Susan was so worried about Heather that she cancelled some regular clients on Wednesday and Thursday to spend extra time at the facility.
Between that, lots of dancing, and outings with Ginny and Rachael, the fourteen-year-old managed to keep her feet on the ground and her head on her shoulders — just barely.
On Friday morning, after a few dances between four and five o’clock, then a hot bath, Heather put on her someone’s daughter or granddaughter helping out for the day clothes. By seven, she was in an apron, puttering around the kitchen with Maria, keeping the dishes washed and the counters clean.
The security lamp was off. As team members came up the stairs, Lisa made sure they noticed.
The authors arrived when expected, two in one blind transport, the other two separately. Three of them had thick foreign accents. General Ko-fenral showed them the sleeping rooms where they could leave their luggage. He gave them tours of the facility, then escorted them to breakfast. They were delighted by the international assortment of foods and drinks.
The military people and Heather knew why General Bo-seklin was in his office with the door closed. Most of the other team members guessed.
A few minutes before the session was supposed to start, Heather took off
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her apron and planted herself on a chair in the very back row between Susan and Betty.
The rest of the team, and the four authors, filtered out of the dining room.
The authors graciously accepted front-row seats with General Ko-fenral.
General Bo-seklin emerged from his office and stepped into the middle of the circle. For a moment, he looked at Heather’s empty plush chair — today, his seat — and felt a twinge of foreboding. He hid it with a deep breath and turned to the assembled team and guests with a smile.
“Good morning. I must apologize for keeping to myself earlier this morning. Normally, this team operates at a level of security above top secret.
Today we cannot, and yet we must skirt that line to talk to you about your research and your book. I had to review some rules and get clear in my mind what was important today.
“Let us begin with introductions. I am Two-star General Samuel Bo-seklin, commander of this facility and the programs housed here. Only one of those programs is relevant to this meeting . . .”
Heather experienced deep contentment listening to someone else talk about the team she had brought to life over the previous seven years.
Somehow, that made it more real.
Eventually, the four authors were invited to introduce themselves, and General Bo-seklin sat down.
“I am Professor Dennis Ma-zolen, and I am honored to be here. My specialty is agriculture and the global food supply . . .”
Heather remembered little of his fifteen-minute introduction, but had the impression he was sincere, if long-winded.
“Good morning, I am Doctor Jargen Bo-tora, and my contribution to this project is my knowledge of non-renewable resource depletion . . .”
Several people in the room, including Heather, noticed his frown any time he glanced at anyone in the military.
“My name is Doctor Donella Po-tirel, and my expertise is pollution of all kinds — air, water, and land . . .”
Heather felt a moment of frustration, almost anger, that someone would call herself an expert on pollution, but miss the kind that would bring
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civilization to its knees. She breathed slowly, and reminded herself that Doctor Po-tirel had lots of company on that issue.
“I am William Ko-poran, industrial output specialist. I’m very curious as to why the military has an interest in our little book . . .”
Heather smiled slightly, feeling an immediate liking for the man, even though she had little interest in the study of industrial output.
General Bo-seklin stood back up. “Thank you, and welcome. I have a short presentation, and then we will open the floor to questions while the entire team is here. We will continue less formally this afternoon, with some team members needing to return to the University. Tomorrow, only the military staff will be present, and Sunday will be completely free, with transports available at any time. Monday morning the entire team will be back, and you all have return flights that afternoon.
“Everyone on this team has read your manuscript — most of them several times — and all of us would give you a glowing endorsement. As you know, there are some big names here, not to mention three generals and four colonels, for what that’s worth.”
Most of the authors smiled.
“The situation is . . . this highly-classified team, for the past seven years, has been studying almost exactly the same scenario that you modeled, and came to very similar conclusions. We cannot share with you our research methods, but we assure you that they are strongly cross-checked and verified, and include modeling with the University’s super-computer.”
General Bo-seklin noticed several team members smiling, and was glad the guests, in the front row, couldn’t see them.
“However, for many reasons, it is not our intention to publish our own findings, nor to compete with your research in any way. Rather, we wish to do what we can to increase the chances of your work being effectively published.”
The four authors looked relieved. Even Doctor Bo-tora, with his dislike of the military, appeared to relax a little.
“As our Doctor Ko-silma has already expressed to you, we want to talk you out of signing with a small, academic publisher. Instead, with our help, we want you to find a publisher who will get this excellent book into bookstores
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all over the world . . .”
Heather felt very proud of Sam’s talk. She, and other team members, had succeeded in teaching him a great deal, and he remembered more of it than she expected. Even with her broad knowledge of history, she could think of very few generals, of any nation, who had ever presided over moments as important as this.
General Bo-seklin soon finished his presentation, they took a break, and then he opened the meeting to questions.
“Professor
Ma-zolen?”
“Exactly
why is the military concerned with our book sales? Are you intending to get a cut, or a kickback, in exchange for your endorsements?”
Heather could see that Sam was flustered for a moment, but he hid it well.
“Well . . . um . . . neither. This program has no interest in making money.
But let us be blunt — your model predicts a possible collapse of civilization sometime in the next century. Our research tells us that your model, if anything, is too conservative, and the danger is closer in time, and greater in magnitude . . .”
The resulting rumble seemed to fill the room, even though it only came from the four authors.
“Our
results,” Doctor Bo-tora began defensively, “are merely indicators of the system’s behavioral tendencies.”
The entire team began grumbling, but General Bo-seklin raised his hands for silence, then took a deep breath. “In any model that begins with real-world data, those behavioral tendencies constitute a prediction. The only question is — how accurate? Your model happens to roughly match our research for about the next fifty years.
“The Department of Defense is charged with the protection of this country,” the general continued, “and that task would not be possible if civilization was collapsing all around us. This team believes that the publication and wide distribution of your book would be a positive step in any effort to avoid that collapse. If you want your work to just become a few hundred copies sitting on dusty library shelves, you have that right. Colonel Ma-soran can probably get you flights home this afternoon.
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“But if you’d rather be part of the solution at this critical moment in history, then you’re welcome to stay, eat with us, talk with us, and see what we can accomplish . . . together.”
Heather had tears of joy and pride dripping down her cheeks. Susan grabbed her hand on one side, and Betty on the other. They could all see that Sam was exhausted.
“Even though it’s a little early,” General Bo-seklin went on more softly at about eleven thirty, “I’m going to declare a long lunch break. The team will meet again at thirteen . . . I mean, one o’clock . . . if our guests would like it to.”
Heather squeezed the hands of the two ladies surrounding her, then dashed into the kitchen to get drinks ready so Maria could concentrate on the gourmet dishes she was preparing.