Pulling The Dragon's Tail (40 page)

“Just don’t ask her to smile or cry,” teased
Nate.

Es ignored this comment. “Transhumans are
generally not interested in any segment of the past, only in
bettering the present, and pushing on into the future. It is
logical that Four has not yet developed any rules regarding someone
like myself. But, I’ll give it a try.”

The quiet stillness of the mountain air bathed
the old cabin. In a few hours, Ryker would take them to Four.
Campbell accessed the Net, searching to put all of her doubts to
rest. Pouring over countless records, her patience was duly
rewarded, albeit not until nearly dawn.

How the clinic ever acquired this journal is
beyond me
, Campbell thought, still amazed at her cyber find.
It’s a perfect match. Funny how the author of this journal seems
like he’s really in a delusional fantasy
until
you have the
cryptic key: insider knowledge of who wrote it.

September 20, 2040

Writing my thoughts will be helpful they
tell me. I doubt it. They’ll only use it against me, but have I got
anything else to lose?

Our AG reunion of ‘31 turned out to be the
last one we ever had. Six months later Professor H went on the lam,
accused of fraud and misappropriating government funds stemming
from his involvement in the Human Genome Project of the late 1990s.
Of course, the allegations and rumors of an alleged anti-aging
experiment gone bad also emerged. Too bizarre to have happened,
right? Psychotic delusion, right?

The cabin in North Carolina, which they now
call Dixie, was a beautiful mountain setting. Professor H never
told us how he could afford such a big place. Like most things, he
would tell us only on a need to know basis. Who knows? Maybe some
of the misappropriations got us the cabin. I guess the funding ran
dry because the last few reunions showed the cabin gradually going
downhill.

In fact, this time one of the toilets backed
up. I tried but couldn’t fix it. That forced us to use the
remaining two. Oh well, it only added to the charm of the place in
my estimation.

The others thought I was moody and
preoccupied. I really didn’t think so, although it was tough to
tear myself away from the Global Diversity & Sustainability
Project (GDSP) research, otherwise called the End-Date. The
Professor looked older, but the consensus among us was that the old
boy had self-administered the mysterious formula. Hopefully he
didn’t lose the recipe, we joked.

But we humor him as he ages (apparently) and
we’re kind of stuck on twenty-nine. I used to see him as an all in
control father-figure but at the ’31 meeting he seemed more like a
slightly bemused grandfather.

Anyway, the Professor lost his cool when he
discovered our innocent arm-wrestling ritual, ordering us up to the
dining room for a tongue lashing. But this time nobody was
intimidated. We were more confident than ever that we knew how to
live and survive as demigods. Out of all the reunions, this one was
where we discovered our power. Sure, we knew the power inside our
bodies, but now with a generation of life under our belts, we felt
ready to conquer the world. The Professor’s control tactics would
work no longer.

Anyway, we grew up that day, each of us
tapping into what seemed at the time unlimited power. Perhaps it
was appropriate that was our last meeting. I think Marisol tried to
organize one in ‘37, but it fell through. We graduated with honors.
As I reflect on that day, I’m struck by our collective stubbornness
to succeed and our resilience to persevere. I also have to wonder
if Professor H hadn’t planned that outcome all along.

I’m remembering more memory fragments but
lapse back into what the staff calls psychosis; it’s a word I hate.
They say the pressure of the GDSP research brought it on. But how
can I say no to the task? Lord, whoever you are, help me. Maury
Emmerick

Hats seemed to be everywhere at Four, especially
in the small town of Murphy where Ryker located a bed and breakfast
for Nate and his colleagues. The B & B was a two-story
wood-framed house with an open air front porch running its length.
A five minute walk got them into the center of the small town,
whose motif was part 1950’s middle Americana and part tourist trap.
Even into the third day of their stay, Nate counted only a handful
of hatless people. In fact, he’d begun to feel naked without
one.

Ryker had been designated (or as he put it,
more-or-less ‘ordered’) by the Council of Nine to be their tour
guide. He proved to be a wonderful host. After their first day,
Ryker shared with Nate’s group that the news of a CCR and a
transhuman visiting had spread like wildfire. Their near-celebrity
status was greeted by the residents warmly but warily. Only a few
hardliners had been dismissive. Of course, having the six foot,
eight inch tall Ryker along, (the fine folks at Four refused to use
the metric system) meant they stood out regardless.

Nate spent half a day at an old-fashioned theme
park in another town at Four, riding wooden roller coasters, eating
popcorn, and watching magic acts. Taking in such innocent play,
especially with familiar scenes from his youth, he finally began to
relax. Would he jinx himself if he allowed his guard down? The last
time he’d relaxed was at Extropia, and Red Dawn ruined those
pleasantries
. But this is Four, and Ryker is guarding the
gate
.
Who needs the Net?
he mused
. Between gossip and
word of mouth, and traditional telephones, news spreads pretty
fast.

During day two of their stay, Nate and his
companion visited a school in the eastern quadrant of Four,
surrounded by rolling prairie. The school reminded him of the one
from his childhood. Thatcher had joked how the schoolhouse appeared
to be from the time of Abraham Lincoln.

Nate had been born in the late 1960s and reared
in northern Michigan in a rural farming community. He had been
well-acquainted with hunting, fishing, snow skiing, and ice
skating. He remembered the first computers to be introduced in his
high school, and then the burgeoning frenzy of technology’s
ever-increasing leaps and bounds. He liked the nostalgia of how
things used to be and was glad to have grown up on the cusp of the
digital age.

But standing in front of the school at Four,
Nate felt ‘old; in many ways he represented the past. Additionally,
he felt like an oddball to people like Campbell and Thatcher, who
knew absolutely nothing about how he grew up. In another century,
he’d be nearly two hundred years old. How much stronger would his
oddball status be? Sadness swept over him, once again realizing
that his generation of peers would soon be gone. Of the few
downsides of the experiment, this was the keenest hurt for him:
brief visits in full elderly make-up, occasional reunions—always
carefully orchestrated and rehearsed—could never assuage the fact
that he felt like a stranger to friends and family.

On day three, Nate and colleagues visited the
hospitals, factories, and farms that comprised the northern reaches
of Four. To Nate, it was like revisiting his childhood; to Nate and
Campbell it was like visiting a living history exhibit. Thousands
of intentional communities had sprung up around the world. Many of
them were historical in nature. Their residents worked, lived, and
played authentically for that selected time or historical period,
be it the Middle Ages or ancient Greece. Four’s residents were no
different. They clearly lived like they actually existed in mid to
late twentieth century America.

One evening, they attended a concert of country
and folk music, quite enjoyable without hi-tech acoustics and
virtual reality enhancements. He was also glad that Thatcher and
Campbell seemed to enjoy themselves.

Nate was initially concerned about Es; that is,
until late in their first day of visiting. She found a hat,
ostensibly for pragmatic purposes. It shielded her from being
recognized as the first transhuman to visit Four. The hat was black
and made of synthetic material, a type of beret that fitted snugly
down over part of the head. Nate had a sneaking suspicion that she
was enjoying this addition to her wardrobe more than she let
on.

Nate and Campbell had given in to the pressure
to buy a hat by the second day. She had finally settled on a jet
black Parkhurst Breton with a firm brim and flat top. Meanwhile he
had found a dark brown fedora. Thatcher was the last holdout,
proclaiming he wasn’t going to give into peer pressure. But the hat
stores were omnipresent.

Five and ten cent stores and malt shops lined
the streets of near the town center of laid-back Murphy. Late in
the third day of their stay, they were shopping in downtown Murphy
in a general store that had a little of everything, including a
bar. A cute young woman persuaded Thatcher to try on a hat.

As he put the small-brimmed newsboy on, she said
admiringly, “You look like Robert Redford or maybe Harrison
Ford.”

“Are they movie stars or something?”

“Thatcher!” scolded Campbell, “You need to bone
up on late twentieth century movie stars!”

Smiling into the mirror, he said, “Hmm, maybe
I’ll keep it.”

“It looks great on you,” gushed the young woman,
who pecked him on the cheek.

“Maybe I’ll have to consider the romantic
properties of hats back in my real life.”

“So you’ve become Mr. Conformist,” teased
Nate.

“Hey!” Thatcher pointed a finger at Nate. “I’m
keeping it on my own terms.”

“Yeah, anything that catches the ladies’ eyes,”
rejoined Nate.

“He’s hooked, all right,” chuckled Campbell.

Suddenly Thatcher feigned a painful look. “But,
oh, the responsibility! When do I take it off? How do I keep track
of it? Should I have a spare? And most importantly, what shall I
ever wear with it?”

Nate wandered outside and sat next to Dugan on a
bench next to the street, watching pedestrians amble by. Once more,
he tried to finish listening to the report from his friends at the
GDSP:

…
Humanity has engaged in spasms of denial
first about global warming, then about the End-Date. Our first
report in 2024 was itself an outgrowth of the prior two decades in
which the media storm grew and public acrimony swelled about the
reality of global warming. Huge changes followed as humanity united
in fighting global warming. However, as their efforts appeared to
make little difference, millions appeared resigned to accommodate
life in a hothouse world.

Many also struggled to comprehend our
warnings (particularly in those early GDSP reports) on how the hot
climate could suddenly flip-flop into a global ice age. Living in a
hot world is a complicated set of affairs, but coping in a frozen
world is another matter entirely. Lukewarm belief followed as the
evidence mounted, and finally much of humanity jumped into a
wholehearted commitment to finally do something about the End-Date.
However, after a number of years, the commitment waned as nations,
companies, civic groups and individuals failed to maintain the
necessary mutual sacrifices in energy and resource consumption.
Knowledge and responsibility are neither kind nor forgiving…

Ryker and Campbell approached. “Hey, I want a
picture of y’all together in your hats,” said a delighted Ryker,
snapping a photo of Campbell standing behind Nate.

“That camera looks pretty hi-tech,” warned
Campbell, mugging for it.

“Don’t be silly. It ain’t digital or nothin.’
Now where’s Es? I want a picture with all of you!” said Ryker.

Nate sighed. “I’ll go look.” It was almost
beginning to feel natural not to use their dataports to instantly
communicate with each other. He went back into the saloon and out
into the street. Finally he caught sight of Es, with her hat on,
drinking at the bar.

Deciding to round up the others for a photo
inside, Nate returned to the sidewalk. “Let’s get a photo inside
with Es.”

Dugan approached Nate, grabbed his hand with his
mouth, and pulled him aside. In coded language he said, “Skip, I am
receiving important information about Red Dawn. I believe that
Sheridan may have been trying to locate us.”

He reviewed the data from Dugan. “Sheridan
hasn’t located us, thanks to my security protocols. But I’m not
happy having to think about whether he’s on my tail again,” said
Nate through gritted teeth. “I’m going to talk with Es.”

He searched for her back inside the
store/saloon. Es wasn’t on the barstool anymore. Then he caught
sight of her emerging from the restroom. “Es,” he said,
approaching, “can I have a word with—”

She brushed by him, a steely glare that seemed
to cut right through him. Her cadence was stiff-legged as she
exited onto the street, and she held her arms out awkwardly, as if
trying to avoid a fall. Several bicyclists had to swerve to avoid
hitting her. She plowed straight ahead through the middle of the
pedestrian-crowded street.

Nate followed her movements, joining the others
on the sidewalk.

Ryker, appearing nervous, asked, “What’s going
on?”

“I don’t know. She came out of the restroom
acting…like that.”

“Well, granted, but what else is new?” cracked
Thatcher.

“This is new. I’m serious. She’s never acted
rudely. She can be brusque, but not rude.”

Es continued to walk away from them. Her head
began shaking violently, and her hat was sent flying onto the
sidewalk. Suddenly she ran up the street and disappeared around the
corner.

“My God! What’s gotten into her? I’m wondering
if I should I go after her,” said a concerned Campbell.

“Wait a minute! Dugan, can you communicate with
her?”

“I am trying to establish a conversation with
her. She has cut me off.”

“Has that ever happened before?” Nate asked
worriedly.