Hadrian's Rage (18 page)

Mimi, I’m so proud of you.

Mother Stuttgart, thank you for being an ally for our heterosexual and bisexual brothers and sisters.

Mother, you are so not senile. You were amazing. I love how you shut that bigoted fool down. You set “la Duggin” up, and “pitter-pattered” the senility scenario like a pro. Stepping on his voc earring was so nicely done! Spot on! I LOVE you.

I love how you slam dunked the truth down that fool’s throat! There is a lot more about Hadrian’s founding that the government is clearly unwilling to share with us. Thank you for refusing to stay silent.

CLANG, BANG, BOOM! Our Mother’s words were no warning shot across the bow. Nothing so easy for the opposition. Not from Mother Stuttgart. Hey, Duggin, how’s the egg on your face taste?

You people make me sick. Listen to yourselves. Everyone one of you making fun of Danny Duggin like he was put in his place or fooled. Well, let me tell you, he did what any decent, respectful Hadrian citizen could do when
being attacked by an original founding family member. He HAD to defer to her. No one would ever dishonor one of our founders! And, I’ll tell you, that wasn’t Mother Stuttgart speaking either. No, sir! She is old. There is no way someone her age could demolish an opponent that way. Sadly, it is our founding mother who has been turned into a mouthpiece for her grandson. Dean Stuttgart knows no one will take him seriously, so he has her doing all the talking for him. There is no doubt in my mind that she was wearing a voc implant, and everything she said he said first! It is so sad to see one so honored by our country being used by degenerate breeders to promote their wicked ways. Gordon Stuttgart needs to rescue his mother from his son!

@Reeta Adolvsson—As Mother Stuttgart’s attending physician, I can assure you she is not senile, nor does she wear a voc. I’ve known this woman for over 30 years and believe you me, she did all the talking. No one was prompting her. At 88, our founding mother may no longer be spry, but she still has all her wits about her.

Strais are sick, selfish sones of anarchy! they are controlled by their groins and believe they own the planet. As far as strais are concerned, everything and everyone is here to serve them. @Dean Stuttgart—you and others like you ARE the enemy! If you people were given full reign again the whole world would be dead!

@Earl Higgins—Let’s be reasonable. History has shown that Planned Parenthood does reduce the number of pregnancies between heterosexual couples. Heterosexuals are just as capable of controlling the number of children born in this world as homosexuals are.

@Duncan Fraser—yeah, that’s why the planet is overrun with humans—because strais are so good at controlling themselves. They’ve got access to birth control and abortions, but they choose not to use them! They just keep pumping out babies, overpopulating and overpolluting our planet! The only good strai is a dead strai!

I love Mother Stuttgart last of the original founding family members. I am grateful for all she and other original founding family members did to form our great country and ensure humanity survive against itself. But she is wrong. We can’t align ourselves with het’ro’s, bis do have to repress opposite sex, and transys need to be known dangers of presenting self as het’ro couple. We need to re-criminalize heterosexuality and remake, mandatory reeducation for youth.

@Fernado Perira—Agreed. We have to strop the heterosexual monstor in its tracks. They may control the outside world but we can’t let them spread their tentacles get inside our walls.

Is Mother Stuttgart senile? No. Is she right? No. Is she misguided by her love of a grandson she thought she had lost and then found again? Yes!

This overwhelming hatred of heterosexuals has to stop. Please, people, come to accept us as your brothers and sisters. We are not the enemy.

@Cantara Raboud—You’re wrong. We don’t hate heterosexuals. But more importantly, we love humanity. And we love our planet. History has proved that heterosexuals have created overpopulation. And excessive human population caused excessive pollution. Our planet can no longer afford to tolerate heterosexual supremacy any longer.

We simply can’t ignore the fact that procreation is a basic human physical need. Heterosexuals have always lived amongst us and they always will regardless of all our attempts to quell their existence. They are just as much a part of humanity as we are.

@Derrick Defrock—het’ros are the cancer of our society—of our planet! They are killing us with excessive human population and excessive human waste. We need to take radical surgical procedures to reduce their numbers, cleanse our planet of their existence. If nothing else, we need to put Hadrian back into remission.

@Charles Johnston—Agreed! Maybe one day, when the overall human population of the planet is reduced to a reasonable number, maybe one billion, maybe then we can reconsider accepting heterosexuals back in our midst, but until then, het’ros need to be illegal again!

Mother Stuttgart has to be senile to say shit like she did on
Salve!
and
HRN
. “Bow wow says the dog,” WTF? There is no way she believed this crap when she was young!

@Emile Nelligan—“‘Bow wow,’ says the dog. ‘Meow,’ says the cat. ‘Quack, quack’ says the duck” is a direct quote from Charles Dickens’s classic novel
Our Mutual Friend
. It was said by a character who wanted people to think he’d gone mad in order to prove a point and achieve a positive goal. You might try picking up a book now and then.

Poor Gordon Stuttgart. First a strai son and now a traitorous mother.

@Sarah Rios—Mother Stuttgart is neither senile nor wrong. @Mauvourneen MacMahon—Mother Stuttgart is no traitor. She loves
ALL
humanity: gay, lesbian, bisexual, pansexual, transgender, intersex, or straight. She doesn’t care. Nor does Race or Faith make any one person better or less than another. Every human being is beautiful in Mother Stuttgart’s eyes. She will only ever stand against you if you oppress another of humanity’s children. We all need to be more like Mother Stuttgart.

Nutcases, all of you. Don’t any of you give a shit about our planet? Sure, let’s just follow the senile little old lady back to the days before Hadrian when our people suffered under the tyranny of heterosexual supremacy and had to fight for crumbs with twenty billion other people.

The people who think Mother Stuttgart is senile are desperate. They don’t want us to believe she is making any sense because what she has to say will change the way our country is run. Accepting heterosexuals as a part of Hadrian’s family is the first step towards opening our borders. We would go from xenophobic to embracing all of humanity. We could no longer ignore our brothers and sisters outside our border.

@Sarima Adeyemi—We are at war with heterosexuals! My daughter, Angel, is a casualty of that war.

@Earl Higgins—Your daughter raped and murdered a woman. She is not the casualty her victim was!

@Cantara Raboud—You strai slut—strais are the enemy! My daughter merely did what the government used to do. Remove strai rats from our presence. Strais are dirty, polluting rats, and like rats, we need to exterminate them!

@Earl Higgins—the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. You and your daughter are NUTS! Heil, Higgins!

The first thing Wolf does when he contacts Stephanie Chatters is to apologize for using her contact information from her job interview. “I know how inappropriate this is,” he says, “but I’d really like to see you again.” Wolf winces instantly, knowing how feeble he sounds.

Stephanie Chatters smiles serenely. She is delighted by this voc, but she does not want to show too much emotion in case her hopes are dashed too soon. Seated in front of her government-installed wall screen, Stephanie takes a moment to smooth her skirt to avoid giving away any expression. Unlike Wolf, she does not have a voc; they are too expensive for the average individual in the re-ed class. Stephanie may have held a privileged position in the Northeast Reeducation Camp under Gideon Weller, but that shattered like glass when the warden was removed from his post, arrested, and tried on charges of rape and abuse. To assuage Wolf’s worries, Stephanie replies, “No harm done, Mr. Gaidosch.”

Wolf flushes red. Having Stephanie refer to him as Mr. Gaidosch is like being slammed in the head with their age difference. He immediately regrets having made the call. “I am so sorry, Ms. Chatters; please forgive me. I never should have voc’d.”

Now playing coy, Stephanie asks, “Would you please explain to me what you mean by ‘seeing me again.’”

Wolf is quite flummoxed. Not knowing what to say, he fumbles, “Ah, I was, ah, hoping, maybe, ah—”

Stephanie begins to feel sorry for the man. “Are you asking me out on a date, Mr. Gaidosch?”

“Not if you call me Mr. Gaidosch.” Suddenly shocked by this bold response, Wolf begins to stutter again. “I mean, ahh—”

Stephanie can’t help but giggle in delight. She has the poor man off
balance, and she knows now he really likes her. “Should I call you Wolfgang, instead?” She remembers his full first name from the job advertisement.

Wolf sighs with some slight relief. “Well, my friends just call me ‘Wolf.’”

“Wolf,” Stephanie repeats. “I like that. May I presume to call you ‘Wolf’ then?”

“Please.” Wolf is starting to calm down and even smiles. “Please.”

“You have a nice smile, Mr. Gaid—I mean, Wolf.” Against Stephanie’s own better judgment, her smile widens. Her past disappointment has been bitter, and she fears entering into a relationship with anyone—Wolfgang Gaidosch even more so than others as he has a clear connection to Matty, the one man she had devoted her entire soul to back in the Northeast Reeducation Camp.
Had we but met at another time, in another place, but no,
she reminds herself,
what happened at re-ed can’t be erased. Matty can never forgive me, and I can never forgive myself.
But Wolf’s smile, his willingness to approach her, Stephanie finds it hard to resist. Everyone wants to be loved, and Stephanie is no different. “So, were you going to ask me something?”

“Yes.” Wolf clears his throat first. “I was hoping you might like to go out for a cup of coffee on Sunday?”

“Coffee? Do you mean real coffee?”

Wolf is smiling now; his idea of a coffee date is working. “Yes, I was thinking we could take the Jane Addams nature walk, and at the end, there is this new little coffee shop. They have their own greenhouses where they grow their own coffee and cocoa beans.”

Stephanie’s eyes darken. “But, Wolf, something like that would take up so many credits. I couldn’t possibly—”

Wolf smiles. “You forget I’ve just been promoted and my first paycheck was downloaded. I have no idea what to do with all these credits, so I thought of you and how it might be fun and—” Once again, Wolf blushes.

Stephanie is thrilled. “I would love to go out with you. A nature walk followed by a cup of real coffee sounds wonderful.”

“That’s great, great.” Wolf is so happy Stephanie didn’t reject him that he forgets to mention the time he plans to pick her up.

“Don’t sign off yet, Wolf.” Stephanie can’t help but giggle at his expense. “Don’t you need to tell me when and where we’ll meet?” Wolf turns an even darker shade of crimson. “You look good in red, Wolf. Maybe you should use a few of those credits to buy yourself a red shirt.”

Wolf joins in on the laugh at his expense. “Sorry.” Thinking about the
best place, he suggests they meet at the HTS (Hadrian’s Transit System) terminal nearest where Stephanie lives.

“Thank you, Wolf; that is very thoughtful of you. And what time?”

“How about 12:30? It will take us an hour by train to get to the Jane Addams Nature Interpretive Center. We have all kinds of nature walks to choose from, all of which will bring us to the International Tea and Coffee House sometime around 4 p.m. We could take a late tea. I hear they have a nice menu.”

“Wolf,” says Stephanie, smiling. “You’re not British. How did you know about that tradition?”

“I looked it up on the wave. I figured since you have British heritage, you might appreciate an English-style first date.”

“Well, then…” Stephanie is now beaming. This man is so thoughtful she is now anxiously awaiting the arrival of Sunday. “Sunday at 12:30 it is then.”

The train ride was just under an hour. The line is only a few kilometers south of the northern border wall separating Hadrian from the northern country of Nunavut. Before the collapse of old Canada, Nunavut had been one of its northern territories in which resided mainly the indigenous population known then as the Inuit. Today, Nunavut is a country as overpopulated with immigrants from around the globe as any other country outside of Hadrian, the Inuit long suffering the status of minority in their own home. Some say this is no different from when it was old Canada, while others see circumstances definitely worsened.

Stephanie and Wolf get off at the station next to Hadrian’s northernmost tourist site: the Jane Addams Nature Walk Interpretive Center, which is nestled in a small inlet of Lake Addams, renamed shortly after Hadrian’s founding in honor of Jane Addams, an American human rights activist of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Wolf uses his thumbprint to transfer the credits necessary to pay for their entrance fees. Stephanie acquiesces all financial control to Wolf since the date he has planned for them exceeds her personal budget. Inside the park, they begin in the information center. Here they learn about the history of the Inuit people who used to reside in this area. Wolf reads from the digital voc brochure he
downloaded in preparation for this date. “The Inuit are a people whose ancestors date as far back as 2500 BC.
29
”

“Isn’t this amazing,” Stephanie sighs in awe. “Such an ancient and cultured people.”

“Yes,” Wolf agrees, “and their artwork is amazing.” He points to an enclosed glass shelf with a variety of stone-carved sculptures on display. Stephanie’s eyes twinkle as she spies “Raven Sparkle,” a spiral-shaped oval forming the bird’s head and beak. “Oh, Wolf, look at this one.” Wolf smiles; Stephanie’s enthusiasm is contagious.

“Yes,” he replies, “it is beautiful.”

“The artist’s name was John Sabourin.” She sighs deeply, “Oh, it is just so lovely.”

Stephanie spins on her heels to face Wolf. They are standing so close Wolf can feel her breath tickling his cheek. “Which one is your favorite?”

Wolf takes a moment to peruse the sculptures on display. There is one that looks like a school of fish and another with two whales that are either interlocked in war or mating. Finally, his eyes land on “Inukshuk” by Qavavau Shaa. Its elegance is in its simplicity, a series of stones stacked to form a sculpture that makes Wolf think of a man. “I like this one the best,” he says as he points its way.

“I’m not surprised,” Stephanie replies. “It’s simple, almost clumsy, but strong, and although it looks quite fragile, like a little push could topple it over, it also seems quite strong.” Smiling, she looks at him again. “It makes me think of you, in all its fragile strength.”

Wolf is so moved by Stephanie’s words that he leans in and kisses her on the lips. It is as quick and simple as the artwork that inspired it. For a brief moment, the two look into each other’s eyes. Fortunately, they are alone in the nature center, so no one notices their public display of affection. Wolf smiles and nods to the nature walk maps. “Which walk would you like to take?” The two cross over to the wall screen and debate over which walk is likely to be the most scenic at this time of year. Being mid-June, many of the flowers are in full bloom so they elect the most notable walk that stretches south of the interpretive center along the banks of the lake. Although everyone simply calls it the Spring Blossom Tour, The Mary Rozet Smith Stroll is actually named after Addams’s life partner. Both
Wolf and Stephanie are cognizant that the shrubbery and flowers have been mostly cultivated, but the naturalists at Jane Addams, having studied the natural flora and fauna of the area, were able to give it a very natural look, as if these plants truly did spring up of their own accord.

Wolf, having downloaded the tour pamphlet into his voc device, is reading the pamphlet verbatim for Stephanie. Like most of the re-ed class, she does not own a vocal contact lens and relies on government-installed wall screens for all her wave information. “We are now standing on what was once the tundra. Look at this old map of Manitoba. This is Hadrian. Here used to be boreal forest, and here used to be a coniferous forest. Notice our current map of Hadrian. The deciduous and coniferous forests have overtaken most of what used to be boreal.” He blinks up a map of old Manitoba, Canada, and reverses the image so Stephanie can view it, too. “See here.” He points to the holographic image to the northern tip near the Hudson Bay. “This little black spot is where we are standing. All this and everything north of here used to be tundra.” He traces his finger down and around where the tundra once existed.

“This entire area?” Stephanie asks dismayed. Even though everyone in Hadrian studies about how climate change has altered much of the earth’s landscape, it remains difficult for the mind to grasp when presented with the evidence of such large-scale devastation. “All this used to be tundra?”

“Uh, huh.” Wolf’s reply is a little too nonchalant. It is really hard to affect the sensitivities of a Detritus Fisherman who has seen firsthand the results of man’s havoc. “Now, as you can see, it is nearly all boreal forest mixed in heavily with northern coniferous. In fact,” Wolf adds, using his own knowledge from grade school, “most of Hadrian’s northern and western forests are a blend of the three, though the common nomenclature is simply to call it the boreal forest. And, as we all know, the tundra no longer exists.”

“That’s why the polar bear went extinct, right?” Stephanie inquires, her eyes a little shiny from emotional distress. The once mighty polar bear that roamed the northern tundra has become symbolic in Hadrian for humanity’s vast greed and cruelty in destroying the natural habitat for most of the planet’s wildlife.

“Sadly, yes,” Wolf replies. Wanting now to cheer his date, he points out much of the plant life that has survived and been reclaimed through Hadrian’s extensive natural reclamation project. “We may not be able to
recreate the tundra, and temperatures are now too warm for that climate, but look at the trees and flowers we’ve managed to help regrow naturally here. Look,” he points, “that’s a spruce; next to it is poplar; over there are some birch, jack pine (the most hearty of all), aspen, even a little balsam. It is really amazing how many species of trees we’ve managed to save here in Hadrian.”

“And the flowers, Wolf,” Stephanie pleads. “Don’t forget to name the flowers. They are so beautiful.”

“This one is probably the most common,” Wolf answers immediately as he points to a tall tubular purple flower with multiple blossoms that grow up the long stem. “It’s called a fireweed. It blooms all spring and summer. You can tell the change in season by where the blossoms sit on the stem. Right now they are quite low, indicating it is still spring, but when the very top buds open, it will be fall.”

“That is so interesting.” Stephanie’s eyes sparkle. Her excitement is infectious, so Wolf quickly scrolls through the pamphlet to see whether he can identify another flower for her. Finally, he spots one that is in the pamphlet registry. “Here’s one,” he says, pointing to an unassuming flower. “It’s called a Woodland Horsetail.” Stephanie smiles, even though the flower doesn’t impress her; the petals are so tiny and the flowerets so numerous from a distance that it just looks like a blob. Wolf kneels down to get a much closer look. “It is really quite pretty when you get in close enough to see its intricate detail.” Stephanie, not wanting to kneel down and get her skirt or nylons dirty, decides to take Wolf’s word for it. “Look at that one, over there!” she exclaims. “It’s quite pretty with its little purple petals and yellow stamen. What’s it called?”

Wolf has to do a bit of scrolling before he finds the answer, but finally, he satiates Stephanie’s curiosity. “It’s Blue-Eyed Grass.”

“How lovely.”

Their walk continues on in much the same vein with a warm spring breeze carrying the sweet scent of the freshwater lake to their nostrils and the soft spring sun shining down on them until they come at last to the little tea and coffee house Wolf has promised Stephanie. It is exactly one tram station away from the interpretive center, so after their meal, they will simply catch the train back to their respective stops.

The International Tea and Coffee House (named to commemorate Jane Addams’s role as a world-renowned feminist whose work stretched
across the globe to help women and the unfortunate) overlooks Addams Lake. The teahouse is nestled in a small alcove of poplar and birch with the front entrance open towards the lake. There is no sign of the mighty greenhouses the park purports to have in order to grow the coffee, cocoa, and tea plants. “Just as long as they serve the coffee they promise in the brochure,” is Stephanie’s response when Wolf notes this curious omission. “Perhaps they keep the greenhouse farther off so it doesn’t ruin the ambiance of a rustic cabin on the lakefront.” Wolf nods in agreement since Stephanie’s rationale makes sense.

The interior is as rustic as the exterior. The International Tea and Coffee House was a log cabin recreated in the style of the eighteenth century. An old Hudson Bay blanket decorates one wall while copies of Inuit wood and stone sculptures for sale are lined up on a series of shelves against the other. Wolf places one hand on Stephanie’s waist and leads her to the table in the corner farthest from the door. After sitting, Wolf waves to the waiter and asks him for the address of the link to the menu and drink options. The young man eyes Wolf and Stephanie circumspectly before crossing over. “All right then,” he exclaims as he blinks up the image of a traditional waiter’s notepad. Sighing now, he looks first at Wolf, then at Stephanie. “Which one of you is trans?”