“You tamper with things you don't fully understand
so that you can turn a buck.
Just because you can do something
does not mean that you should.”
- Luddite Gorman Gosling
It was a chilly room. Not to the point where Ryan was shivering, but definitely uncomfortably cold.
He felt like a schoolboy outside the principal's office, eagerly listening for any betrayal of what lay in store for him behind the closed doors. Kahira sat opposite him, bathing in the blue smoke of a thin cigar.
She met his gaze for a moment before blinking away and taking another drag.
“Those things will kill you, you know,” said Ryan in an attempt to spark conversation. Kahira blew a lungful in his direction.
“No. When I die, it will not be by some insidious cancer,” was all she replied.
Ryan shrugged, wrapping his arms a little tighter around his torso.
“What is with the heating in here? Did someone forget to pay the gas bill?”
“You will do well to dispense with the jokes before you meet Father Abraham; he isn't known for his sense of humor. But in response to your question, the heating is maintained to an optimal level that keeps this facility safe from thermal detection with respect to its surrounds,” she said, as she tapped her ash on a nearby pot plant, “It's relatively close to the surface, meaning that any overhead surveillance would spot it immediately if it gave off even the smallest amount of heat.”
Ryan considered this, “But the heat would need to redirected somewhere, it cannot just vanish.”
“Quite right, child. Other facilities of ours sink the heat further down into underground chambers or to other factories within the area. Factories make quite a lot of heat, anyway, so a little more here and there is undetected. This particular compound is unique in that we have a constant supply of water to keep the temperature moderated. The volume of water is so great that the difference in temperature between the incoming and outgoing water is less than a degree. Quite clever, no?”
Ryan was about to agree, when the giant metal door slid open with a low rumble. Kahira stood up and snapped to attention.
Ryan followed suit. Plumes of mist wafted through, further chilling Ryan's skin, so that it came up in goose bumps. Kahira ushered him inside.
As he walked in, Ryan could not help but notice two glistening sentry guns through the fog, tracking his movement. They would be primed and ready, should he try anything, to take him down in a heartbeat. He began to shiver a little.
“Cold, is it?” came the voice of Father Abraham through the mist, “Please pardon the fog, it will shortly clear. I have been considering getting an air blanket installed over the entrance way, but I do not have that many outsiders to warrant the hassle. Come inside, it's warmer further in.”
The metal door slid closed behind him and the noise of air pumps sounded. The fog cleared quickly, revealing a solidly built man with a neatly trimmed crop of dark hair combed to the side. His dark blue suit stood out starkly against the surrounding chrome and white piping that lined the walls. Ryan's surprise flashed across his face.
“Ha! You thought I would be different, yes? That I was a graying old man, with a long beard and a stick, yes?” laughed Father Abraham, mockingly bending over and hobbling.
Ryan, mindful of where he was, nodded, “In fact, yes.”
“Good! I see that from our last discussion, the notion of truth has grown somewhat. This is good. I cannot abide liars, child,” said Father Abraham, “Liars and thieves.”
“Thieves, Father Abraham?”
He nodded, “Liars and thieves fall into the same category. Both will shun the honest path, the harder path, for that of a quick reward. That represents animalism, a devolution. Do you agree?”
“Yes,” said Ryan, not wishing to offend any more.
“Hmm. Clearly you do need more time with the whole concept of honesty,” scowled Father Abraham.
“But I do agree!” implored Ryan.
“In only the time it took for me to explain my connection between liars and thieves, you managed to form a strong opinion about an abstract topic? Either your mind works dazzlingly fast, and can skip the laborious contemplation required to delve into the nuances of an argument, or you are, indeed, a liar.”
Ryan was silent. Even in the cold he felt his armpits moisten.
Eventually he said, “Father Abraham, in response to the previous question, of whether I agree with thieves being the same as liars, and that theft is a devolution, I will need to think more upon it.”
Father Abraham smiled. He patted Ryan on the shoulder, “Very good, boy. Thinking before you talk will take you a long way. Now, walk with me.”
The pair ambled along. Kahira followed up at the rear. It felt a little less cold the further they walked along, up a large hall lined with hissing plumbing and pipes, whirring machines and buzzing consoles.
“What do you think of this facility so far, child?”
Ryan measured his answer, “From what I have seen, it is nothing special. I gather it is underground, thermally camouflaged and, I would guess, away from the general populace of, well, wherever we are. Although I confess that I am still a little groggy.”
“Yes, I apologize for the sedation. I trust you are not feeling too unwell?”
“Fine enough to walk.”
“Well and good. It is merely a precaution, nothing to worry about. Any effects will wear off. Now, this facility is just one of many, child,” said Father Abraham as they walked along, “One of the many placed strategically around the world. But no, you would be wrong in guessing that it has been located away from the population. In fact this particular installation is located in Vernon, right under the industrial area.”
He paused to place his hand on a scanner. It turned green, and a door in front of them slid open.
They continued into a small control room overlooking a wide, open area. Below them, engineers in white hats and coats puttered about here and there, taking readings and measurements, writing on clipboards, chatting to each other.
“They all require resources for their upkeep: power, water, air, food. If we were to hide them away in a desert, the logistics would be a nightmare, detection a certainty. So, we have incorporated them into existing structures and factories, sapping off only what we need so as not to raise suspicions. This, before you, is the heart of the water treatment complex for the entire city. This portion is built into the rock and clay next the facility.”
Ryan's brain jumped a little and his heart began to race. He wondered if he should dare question Father Abraham.
“Does that not mean you, I mean, this facility, is stealing?” he asked.
Father Abraham looked at him sideways, “I admire your courage. Yes, it would be classed as stealing, or thievery, if we did not own the resources that we were appropriating. But this belongs to us. We bought it, we operate it, we own it.”
Ryan looked out over the engineers. “These people are all Directors?”
“Ha! No, my boy! They work for Grünsfeld Power, APC, or Valley Water or whatever the company is called. But we own the company,” laughed Father Abraham, “These little workers could never be Directors. They are too busy, preoccupied with dreams of holidays, of families, of success, whatever that may be. At the end of the week, they get their pay check, drink themselves silly and came back in on Monday to boast about their antics over the weekend.”
Ryan studied the scene before him. They certainly looked like ants, doing this and that, following yellow lines painted on the floor from valve A to filter B, bumping into each other periodically, briefly chatting before moving on.
“They cannot be changed, can they?” asked Ryan.
Father Abraham waved his hand and sighed, “No, no they cannot. Well, individually, perhaps, but even then only some would respond positively to molding. The vast majority, I can assure you, would laugh and call you a fool. No, but then, we do not want them to change, do we?”
“Why not?” asked Ryan, genuinely curious. He had always seen people as unworthy, thirsty for change, crying out for discipline.
“Because they have their place. Theirs is not to question, but to work and dream. They love their bondage. It keeps them warm, proves that they are needed. If they understood the futile nature of their lives, well, they would just as soon end it as come back to work on the Monday,” said Father Abraham.
He pointed to a worker studying pressure reading.
“Look at him,” he said, “I dare say he spent the better half of his life in an educational facility, safe from the ravages of the wasteland and the poisonous effects of radioactivity. He studied hard, worked his way through and finally, in the prime of his life, has succeeded in being the one who gets to record numbers off a machine in a treatment plant. If he works very hard, and is a loyal subject, he will get to be the one who watches the one who reads the numbers off the machine. That is his dream. Do you really think you can take it from him that easily? Would it do any good?”
Ryan shook his head, “No... I mean, I do not know.”
“Let me tell you, it would not. He has nestled his roots into the fantasy of self-importance so deeply, that extrication would destroy him. He is best left where he is. In his current role, at least, he is being somewhat productive.”
The trio watched the scene, each lost in their own thoughts. It was fitting, thought Ryan. He always imagined life as water, flowing and ebbing, being excreted by one only to be drunk another.
And here he was, watching millions of lives being filtered and stored, purified and diverted. Of the waters that rained down from the heavens, how much of it flowed unimpeded through the drains and out to the sea? How many of these workers failed to see their own lives dripping from their wet, sagging bodies?
Kahira coughed. Father Abraham looked at her with annoyance, then he smiled.
“Ah, yes, thank you, daughter. We must retire. Kahira will take you to your quarters. Please do not leave them until you are summoned. Apart from this small request, I bid you welcome, and please, make yourself at home.”