end before anyone else. A mind like his should have illuminated the bloodless options,
not choose aggression over political action. The simple truth was no one could
understand Davis evolved reason, not his friends, his advisors or families left with
shattered lives.
Freeman returned to the cot, draped a thin blanket over his shoulders and
tightened his boots against the cold. Warmth had always seemed hard to find. On cold
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desert nights, sympathizers could be counted on for hospitality, like the rancher in
Clayton, or the family in Arizona that hosted them just before the rebellion ended. The
mother offered her home and made sure her guests received generous portions of a
sour soup. The father stopped in the doorway, stunned by unexpected company and
the gray-haired man sitting in his traditional place. He took a seat by his wife and
bitterly watched Davis slurp their meager rations. Freeman offered his bowl to the
youngest child. A cloudy family picture hinted at three missing brothers.
The sons joined the rebellion on a youthful impulse, the mother said
affectionately, immediately after the coup attempt. They left against the fathers wishes,
but returned three months later in plain wooden coffins. The father cried uncontrollably
before the story ended and screamed at Freeman.
You shouldnt have sent them to die! They were too young! Damn you! Damn
you both!
Davis paused at his meal and held the spoon steady above the bowl. The
children pushed their meals aside and watched their father. The mother slid closer to
her husband and sought his hand. Davis remained calm. When the grief lasted long
enough, he lifted the spoon and satisfied his hunger.
Freeman scoffed and slammed a fist to his chest. The article in his chest pocket
slipped easily from his pocket, crinkled loudly into a ball, crunched firmly beneath his
boot.
Freeman had first planned to recite the many good and proper reasons for
fighting when he took the stand. But during isolation, bad dreams and haunted
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memories were sufficient to rob him of a good defense for a rebellion ended far too late.
Overwhelming evidence would soon convict Davis, and the nation would say the
rebellion was always misguided. The father in Arizona understood that only the leaders
had failed.
Dont surrender the cause, he said. Dont let it die. That is all I have left of my
family.
The Melioran cause was never wrong. A struggle so epic must be just. Freeman
slid his fingers beneath the flattened article and cupped it in his hands. The bruised
flower opened to his gentle touch, the wrinkles healed to smoothness and comfort. He
brushed bits of dust from the words and returned the paper to his chest pocket.
221

OCTOBER 7

The mob flowed back and forth across the courtroom lobby. Unwise people
risked a thrashing by walking a few steps into Lindseys personal zone without hiding
their insulting thoughts. The irritations kept scratching at her, a dull buzz scuffed her
senses and adrenaline thickened her blood. She flipped through her notepad, searched
her bag for lost items and sought every possible distraction. She exhaled slowly, as the
doctor instructed, and mentally removed people from the scene.
A thoughtless man tossed his coffee into the trash can and filled her air with the
bitter stench of roasted beans. She growled softly, but the man scampered off and a
semicircle of empty space quickly formed around her. Lindsey hated the aggression
consuming her, but bad trials change good lawyers.
The witnesses, even the key ones, lied for a week straight, refused to call Keller
the one and undercut every strategic high. Maybe the Melioran plot was not about
freeing Keller, but about making her life utterly unlivable. Just maintaining credibility
siphoned off confidence and poise Lindsey did not expect to regain.
Other Melioran cases were so clear-cut: person confesses to treason and gets
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life, or death if proof exists for acts of war. Those people were unknowns, just names
and a burden of guilt. But Keller was the opposite; he was world famous and the
subject of millions of articles, photos and manifestos. And, he did not fear her pursuit.
Her fundamental mistake was going after him as she went after all the others, with
generous and strict professionalism. The thoughtful Lindsey was at least on
suspension; missed like any other fond memory made obsolete by circumstance.
Outside the courthouse, life grew equally unpleasant. The office mates
challenged her abilities, in front of the boss and his superiors no less, and shouted for
her removal. Only a personal call from Judge Marshall saved her job. That, and the
posting of her colleagues deep secrets on the electronic bulletin board. Confronted
with photos and corroborating evidence of their sins, her rivals shut down and retreated
into a smoldering truce. Lindsey laughed. Her uncontrollable fury was what made
recovery from the hole of Captain Wahls testimony possible.
Lindsey looked at the clock. The courtroom doors would open any minute now,
the bailiff would call her in, and she could finally nail down one of her objectives.
Genocide, the charge based on intention, was not her first choice and was not easy to
prove like treason. But the witnesses seemed to forget Keller calling for the overthrow
of the United States government, despite the printed material stating it. They only
remembered his cold and unfeeling descriptions of Melioran policy, and his detailed
plans for the unworthy. Sullivan always patted her back after each witness and
reminder her that Genocide carried the death penalty. Until proof of crimes against the
state appeared, crimes against existence would do.
223
Daniel arrived in the lobby, standing tall and fashionably nonchalant. Two guards
pushed the crowds aside, their big frames and dark suits sufficiently intimidating to clear
a path. Daniel hid his discomfort well, despite his passionate objection to the need for
personal protection. But the day Captain Wahl took the stand, a bomb exploded in his
mailbox, and hundreds of descriptive death threats clogged his messaging systems. He
had little choice if he wanted to stay alive.
His status as defender of the great traitor made him a target. Judge Marshall
issued strict orders: all defense team members protected at all hours, and all
conversations strictly monitored. As for the reason no Melioran jackals came after her,
Lindsey decided they simply preferred to tamper with her witnesses.
Daniel stopped and watched Lindsey stand. He said little since dropping the
paper at her feet, refusing to question her witnesses or even raise an objection. The
guards prodded him toward the safety of the courtroom. He seemed ready to scream.
Hey, trust your judgment, Sullivan said as he crept up behind her.
Lindsey snapped to alert and spun around. What?
My suit! Sullivan spun on his heels and modeled the hideous combination of
gray fabric and yellow pinstripes. Why are you laughing? This suit cost me fifteen
hundred! Its the latest style. The bailiff likes it.
Lindsey peeled her hand from her mouth. Im sorry! But thats the ugliest suit
Ive ever seen you in! What bribe money did you use to buy that? Your salary is less
than mine!
Sullivan pulled his lapels and smiled. Ill get you for that one. After all the
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loyalty and all the times I faked evidence for you. He smiled and walked off. Not to
mention all the cases you won cause I was there to watch your back.
Lindsey smiled and grabbed her bag. I would have repaid the favor by helping
you shop for clothes.
Sullivan raised his arms and protested silently. The courtroom doors opened and
the bailiff motioned Daniel to enter. His guards swept him forward until the doorframe
broke his eye contact with Lindsey. Sullivan entered next, describing the fine tailoring
while the bailiff fingered the coat. Lindsey entered next, walking backwards to watch
the crowds gathering at the door. Once all were safely in their seats, the audience
spilled into the room, filling the air with noise and anxiety.
Pressure bulged in Lindseys chest as she flipped through the sprawl of papers
and files littering her table. She forced her breath out slowly and softly, picturing the
look of her table when the trial seemed at its best. Today would be the day for
redemption. The Judge entered and spoke his lines. After banging the gavel he looked
to Lindsey.
Call your witness.
Your Honor, the prosecution calls Inacio Alvaro.
Genocide required a clear distinction between Keller and his victims, but the data
was ambiguous at best. An expert could easily explain the steps leading to Homo
sapiens, but could only speculate about Homo melioris. That was the problem Inacio
Alvaro was here to solve, although not in the way he expected.
He took the oath and claimed his spot with enthusiasm. He was unlike the other
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witnesses; unfazed by the lights or the spectacle, undisturbed by the proximity of Keller
or the possibility of personal harm. Lindsey had worked with him on other Melioran
trials, and knew he would work hard to destroy the rebels, the rebellion and Davis
Keller.
And for that reason, she knew he planned to betray her.
His personal grudges against Keller would not allow him to remain objective,
making him a hostile witness. She walked toward him in long, powerful strides,
watching his mind work behind his probing eyes. The intimidation had to start from the
very beginning, or he would expertly and permanently dismantle the case.
Mister Alvaro, you have been called to render expert testimony. Please state
your field and explain it to the court.
I am an Anthropologist. Anthropology is the science of humans, through the
study of origins, physical characteristics, distribution, culture, and relationships between
environment and society.
Thank you. Mister Alvaro, would you tell us if you have received a Ph.D.?
No, I have not.
When will you?
I will receive my degree in the spring.
Lindsey turned to the jury. You may wonder why the Government has selected
Mister Alvaro instead of a fully degreed witness. The legal teams contacted several
individuals, all experts in the field. They all recommended Mister Alvaro. She turned to
him. How does it feel, Mister Alvaro, to have more knowledge than scholars twice your
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age?
He leaned back in his chair, tilted his head and smiled. Its feels good.
A chuckle rippled from the audience to the jury and then to the Judge. Mister
Alvaro opened his hands and gestured for more.
Thank you, Mister Alvaro. Lets begin. Tell us about some characteristics of
Homo sapien. Lets start from the beginning, at birth. What is an average Homo sapien
baby like?
Well, a baby gestates for nine months, and will have a brain size of about three
hundred eighty-five cubic centimeters. Head size will be small, in order to pass through
a pelvic opening of about twelve-and-a-half centimeters. Birth weight will vary, but the
average is around seven pounds. A child will begin speaking at about thirteen months
of age, and speak a language by the age of four.
During childhood, the major growth emphasis is on the brain. The body will
have reached only forty percent of expected adult size at the onset of puberty, while the
brain is at about ninety-seven percent of expected adult size.
One method we use to tell the age of a specimen is to look at teeth, because
adult teeth erupt at predictable ages. The first molar will usually appear just before the
sixth birthday, and will be followed by the first incisor, second incisor, first premolar,
canines, second premolar, second molar, and third molar in some cases.
As for adulthood, physical characteristics vary based on gender. For the male,
physical maturity will begin at age thirteen, and growth will stop at about twenty-one
years. He will have a height of five foot nine, with a weight of one hundred forty pounds.
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On average he can expect to live to age sixty-four. Alvaro paused for a moment and
looked over to Keller. It is possible he may live as long as one hundred twenty. But
thats only if hes lucky.
Are these averages based only on statistics?
No. There are established procedures for calculating what are called life history
variables for any mammal, using the species average brain size. Life history variables
include gestation time, time to weaning, time to physical maturity, time to growth stop,
longevity, and even the eruption of adult teeth. The statistical evidence compiled from
actual measurements matches very well with what the technique predicts.
I see. So, the development of Homo sapien is scientifically predictable, and
there is an average?
Yes.
Youve looked at Mister Kellers medical records from birth through the present?
Yes.
How does Mister Keller stack up, according to your calculations?
It was impossible to determine his brain size at birth because the measurement
was not taken. But his cranium was close to average size. He weighed seven pounds,
ten ounces at birth.
I see. Tell us more.
His medical records show that his physical development was within the
statistical range of Homo sapien. His dental records show he cut his adult teeth within
the time frame expected for a Homo sapien. He is above average in height and weight,
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and is in good condition for a man his age. Most importantly, his brain size is also
within range of Homo sapien.
Did you compute the life history variables for Mister Keller?
Yes. Since I know his current brain size, I was able to compute them.
What was the result?
The computed values matched his actual variables within a four percent margin
of error.
Sullivan tapped a calculator on the desk, pointed to it and raised his eyebrows.
Math was an easy target, always full of human error. Lindsey smiled.
Thats a high margin of error.
Mister Alvaro raised his eyebrows. Two percent is a preferable cutoff.
How did you make this calculation?
I used the Magnetic Tomograph images taken of Mister Keller on the day his
evolutionary status was diagnosed. There are established techniques for interpolating
the volume of a brain, provided sufficient two-dimensional slices exist.
From your examination of these images, did you see any evidence of new brain
structures?
I am not qualified to interpret the images. He laughed briefly. Im not
interested in searching for structures in soft tissue. I am interested in bones. I am even
more interested in the pattern the brain leaves on the inside of the cranium. In order to
see if Mister Keller possesses significant brain changes, I would have to crack his skull
open and look inside.
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I dont think that will be necessary. Lindsey turned and walked away from the
witness. Oh, by the way. When you used those images youre not qualified to
interpret, what was Mister Kellers brain size?
Thirteen hundred sixty-two cubic centimeters.
Thirteen hundred sixty-two cubic centimeters. Doesnt mean much to us yet.
Maybe with context, the number will have relevance. Would you tell the court about
changes in the human brain through time?
The evolutionary trend has been toward increasing brain size. The earliest
member of the genus Homo, Homo habilus, had an average brain size of seven
hundred cubic centimeters. Homo erectus, which evolved next, began with an average
brain size of nine hundred cubic centimeters, but by the time of extinction had evolved a
brain of thirteen hundred cubic centimeters. Further along those lines, the Neanderthals
had a brain size of about fifteen hundred cubic centimeters. Homo sapien has an
average brain size of thirteen hundred and fifty cubic centimeters, with a range of twelve
hundred to fifteen hundred cubic centimeters.
So you are saying our brains shrank, compared to Neanderthals, breaking the
evolutionary trend?
He laughed. No, no. There are many theories, but it is generally accepted that
the Neanderthal brain size was appropriate for the body size. Also, we did not evolve
from Neanderthals. We share a common ancestor with them, nothing more.
Lindsey walked away and flipped through her notes. I see. So in general, brain
size has increased with each evolutionary advance?
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Yes.
Then it would be safe to assume that a Homo melioris brain would show an
increase in volume over the rest of us?
Yes.
And does Mister Kellers brain show an increase over us?
No. As I said earlier, his brain size comes out to thirteen hundred and sixty-two
cubic centimeters, well within the range of Homo sapien.
On the high side of the range, correct?
Barely. Inacio sipped his water. If his brain volume crossed the fourteen fifty
line, Id have more reason to validate his claim.
But he is above the Homo sapien average. How can you deny his claim?
Alvaro rolled in his chair and pressed his lips together. Because I need more
than one specimen to compute an average.
Additional samples we do not have. But as it stands, the average Homo melioris
brain size is greater than the average Homo sapien brain size.
Technically, yes.
Perhaps in time, as with Homo erectus, Homo melioris will show an increase in
brain size. Then the averages will show the divergence you seek.
Alvaro exhaled sharply and slapped his hands together. That is possible. But
only if the species survives.
And on the subject of surviving to pass on genes, lets talk about chromosomes
for a minute. Can you first tell us what they are?
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Chromosomes are the structures in the cell that contain all strands of DNA.
How many chromosomes are in a cell?
The number varies from one species to the next.
What about Homo sapien?
In general, there are forty-six chromosomes; two sex chromosomes and forty-
four autosomes. In some cases, a person may have forty-seven, but this difference is
the result of an extra sex chromosome. There is never more or less than forty-four
autosomes. If you dont have forty-four autosomes, youre something else.
Would you therefore expect Homo melioris to have a different number of
chromosomes?
Possibly. There is no evidence in the fossil record to suggest past members of
genus Homo had different numbers of chromosomes. Therefore, I cannot say that
Homo melioris would have more or less than forty-six.
Then chromosome number is not a good indicator of speciation?
Not always. More than likely, the evidence will come from Mister Kellers
genome. There is about one hundredth of a percent genetic variance within our
species. I would expect his percentage difference to be higher.
He pressed his chin to his chest and looked down from the chair. His intimidation
would be effective, if he had not already stumbled. Lindsey returned the look.
Where you able to conduct such a comparison?
A standard genomic analysis was conducted on Mister Keller at birth. This
exam only looks for the genetic markers indicating terminal or other genetic disease.
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He paused, narrowing his eyes as he searched some distant memory. I have seen the
genogram, but I was unable to analyze it. It has sense been removed from his files.
The standard exam includes a karyotype, correct?
Yes.
What is a karyotype?
A karyotype is a picture of chromosomes numbered and arranged in descending
order of size.
Was his karyotype still available in the files you reviewed?
Yes.
How many chromosomes does Mister Keller have?
He has forty-six.
But as you stated earlier, the number of chromosomes is not a good indicator for
speciation. Correct?
Inacio sighed. Yes.
And this file does not include a genogram, which you need to establish his
genetic difference from the rest of the population?
Yes.
Well, I see no point in delaying the big question. Mister Keller has evolved
emotional controls, his brain has undergone evolutionary changes, and this qualifies
him as a new species. Mister Alvaro, based on the evidence you have presented, what
is your say on the evolutionary status of Davis Keller?
Davis Keller does not meet any criteria I would consider in naming him a new
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species. He does not represent a new species; there is no Homo melioris. He is a
Homo sapien, and an average one at that.
Lindsey stopped before her table and looked over her shoulder. The witness
seemed peaceful, free from the tension of a difficult cross-examination. He leaned back
in his chair and smiled at her, convinced his expert opinions were more than sufficient to
undermine her case. She spun around to face him.
How can you say that with such confidence? Lindsey circled the stand.
Youve told us already that your analysis exceeded the margin of error you require, and
that the rest of your evidence is spotty and inconclusive. How can you say that?
I can say that because I have studied this subject for over a decade, and I know
what to look for.
Lindsey tilted her head and smiled. As she approached the stand, he detected
the strike too late to defend himself. His eyes widened and blood rushed from his face.
You know what to look for? Are you looking for scientific truth, or are you
looking to avenge what the Meliorans did to you and your sister?
Inacio recoiled. No!
Are you certain? Because it is possible the effects of your time as a Melioran
have predisposed you to revenge. After all, it was the Meliorans who wrecked your life,
didnt they? And now you have this chance to get Keller? Wouldnt that be justice?
Mister Alvaro squeezed his eyes shut. A shudder reached the hands clasped
before his belly and reflected back into his body.
I am here to render expert testimony, nothing more.
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Then, as an unbiased expert, you agree your data has certain flaws, and that
your conclusion is at best simply a possibility?
The corners of his eyes grew damp. All science has a margin for error. Its up
to a qualified expert to interpret the data correctly.
Not even an expert can overcome such prejudiced data as this.
He turned his head and clenched his jaw shut. Lindsey walked away from the
stand.
I have no further questions.
Daniel declined to question, again, and the witness stumbled from the stand.
Sullivan greeted her return with excitement.
Damn! You nailed him hard, even after you promised not to reveal his past to
the court.
Mister Alvaro fled, the paleness in his face still bright and revealing. He pulled
his shoulders back in defiance, but his eyes remained fixed on the door. He never
looked sideways, not to her, not to Keller, not to strangers who watched him leave, and
never slowed his pace.
He should have remained cooperative, like he promised. Besides, I never put
that agreement in writing.
Sullivan scrolled through his electronic tablet. Neither did he. But, his opinion is
discredited and so is any anthropological evidence suggesting Keller is just a mere
mortal slug like the rest of us. It would have been nice to have anthropological proof
Keller evolved, but a qualified inconclusive is good enough. Keller still stands on the
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charge of Genocide. The tablet beeped and he smiled. And the best is yet to come, if
you call this witness.
Yes. She looked at the name flashing on Sullivans tablet. He is a good
choice.
Judge Marshall flipped through his notebook and called on Lindsey to continue.
She rose from her chair and turned to watch Keller.
I call Doctor Philip deGuire to the stand.
Keller swayed slightly as the doctor passed the cage, and fought off a sudden
chill rippling through his body. The doctor stumbled his way into the chair, nervously
took the oath and sipped water to clear his cracking throat. Lindsey leaned against the
banister and spoke maternally.
Tell us Doctor deGuire, what is your relationship to Davis Keller?
I am his neurologist.
And how long have you been his doctor?
For eight years.
You diagnosed Mister Kellers evolved state, correct?
Yes.
On the visit this diagnosis was made, what prompted Mister Keller to see you?
He came to see me after a dizzy spell, which was caused by a headache.
Can you tell us about the visit?
Well, I had no medical history on him at that point. He told me he suffered from
severe headaches since late childhood. The severity of his headaches had magnified
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with age, and they were becoming unbearable. I ran a few simple tests on him. Blood
tests for infections, x-rays to check for signs of skull damage, and we discussed family
history. All came back negative. My belief at that moment was that he suffered from
migraine headaches.
Lindsey turned away from the witness, walked to her desk, and placed her
notebook on the table. With her back still turned to him, she continued.
Was this the conclusion of your visit?
No. His companion insisted I run additional tests.
Wait. Mister Keller brought someone with him? She fumed for a split-second,
tearing a corner from her notepad as she read her notes. She sighed after a moment,
unsure if this hidden tidbit related to anything. Please, continue.
Yes, his partys national director, a man named Henry Marek. Apparently Davis
suffered from severe headaches for several months prior to the incident in question, and
they were affecting his balance. The episode that day, which occurred after the
conclusion of a contentions filibuster, left him particularly weak. So, Mister Marek had
to bring him to me.
Lindsey collected her notepad and scribbled on it. So it was Henry Marek who
requested the additional tests, not Mister Keller.
That is correct.
I see. Lets continue. You agreed to run additional tests?
Yes, Mister Marek had concerns he wanted addressed, and we proceeded with
Davis consent.
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What were Mister Mareks concerns?
He was worried that Davis might have a brain tumor, though such cancer was
not in Davis family.
What tests did you run?
I ran the Magnetic Tomograph and because I did not have access to the
genomic analysis performed at Davis birth, I ordered a detailed genomic analysis to
search for specific protein markers associated with either cancer or migraine
headaches.
Did any other physicians assist you?
A technician operated the MT, but no other physician assisted. I interpreted the
MT myself, and administered the gene test cheek swab myself.
Are you a genetics specialist as well, doctor?
Doctor deGuire became uncomfortable. No, I am not licensed in the genetics
field.
Her pencil snapped and she clenched the pad within her fist. Another surprise.
So you are not a specialist in genetics?
No, but the subject is part of the basic curriculum in medical school. Any doctor
can do a cheek swab.
She released her breath. I see. Tell us, Doctor, what did you see that made
you feel evolution had taken place?
In the MT images, I saw many anomalous regions of activity. In a normal brain,
processes such as speech occur in definable centers of activity. Mister Keller did not fit
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the standard model. In particular, I noted a region of activity that appeared as he was
loaded into the MT chamber and he expressed his anxiety.
At that point, I asked him if he was experiencing pain, and he was. This
confirmed that some sort of emotional reaction was occurring inside his brain. In
addition, the MT showed distinct soft tissue structures, located in the same areas of
activity I just mentioned, that were undescribed in any medical reference. Based on the
strength of evidence from the MT scan, I judged these structures were the result of
evolutionary processes, and represented emotional controls.
Lindsey flipped through her notepad. What about the genomic analysis?
Doctor DeGuire cleared his throat. The test was not analyzed in my office. It is
standard to send out cheek swabs for more expert analysis.
What was the result?
Doctor deGuire, now sweating and losing his voice, let out a deep breath.
The data was lost before reaching the lab.
Lost! Lindsey fell back. Doctor, you told me otherwise! Did you get another
sample from Mister Keller?
Mister Marek would not allow a second test.
Lindsey turned to Sullivan. Surely, there must have been some other test. You
ran no other test?
Doctor deGuire paused before answering softly. No.
Lindsey ran to her table and tore into the neat piles of evidence. Sullivan
scrambled to assist as papers washed over the edge and splashed across the floor. He
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grabbed her hand and squeezed hard. She growled softly and he lightly slapped her
cheek. Lindsey snarled her lower lip to bare teeth and signal retaliation. Sullivan
yanked a report from the pile and shoved it in her face.
This report is very clear, doctor! Lindsey rushed the stand. It states very
conclusively that Davis Keller has evolved. She flipped to the last page. Do you see
this? It says Davis Keller possesses structures never before seen in Homo sapien. It
says Davis Keller is a new species! You wrote this report!
The report fell through her fingers into the doctors lap. He pressed his palm
against his forehead and turned away. Im sorry. I didnt write that report.
What? Lindsey stumbled and grabbed for the banister. What? Are you telling
me this report is a forgery? Why would you consent to have your name and reputation
attached to a fake!?
Doctor deGuire burst into tears. Because they made me! I stepped out during
the MT scan, and Marek pressured me into making the evolution diagnosis! I was not
convinced! The MT alone could never have proven his claim. But they took the
evidence anyway! They took what they wanted to hear!
Lindsey mustered the strength for one soft and lifeless word. Why?
Doctor deGuire wiped his eyes. Marek controlled the medical board. He was
going to have my license yanked. I protested but, he broke down and wailed, but he
threatened to have my family killed if I refused. He was so powerful, I knew he could!
Davis Keller never evolved into anything.
Lindsey stepped away, fumbling along the railing until her hand bumped the
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Judges desk. Marshall tapped his fingers together and slid them along the spine of his
little book.
Prosecutor?
I have no further questions.
Daniel stood and leaned over his table. The tilt of his head and the arch to his
eyebrows screamed an unintelligible warning. I decline to question the witness.
Doctor deGuire stepped out of the box and walked away. The bailiff came to
walk him past the glass cage. Keller did not turn his chair or his head to acknowledge
the most damaging witness to his cause. He just sat still, stiff and serene, stroking his
beard slowly and gently as if nothing else mattered. His pupils opened wide.
Lindsey staggered to the stand. The report lay closed on the chair. She lifted it
up, struggling against crippling fatigue to hold it at arms length. One flimsy, yellowed,
fraudulent report, and everything died. All because of a lie. She turned to her table. All
because of a damned Melioran conspiracy. The Judge called to her for action.
She rushed the table and slapped the report against Sullivans tablet.
You bastard!
He slid backward until the rail stopped his chair. What are you doing? He
raised his hands in protest.
You did this! She grabbed his coat and pulled him from the chair. You gave
me that report!
Yes, but I didnt know it was a fake! I didnt know! Lindsey, please. He grabbed
her hands and spoke softly. Im getting screwed by this as much as you. Im not a part
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of this conspiracy you see. Im not. Im not.
Lindsey released him and fell into her seat. The gears of the camera whirred
loudly in the silent room.
Dammit, Sullivan. How could you do this to me?
He raised his hands and bobbed his head from side to side. Lindsey, He
clasped his hands together and leaned forward. You have to believe me. I dont know
whats going on. How can I? All these witnesses, they told us one thing at their
depositions, and then they go bad on us. I dont know why. Maybe its the Meliorans,
like you think. Who else could it be? But how can I know what theyve done, or who
theyve gotten to? Or what evidence is untrustworthy? You have to believe me.
Sullivan, she spat his name between clenched teeth. Someones playing me.
And you think its me? Why me? After all weve been through together?
The Judge frowned and Sullivan raised five fingers. Marshall called recess but
did not leave the bench. Sullivan moved closer to Lindsey and waved his arms rapidly.
Listen to me, Lindsey. Ive served with you on every one of your Melioran
cases. You know I hate these guys. You know that. Why would I want this case to fall
apart? Why would I want Keller to walk away?
Lindsey pressed her hand against her head and squeezed. I know. Im sorry.
But how could you not know? You know everything.
Im sorry Lindsey, he watched the action on the defense side of the room. But
theyre good. Those Meliorans are good. They want their boss to walk away from this
totally vindicated, so he can charge up the rebellion again and take the Presidency.
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You and I just stand in the way. Thats all. We just stand in the way.
She turned to look across the room. There was no change to Kellers behavior,
but Daniel leaned in front of his team and his bodyguards. He watched carefully, his
eyes darting from her to Sullivan and back.
So how can we fight that? Sullivan, how? Daniel turned away and slowly
disappeared behind the others. Sullivan clapped his hands together and grabbed his
tablet.
We call Tyler, ahead of schedule.
Lindsey dropped her jaw. Sullivan, I dont know.
Cmon! What else is left? You think this trial is run by a conspiracy? Who do
you think heads that conspiracy? Keller?
You think Tyler is doing this to me?
Hell yes. Think about it. Keller is locked away, monitored all day and night. But
Tyler gets visitors. Sure, he has some monitoring, but he can still run the show.
But theres been tension between them since Fort Hope. Why would he want
Keller sprung?
Not for Kellers sake, but for his own. If Keller walks, the rebellion is vindicated.
Tyler will probably walk too. Then they can duke it out for control. Sullivan snapped
his fingers and chuckled. Yeah! The testimony has placed Tyler in control, not Keller.
Shit, Tyler probably has all the troops on his side by now. All Keller has left is his
beard.
Look at him now. Keller seems content to me.
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Hes not. Hes playing you. Hes angry.
Angry? That expression is anger?
Sullivan shrugged. Youve seen the same tapes of Keller I have. I told you he
speaks in body language. Lindsey held up the report as an argument. Yes, the doctor
said he is a liar and has no emotional controls, but the Meliorans got to the doctor,
remember? Tyler told his boys to break Kellers power base, they go overboard and
cause deGuire to crack and change his story. Ill bet Tyler doesnt even know his boys
did it that way. He surely wouldnt have wanted this. Evolutionary advance is the
cornerstone of the whole rebellion. Without it, even Tyler cant revive the movement.
Lindsey rubbed her forehead. So maybe Keller is still a new species. So what?
All I see him do in those videos is sleep, eat, pace around and meditate.
No. Hes angry. Everyone he trusts is turning on him and making him look like
a monster. That makes him angry, because he knows whats going on and there is
nothing he can do except watch his power disappear. What he wants is to put them all
down. He wants to take that stand and say they are all inferior and could do nothing
without him. Hell say whats really going on if we give him the chance. Play to his
superiority complex and well have him the way we want him.
Lindsey tapped her fingers on the table.
Call Tyler, Sullivan pressed in, and get him to admit he wants Keller out of the
way. Shit, we have all sorts of proof thats what he wants. That will only make Keller
angrier. Then call Keller to the stand, and let him tell you the story you want to hear.
Hell say hes in charge and gave all the orders. Hell do it. Hell do it just to screw
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Tyler. And then you have Keller on treason. Sullivan stroked his lips and smiled. And
what a coup for us both.
Lindsey closed her eyes and cursed softly. Youre right. I only have one option
left.
Sullivan stabbed both thumbs up. The Judge banged his gavel and called for
Lindsey to continue.
Your Honor, Lindsey stood and turned to stare at Keller. The prosecution calls
Freeman Tyler.
She could not stop a smile from breaking the tension in her face and spirit.
Kellers hand fell to his side and his head moved upward on a stiffing spine. He turned
to watch the door and let slip from his face the slightest gasp of dread.

* * *

The audience murmured their anticipation as Freeman entered. Except for the
clank of Freemans chains on the floor, the room lacked the frenzy of a trial seeking
execution. Whatever happened in this room during his ride from prison dispersed all
energy and brought every molecule of anything to an utter stop. The look pummeled
into the entire prosecution team explained the sudden chill nipping his flesh.
Freeman climbed into the witness stand, placed his hand on the Bible presented
to him, and turned to Davis. The mask Davis wore was a poor replica of the standard
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neutral expression presented to the public. The palette of emotion coloring Davis face
was like none Freeman ever saw, not in eighteen years of friendship and suffering. The
sudden ability to read Davis baffled Freeman; only a person privileged to understand
the thoughts and emotion of someone so incomprehensible could see the change. It
was unlikely that anyone else noticed the subtly changing hues and contrasts.
The bailiff spoke. Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but
the truth so help you God?
Yes.
Freeman took his seat and leaned back. The prosecutor, spurred by the Judge,
approached him.
General Tyler, she sounded remarkably respectful. Many of the witnesses
close to you have testified to a rift between yourself and Mister Keller. Is this true?
Freeman tapped his fingers together. Weve had our differences.
It could be said you had more than differences. Many of your soldiers said you
advocated the formation of a political party, while Mister Keller did not. Is this true?
I saw it as a viable alternative. So yes, I suppose that is true.
An alternative to what? She leaned against the banister.
To continued aggression. Davis leaned into his headset and swished his eyes
from side to side. I believed forming a political party would directly challenge Hardins
power and force the campaigns in a new direction.
Are you aware that many of your soldiers agreed with you?
No. Freeman waited for Davis to react, but saw no change and continued. I
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did not.
Well, it seems your soldiers were willing to follow your strategies over Mister
Kellers. The short man sitting at her table spun his hand and urged her to continue.
Ill bet that pleases you.
It does not.
She arched her eyebrows. No? Why not?
Because it means my soldiers lost faith. It means we pushed too far and lost all
hope of success.
Maybe they found hope in your wisdom, General. Maybe they saw you as the
leader Keller failed to be. She walked to her table and rested against the edge.
Freeman turned away. My soldiers believed in the cause, same as I do.
Of course. But all the same, she folded her arms and acted thoughtful. Maybe
they dont like Keller as much as they like you. Maybe they want new leadership.
Maybe they want you to take over.
Freeman leaned forward. I may have had differences with Davis, but I never
considered seizing power.
She smiled with the short man. I never said anything about a coup. I just want
to know what it is that makes your soldiers prefer you. You took care of them, did you
not?
Freeman cleared his throat. I did what I could.
And your soldiers respected you for that. I see nothing wrong with that. How
did Mister Keller act toward them? Your soldiers, I mean.
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He saw them in the soldiers role. It is not his style to show emotion.
We are aware of his, persona. She pulled away from the table. One of your
soldiers agrees with you. He told us Mister Keller desired a renewal of conflict, that he
wanted to use his weapons. He told us Keller wanted to burn a path all the way to
Washington. Is that true? Was that the strategy he chose over yours?
He believed the only solution was to continue fighting and mount a new
offensive.
Which would not have worked, in your opinion.
The hot lights bathed Freeman and sweat pooled beneath his clothes. No. We
no longer had the manpower, the resources or Freeman paused. Or the support.
You mean Keller no longer had the support.
No, Freeman snapped. I mean the rebellion no longer had the support.
So you perceived the people no longer wanted to fight their government on the
battlefield, and you surmised they would rather fight in the election booth. She
returned to him. Just who were you planning to promote as your candidate?
I hadnt thought that far.
She winked and started to laugh. I doubt that. And Im certain it was not to be
Keller. Too many people hate him to ever want him as President. They need a hero
from the Melioran side, someone who brought it all to an end, perhaps?
Freeman shuddered. The people want someone who will act in their best
interests, not his own.
Exactly. Someone like yourself?
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Freeman tucked his shaking arm behind the banister and responded softly. No.
It sounds to me, she said loudly then turned to Davis, that you wanted Keller to
at least step down.
No.
Youve told us you disagreed with him, youve told us you wanted to form a
Melioran political party, and youve told us, or at least reminded us, that Kellers
popularity has dropped and will never recover. This is where you saw your chance, isnt
it?
The camera weighed its heavy lens onto Freeman. I saw no opportunity.
I dont know about that. You wanted to form a political party. With a rebellion all
but crushed, what other way could you win? Only, after eighteen months of struggle
and inept guidance, you wanted to run it properly. You wanted to do what Keller could
not. You wanted to stop the Dark Age, or whatever your mission is. She folded her
arms and bore into him. You wanted to take over, because you saw Keller turning
away from the Melioran cause. More importantly, you wanted to be President.
No. Freeman wiped sweat from his forehead.
The short man dropped his tablet on the table to get her attention. He pulled two
small sheets of paper from his piles of evidence and waved them in the air. She took
them both, turned her head and smiled at Freeman.
Youre saying you did not want Keller out of the way?
Yes. Freeman shifted in his seat, attempting to see what she now hid behind
her back.
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I have here two postcards.
Numbness swept over Freeman. Sweat dribbled behind his ear as she displayed
both cards.
Two postcards. One of them addressed to General Ober Governor of the
Southwest District. The other addressed to a television station in Santa Fe. Pretty
cards, both of them. They were sent by a Melioran named Private Villapadre, who
wrote them in a slow and calm manner, as if he took his time and wrote his words very
carefully. As it turns out, this Private was writing in code.
She approached the stand slowly. According to General Ober, this Private had
been sending cards for about eleven months, building up a trust with him. Then one
day, the private said hed had enough, and that the rebellion needed to end. And so it
did, on television no less. The siege at Sierra Madre was first reported by a television
station in Sante Fe. It seems this private made sure the world knew the rebellion was
over.
She reached the stand and stopped, pausing her comments to shuffle the cards.
Freeman breathed slow and hot.
Such pretty cards, mailed from a pretty place, Ouray, Colorado. A picture of two
children on horseback, and another of a man riding into a sunrise. I wish you were
here, it says. Too bad the private couldnt have wished that. It seems he was killed
during the attack on Fort Hope. But you knew that, didnt you General Tyler?
He opened his mouth but could not respond.
Realizing the private was dead, we had the handwriting analyzed. Its yours.
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You turned Keller in. You got him arrested and out of the way. Just like you wanted.
Davis pulled out of his isolation and opened his thoughts. In his tightening facial
muscles were the uncontrollable reflexes of shock and awareness. The mental pain
rippling to the surface exposed the emotions Davis so effortlessly controlled.
General? The prosecutor asked.
Freeman fought the nausea overtaking him. I did not surrender my army or my
friend for the sake of personal gain.
The prosecutors voice exploded. Yet there his is! On trial for the rebellion you
want to control! You wanted him captured! You made sure the event happened live in
a half-billion homes! Why else would you do it except personal gain?
Freeman folded his arms in his lap and inhaled deeply. Youve been mislead if
you believe I ended the rebellion to sentence Davis to death.
The facts are very clear, Mister Tyler. The prosecutor prowled the floor. You
want Kellers power!
I want no such thing.
Why else would you do it!
One million dead innocent people arent a reason? What other sign do you
need? If you even comprehended the suffering that forced me to surrender, you would
not stand here and pretend I wanted this conflict to continue in any form!
But you did! You wanted it to continue and you wanted to run it properly!
No! I wanted it to end!
Because it served no purpose? The prosecutor spat at him. Maybe so, but
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the surrender did. You saw the chance to take down your friend and you arranged to
surrender, even managing to add a battle in the process. We watched our soldiers die,
Mister Tyler, so that you could have one last shot at making Keller look inhuman! You
wanted us to hate him!
I arranged no battle! We were delivered into a trap!
Even now you assault this court and this government!
I see it the other way around. Freeman pounded his fist on the banister. Did
you even bother to think why the army decided a limping force of less than two hundred
required a squadron of waiting assault helicopters and a whole damn armored battalion!
They wanted us dead, not captured!
Yet you fought. The short man banged his tablet on the table and struggled to
gain her attention.
To defend ourselves! Only warmongers would attack a surrendering army!
Yet you had the weapons to defend yourself from helicopter assault. You knew
this was coming. That sounds like planning to me! The short man slumped in his seat
and rubbed his temples.
Not planning. Expectation. This government you defend is untrustworthy. I
knew they would consider attacking us in the moment of weakness. Davis Keller and
Freeman Tyler, exposed and poorly defended. What a prize! Why do you think I
alerted the media? To show us killing Federals? No! They were my security against
overwhelming force. Tyrants do not like to reveal their dirty work to the public. But the
Federals revealed themselves that day. They showed perfectly well why the rebellion
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was necessary.
Then why did you end it!
I surrendered it for all the reasons stated in my coded messages. Codes Im
sure your interpreters told you of. I did it because I saw the rebellion stagnating into a
bloody mess that only served to hasten our decline. You say I betrayed my cause? I
saved it!
The infamous Melioran cause! The prosecutor shouted. The Dark Age is
coming to destroy us all, and only he can save us! She pointed at Davis as he sank
into his chair. That rhetoric is growing stale, general. No one believes it, not even
you.
Freeman gripped the banister with both hands and pulled himself forward. I
believe in the cause. The judge fingered his gavel and looked to the bailiff. It will
survive despite your attempts to lay the crimes of the last two years at my feet!
Your cause is already dead. She leaned into his fierce stare and held firm.
You killed it when you turned Keller in. You corrupted your vision of the future to
satisfy a thirst for power! You betrayed your cause for the sake of greed!
I did not betray my cause!
He rose out of his seat and the bailiff moved forward. Freeman switched his
tense gaze between the prosecutor and the weapon bulging at the bailiffs side. The
camera panned across the silent crowd and the hauntingly familiar hollowness in their
eyes. Freeman returned to his seat and squeezed his fists together.
But I did betray the people.
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The prosecutor froze for a moment as the hostilities abruptly ceased. What
about your friend? You betrayed him.
Davis and I forgot why we started this damn war. Davis lifted his head. I had
no other choice.
Davis slid forward, his head falling agonizingly slow until he could not see
Freeman talk.
The short man rustled through his papers and lifted a thin, yellowed report into
the air. The prosecutor exchanged a confused glance with him and returned to the
table. They talked with intense quiet, until she nodded comprehension. Hiding a smile
poorly, she returned to the stand.
Is it safe to say your friend betrayed you?
Freeman bristled. Only with a conscious effort, of which I am not aware. I do
not think he ever forgot the cause, not even at the end.
But he did make a conscious effort to betray you. I thought youd heard?
Heard what?
She snapped her fingers. Of course! You were in solitary when it happened.
Of course you wouldnt know. The prosecutor slapped her hands against the banister
and bore her teeth in a fierce smile. You would not have heard that your friend never
evolved at all. It seems he just made it all up.
Freeman sat motionless as he absorbed her words. What?
Doctor deGuire told us Keller forced him to make the diagnosis of evolution.
Hes a fraud! Your leader, the man who caused you to kill millions of people, is a fraud.
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So you see, there is no reason to fear telling the court you wanted him out of the way.
There was no reason for him to lead at all.
Freeman wrenched his head toward the glass cage, but Davis turned away. He
closed his eyes to darken the sight.
Then the cause is dead.
The prosecutor pounded her fist. You lost your rebellion!
Freeman sealed her out and touched his chest pocket. The man he followed, the
very reason for fighting at all, was a lie. He cupped his hands across his forehead and
squeezed his eyes shut. The suffering was for nothing. It was all a lie!
The prosecutor breathed fire. You lost you chance at power! You spent a
million lives and have nothing to show for it! Tell us you did it to get rid of him! Tell us!
You want me to confess? Freeman shouted and tears drizzled down his face.
Then I do! I confess to following my heart and fighting the greater evil! In the process,
everything I fought for came to an end! There is nothing left, not the government or
your damn ideas of democracy! Not Davis or his ideology! You want me to confess to
getting him out of the way? Then I confess to getting him out of the way! Not for power.
Because I wanted to save us from a lost cause!
The prosecutor hurled her notebook at her table. Get him off the stand.
The bailiff grabbed Freeman by the chains and pulled him swiftly across the floor.
When the cage was only a few feet away, Freeman dragged the bailiff with him,
covering the distance to Davis as he screamed his anger.
Damn you! He pounded the glass with open fists. Damn you! A lost cause!
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They died for you! I died for you! A lost cause!
Freeman planted his feet on the floor and did not surrender to the forces pulling
him back. Davis vibrated uncontrollably. The prosecutor stalked angrily around her
table, oblivious to the panic overtaking the room. She tossed the postcards and
everything else into the air as the short man pleaded for calm.
The bailiff grabbed Freemans chains and pulled him off balance. A second
guard came and kicked at Freemans feet. He struggled as the guards lifted him up,
thrashing and clawing until he kicked and cracked the glass. The short man and the
judge leapt up simultaneously, as Davis attorney widened his eyes from shock.
The courtroom fell silent. Davis stared at the small crack, curling his eyebrows
as the fissure spread around him. Then he looked outward, up his friends weak and
emaciated body, past the chains and the bruises, into the pale face and sunken eyes of
horror.
The crack reached the metal corner beams of the cage. Davis face flushed and
creases cut across his forehead. He turned away quickly, spinning around fast enough
to rip his headset plug from the jack.
Freeman surrendered. The guards dropped him to the floor, tightened his
restraints and hoisted him for carrying. One of them stepped on a wrinkled piece of
paper. The article must have fallen from his heart during the struggle. A postcard
fluttered from the camera light and slid to a stop against the article. Smiling children on
horseback made a sunny vision of a new future.
A cause worth sacrifice.
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* * *

Davis gasped for air and thrust his arm across the tightening glass walls. Chains
clanked across the floor but he could not break his rigid muscles to turn, or crack his
eyes open to see Freeman slip beyond the closing doors. He would never see his
friend again. Never have the chance to explain. Never have the chance to listen.
Freemans final hostile words assaulted Davis.
A lost cause
Davis shuddered as the door slammed shut. Sweat dripped down his eyelid and
Davis wiped it away. His hand felt light and limp, barely a relic of something greater.
The pale stump of flesh quivered softly and he tucked it against his chest. The camera
panned across the courtroom, washing everything in unwanted light. Freemans
fingerprints glowed hot on the glass like claw marks burned permanently into Davis
skin.
A good friend lost himself and did not understand why.
Davis huffed and focused his thoughts against the emotions surging through his
body. He closed his eyes and listened to the fierce pounding of his heart. He pushed
aside all life beyond the glass, reducing the voices and the energy to one dull noise.
Thoughts and memories, the noble images of a thirty-year crusade, swirled and melted
from the fires raging inside.
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A line of torn and battered people limped through his mind, taking turns on the
stand to spill their hate. The crippled boy in his wheelchair stabbed his finger at Davis
heart and shouted out Hardin! The camera light passed across him and ignited the
blood streaming through his eyelids. The screaming would not stop.
Davis mumbled and broke from meditation. Panic, that was the forgotten
sensation breaking down his heightened defenses and weakening his resolve. He
caught his breath and wrung his hands until the numbness returned, as he did every
night in prison when control failed. He looked around. No one noticed the breach, as if
he was still in his lonely and cold cell.
Davis clutched his chest and coughed against the heaviness settling into him.
Everyone turned against him. So quickly did they forget the cause, the Melioran way,
the futures greatness. The cage spun and Davis leaned into his palm. Why did they
surrender? The Federals. The Federals got to them, threatened them, made them turn!
Davis leaned his head against the cage and fog spread across the glass. More
faces seized his mind. Broken Meliorans slumped in the chair, claiming no solidarity to
their leader as they spoke their damning testimony. Davis clenched his hands together
and flexed his emotional controls. Never was the movement about raw power and
evolutionary conquest. Never. Never. Never.
The Melioris Party sought to save the people from the Dark Age, not to
exterminate a species. It started because the nation needed new leadership, because
the greatest days were in the past. It started because evolution gave the ability to see
what no one else could, because evolution commanded he bring about a new way. But
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thirty years could change a meaning so imperceptibly, even the messenger could forget
the substance in his words. A violent shudder slammed Davis to his knees. The
camera light burned his eyes.
And for the sake of all lies, Freeman would suffer the most. Those men who
once praised him strapped a lost and broken nation to his back and lashed him with
their guilt. A crumpled piece of paper lay beside a postcard. Davis read two lines of the
interview and dampness rolled down his cheek. Freeman discarded the article he kept
near his heart, the one he clung to when the worst days tested his resolve. The paper
was frail as tissue, crushed a thousand times to stop the agony. Agony. Davis grabbed
his belly and dropped to the floor. No one was supposed to suffer. Not anyone. Not
Freeman.
Daniel tapped the glass above the headset jack. Davis fumbled with the plug,
stabbing weakly at the metal hole but always missing the connection. He squeezed the
plug with both hands to hold it steady and wiggled the plug in place. Static and Daniels
voice exploded in his head.
Theyre coming for you. Dont resist.
The door opened and two guards crowded in. They grabbed his arms and ripped
him from the floor. Dizziness weakened his legs and his feet dragged along the tile.
The guards dropped Davis into the witness seat, tightened security straps across his
body and pulled the microphone within inches of his mouth. The dirty device demanded
words. Davis gasped for air.
The prosecutor stalked the space around her table. The short man pleaded for
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her trust until she growled acceptance and stomped toward the stand.
Your friend just admitted betraying you. He told everyone he surrendered you
and your rebellion to the man you hate the most. How does that make you feel?
Freeman is a good man. Davis straightened himself, aware of the warmth still
lingering in the chair.
A good man? I think not. He has been implicated in every crime the Meliorans
committed.
He committed no crime.
Then the two of you have your stories straight? Neither one of you is in charge?
Perhaps the stories of dissension between the two of you are true?
Davis squeezed his hands together and fought the impulse to scream. I wasnt
aware of a rift.
The prosecutor flared her nostrils and walked away. She exhaled slowly as the
short man whispered in her ear. She nodded and returned, abruptly friendly, cunningly
calm.
That would make more sense, after all the stories weve heard over the course
of this trial. According to everyone except Mister Tyler, Mister Tyler was running quite a
little show behind your back. But you heard all that, didnt you? You heard him deny
the facts, how he surrendered the rebellion because he lost faith. Dont you find that
hard to believe?
Davis stomach tightened and he struggled to preserve calm. Freeman weighed
heavy in his mind. The prosecutor returned to the stand. Her voice confined him.
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You should retake your movement, now that Mister Tyler has refused it. Rebuild
your rebellion, as you hoped this trial would allow. Reclaim what is rightfully yours,
Mister Keller. Tell us all that you are the great leader, the one millions fought to bring to
power.
The movement was never about power.
Never? Your soldiers said otherwise. You heard them, did you not? You heard
them recall the acts of Melioran justice. The stories of punishment for the unbelievers,
the songs for battles so fierce the ground itself was reborn, the poetry of natural
selection? Dont you remember the testimony? That is what the rest of us perceived as
your desire.
Davis closed his eyes. The crippled boy in the wheelchair shouted and the rusty
squeak of his wheels sliced his flesh. The cry Hardin, Hardin buckled Davis controls.
A shudder ripped through his body.
I only wanted to help, his soft voice cracked.
And help us you did. You helped us recognize the threat you spent thirty years
fighting. You helped us recognize our frailties. You helped us find in you the superiority
and divine right always lacking in our leaders. You helped us become what we are
today.
No. He choked on heavy air.
Dont deny it. She leaned forward and marveled at the color deepening
beneath his skin. Dont deny us. We still need you, Mister Keller. We need to know
you are in charge. We need to know you are still the one man capable of saving us
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from ourselves. Tell us Doctor deGuire is wrong. Tell us Captain Wahl is wrong. Tell
us all the Meliorans who came to say you are the destroyer of a nation are wrong. Tell
us.
The hot light sizzled and Davis trembled. I cant.
Surely these lies must anger you. Weve seen you react as they speak. Weve
seen your anger growing. Even the emotionally evolved can only tolerate so much. Tell
us they are wrong, that you are the product of evolutionary perfections. Tell us you are
Homo melioris, worth the sacrifice.
His temples throbbed relentlessly. The pressure around his lungs squeezed out
harsh breaths. The prosecutor turned her back to him and walked to her table.
So many have sacrificed everything for you, Mister Keller. Tell us your Melioran
cause is worth it. Tell us you are worth it.
Emotions sparked inside his skull and snapped his rigid tissues.
Tell us the truth about your rebellion, she said. What Freeman understood but
could not accept. Or should we believe that everything you told us, all the reasons for
believing in you at all, are lies?
The room fell silent and a smile snapped across the short mans face. The
prosecutor spun around to gauge her success and gasped.
Camera light burst across Davis as his body tightened and curled back over the
chair. Shadows from his gnarled fingers twisting in the air clawed his face. Decades of
oppressed feelings and memories cracked his thinned shell and roared out from within.
Its all a lie! he cried. I have betrayed my cause. I am the Dark Age!
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Davis unleashed a primal scream of confession, remorse and horror that
smashed the illusion of evolutionary control.

263

OCTOBER 7
THE HOTEL WASHI NGTON
WASHI NGTON, D.C.

Inacio shut the door to his hotel room, picked up his luggage and headed swiftly
down the hall to the staircase. The hour since his dismissal from the courtroom
certainly was not enough time to recover from the humiliation of his testimony, and the
overwhelming, enraging betrayal.
That bitch Foster set me up.
The churning in his stomach was terrible, and he could not ignore it, not at least
until he got the hell out of Washington and back to the dismally anonymous crevices of
Austin. Washington spawned in him a new level of mistrust and paranoia; from the
moment he stepped off the plane, he felt like he was surrounded, watched and
whispered about by people he could not see. The dull buzz inside his head the last few
days had worsened suddenly, erupting from a soft staticy pop to a percussive, shrieking
chorale.
Inacio stomped loudly as he descended the stairs to the ground floor lobby. He
presented his credit card to the receptionist and dropped his eyes when she smiled at
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him. To avoid small talk he dug the silver cell phone from his pocket, flipped it open and
scrolled through a week of text messages until he found one from Sabina.
Inacio exhaled sharply. She was waiting for him to return so she could check the
results of her experiments. She needed him to be there, she said, to be the good
brother and support her in case the results were too devastating.
Like if it turns out Brennan is the cause. Im sorry I brought him into your life.
Inacio slapped his phone shut, signed the credit card receipt, grabbed his bags
and headed for the revolving glass doors. If he could hail a wild and fast cabbie, he
could get to the airport and put his name on the stand-by list before too many others did
the same.
Mister Alvaro! Some fool in the lobby stood up and shouted to get his attention.
It felt like a hundred heads turned to see and to recognize the former Melioran named
Inacio.
Yes, Inacio growled as the stranger approached, then recognized him as an
aide in the prosecutors office. The man was medium height, meaty; a good punching
bag. Inacio cracked his knuckles, suppressed the sudden, violent thought entering his
mind, then spoke.
What the hell do you want?
The man stopped a few feet away, scratched the tip of his nose as he thought,
then pointed to the revolving door.
Maybe we should talk outside.
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Inacio grunted and walked off. Once outside he scanned the street for a nearby
cab, but there were none. The violent thought returned. A detachment of guards from
the nearby White House set up across the street, acting as if they were planning to
block off a street, but appearing to watch him from behind their dark glasses. The man
caught up to Inacio and reached into his jacket.
This is for you, Mister Alvaro. Inacio flinched as the man produced a brown
envelope. Im sorry, but your services are no longer required.
What? Inacio snatched the envelope from the mans hands and inspected the
check inside. Youre firing me? I did exactly what I was hired to do! And exactly what
Ive done in every other trial I testified in!
Yes, I understand your anger.
Bullshit! I told you upfront theres no evidence Keller had evolved. I told you I
would testify to that fact. Inacio stepped forward and jabbed his finger into the mans
chest. You told me my Melioran connections would not be brought up. You lied to
me!
The man did not budge. It was necessary. The fact that youre an angry ex-
Melioran is what made you so valuable to us. What better way to neutralize the
anthropological evidence against our case than to have the best anthropologist in the
country testify that Davis Keller is a fraud, and then describe how your zeal clouded
your judgment and biased your data. For misleading you and breaching confidence, Im
sorry. He pointed to the brown envelope. I think weve compensated you
appropriately for your troubles today.
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I dont want money! I want my life back! I want Keller to pay!
The man smiled. So do we. We want justice for everyone hurt by Mister Keller
and his rebellion. He weaved his fingers together and spoke in a softer voice. I know
your story. Youve suffered as much as anyone. Personally, I think Keller took
advantage of you from day one. He played on your vulnerabilities, lured you in. And
when you lost faith and sought a reassuring gesture from the people you devoted
yourself to, Keller sent his vigilantes after you. The man leaned forward and Inacio
turned away.
I know how they beat you and tossed you off the bridge, the man continued. I
know how your best friend betrayed you and your sister when he abandoned her to go
fight. Its for people like you that we are putting forth every effort to bring him to justice,
for people like you and your late friend John Fallon-
Inacio snapped his head up. Hes dead?
You didnt know? He overdosed last month.
Inacio beat his fists together and closed his eyes. The anger in him grew
stronger. The terrible thoughts in his head grew louder. John fell hard. He didnt
deserve that.
A cab rounded the corner and pulled up in front of Inacio. Youd better nail
Keller, and nail him hard.
Of course, the man said as he opened the cabs door for Inacio.
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The prosecution has fucked this case up unbelievably bad, Inacio said as he
climbed into the back seat. Youd better not fail, youd better put him to death. Its the
least Keller can owes us. Too many have suffered. Too many.
The last I heard, the man said. Keller was taking the stand today. Hell be
exposed. He will pay.
The anger and the murderous thoughts within Inacio swirled into a maddening,
crushing pressure. And then, almost with a crack, the feelings withered away and the
buzz abruptly stopped. Inacio sank into his seat and exhaled as his mind relaxed and
his resolve sharpened. He shot the man a wary look.
Hed better. Or you and your government can go to hell with him.
The man shut the door and watched as the cab pulled away. A minute later, the
cell phone in his pocket rang. He flipped it open and listened intently.
Yes, Mister Richter, he said while strolling along Pennsylvania Avenue. I think
he may still prove useful.
268

OCTOBER 8

Sullivan hummed happily as he sorted and stored his piles. Lindsey wrung her
hands beneath the table and squeezed her eyes shut. The crinkling of Sullivans
papers drilled holes in her damaged psyche. With the trail now delivered to the jury,
and instructions to consider a wide range of charges beyond genocide and treason,
Judge Marshall closed his little book, slammed his gavel and walked from the room.
Lindsey leaned forward and rubbed her palm against her forehead. The low
buzz of conversation dissipated as the audience departed. Unlike the day her case fell
to shit, the day fate or someone else conspired to place Keller on the stand, the
anticlimax of the trial made for thinned levels of spectators. Just as well few people
cared anymore. Once Keller screamed out yes to the wrong damn question and called
his cause a lie, the whole planet had the answer it wanted.
The defense team cleared out, hurried along by a squad of bodyguards and
human shields. For some odd reason, they were the ones considered to be at greatest
risk. The newspapers said the security was necessary, that a hundred thousand
Meliorans were out there waiting, prepared to sacrifice themselves to avenge their fallen
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leader. What bullshit. If they were so uncoordinated as to fill a trial with lies resulting in
the discrediting of their movement, how could they assassinate the attorney who did
nothing yet beat two clear-cut charges of guilt? Lindsey pushed away from the table
and straightened her wobbly legs.
She choked on tears and walked away from her table. The doors slammed shut
and she was nearly alone, temporarily imprisoned until Daniel and the others were
safely underway. Then and only then, would a single guard come for her and Sullivan,
to offer them weak protection and a quick walk to their cars. Useless. The danger
came from the people who invested everything in her perceived abilities. She huffed
and stepped toward the middle of the room. Who would offer protection from the verdict
already condemning her? The empty courtroom resonated with the shouts and cries of
her failure.
A soft powder tapped the windows as the first snowstorm of the fall season
broke. Lindsey ran her fingers across the defense table until she reached Daniels spot.
Thanks to her, the defense was short and unnecessary, and Daniel put no effort into it.
At least he knew his fate in the whole messy trial and accepted his sacrificial offering in
the spirit of due process and equality to which he dedicated his life.
The American system of justice has survived four centuries of crises, Daniel
said when he started his closing remarks. Three centuries of corruption, politics, and
the changing ideas of what it means to be human.
Lindsey closed her eyes and remembered. Davis Keller had an idea of
humanity, one we never considered until his time. It was simple. A human evolves.
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Daniel folded his arms and paced the floor. He seemed to have outgrown
everyone else within range of his words.
A human grows and adapts, he continued. A human predicts and prepares. A
human thinks beyond the confines of his body and considers the rest of us. But
sometimes, a human does not evolve as intended. Sometimes a human cannot
overcome the instincts within that are seldom repressed completely. This is when our
institutions start to buckle.
Daniel walked to Kellers glass cage and tapped his finger against the web of
cracks.
This is where trust and truth are both betrayed.
He approached the jury with his head down, but his eyes high. So that is why
we are here. To judge Davis Keller for his betrayals of what we hold dear. Our nation.
Our cultures. Our lives. The supremacy of Homo sapien. He threatened our existence
and rebelled against the properly elected government of this nation. Daniel gripped the
jury box tightly, pausing to look at every juror until each looked away. I have no doubt
you will find my client guilty of his crimes.
A murmur rippled through the court and Daniel stepped back. Lets review the
facts, shall we? Davis Keller saw the end coming. He took up arms to bring about his
vision of the future. Millions died as a result of his rebellion. The institutions of our
government were condemned. The soldiers of our armies were turned. The fabric of
our nation was torn apart; forever, perhaps. Treason? Under any definition of the word,
he has committed this crime.
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Then Daniel pointed to the camera. All the people of the world, the ones injured
by Kellers war, and those who watched with mild disinterest, know Keller is guilty. They
expect nothing less than the sentence of death. Anything less would be deeply
troubling. Deeply disturbing.
Lindsey moved to the glass cages entrance and stepped over a wadded piece of
paper. She crouched down and rolled the ball in her hand. When Daniel finished with
the jury, he stood rigidly before the bench, held his hands in a fist behind his back, and
aimed his next words at Marshall.
But who are we to judge? Marshall looked back with contempt and fingered the
last few pages of his little book. What is so special about us that we have the right to
judge a man who forces us to look deeper inside ourselves? Are we afraid of what we
see? Did it turn out Keller was as he said, better than us?
If that were not the case, than we should find ourselves innocent of the crimes
we charge Keller with. Crimes such as the bombing of playgrounds, the murder of
Melioran sympathizers, the pillaging of western cities in advance of Melioran troops, the
suspension of elections and the suspicious claim to power. Crimes this court was not
privileged to hear, crimes we choose to ignore.
Marshall dipped his head and watched the camera pan away from Daniel.
Perhaps the reason we prosecute Keller so aggressively is that we know who is better.
How fitting a description of us, that we should send an army to capture a species of one.
With one verdict we can restore the human crown to our exclusive possession. But we
cant possibly recover the meaning.
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Lindsey stepped across the threshold and entered Kellers cage. She sat in the
hard seat and watched Sullivan. He moved quickly and cheerfully while shuffling the
last of his papers. He whistled but the glass muffled his song. She raised the headset
to her ears but no sound filtered through the mesh. Lindsey dropped the headset and
squeezed the yellow paper in her hands. Keller must have adjusted to the silence in his
thirty years of talk.
Daniel left Judge Marshall flustered and flipping through his book, and walked to
his table. He pressed his fingers into a torn piece of paper. If we find Keller guilty of
sharing our ignorance, then we must also find him guilty of wisdom, he said. The
audience frowned collectively and murmured their displeasure to his ideas.
The very bonds holding us together are breaking down before our eyes, and
only Davis Keller knew it. He saw the future despite the blinding effects of our
complacency. That he ultimately succumbed to the force around him proves his
message to be right.
Daniel turned to the window and watched the day dull with clouds. He tried to
warn us, but we would not listen. And now we blame him for what we have become.
That is easier, isnt it? To avoid the truth, the truth that Davis Keller is right? The Dark
Age is already here. Cant you feel it? Cant you feel its crushing weight? Cant you
feel your hearts filling with cold? Daniel paused and watched the camera pan down,
killed and left lifeless on the pedestal.
The guard opened the courtroom door and made his final security check. He
looked at Lindsey but did not motion for her to stand clear of the cage. Keller would not
273
need it now. He would likely not even return to hear the judgment against him. Just as
well, with so many guards assigned to protect Daniel and his team, there would be few
available to stand beside the cage. Even with the cage constructed of bulletproof glass,
the cracks were a weakness. Lindsey ran her finger over the crack, tracing Daniels
movements and recalling his speech.
This is where trust and truth are both betrayed
A shiver collapsed her spine and Lindsey slumped against the glass. Bulletproof
glass should not crack from a single kick! She pried her fingernails into the largest
crack and clawed at the glass. The guard stopped to watch her growl and show her
teeth. She pounded her fist against the glass and a single piece broke free. She
snatched it from the floor and rubbed the sharp edges. No bullet stopping fibers. Not in
the fragment or in the other glass walls. No one could be so stupid as to mistake
regular glass for the thicker, darker, fibrous bulletproof glass!
Lindsey stood in the entrance and dug her fingers into the paper ball. So what?
A contractor built the cage and used substandard glass. The government could not be
blamed when an assassins bullet pierced a glass wall and struck Keller dead. Could
they? But then, the government would not allow such as mistake to happen. Hardin of
all people would understand the repercussions of allowing Keller to die while in his
hands. A mistake like that could martyr Keller and resurrect the rebellion. No, Hardin
would never allow a mistake like that.
Unless it was not a mistake.
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A storm gust pounded the window. Lindsey stumbled from the cage. The
government wanted someone to take a shot! The contractor was to blame, they could
say, he hated Meliorans for what they did to him.
Daniel had looked to her once the camera light faded. The truth is obvious, he
said like a clue, if we take a minute to examine what we already know, and accept the
obvious conclusion.
The paper rustled in her hands and she tore it open. The drawing was instantly
recognizable. Five boxes and five numbers, the same code dropped in front of her
when her case first started to crumble. The numbers twelve, one, one and one added
up the warning DECIPIO. That was a Latin word; how else would a lawyer speak in
code? It meant to trap; how could she not have seen the truth?
The numbers revealed more of the trap: twelve for the jury, one for the judge
and his little book, one for every damn witness speaking on cue. Sullivan shuffled his
shoes across the floor, thrust his hand into his pocket and flinched when he perceived
Lindseys revelation.
The last number one fell into place. To lead her case astray, the government
required a steady feed of misinformation, preferably from someone easily dismissed as
trustworthy. Sullivan batted his eyes and turned away. Fear bleached his skin and his
fine clothes suddenly felt too revealing.
Lindsey fell back against Daniels table and laughed hysterically. The Meliorans
could never mount such an elaborate conspiracy. The Federals did it all. They made
the witnesses turn. They tampered with the dispensing of justice. They broke the truth
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and crushed an enemy with the weight of his horrors. If there was one failure in their
victory, it was that Davis Keller still lived.
Daniel knew the truth but could not speak, not with Marshalls goons at his side.
So he kept quiet until today, afraid of the death threats he knew were real.
It is too late for us, he said sympathetically before Judge Marshall ordered him
to finish. We will remain dimly aware that what we say or do makes no difference in
the historical cycle of rise and fall.
The guard completed his scan and motioned for her to leave. His happy tone
assaulted her, a congratulation for failing as expected. Lindsey stopped beside the
closest window and pressed her hand against the glass. She shivered and pulled her
arms close to fight the cold.
Snow fell heavily and muted the vibrant colors. Reds and oranges melted to
whiteout. Landmarks and lights blended toward night.
276

OCTOBER 10
PAI NTER HALL LABORATORY ANNEX

Does any piece of equipment in this lab work?
Sabina fumed over her test results; they imitated the hospitals tests results
almost perfectly. Weeks passed since initializing the tests, plenty of time for automated
machines to do their work properly. Something malfunctioned, that was the only
explanation for the impossible data. But there was no one else in the lab to offer help.
She would have to track down the problem herself.
Sabina inspected the glassware. The vials and tubes looked uncontaminated
now, but she could not remember cleaning them before use. She jabbed them back
into the rack and muttered how it did not matter. The tubes were washed and sterilized
several times since then, and any trace of contamination went down the sink a long time
ago.
Sabina turned the centrifuge on and off and revved it from low to high. The
machine worked perfectly just to spite her. She poked through the lockers and
cabinets. The blood gun hibernated with its wrapped sampling needles and collection
vials. The Vapor Chromatography and Biochromatography machine underwent an
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expensive checkup over the summer, and was in perfect working order. The automated
genetic ID and sequencing kits were too simple to fail. A protein solvent broke open the
cellular nuclei, RNA tracers were added to the mix, and the computer did the rest. Once
the tests were compete switched a light from green to red if a faulty gene existed.
Individual sterile kit wrapping made contamination unlikely.
The chromatography results were revealing, but inconclusive. The soil samples
Paulo had shipped from Campoalmas were contaminated with several carcinogenic
hydrocarbons, like benzene and toluene, that could have been in the soil for centuries.
They also contained toxic metals and compounds that were probable breakdown
products of defoliants and other herbicides used in massive quantities during the
Brazilian Wars to clear the jungles. There were also traces of chemicals rich in chlorine
and cyanide, whose only purpose was to kill. Inacio may find proof of his theory
vindicating, but the results were basically a dead end. Though there were many nasty
chemicals in the environment back home, they all occurred in concentrations several
orders of magnitude below their thresholds of toxicity, and none appeared in Bellisas
sample.
There has to be a flaw, she said anxiously. Almost all of Bellisas tests turned
red.
Sabina sat down at the main computer terminal, called up her file and reread her
notes. She performed every test without a single procedural error. She read the file
again and tapped the monitor.
Maybe the computer has a glitch.
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The maintenance sheets recorded a long history of burnouts and short circuits in
this old computer. She pulled open the access hatch. The fans and processors
hummed the appropriate rhythm and the stink of burned insulation did not foul the air.
She slammed the hatch closed and instructed the computer to inspect itself. A
malfunctioning chip could be fixed; a damaged hard drive meant corrupted data. The
computer chirped and displayed the results. No errors, defects or malfunctions
detected. No storage space disrupted. No viruses detected. Sabina put her head in
her hands and grunted.
What is wrong with you?
Two hours wasted reading data, looking at computer pictures, turning machines
on and off, and tinkering with procedures in her mind. Inacio was at the bar waiting,
probably looking at his watch impatiently and drinking one beer after another. She
kicked the desk but did not feel better.
Sabina looked over the results from her blood work. Every genetic test came
back normal, which meant Brennan was the carrier for all of Bellisas diseases. An
improbable conclusion, but he and his genes were long gone, meaning she would have
to examine herself again to make sure. The thought of using that gun again did not
please her.
She instructed the computer to display her karyotype on the left half of the
screen. The program could only account for forty-four of her chromosomes; forty-two
autosomes and both sex chromosomes. The incomplete black and white picture
frustrated her. A quick diagnostic of the karyotyping microscope confirmed it worked
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properly, proved the camera was perfectly aligned and in focus during photography, and
insisted no bugs damaged data during image storage.
So where are my two other chromosomes, you stupid machine? Are they stuck
in your memory chips?
Sabina slapped her hands on her legs and exhaled deeply. She instructed the
computer to display Bellisas karyotype beside hers. Two chromosomes were
mismatched and a lone chromosome floated unmatched, its solitude painfully unnatural.
Reprocessing did not correct this picture either, or explain the impossible count of forty-
five chromosomes. Every chromosome existed in a pair as a mirror image of its
partner, and Bellisa could not break that rule.
Sabina slouched into her chair and panned slowly around the lab. No broken
components, according to the computer. Nothing contaminated, in theory. Bellisas
samples were frozen within the acceptable time and thawed perfectly, but all her tests
failed. Bellisas samples should be tested again. She sighed and stared at the cold
room, then shot from her chair and screamed.
I forgot to collect a back-up sample! Oh, Sabina! How could you have done
that? You have nothing to double check!
She fell into her chair and cried uncontrollably.
Because I wasnt thinking straight. How could I have been? Id just lost my
baby!
Sabina stared blankly at Bellisas karyotype and her misery turned to anger. She
would never have her answer.
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You stupid computer! My daughter is not a monster! My daughter should have
forty-six chromosomes! She hit the monitor. Where are our missing chromosomes?
We should have forty-six like everyone else!
Her arm stopped in mid strike. Something Inacio said during the trial gnawed at
her. She stopped crying, looked at the pictures on the screen, and thought.
He said, Homo sapien will always have forty-four autosomes and at least forty-
six chromosomes. If you dont have at least forty-four autosomes, youre something
else. She looked at the karyotypes on the screen.
Oh my, she said in a soft exhale.
Her fingers slashed at the keyboard and entered commands to find matches
between both karyotypes. The computer crunched for several minutes then displayed a
labeled gene sequence schematic with matching parent-offspring chromosomes in like
colors. Bellisas carried twenty-one of Sabinas autosomal chromosomes, plus the X
chromosome. In most cases, they were paired normally with Brennans. The unpaired
forty-fifth came from Brennan.
Sabina queried a list of Bellisas identified faulty genes and saw a pattern. They
were all recessive diseases, diseases that occurred when a child received two copies of
a faulty gene or when no good copy of the gene existed to mask the recessive one.
Most of Bellisas diseases were located on the mismatched pairs and the lone
chromosome. Sabinas hands trembled. The data, and the computer, were not flawed.
One test remained.
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Sabina instructed the computer to compare her genome with the universal
genome model. It beeped a warning and explained the comparison would take fifteen
minutes. She stabbed the continue button and pulled Bellisas birth record from a
drawer. Other details of Inacios testimony flooded her mind. He talked about babies,
about Homo sapien babies. Bellisas cranium was larger than average, much larger.
The doctors noticed that right off, but assumed the MT scan taken after delivery was
wrong. The test projected that on her calculated due date, Bellisas brain would have
been a whopping four hundred fifty cubic centimeters, larger than the average of three
hundred eighty-five.
The computer beeped and dumped pages of error messages onto the screen.
Sabina laughed. Now the computer puzzled over the data. Several of Sabinas genes
were in the wrong place, several genes were missing, and some genes were
unrecognized. Her genetic similarity flashed in the bottom corner: 99.8 percent. For
anyone else, the similarity would be around 99.9 percent, but the discrepancy was not
trivial. One-tenth of a percent meant an extraordinary difference, considering over
100,000 genes existed in the human genome.
Bellisas death had a very simple answer: incompatible genetic material.
Bellisas father had forty-six chromosomes, just the right number for his species.
Bellisas mother had forty-four, just the right number for her species. Sabina touched
the screen.
Bellisa, she said in a soft, motherly tone. Sapa was right. You had a very
important message to tell us.
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Sabina leapt from the chair. Inacio hated spending time alone in a bar, but he
would not feel angry once he heard the news. Bellisas voice, innocent and truthful,
whispered as she shut the door to the lab.
Mama, youre something new.

PHYRROS I CEHOUSE
AUSTI N, TEXAS

Inacio sipped his third beer of the hour and looked at the clock. Sabina was late.
Watching students cram the bar and struggle to make the brightest display bored him;
the endless posturing for attention, laughing, joking and getting drunk lacked originality.
Someone stumbled across his corner table and slurred a curse to the trial celebrity.
Inacio finished his beer and scoffed. Drunks say anything but remember nothing, or no
one. He opened a new bottle and leaned back in his chair.
Sabinas favorite novella ended, pegging the hour at one oclock. Her serious
tardiness worried him; her tests failed, or worse, succeeded. An alcohol buzz
sharpened the chatter, but he refused to leave. If Brennans damn defective Melioran
genes caused Bellisas death, he wanted to know. The clock hands spun past three,
but she had asked him to wait and he intended to honor that request. Good brothers
offer comfort. He finished his beer and tapped the bottle on the table.
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Good brothers offer strength; that was why he testified, to shield her from his
Melioran past. Even the prosecutors stupidity and malice toward witnesses could not
deny the truth he revealed. Millions cheered when Keller bubbled over with emotion,
twisted into a death pose and destroyed his credibility. He had to retaliate and expose
Kellers evolutionary fraud; the Meliorans, not defective genes, ruined everything.
Inacio smiled and rolled the cool, empty bottled in his hand. The verdict would cure
past mistakes.
The room fell silent and someone maxed the television volume. SPECIAL
REPORT scrolled across the screen and the newsanchor appeared, hiding his
excitement behind calm words. A picture of Davis Keller popped up in the corner.
Good afternoon. We have interrupted this program to bring you word the trial of
Davis Keller is about to end. The jury has returned to the courtroom after two days of
deliberation. We will now go live to our nations capital.
The image changed abruptly. Judge Marshall sat in the background, motioning
to the jury.
Foreman, he proclaimed. Have you reached your verdicts?
Yes, Your Honor. On the charge of genocide, we find the defendant, Davis
Keller, not guilty. On the charge of treason, we find the defendant not guilty.
Students exploded and hurled chairs, bottles and bodies into the air. More
verdicts returned. Not guilty. Not guilty. Not guilty. All the worst crimes one person
could commit against another, or a country, and he was not guilty! Inacio squeezed his
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eyelids shut until lights flashed in the darkness. Still the words found a way to him. Not
guilty! Not guilty!
Only with the last charge did the jury convict: advocating the overthrow of the
United States government. Two hundred million people, two-thirds of the whole damn
nation, committed the same trivial crime every day!
And so it ends, the newsanchor read his teleprompter blankly. The jury has
sentenced Davis Keller to five years, the maximum his crime allows, but he will serve
his time in house arrest. Despite overwhelming evidence to countless acts of treason
and murder, Keller escaped the death penalty so many expected and demanded. The
foreman released a brief statement before security forces escorted him from the
courtroom. In it he said the prosecution failed to produce a single witness tying Keller to
any crime, and failed to extract a simple confession from a man overwhelmed with guilt.
With that, Mister Keller will not end life in Federal prison. He will be placed under house
arrest for his safety, detained within his home, protected by the same government he
tried to destroy.
Inacio clenched his jaw. Of course the government would not find him guilty of
any serious charge! That would only validate his rebellion. Finding him guilty and
sentencing him to death would only martyr him. Instead, the government destroyed
him, turned his people against him, made him out for the power mad fanatic he was.
They made him scream in horror and believe their point of view, then slapped him on
the wrist and shooed him away like a child.
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Inacio pressed his hand against his forehead. That was the way to end the
rebellion and do away with a political threat. Hardin could congratulate himself on
validating his bastard Presidency.
But someone forgot justice for Sabina. Bellisa. Him!
For political security Keller would step from his cell into a punishment called
freedom. Reduced to the status of petty criminal, with shabby clothes clinging to his
back, the stink of body oils perfuming his hair and dirt caking his blistered skin. But the
mock dismissal would not cover the emptiness in his eyes, or the fresh emotional scars
on his face. Keller would never look away from the ground during transport to his Texas
home, and never sense the guards holding him down. He would never leave that home.
Never venture out to remind the world of what he did. Never whisper Melioris to another
soul.
But he would still live!
Inacio crushed his fingers into a fist and shattered the bottle in his right hand. He
kicked away the chair with one violent thrust and slammed his palm against the table.
Keller appeared on the screen to insult the dead one last time.
Hot blood oozed from old wounds and Inacio melted into his rage.

* * *

The sidewalks and street corners crackled with excitement. Strangers spun in
circles and shouted angrily, but Sabina did not slow her pace to listen. Inacios car was
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not in the lot or parked in front of the bar. She stopped to read the nameplate over the
door, and make sure this was the right place.
Trash and debris spilled from the dark interior. More angry voices rose against
the news spewing from the television. Sabina stepped inside, weaved through the
clutter and dense passions to an empty corner table. Glittery shrapnel fanned out from
three broken bottles on the tile floor. Brown glass popped beneath her feet. Large,
sharp petals decorated the tabletop. A bottle exploded against the far wall and
someone cursed.
Sabina looked to the sounds but the angry voices were not Inacios. She
scanned the nervous faces but did not see him. A flash burst from the television and
caught her attention. A shaky camera caught Davis Keller shuffling out of prison to a
waiting van.
We can assume this van will take him to nearby Andrews Air force Base, where
security can be controlled. A reporter huffed as he tried to keep up with the mob. But
there are no confirmations yet. The only facts we know are ones the world has already
heard. There will be no death sentence for Davis Keller. Genocide and treason,
according to the jury, were never proven. In their minds, he is only guilty of advocating
the overthrown of our government. For that crime, Keller received the light punishment
of five years house arrest. While the Melioris Rebellion left millions homeless, Davis
Keller will receive a military escort to his.
Sabina gripped the chair and groaned. Keller got away with it. The bulb orbiting
overhead reflected light on the tabletop. The glare sparkled within the broken glass
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then disappeared behind a dark handprint. She pressed her finger against the print and
recoiled from the touch of warm blood. A busboy two tables away watched her dizzy
stance. She stepped away but the handprint enslaved her.
Inacio drank his beers, watched his nightmare explode, and marked his
intentions in blood. He blamed the Meliorans for his misery and he expected them to
die. He expected Keller to die. Dead and buried, Inacio once said; he would not move
on until Keller and his Meliorans were dead and buried.
Sabina tucked her arms against her chest and stepped backward to the door.
More people stared from their half-conscious worlds. They screamed for the death of
an evolutionary monster, and now they looked at her. Sabina spun and ran into the
street. Maybe Inacio was still at the apartment and could be stopped.
His voice, primal and violent, whispered in her ear when she found his room
ransacked.
Sister, were something horrible.

TRAI LHEAD APARTMENTS
AUSTI N, TEXAS

Inacio moved in a daze. He did not remember leaving the bar, plowing through
traffic and pedestrians to the apartment, or bandaging his right hand with shredded
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pieces of shirt. He spun another layer of wrapping over his hand and found the lack of
pain amusing. Instinct pushed him on, instructing him to leave the apartment and look
elsewhere for what he required. He washed his face at the mirrorless kitchen sink,
strolled to his idling car, and drove westward. Keller would arrive within a few hours,
leaving little time to waste.
Inacio searched subdivisions for the right vehicle to steal. He paused his car
when strolling residents seemed suspicious, fought with a road map, and asked where
he was or how to find such-and-such street. He politely thanked them all and drove to
the next block. The subdivisions would not freely provide him what he needed. The
dried red splotches on his bandages attracted too much attention; people remembered
injuries like that. Smaller towns were more untrusting.
Inacio searched ranch roads while the sun set, passing isolated homes and
trailers. His watch beeped six oclock in the evening. Kellers plane was at least
making its final approach; time grew short. An empty house, with a beat up blue truck
parked outside, slowed his pace. He eyed every detail of the little shack as he idled
past it, then throttled to the far side of a nearby hill. Tangled bushes growing in a dry
streambed hid his car perfectly.
Inacio stepped out of the car, pleased by the silence. He popped the trunk,
donned the black shirt and pants stashed within, slid a glove over his uninjured hand,
and softly shut the lid. Gravel crunched beneath his feet as he jogged to the house. No
cars passed him on the road, no dog barked to give him away. A line of thunderstorms
rumbled in the distance. Lightning flashes would soon rob him of vital darkness.
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Inacio stopped several yards from the truck and watched for movement in the
house. Convinced of his stealth, he approached and smiled. Hunting season had
already opened, and the truck overflowed with tents, coolers, chairs, and duffel bags. A
gun case large enough for a rifle and sighting equipment lay hidden behind the front
seat.
No alarm warning lights flashed below the steering column. Inacio touched the
handle lightly and pulled. The door was unlocked. Hopefully the owner stepped out to
buy some forgotten item. Otherwise, he would soon wake to the sound of his precious
truck squealing into the night.
Inacio opened the door and pulled the gun case from behind the seat. The
splintery box had no lock and squeaked open. Everything he wanted was inside; a
compact rifle with shoulder strap, a magnifying eyepiece and a pouch of shells. He
placed them back in their spots and closed the case.
A hand sweep of the visor and seat did not produce hidden ignition keys. Inacio
climbed in and paused to rethink his decision. Using his car would be easier than hot-
wiring. He tapped his pants and decided to take the truck. Better not to be seen
leaving a crime scene in his car and license plates. Kellers house was reasonably
close. He would just ditch the truck somewhere and run back to the car.
He tugged on the steering wheel case and it crumbled apart. The old truck
suffered from a poorly rewired ignition switch installed by an owner who knew nothing
about theft safeguards. Inacio started the truck. The muffler popped loudly. He
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punched the accelerator and tore out onto the road. The house remained dark and he
allowed himself to breathe.
Inacio drove to his car, turned around, and read the odometer. Three miles later
he saw Kellers house; a small building on a hill surrounded by bushes and occasional
large trees. A dirt road, maybe five hundred yards long, led from the highway to the
house. Two cars claimed the driveway, meaning six to eight people in the house or on
the grounds.
This initial team hurried to complete their tasks and secure the property before
Keller arrived. Inacio looked at his watch as he drove casually along the road. Keller
would come home within an hour, under military escort, surrounded by soldiers who
would have killed him two months ago. A long thunderclap rolled from the horizon.
Inacio watched the dark nooks beside the highway for a place to park the truck.
The entrance to another ranch appeared a mile beyond Kellers house. Inacio pulled
beside the gate, reached into the steering column and disconnected the wires. A mild
shock jumped through his arm. The engine gurgled and the truck died.
Inacio jumped out and grabbed the gun case. The rifle assembled quickly and
the shell pouch felt light in his pocket. Inacio caressed the smooth black steel and
rubbed the fingers of his ungloved right hand along the barrel. He slid the case behind
the seat and closed the door softly.
A quick scan revealed no trouble. He jumped a fence post to enter the ranch and
ran behind bushes crowding the fence line. His pants muffled the jingle of shells and
his fingers ached from gripping the rifle too tight. He passed the border to Kellers
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property but did not jump the fence to cross the road. The neighbors ranch provided
good cover and he could run undetected to the main entrance. His stopwatch read
twenty minutes when he made his mark. The three-mile run back to the car would not
go quickly.
Inacio paused to catch his breath and watch the highway. No cars approached.
His muscles twitched painfully but he leapt the fence and bolted across the road. Anger
pushed aside the cramping in his legs when he set foot on hated ground. He ran for
cover and froze in place. Guards circled the house but did not appear alert. Inacio
crouch-walked softly along a carefully chosen path.
The house looked deceptively small from the highway. A one-story rectangle
designed for unobscured views of the surrounding country. Large picture windows
extending from floor to ceiling made three of the four sides. Lights illuminated the inside
and revealed two people pretending to work. One of them hammered at the front plate
of a security sensor.
Inacio stopped at a massive oak fifty yards from the house. The tree retrained its
leaves and thick branches dipped toward the ground. He pressed against the trunk and
peered around the edge. Here was a perfect view of everything. Inacio tossed the rifle
over his shoulder and looked west across the road. Lightning ignited the approaching
clouds and the rumble of thunder felt constant.
He scurried up the tree and settled onto a wide perch ten feet above the ground.
The branch sagged but supported his weight without making noise. The browning
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leaves and stiff twigs shielded him perfectly. He sprawled out and removed the rifle
from his shoulder.
The scopes digital crosshairs required calibration. He took aim at one of the
door guards, spinning the sight controls until he aimed accurately at the mans temple.
Inacio smiled. The equipment was perfect. He turned the rifle toward the picture
window.
He never even fired a gun until those FBI stereotypes entered his life and
promised to teach him self-defense. Twice a week for two months they took him to the
firing range, taught him about guns and personal defense, and let him practice his aim.
He fired everything from paint guns to automatic machine guns and took to it quickly.
By the end of two months, Inacio could not miss a shot.
After that, the FBI guys patted his back and told him to call if he ever needed
anything. They told him to go out and buy a gun just in case, but Inacio thought that
was unnecessary. The Meliorans long ago left him for dead and he doubted they would
return to finish him off. Davis Keller no longer inspired people to murder for the cause.
Headlights appeared and the military procession crested the hill. Two cars, one
troop transport and two jeeps drove down the sloping highway and turned into the
complex. Light from headlights hit the tree trunk and illuminated the fissures and scars
carved into the bark. Inacio pressed flat against the branch and held his breath until
darkness returned, then assumed his firing position.
The convoy stopped at the entrance to the house. Ten soldiers jumped from the
vehicles and surrounded the building. Four entered and made a quick sweep while the
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others twitched at every strange sound. The commander appeared in the doorway and
signaled the others. A soldier banged his hand on the garage door and it rose slowly.
The armored troop carrier backed up to the opening and stopped abruptly. A ramp
extended from the back of the vehicle and soldiers poured out into a rigid formation.
Keller would exit the transport and walk through a human corridor.
Inacio swept the sight across the heads to find an opening large enough for one
bullet. He touched the trigger and the shell pouch clinked against the branch. The rifle
was not loaded! He swore loudly and dug into his pocket. Two shells tumbled into his
hand and he jammed them into the chamber.
Inacio snapped the sight to his eye and saw a bobbing gray head. The image
rocked sideways as he zoomed in his scope and slid the crosshairs into place. Keller
disappeared into his home and the garage door closed. The troop transport rumbled
back to life and drove away.
Inacio aimed at a darkened picture window. An icy tingle spread from his
wounds.

BURNET COUNTY
CENTRAL TEXAS

The security team had stripped Davis cold and empty house bare. Only a few
pieces of furniture and the most basic items necessary for life remained. The guards
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outside his room chatted and ignored the prisoner, mistaking his silence for calm. Davis
shivered on his bed, tightened and relaxed his fists, and waited patiently in the darkness
for the approaching storm. Every rumble and flash of light energized a fresh crackle of
emotion.
Davis remembered the equally ominous storms from the night of his censure ten
years before. That night, the sense of superiority began; that night he was reborn. If so
many people would not see the storm coming, if so many people assaulted his warnings
and ridiculed his foresight, then he must be unique, he must be special. In time, he
found a common cause for the clairvoyance of his vision, the peerless isolation, and his
physical suffering. Davis had already subconsciously elevated himself to a new species
when Henry Marek argued for evolution in Doctor deGuires office.
For a decade Davis believed the lie, convinced others, and compromised his
vision by repressing the truth of his condition. His emotional controls were nothing more
than numbness of his soul hollowed out by years of being ignored, of knowing the world
would end and finding it impossible to convince anyone. The bitter experience reduced
him to thinking without conscience, and listening without empathy. Why cry for people
determined to destroy themselves?
At some point he began to wonder why he should care for them at all. Why care
for the unevolved, the lesser, the weak? Thoughts like those made it easy to continue
the rebellion Henry Mareks coup set off. So subtle was Davis transformation from
altruist to agitator, he found rationalizing his aggression easy; the cause justified
violence and chaos. The harder his enemies pushed him away, the stronger he pushed
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back. Davis never understood that their resistance was not a symptom of denial, but a
response to the unstoppable Melioran force crushing them into oblivion. Even when the
Federals surrounded him and the cameras eagerly watched for his end, Davis believed
he could win.
Not help. Not save.
Win.
The winds howled and chased away the silence outside his home. The shapes
of hills and trees stood in silhouette against the fiery storm. A strong gust blew sand
and twigs into the window with a thump and a screech, like the scratching of Freemans
fingernails across the glass cage. His old friend had searched for something better after
the disillusion of Venezuela, and thought he had found it within the Melioran cause and
within Davis. But a mere name did not reinvent a species; a biological event did not
justify superiority. The truly evolved did not need emotional controls. The truly evolved
could pull away from numbness and hate and make the difficult choice. The truly
evolved did not become the thing they hated most.
When he cracked the cage and found his answer, Freeman understood the
corruption of Melioris. Then his face swirled together the hot palette of emotion: anger;
hatred; disgust; remorse; regret. Chains clanked in Davis mind, and he could not stop
the memory of Freeman sagging between the guards as they carried him out of the
courtroom, his back dragging on the ground, his body limp and defeated by the cause
he suffered to protect. Davis bowed his head to drip sadness onto his bedroom floor.
The tears did not come to wash the pain away and Davis squeezed his eyes shut.
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He had last stood peacefully with Freeman in Ouray, watching the federal trucks
roar through the town in pursuit of the decoy truck. More lives wasted, Freeman must
have thought, but he stood relaxed. He had just written his postcards to end his
nightmare, while his friend stood by, ignoring all reason and quietly predicted the
resurrection of a dead rebellion. The tension and stress gripping Freemans body had
given way to a glow of relief and calm.
That was the look of humanity. That had been the promise of Melioris.
Lights! Davis called out to the houses computer.
Nothing happened. The security team had disconnected the computer, or just
took it for themselves. Davis slid off the bed onto the cold hardwood floor, letting his
head droop as he approached the wall and a row of light switches. Davis reached out
and flipped one of them. A single spotlight illuminated his walk to the windows.
Davis leaned forward and pressed his palm against the glass. A half-lit face
reflected on the surface. He stared at an expression long forgotten, puzzled by the
emotional meaning of his expression. Not anger; he saw enough of that in every
haunted soul to know its subtle colors and lines. Something else. Unfamiliar features
cut shadowy lines across his skin. He touched his cheek. His face felt different, not the
mature expression of leadership he once possessed. The last layers of his evolutionary
mask rubbed dryly against his fingertips. The world outside grew violent as lightning
stabbed the ground and ignited the sky.
A large oak swayed outside, strong despite the forces acting on it. Its branches
hung low from a weight difficult to support. The outline revealed life, but the darkness of
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silhouette hid all passion, all hope. The storm would come to strip it bare, leaving it
lifeless and dormant through the cold winter ahead.
Then it would come for him.
His eyes widened and lips trembled. The future he hated so much rolled toward
him mercilessly, coming for what it wanted ten years ago. The storm like this raged
outside his Senate office the night of his censure, calling for him to surrender and
accept the unstoppable darkness. Rather than stand down, he fought, dared to claim
himself as something better when all else crumbled, and forced civilization to pay a
higher price. Now the Dark Age arrived stronger than it should have because of him,
washing over a country and a species, to begin a fate postponed.
Bits of debris struck the window with a hissing, angry energy. Desperate voices
shouted about betrayal. Lightning flashed and Davis stumbled over his breath. He
clutched his heart and fell to his knees.
Fear.
That was the name for this emotion. He had promised to defeat fear. Not
because he evolved, he said as the people rose to embrace him during the Presidential
debate, but because he was human. A promise broken and an identity denied. Could
being Melioran exist with his humanity, or did one cancel out the other? He twisted his
head until both halves of his face glowed against the night, but he still felt incomplete.
Davis pressed his shoulder into the glass and turned to look through his
reflection. The rain curtain crossed the hillcrest and the countryside disappeared into
darkness. His breathing grew shallow and quick but he made no effort to move. Like
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Freeman, he would accept what must be done and surrender. That was the hard
choice resisted ten years ago; offer no resistance and raise no arms against fate.
Tones of relief and strength swirled with the paleness of anxiety and fear. He
should have seen that face long ago on himself, Freeman and everyone his life
impacted. A tear rolled down Davis cheek and sparkled in the light.
He was human again.
The tempest hit the tree and screamed through the branches. Wind and water
slammed into the glass and shattered his reflection. A crack of thunder spoke in
rebuttal, explosive and final.
Not human. Melioran.

* * *

Inacio adjusted himself on the branch to chase away the stiffness. The storm
approached rapidly and very soon fierce wind and rain would tamper with his shot.
Worse than weather was time. The soldiers would patrol the grounds eventually. The
owner of the truck would come home and find his vehicle stolen. The police would
search, having little else to do. They might already have found his car.
A bolt of lightning flashed close by and the crackle of thunder nearly caused him
to jump. The situation grew dangerous. Dull pain throbbed in his hand. If he left now,
he might get away.
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A single point of light appeared inside the house. There was Davis Keller, alone
in his bedroom, strolling into a perfect kill. Inacio leaned forward on the branch and
succumbed to his reflexes. The rifle commanded him.
Keller leaned against the window. His head dipped slightly, but Inacio sensed his
feelings. His finger twitched anxiously near the trigger, unable to act. Here was the
man responsible for the ruin of his life and he could not pull the trigger!
Inacio breathed heavily. Keller was all alone, standing silently in the window. A
gift! A gentle breeze caressed him and the branch began to sway. The digital
crosshairs released Keller and Inacio exhaled sharply. Still he could not fire.
Inacio closed his eyes to concentrate. Davis Keller must die for what he did!
Justice did not come from the courtroom; only he could deliver the proper sentence.
Inacio opened his eyes and looked through the scope. He increased the magnification
until only Kellers head was visible.
Keller looked up toward the tree. His eyes filled with tears. In that instant he
suffered so clearly, as if he understood the consequence of his damned war for
supremacy. A tear rolled down Kellers cheek, sparkling with fear and humility.
Inacio struggled with the rifle until the crosshairs captured Keller. The tear
splashed on something hard, like stone. Sabinas tears sparkled in the sun on the day
she returned from Campoalmas. She sat over Bellisas grave and cried relentlessly,
wanting a future she could not have, confronting a past forced upon her.
She needed him.
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Thunder rumbled and the winds picked up suddenly. Inacio clenched the
bandaged hand and pain fired through his arm. The crosshairs held firm. Keller was
gray-haired like Sapa, but not as wise. Inacio opened his mouth and gulped down cold
breaths. The chill reached his heart and tingled his skin. He pictured a fire to melt his
anger, braced the rifle against his throbbing palm and touched the trigger. Melioran ties
ended now.
You are Melioris! He screamed flatly as lightning exploded behind him. Sapa
sat beside the fire, his lecture rumbled like thunder.
The Payaruna knew no other way but respect
Inacio shouted and closed his eyes but Sapa did not vanish. Murder
accomplished nothing. A single bullet could not recover the precious things already
lost. Not Bellisa, not his American dreams, not the regular Inacio unburdened by
Melioran chains. Keller could die at his hands but nothing would improve. Inacio
pressed his face against the branch and steadied his breathing.
Succumbing to anger, allowing the hate to burn and leave nothing behind,
ignoring the ancestors supreme respect for life, were the most Melioran things he could
do. Inacio opened his eyes and raised his head. He was not Melioran anymore. Keller
leaned into the glass and looked out into the approaching storm from his void and cold
house. Living anonymously in a country that did not want him seemed the perfect
punishment.
Inacio removed his finger from the trigger and deactivated the scope. The wind
subsided and life grew still; no cars, voices or machinery of any kind. He surveyed the
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house for movement. None. No patrols inside or out, but the storm was no reason to
slouch on the job. A rumble erupted overhead and Inacio looked into the cloud.
No helicopters, military or otherwise, patrolled the sky. The storm made flight
dangerous, but that did not explain the total absence of helicopters over the last two
hours. The television birds followed Kellers movements from his capture to his
freedom. Why were they not here to capture Kellers first steps into his garden?
The patter of approaching rain increased to a roar. The noise would mask the
crunch when he jumped to the ground and the rain, if heavy enough, would make an
excellent curtain. Hardin missed a perfect opportunity for the nation to watch Keller
shrivel in captivity. It was unlike him to respect an enemy in defeat. He only hid the
cameras when he was about to commit a crime.
Inacio shuddered and tightened his grip on the rifle. Hardin was about to commit
a crime.
An assassination!
Well-meaning FBI agents taught sharp shooting skills to hundreds of angry
Meliorans then set them loose. Not to defend themselves, but in the hopes that one
would hear the acquittal of Davis Keller and break. One of them would hunt down Keller
at his remote home and wait in the protection of a large tree. Overwhelmed with rage,
that one person would take a shot and do what Hardin could not. A Melioran had to kill
Davis Keller, because any other execution would prove Keller right. Inacio snapped his
head around and felt the eyes fixed on him. The leafy branch provided no protection.
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They would find him if he jumped now, shoot him down for failing to complete his
mission, and use his rifle to murder. Disarming the gun might prevent them from using
a weapon with familiar fingerprints all over the trigger. Inacio jiggled the shells but they
did not move. He ran his fingers along the rifle body but found no safety or a lever for
ejecting bullets. The wind howled and rain splattered across the road. Inacio slapped
his bandaged hand against the rifle and screamed in pain.
The storm slammed into the tree and rocked the branch. His feet slid first,
dangling in the stabbing rain until he could not resist the fall. His body tumbled and
spun, descending slowly in the winds blasting around him. The rifle sank toward the
ground, rotating around the barrel and reflecting the crackle of lightning like a strobe.
Inacio splashed down on his shoulder. Thunder boomed and pain soaked his
body. Mud oozed between his fingers and hot blood soaked the bandage. Inacio
pressed his wounded hand tight against his body and rolled onto his knees. A brassy
artifact poked out from a puddle. He pulled it out and froze.
It was a spent shell casing.
The rifle rested beside a knobby root, the faint odor of gunpowder still unwashed
from the air. The barrel pointed to the house. He staggered to it and popped open the
chamber. One bullet remained. Rain slapped the window and wind produced a high-
pitched whistle.
Inacio turned to the house. A single shaft of light lit the glass. Water cascaded
over a round hole at the center of a web of cracks. Blood trickled down the smooth
surface to the floor. Inacio whimpered, stumbled backward and hit the tree. Hardin
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would come to congratulate him. He seized the rifle, snatched the casing from the mud
and scrambled for the road.
No lights. No alarm. Thunder drowned out the gunshot, the breaking glass, and
the death of Davis Keller. But they would find the body and search. Inacio threw
himself over the fence and looked back. The thickening mud recorded his footprints.
He ran across the road and jumped the fence.
Lightning sparked and charged the rain. Inacio tossed the rifle away and lowered
his body closer to the ground. The wet earth slowed his pace and thoughts weighed
him down. He jumped another fence and ripped his clothes on the wire; fresh blood to
join the trail of evidence along his escape route. The wound burned from splashing
mud.
The storm subsided as he neared another road. The sound of rain smashing the
earth no longer masked his splashing feet. He slowed to a walk, moving from bush to
bush. Inacio looked at his watch; the run took forty-five minutes. Tires tracked on wet
pavement, moving slowly like patrol cars. They probably found his trail in the mud,
knew his general direction of escape, and were waiting to pounce.
Inacio waited for his breathing to subside. He needed to know where he was
before altering the plan. This should be the road with his abandoned car, but how far
away was the gully? He moved to another bush, crouched low and peeked between
bushes. The cars were patrol cars.
The police stopped at the entrance to a gravel driveway. Inacio moved to a
closer bush and recognized the house. The owner came out and screamed to the
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officers about his stolen truck. Standing half naked in a cold wind and stinking of
alcohol did not make his story believable.
The officers exchanged a look. One flipped out a pad while the other aimed his
flashlight into the mans face. A scattered trail of gravel proved the crime occurred and
the officers wandered the property. Inacio pressed his lips together and cracked his
knuckles. They would recognize the sound of a suspect tearing into a full run. But
crawling to maintain silence allowed them time to find his car and wait for the owner to
return. They might find it curious when a wet, bleeding man popped out of the ranch
lands to reclaim his car.
One officer found a footprint and called for his partner to investigate. Inacio let
out a deep breath and ducked to the ground. He slithered from bush to bush until the
house dropped below a hillcrest and the officers could not see him. New theories did
not let him pause. If the soldiers found the body and alerted the locals of a fugitive,
those police officers would gladly ignore a stolen truck in favor of a manhunt. Inacio
limped into a gallop.
The brush wall hiding his car swayed despite the diminishing winds. He dropped
to the ground and listened for voices in ambush. Water churned through the flooding
creek bed and swirled around the car. In a few minutes, the floodwaters would reach
the underbelly and enter the engine. He lifted himself above the bush to see the
situation. No one screamed for his capture.
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Inacio rushed from cover and splashed into the stream. Strong currents grabbed
his legs and pulled him down. Turbulent forces pealed apart his fresh wounds but he
stood and staggered forward.
He reached the car and jumped in. The engine hummed and he backed onto the
road, turning around to drive away from the police. Unfamiliar, dark ranch roads buzzed
with increasing activity. Trucks, military vehicles, and suspicious eyes lurked behind the
headlights. He reached Austin two hours later and plowed though every red light.
Stopping meant capture. Sabinas lab was safe, if she was there.
Inacio shivered uncontrollably from cold and terror when he walked onto campus.
Students scurried from night classes to the safety of home, not looking from their little
worlds to acknowledge his presence. He wandered around the back of the student
union, attracted by the midnight darkness and distracted people inside. The doors to
the television room hung open but he did not enter. Someone turned up the volume.
Details are still sketchy at this point, the reporter began. The shooting took
place about three hours ago, but the government has not sent out a spokesman.
What can you tell us? The news anchor faked a look of concern.
Well, at about seven thirty, a guard on patrol walked into Davis Kellers bedroom
and found him unresponsive with a single shot to the abdomen. An emergency call
went out shortly after that, indicating he was still alive. We have conflicting reports,
however, that suggest he has died. However, President Hardin made it clear in his
earlier address to the nation that Davis Keller is, in fact, dead. At this point, local law
enforcement has begun an intensive man-hunt in the surrounding area.
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Do they think the shooter is still in the area?
No one has said anything official. We do know that footprints were discovered
near the road and on surrounding property. These footprints lead away from the house,
not toward it. That would suggest the assassin was on the property before the rains
began. Also, the grounds were heavily patrolled prior to Davis Kellers arrival. This
suggests that whoever did this knew what they were doing. This was no random killing.
This was intentional. Whoever committed this murder possesses great tactical and
professional abilities. No one else could have penetrated the high level of security.
Is it possible one of the guards committed the murder?
No. President Hardin issued an Executive Order immediately after the verdict
that guaranteed Davis Keller protection throughout the duration of his house arrest. The
rebellion is over, so there would be nothing to gain through killing Davis Keller. In his
address, President Hardin stated that a Melioran has committed the crime, and I would
be inclined to believe him. It is not hard to imagine someone so distraught over the
discrediting of Davis Keller and his movement, that revenge and murder were all this
person could think of.
Inacio stumbled backwards and shouted. Students sitting outside turned to look
at him, drawn to the commotion. Inacio regained his composure and ran once love and
misery pushed him from their minds.
Inacios memories did not fade so quickly. Keller leaned against the glass,
looking up with sad eyes. Tears rolled down his cheeks as if he knew his fate. Inacio
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sped away in his car but he could not escape the images: the body crumpled on the
floor; the horrible twitch in every muscle; the glistening pool of blood.
Tires squealed as he spun around the last corner to his apartment. The shadows
rang with sirens and gunshots and whispering spies. His soaked clothes, blood crusted
ankle, and devastated expression screamed murderer.
Murderer!
Inacio threw the door open and fell into the darkness. Lights snapped on when
he slapped his hand against the switch. No one poured from the walls to arrest him.
He slammed the front door shut and ran into his bedroom.
Inacio tore through his closet and threw clothes on the bed. A dusty suitcase
lurked in the corner. He kicked it to the middle of the room and ripped it open. Sabina
called to him, her voice was foggy and childish, like the way she spoke his name the
day she lost Bellisa
Inacio sank down and balled up against the bed. Tears dripped between his
fingers. The door creaked. Inacio jumped to his feet and prepared to strike. An eye,
glassy with fear, stared from the other side. Kellers eyes looked that way. Inacio
slumped over and pulled the door open. Sabina remained motionless until she felt no
threat.
We must go, she said and brushed him aside.
Inacio leaned into the wall. Oh, Sabina. Ive done something
She slammed his clothes into the suitcase without looking up. I know what
youve done.
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I couldnt stop. I couldnt. All I could see was Bellisas grave. Brennan. You.
The looks people give me because they know what Ive been. I wanted it to end. I got
him in the trial and still he wouldnt go away! I just wanted to get them all out of my life!
She pressed his clothes down and grabbed a few pictures.
I wanted to be like that again, he said as she closed the top over the frames.
When we were happy.
How can we be happy now? She snapped. You killed him.
No! I stopped! I saw him through the scope and couldnt do it. I didnt kill him!
She searched through the closet for his good shoes and clothes. Put these on.
Sabina! He waved his weakening arms for her attention. I didnt do it! I was
going to leave. The wind knocked me around. I fell from the branch. The gun hit the
root and went off! I didnt kill him! I wanted to leave!
She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. A long, painful breath cursed the
end of her hope. I wish Keller never touched your life, but you were the one who
wouldnt let go of your Melioran past. But what did you have to replace it with? I didnt
understand you until it was too late. I wish you hadnt gone. I could have stopped you.
She wiped her eyes and sat on the bed. I hoped you would be at Phyrros,
waiting for me. I had such good news. I thought we were different. She looked at him
then turned away.
I didnt kill him. Inacio stepped to her side. Please, believe me.
She touched his bandaged hand and grimaced. This will attract authorities.
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She pulled away and ran to the bathroom. Inacio leaned into the closet door and
closed his eyes. Mama, Papa and Sapa crowded him, touching their lips in shock,
chanting to chase away the presence of evil. Sapa pressed his hands up for silence,
cracked a stone and set it in flames, and struck the name Inacio Alvaro from the familys
huaca.
He was always a troubled child, they would say. He rejected the wisdom to
submit his ancestors the Payaruna accepted. He fell to the temptation of a better life
that destroyed the Nauparuna. He rejected his spirit and left himself dead.
Sabina took his hand and unwrapped the bandages. Pain radiated into his
shoulder. She touched the cuts and clumps of dried blood, pulling and prying them until
she suddenly stopped. Her fingers rubbed gently across his and she smiled.
You couldnt have fired that shot.
Inacio opened his eyes and straightened his back. Her eyes widened, filled with
the happiness he thought buried with Bellisa.
You couldnt have fired the shot. Youre right-handed, and youve injured your
right hand. You would have used your left hand to pull the trigger, and I know you arent
ambidextrous. These wounds are bad, reopened even. This hand is useless. You
would have needed it to be in good shape to hold the gun steady. Theres no way you
could have gotten a good shot from that far away, even with a scope. The kick of the
rifle going off would have made it jump right out of your hands.
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She brushed the matted hair from his eyes and read the horror on his face. You
didnt kill him. She pulled him into a hug and held his head against her shoulder. We
are different.
A siren wailed and Inacio jumped away. They think Im a murderer. Theyll
come for me.
Sabina dribbled antiseptic gel into his wounds. The stinging faded quickly and
she wrapped fresh bandages tightly around his hand.
Wear these, she said after pulling gloves from his dresser drawer. Theyll hide
the bandages. Its cold outside so they wont look suspicious.
A picture of his undergraduate graduation day stood alone on the shelf. Ive
destroyed everything I wanted, he said.
What you thought you wanted isnt important anymore. We have possibilities in
Campoalmas, but I couldnt tell you in time.
She took his hand and led him to the clothes on the bed. Change quickly and
lets go. Ive arranged for transportation.
He stood rigidly, confused by her excitement. I dont understand.
We are going back to Campoalmas, to our family and our people. But we have
to hurry, before the city is closed. She smiled and handed him his dress shirt, then laid
his graduation picture flat on the dresser.
Five minutes later, Inacio locked the apartment and followed Sabina to an idling,
unfamiliar car. She shoved him into the passenger seat, hurried to the drivers side and
stalled the car.
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Damn rental car! The rental place only had manual transmissions. She took a
minute to learn the gearshift and pulled casually out of the parking lot. I emptied our
bank account while you were out. The money is in the glove compartment. Keep a few
bills handy in case we need to bribe. And dont use your injured hand.
Passing patrol cars hit them with searchlights. Army trucks blocked streets and
soldiers hastily erected barricades. Inacio did not expect to see Campoalmas again.
Sabina observed the disorganized military activity and smiled; Hardin planned on the
assassins immediate capture at Kellers house, not spreading troops across Texas to
block his escape. She pulled into an understaffed checkpoint and Inacio slipped an
unknown number of twenties into an eager hand.
Austin faded from the rear-view mirror. Sabina took Inacios hand and smiled.
Inacio, the future you came here to find starts now.

EPILOGUE
313

OCTOBER 10
THE WHI TE HOUSE

Sam Hardin shifted restlessly in the leather seat of his prized ornate, hand-
carved chair.
I have won.
An hour ago, he had addressed the nation with great tact and subdued bravado,
speaking carefully chosen words with pride sparkling in his eyes. War medals thumped
Hardins dress uniform when he moved and the golden eagle spread across his
Generals hat glowed like a golden ember in the camera light. With matter-of-fact
bluntness, Hardin announced Davis death, pinned the assassination on a bitter
Melioran, dismissed rumors of rebel holdouts massing in the west, and soothed the
nations fears over the fragility of the current peace.
The speech was Richters; predictably academic, dry, and assembled hastily to
snuff out any suspicions as to why Davis had met his end so quickly. Still, it was a good
speech, a victorious speech. Hardin was ecstatic.
When the address was completed, and the television camera switched off, the
Oval Office swelled with activity and excitement, the staff swirled and chattered, sensing
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the turn of history and the coming of dawn. There were handshakes, laughter, and
celebration.
The army chiefs rose from their seats behind the camera, then saluted without
the regimental precision of the past. They seemed hesitant and awkward, uncertain if
the protocols had changed, unsure if this was still the way to show respect. Hardin
saluted crisply, inspiring the chiefs to do the same before they paraded out of the office.
After the camera was wheeled out and the staff dispersed, as the hour
deepened and the night darkened, Hardin felt uneasy.
I have won.
The Oval Office was deserted now, except for Richter. The two men sat across
the desk from one another; Richter absorbed by his thoughts and Hardin rolling
endlessly through the national battle map displayed on his electronic tablet. The map
was so featureless, so dead. Once the armies of the nation lined up in symbolic battle
here, chased one another like predator and prey, gave Hardin a sense of mission.
So this is how it ends? Hardin asked. My great enemy simply deleted from
the map.
That was the goal since our days in Venezuela. Richter said as he leaned his
chair back with a creak. To lead? To rule? To vanquish all foe and remain supreme?
He pressed a finger into his temple and observed Hardins furrowed brow. Now it is
done.
Hardin surveyed the map and counted the cities pledging their loyalty to him. He
wanted to relish the moment, but felt no joy.
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Now it is done, Hardin said as he scrolled the map slowly from east to west. I
never doubted this day would come, but I never imagined it would end this way. A final
meeting on the battlefield, perhaps. Swords crossed. Single combat. A duel?
Something noble and climactic. Hardin slipped back into his magnificent chair but did
not take his eyes off the map. I almost feel cheated.
Richter stood and circled the desk before propping himself on the back of
Hardins chair. Keller would never have challenged you like that. It was not his style.
He was a coward.
Hardin clenched his fists, flared his nostrils and rolled his eyes upward. Davis
was a worthy opponent. Sensing Richters hawk eyes on his neck, Hardin straightened
his back and spread his shoulders before continuing. But now he is dead, and the
future is ours.
Richter returned to his seat and Hardins attention drifted back to the electronic
tablet. A patchwork of dashed lines, the borders of the wartime military districts, divided
the map. Rather than forty-eight confederated states with forty-eight independent-
minded governors, there were now eight easily controlled districts: New England, Middle
Atlantic, Southeastern, Midwestern, Southcentral, Southwestern, Northwestern, and
Northcentral. The four western districts had displayed the least loyalty, despite being
governed by the hardest of men, and needed to feel the boot.
I want an increase in occupation strength in the Northwestern, Southwestern,
Northcentral and Southcentral military districts. Hardin said casually. Do the red
markers on the map indicate detained Melioran armies, or hold outs?
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Hold outs, Richter said flatly. Their positions are of course not confirmed.
Of course, Hardin said. Once the reinforcing armies are in place, coordinate
aerial recon, scouts and the surveillance satellites to find those zealots. That should
make you happy, Richter. Ive been convinced the satellites are worth keeping.
Richter gave the hint of a smile. Yes. Im certain they will prove very valuable,
very soon.
But I want to make it clear, Hardin said. We are not in a hurry to capture the
Melioran hold-outs, is that understood? They give me cause to leash the West and
justify an extension for the state of emergency.
I suspected as much, Richter chuckled.
I trust your Old Lady in the Desert Athena is still out there, gathering secrets?
Richter smiled. Thats between me and my goddess.
Hardin scrolled over the white barrack that symbolized Fort Hope.
This has been a good war.
Yes, Richter said.
From the start, a good war. Hardin slid the electronic tablet across the desk
toward Richter. We maintained the element of surprise for sixteen years. Davis never
saw it coming.
The early infiltration of the Melioris Party, as he was gaining national attention,
was key.
Hardin leaned into his chair and pressed his fingers together. I knew Davis was
a threat the moment I heard him. I tried to keep him on my side, but he was too-
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Hardin released a frustrated breath. -evolved. He laughed freely, and Richter raised
his eyebrows. Davis was too wrapped up in his mission. Too trusting. Too oblivious to
see my hand guiding his party where I wanted it to go.
Richter folded his arms. Using a mole to direct the Melioris Party toward
extremism, and then toward the coup, was brilliant, Sam.
Brilliant, yes. A brilliant plan all around. With one ten-minute coup, I rid myself
of the last congressional opposition, maneuvered the most disloyal elements of my
army to the Melioran side and crushed them at Fort Hope. And I almost, almost, had
Davis and Tyler snuffed out on the first day.
Richter scoffed. When Tyler alerted the media to the location of the final battle,
we had to be careful and pull our punches before an unexpected world audience. My
back-up plan allowed us to destroy Keller and Tyler slowly, completely, from the
shadows. The acquittal made people angry, so much so that some ex-Melioran killed
Keller for us. Richter took the electronic tablet off the desk. It wasnt the smoking
crater you desired, but I think it will end precisely as planned.
Richter scrolled lazily through the map until it was centered on Washington, D.C.
Your back-up plan was successful, Richter, I will give you that. Hardin said as
he scouted the meaning of Richters curling smile.
Thank you.
Still, the plan has a few loose ends to tie up. Hardin tapped his fingers on the
hand-carved lion head armrests. Judge Marshall and Mister Price should be muzzled
further, with threat or money. I dont want them or anyone else involved running the trial
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to get delusions of stardom and importance.
Of course, Richter said. Already taken care of.
Has Davis assassin been apprehended yet?
No.
Hardin tilted his head forward until the shadow of his black visor fell across his
eyes. You are certain the suspect lives in Austin? We trained hundreds of disgruntled
Meliorans for the job. Any of them could have done it.
Some trainees proved more suitable than others. Richter switched off the
electronic tablet and placed it in the middle of the desk. Ive kept watch over their
locations. As of this afternoon, the three trainees within a thousand miles of Kellers
house were all in Austin. The kill happened too quickly for it to have been any of the
others. Richter rose from his chair, then stood beside Hardin. Austin is going under
lock-down as we speak. The assassin will be brought in soon.
Hardin folded his arms and pondered his weapon collection encased on the
walls. Very well. The others are useless now. Silence them all before another John
Fallon goes to the papers.
That is being taken care of as well.
Good. You have your orders, Hardin said.
Richter smiled and turned away. Hardin picked up the electronic tablet and
switched it on. The map flashed into view. Hardin scrolled to the black dot that
represented Davis house. Richter neared the door.
I was surprised Davis so quickly believed he had evolved. Hardin said. He
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remained fixed on the black dot. He must have been well along on deceiving himself.
You read his character very well.
It was as easy as reading my own thoughts. Richter said.
Do you think Davis ever suspected Henry Marek was our man?
No. Tyler suspected a mole, but not Henry Marek. Moles never die for the
cause.
Hardin broke his first smile since the national address. Will you consider
growing back the beard and resurrecting Henry Marek to lead the Melioran guerillas?
Never. Richter bristled at the thought of hair on his face. I shaved that foul
beard off the moment after I faked my death at the Capitol Building, as soon as the coup
collapsed. Henry Marek is gone, useful, but gone. Lets hope there is no reason for me
to play that role again.
Richter grumbled and closed the door with a boom as he left the Oval Office.
Hardin pressed a button on the electronic tablet and the map zoomed out. The symbols
and political boundaries clustered tighter as the map contracted, then vanished when
the redraw was complete. His nation fit neatly in the screen, glowing brightly in the
hues of rare metals and precious gems.
I have won.
Hardin sat the electronic tablet on his desk, sighed and rested his eyes on the
ancient battle-axe at the heart of his collection. A thousand years ago, it was a tool of
power and savage joy; but the idle centuries had dulled the blade and broken the
menace. The final war cry had sounded long ago; it was time to retire from the
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battlefield and become a relic. It was time to lament the peace.
I have won. There is no one left to fight.
Hardin tossed his Generals hat onto the desk and slumped against the armrest
as his melancholy returned.
321

OCTOBER 14
CAMPOALMAS
AMAZONAS STATE, BRAZI L

We will celebrate tonight! One of the two boatmen shouted as the boat
motored slowly against the rivers current.
Yes, Inacio said from the front of the boat. I think we will.
Their fears of capture had vanished a few hours after fleeing Austin. Sabina
crossed into Mexico while Inacio slept, batting her eyes and pacifying the guards with
her promiscuous clothes. Her fluent Spanish and American money secured plane
tickets in Monterrey, despite the one-way destination and the red-crusted bandage
poking from Inacios glove. They flew to Brasilia on a flight with several stops, then rode
a rickety bus to Manaus. Boatmen from Campoalmas were there, hungry to tempt
unsuspecting tourists.
Instead, they received the privilege of bringing Inacio and Sabina home.
Inacio turned to Sabina, who was sitting beside him. Do you think they will
believe us?
She leaned over, hoping to see around the distant river bend that was the end of
the journey home. I think so. Deep inside, I think theyve always known.
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Inacio laughed. I still cant believe it. Were a new species! And all this time
Sapas legends have been telling the story of our evolution, and neither one of us could
tell.
I didnt think you paid attention to the legends.
I guess I did. But think about it. The Payaruna experienced several glacial
advances, that means they were in South America for forty thousand years at least.
Unfortunately, theres no archaeological evidence proving that.
Thats not enough time for the Payaruna to become a new species, Sabina
said. It takes anywhere from ten thousand to a hundred thousand generations.
Assuming they were active and produced five generations a century, thats two hundred
thousand to two million years.
Inacio smiled and impersonated Sapa. Listen to what the ancestors tell you,
sister.
Oh, please. What do you think happened?
The Nauparuna. They came along after another ice-age cycle, maybe fifteen
thousand years later, when the Payaruna were developing mutations but could still
breed with Homo sapien. They were both cut from the species by another ice age
cycle. Both developed mutations, but the Payaruna had a head start. When the next
wave of people arrived, the ones that gave rise to the Inca and all the other native
tribes, the Payaruna carried too many mutations to reproduce with them. The
Nauparuna did not yet have that problem. They could breed with both species.
Sabina tapped her cheek. Like a bridge, a genetic bridge. So long as they
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existed, the Payaruna were not a separate species. The Payaruna could even have
been reabsorbed into the Homo sapien gene pool, through the Nauparuna.
Had the Spanish not killed the Nauparuna. Inacio smiled. We didnt need ten
thousand generation. All we needed was a conqueror.
Sabina patted his back. Thats a believable theory, but I just feel in my gut that's
not how it happened.
Inacio shifted off the aluminum seat and squatted closer to the front of the boat.
I know the soil samples you tested are loaded with chemicals and break-down
products, but you yourself said they are not in concentrations high enough to cause
genetic damage.
Sabina sighed. Not today, but what about a century and a half ago? When the
wars were raging? She poked her finger into his chest. You yourself have a theory
about human experimentation during that time.
Yeah, but I dont think anyone had the capacity to mess with the human genome
and craft a new species. You once complained how the field of genetics fell apart
during that era.
Sabina growled. All right, shut up. Something happened five generation ago,
the infant mortality and birth defect rates of our people skyrocketed then and are only
normalizing in our times. If we were evolving slowly over thousands of years, why
would something like that happen? Why a genetic catastrophe after the Nauparuna
died out and we split from Homo sapien?
That I dont know, Inacio said as he lazily dipped his fingertips into the river.
324
Sabina squatted down beside him. I guess what matters is that it happened.
We evolved.
A new species! Inacio watched the boatmen play cards. Now that I look at us,
I can see it so clearly. Starting with the increase in brain size. A bigger brain requires a
bigger cranial capacity, and therefore a larger head. A larger head implies a larger body
as well. And why did Coach Walthrip come here?
Sabina answered. Because he heard how tall we are?
Right! Im sure the proportion between our head and body size is not the same
as Homo sapien, but Id bet the difference is not significant. People told me I had a big
head, but they just assumed it was because I was tall.
Sabina looked at him. You really just have a fat head.
Shut up, you ugly monkey! He slapped her shoulder. Im not finished.
Please, continue.
Thank you. One of the evolutionary trends in humans is an increase in brain
size. Everyone assumed that increased intelligence was a natural consequence.
Theres been debate, but never a way to test it.
Until now.
Yes. Now that we are here.
Sabina looked at him. What do you think? Are we smarter?
I hope so. I think, though, that pure intelligence is not the only factor. Ive
noticed that as humans evolved, society became more complex. I think that we are just
capable of more complex social interaction.
325
I think we need complex interaction, Sabina said. Or at least were wired for
strong community life. When I was back this winter, I remembered how nice it was to
sleep in the family hut, with Mama and Papa, and our aunts, uncles and cousins. I
needed to know they were close, and I always woke feeling like my mind was perkier. It
was kind of tough readjusting to Austin. I never realized how alone I felt in our
apartment, even with you and Brennan right there.
Inacio looked away for a moment. Exactly.
Sabina whistled to break the silence. Well, she said after a few minutes. You
dont have to convince me. If you tell Sapa what you told me, I think hell agree. I think
he knows anyway.
Why do you say that?
He told me Bellisas existence had meaning. She looked at Inacio. He was
right.
We should tell him first, Inacio said. But I dont know how.
Well, Ill tell him about the medical tests. You tell him the physical and social
evidence.
Hes never heard of a chromosome, and were supposed to convince him with a
tag-team dissertation?
Well, hell, Sabina grumbled. I dont know. We have to tell him first. No one
will believe us if he doesnt. Surely theres a way to tell him.
The engine sputtered to a stop as the boat neared the gentle bend of the river,
and the boatman slapped their oars into the water.
326
Inacio, do you think well ever find our place? I mean, do you think the world is
ready for us?
Inacios smile faded. Davis Keller made that impossible. But I think I have, too.
Inacio, Im the only one who knows you were there. We wont be punished for
giving you sanctuary. Ill never tell what I know.
Sabina, its not that. The Feds trained me to kill Keller and I vanish immediately
after his death. They want nothing more than to parade a Melioran before the nation
and say Davis Keller was killed by his own. They might figure out it was me. What if
they want me bad enough to come down here?
We have larger brains, and we can figure them out. That certainly offers tactical
advantages. Sabina looked at his bandaged hand and then at him. Ive done a very
good job of covering our tracks. I even destroyed my research so they cant reproduce
my results and discover us.
Inacio looked up to the sky. Its not solely about me, either. Davis Keller played
the evolutionary gamble, and the Sapiens destroyed him to prove he was false. If they
blame his death on me and find us out, think what theyll say. I killed a Melioran, a
pretender. I killed him for daring to say he was one of us. Think what they might
assume about us.
Inacio, I-
Think what theyll do to us, the truly evolved, if they discover us. I have to spend
the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. And now so do we.
But our people dont even have to know what you did.
327
Keeping them ignorant of the threat wont protect them. No, I will tell Sapa what
I did and what it means. No matter what they all think of me, I will tell. These are my
people, and I must protect them as best as I can. We cant survive if we cant learn
from our mistakes.
Sabina touched his shoulder. If thats what you want, Ill stand with you.
Inacio smiled at her. Sister, Ive wanted to tell you how sorry I am for what
happened, but I couldnt express it like you wanted.
I knew how bad you felt. I could tell the moment I stepped off the plane in
August that you were miserable. Im glad that youve found peace. Sabina turned
away and looked into the jungle. And dont apologize for Brennan anymore. He was
just fulfilling his destiny, I suppose. He was a Melioran, ruining lives is what Meliorans
did. Its funny that his destiny brought him and the Meliorans to us. Without them, we
wouldnt know what we are. There would have been no Bellisa to tell us.
Inacios jaw slackened. Oh, shit Sabina! Bellisa is in Austin! We cant go back
to see her!
Thats not true. She focused on Inacio. Do you remember how pissed I was at
you when I though you killed Keller? I thought that proved we were still primitive. But
now I know that isnt true. Our humanity has evolved with our bodies. Bellisas body
may not be with us, but her spirit is. America and Brennan can have her physical self,
but I see her spirit in our peoples faces.
Inacio folded his arms and looked into the distance. Speaking of our people, he
said after a few moments. You discovered us, so you get to name us. Have you
328
thought of a name?
Actually, I have. I call us Homo similis.
Inacio twisted his face. Thats it? Homo similis?
Yes! She slapped his arm. I didnt think a self gratifying term was appropriate.
I wanted something simple. Were human, just like everyone else, but different. Similis:
similar; same but different.
The boat rounded the river bend, and an electric tickle shivered down Inacios
spine. The weight of years lifted like a leaf in the breeze, and his mind cleared, became
lighter, opened to the minute details of the world. He took a deep breath, filling his
lungs with the smells of earth and water, fruit and blossoms, musky air and turbulent,
vigorous life.
His eyes widened and he saw with the focus of an eagle. The jungle mixed sun-
scorched green with a black shadow mist, and a silvery splash of ethereal light that
washed across the rippled water and the soft rumples of the tropical floor. The
symphony of animal language rose in a crescendo of territorial screams, tender songs
manic chirps and vain whistles, and fell into the deepest octaves of hunt, defend and
devour.
The boatmen aimed for the riverbank and the villagers waiting at the waters
edge in their primitive costumes waved fishing spears to amuse the approaching
tourists. For a moment, Inacio felt like he could burst, like all the chatter and vibrancy of
his soul had suddenly reached a critical mass. He could feel Sapas wisdom spreading
through his mind, his fathers pulse quickening in his veins, and his mothers spirit
329
soaring through his heart.
He and Sabina exhaled in unison.
Mamas there, Inacio said.
A villager shrieked out their names. Mama recognized Inacio despite the years
apart and shouted with joy. Inacio waved to her, smiling happily and laughing until she
disappeared into the forest and screamed for Papa. The villagers crowded the beach
and Sabina jumped excitedly. Mama returned with Papa in tow and cried loudly.
The boat slid into the shore. They jumped onto the sand and into a sea of old
friends. Inacio hugged Papa tightly, and kissed Mama as she ran her hands over his
face. He shook hands and joked with everyone about their costumes. He smiled at
Sabina until she knew he was happy.
Inacio entered the village and retrieved memories of a forgotten home. He
turned in a circle, pausing to identify each sight, sound and smell. A patchwork of blue
sky and gray storm clouds signaled the deluges he used to love. The greatest days
were yet to come.
Someone tapped his shoulder. Inacio turned to see who it was and Sapa held
out his hand. He took it eagerly and looked deep into the wise mans eyes.
We are Similis!

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