The Eden Project: Humanity's Last Chance (6 page)

“Gen, do you need to sit down?”

“Oh Zeke, no, I’m sorry, I’m just famished,” she finally offered. “The sooner I cut up these tomatoes for dinner the better.”

She set her hand on Zeke’s back. He grinned happily. When they reached the kitchen he backed carefully through the swinging door carrying the tomato basket.

Gen stopped for a moment holding the door. She looked down the corridor to the commissary. The kids were gathering for dinner. The energy from their bright faces and cheery voices had done what Adam or Zeke could not do, lightened her mood.

She rolled up her sleeves and stepped into the kitchen.

* * *

TUNA STRUGGLED DOWN the main corridor of ES2 attempting to hold onto his scrollpad, a small plastic repair kit and an odd-shaped computer component. When he looked up he spotted an unwelcome visitor boarding his ship.

Adam walked toward Tuna without his usual dangerous smile. Instead he was so intently serious it gave Tuna a shudder. Tuna stopped in his tracks. Adam approached and passed him without making eye contact.

Tuna’s eyes followed Adam down the corridor behind him until he turned and disappeared into AUDIO RELAY SYSTEMS. Tuna sighed at the inevitability of it all.

When he entered AUDIO RELAY SYSTEMS, he found Adam in front of the four gray computer screens hypnotized by the flashing prompts in their centers. Tuna set down what he was carrying.

Adam stepped back slightly to give Tuna room.

“Yeah,” Tuna surrendered. “Considering wind conditions, sea conditions and the fact he grew up in a seaside fishing village which means he will have been on his sail at least half the afternoon to conserve fuel, I’d say Old Hoss has traveled about 78 to 94 nautical miles by now.”

Tuna stepped in front of Adam who simply received Tuna’s calculations with an earnest nod. Tuna exhaled and began to pound his way through the minefield of passwords with little concern.

Adam could feel the world slipping away from him more each day. He would not leave this planet without at least trying to learn what was out there. Maybe there would be some new discovery or some turn in the fortunes of the uninfected who had gone underground years ago.

The paternal donor from whom Adam had been created had lived more than 100 years ago. He had been a professional athlete who left behind all the fame and fortune of the sporting arena to fight alongside anonymous grunts in a thankless war. His physical gifts and uncommon bravery were just beginning to be the stuff of legend when a missile sailed quietly down an abandoned street and tore through his chest.

He died in an instant. He died childless.

More than a century later, Adam was born inside the glass dome of the Eden Project, the last civilized building in the world. He felt the burden of that blood, the burden of a hero’s mission. Would his father be proud of him had he ever known of his existence?

There were battles somewhere out in the world and yet Adam found himself inside this domed arena safe and sound and well fed. Now was the time to follow the call that he felt had been frozen all those years within his father’s seed.

He liked to think he could feel what his long ago father must have felt, an embarrassment of riches. He would fight for the people no matter the cost. He would not abandon them.

“There,” Tuna whispered while the static quickly surrounded the boys, hissing quietly out of speakers all around them.

Adam refocused on the task at hand. They must make contact.

They could hear the music emerging, instrumental and symphonic like a slow moving wave washing warmly through the bloodstream. Tuna smiled at the sound. Adam struggled to find the proper emotion.

“Is this the same guy? The DJ?” Adam asked, confused. “It sounds different.”

“It’s just different music, big guy. It’s still him playing it.”

Tuna reluctantly pressed the down arrow to adjust the frequency. The music disappeared as he fished through different levels of static trying to find some other point of contact.

Adam moved in close to the screens and Tuna. “You have some idea about Doctor Hossler?”

“I do,” Tuna said. “They would be communicating somewhere in the hundreds I believe.”

“They?”

“The boat and the doctors.”

A light bulb went off in Adam’s head. The other doctors could have been in contact with Old Hoss, but what would they talk about? Betrayal? Putting humanity’s future at risk for one’s own selfish agenda? He realized that neither Doctor Hossler nor Doctor Quarna would likely reach out to each other.

They searched slowly down through the 200s and 100s and heard nothing but louder static or lesser static. How would they know the frequency to attempt to send a message? Maybe they could find out somehow, maybe Doctor Becker could slip him that information, but what would Doctor Hossler see but open waters for hundreds of miles? And once he made land he would leave the boat and the radio behind.

“If Hoss doesn’t talk to anyone, how will we find the frequency?” Tuna wondered aloud as he slowly went down one click at a time.

“Let’s just go back to the DJ,” Adam suggested.

When they returned to 468.99 the instrumental music was fading.

“The song’s over,” Tuna said, stating the obvious.

“Yeah, I can hear,” Adam replied. “Shush.”

First a quiet cough. Was the DJ infected? More static and silence. They glanced at each other anxiously. Tuna turned up the volume hoping to hear the voice again.

“That ends an hour of non-stop melancholia,” the DJ reflected quietly. “A requiem for the world’s final traveler who glides away on the deserted sea, filling his sails with what he calls hope even though the horizon is ever lost, ever beyond his reach.”

The silence that followed was loaded with ideas until they heard a song begin, a whisper of a melody that rose to an echo of longing upon the lonely waters.

Adam bent his face trying to understand. “He said an hour of non-stop melancholia. What did he mean by that?”

“I think he meant sad music,” Tuna concluded. “An hour of sad music for a traveler.”

“A traveler?” Adam spit out as fast as he could. “Maybe he saw Hoss out there.” For the first time optimism washed over Adam. “He saw him alright. We made contact.”

Tuna was less enthused. “Yeah, it’s possible. Sure. That could mean he saw someone and if he did, it would likely be Doctor Hossler.” Tuna stopped, careful not to tread too heavily on Adam’s hope. “Or, maybe, he might be talking about himself, alone on his own boat playing music to no one. Why? He might just mean his music would never be heard, never reach the horizon which would be other people’s ears.”

Despite Tuna’s best efforts, Adam deflated. He looked down and tried to work his way through it all in his mind. Tuna made sense and Adam knew his own weakness. He all too often imagined a world where things were at work out there and where things could and should and would connect.

He was doing that now, imagining a connection where there was only what? A sad, lonely man with a microphone and an antenna spewing out his own measly poetry, his own sense of martyrdom?

“But I think he saw Doctor Hossler,” Tuna finally decided.

All the deadened hope within him returned and overwhelmed Adam. He smiled maniacally at Tuna then grabbed him around his neck and pulled him closer and jumped on his back. They fell to the ground. Adam jumped right back up to pump his fist in the air.

“He did. He saw him, Tuna. You’re right. You’re always right.”

Tuna climbed to his feet and quickly finger brushed his hair back into shape. He was slow to smile but when he did it was a big one.

Adam answered his friend’s welcome smile with another rough, congratulatory slap on the back. Tuna ignored the pain of Adam’s enthusiasm and enjoyed their breakthrough.

They heard a familiar bell just outside the door.

“Come on,” Adam suggested. “It’s potato casserole night in the commissary.”

Tuna lit up even more. At last, Adam Thirdborn was talking his language.

“Wait. The DJ said that last song ended an hour of music.” Tuna stopped in the corridor just short of the bustling commissary. “That means he would have seen Doc’s boat a full hour before that.”

“That’s right,” Adam added. “So if Doc is eighty or ninety miles out, how far would he have been an hour ago?”

“Let me do the math.” Tuna whispered to himself while calculating. “He’d have been something like sixty-five or seventy-five miles from here an hour ago.” Tuna grinned into Adam’s eyes. “Which means?”

Adam grinned back. “Which means the DJ’s boat might just be sixty-five miles from here.”

They hit each other’s shoulders happily with their right fists, something boys of the Eden Project often did to celebrate.

Zeke stepped out of the kitchen door near them wearing an apron. He bent his face at the curious sight of Adam’s good mood which made him appear like a much younger version of himself.

“Why don’t you two fools grab your trays before we close the kitchen?” Zeke wiped his hands on his apron and shook his head.

They sobered up quick with Zeke present.

“Look at this guy,” Tuna said, pointing at Zeke. “Gen has him wearing aprons. That’s just sad.”

Adam’s smile returned. He slapped Tuna on the back and they walked into the commissary. He took in the faces of all his friends. He walked with Tuna to the food counter where Ada set their trays, but his mind wandered through the commissary walls to the surrounding waters.

Somewhere out there, he imagined, you would find a rusty antenna whispering melodies to the night.

* * *

AT THE TABLE FOR the original eight, Gen was the last to join them. Sylvia scooted over to let Gen sit between her and Cassie. She sat directly across from Tuna who was still glowing from the thrill of discovery.

“Gen, your potato casserole is delish,” Cassie said winking to Tuna who was oblivious to both her banter and her wink.

Gen noticed Tuna’s state of bliss. “Are you okay, Tuna?”

He shifted uncomfortably when all eyes fell on him. He picked up his fork and cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m great, potato casserole rocks.” He shoved two huge forkfuls of casserole into his mouth and began to munch slowly.

“That’s disgusting.” Sylvia turned away from the sight of Tuna trying to chew with an over full mouth.

Cassie smiled proudly. The others winced and turned back to their own plates. Not Gen. She kept her eyes on Tuna. He eventually lifted his hands to her in surrender. She finally let him off the hook and took a bite of her own casserole.

“I think he’ll make it,” Ozzie said to no one in particular. “I just don’t know what he’ll find out there.”

No one answered him. Forks stopped moving. Ozzie had given voice to what everyone had been worrying about all day. What would he find out there? What nightmare awaited the old doctor when he stepped foot on land?

“Don’t say it like that,” Maya finally said, upset with Ozzie. “He’ll find his grandson. That’s what.”

Sylvia put her arm casually around Maya in support.

Zeke noticed Gen struggling to find words. “This is not a suitable conversation for dinner.” His words gave her immediate relief releasing her from a great burden. No longer would she have to predict Doctor Hossler’s fate or the fate of his grandson.

“For better or worse, he’ll find answers out there,” Adam said. As always, he was a vacuum, sucking in all their energy.

He brought everything down to its darkest truth. They could not keep their eyes off him. Gen was not alone in this. They could try to resist him, condemn him, even despise him but none could ever turn away from his words. The same curiosities were buried within each kid inside the dome. Deep down in their DNA the truth had been sealed beneath the antiseptic sunshine flooding their all glass home.

“He followed his heart.” Sylvia’s voice finally broke Adam’s spell. Sylvia’s eyes met his eyes. He was pleased when Sylvia smiled shyly.

Their sudden connection stunned Gen. Are they falling in love? What a hypocrite he was, falling in love with his intended. “Followed his heart? Huh!” Gen stopped herself, but it was too late. Sylvia was already hurt and the table riveted by her contemptuous tone. They looked to her to finish her thought. “By tomorrow a pack of infected may be following his heart too, wanting to sauté it for dinner.”

Disgust swept across the stunned table. Tuna spit his casserole out onto his plate. Zeke regarded Gen like she was completely alien to him.

“Gen, what’s got into you?” Cassie said putting her hand on Sylvia’s hand. Sylvia, more confused than hurt, struggled to comprehend why Gen was talking that way.

“That’s so gross, Gen.” Tuna covered his discharged food with a napkin. “You ruined my potato casserole.”

Adam started to laugh which at first disturbed everyone. He took the attention off Gen and his laughter eventually caused Ozzie to stifle a chuckle of his own. Zeke shook his head at them.

“Who would have believed it?” Adam asked, happily. “Miss Goody Goody has a dark side. My god.”

Intended or not, this lightened the table. When Sylvia smiled, the others joined her. Even Zeke reluctantly became amused. It was Gen’s face. She became madder and madder and it caused everyone to laugh more and more.