Over the next few weeks, the team settled into its new routine at Susan’s house. More details about anthropogenic climate change were explored, with the team pushing Priscilla to tell them all the ways in which the book they were promoting was too optimistic.
Po Publications rented temporary office space, and architects started sketching proposals for their new ultra-modern building.
With the other two safe houses now closed, the facility in the green hills west of the city became rather busy. Colonel Ka-markla didn’t call Priscilla when they had only one or two guests. She, or the guard on duty, made frozen waffles, canned soups, and sandwiches. Most of the guests were quite happy, knowing they were as safe as the Department of Defense could make them.
But when a large family came in, usually fleeing a change of government in a country that still did such things by violence, the telephone at Susan’s house started ringing. If Lisa didn’t find Priscilla there, she next tried the skating rink, followed by the teen dance club.
It happened for the first time on Friday, just as Doctor Po-selem was getting his message ready for the space probe. During the afternoon skate session, the owner skated out to the middle, where Priscilla was practicing figures, and informed her she had an emergency telephone call.
Since both Lisa and George were still a bit new at doing the jobs Sarah and Sam once did, and Maria was no longer in the picture, they tended to forget little things like shopping lists.
NEBADOR Book Nine: A Cry for Help 274
So after explaining that the family was on a ten-hour non-stop flight, and would arrive in a secure transport at about eighteen hundred and be quite hungry, Lisa had to admit, with sheepish apologies, that recent safe-house guests had left the cupboards and refrigerators almost bare.
Priscilla, sensing that Lisa had a million other things to do, promised to take care of it, and ended the call.
“Family illness?” the rink owner inquired with sympathy.
Priscilla chuckled. “Work. Can I make a call to arrange transportation?”
He
nodded.
She dialed, and an air-base operator answered.
“This is Priscilla Ka-mentha, clearance T.S.U., program L-Six. In approximately one hour, I will check out at Food Depot with about four carts full, and I need a small truck and a driver cleared for the L-Six location. It’s time-critical, as we have guests en route by air.”
The skating rink owner raised his eyebrows.
“Yes . . . Colonel Ka-markla . . . yes . . .” Priscilla responded to questions, and soon ended the call.
“That’s
some
special kind of work you do!” the owner said.
“That’s
my
easy job. Thanks, Simon. See you sometime next week!”
Priscilla’s cooking was not as fancy as Maria’s, but she made sure everyone was happy. They were at stressful moments in their lives, she knew, and needed comfort almost as much as safety. Between her tasty home-cooking, the cozy atmosphere of the entire facility, and the complete security provided by the military, safe-house guests could, for a few days or a week, relax and ponder their futures.
She knew that many of them, when they left, would be hunted by foreign governments or powerful corporations, and would have to go into permanent hiding, or change their identities. Some of them deserved it, but their children did not, and yet lived under the same danger, whether newborn, child, or teenager.
With few exceptions, Priscilla didn’t know enough about the adults to judge them. She focused on making them comfortable with nourishment, treats, a friendly ear whenever she could spare it, well-tended plants
NEBADOR Book Nine: A Cry for Help 275
throughout the facility, and music to fit the mood.
Although she wasn’t paid for it, Doctor Bo-kamla often came in to help bring hope to the hearts of those who dared not step outside the building. She realized it was a fulfillment of her dream of counseling refugees. It also allowed her to keep an eye on the one person in the world she had vowed to always protect and support.
Priscilla, of course, was especially happy any time Susan felt like doing a few dishes.
Although it had been rarely used during the P-Seventeen years, the television often now glowed from a shelf at the back of the dance studio, sometimes for the adults to keep up with the news, sometimes to entertain the children.
Priscilla had taken down the dance posters, and arranged the extra plush chairs — once for generals and scientists studying the future — around the outside edges of the room. She convinced General Ba-kerga to buy more large pillows, and these she spread out on the floor for the kids.
The warm days and pleasant evenings of early August floated past as a family of four, political refugees from a small country, and a middle-aged couple, corporate whistle-blowers, shared the top-secret facility.
Priscilla was strolling the hardwood floors with watering can in hand when she overheard part of a news broadcast on the television.
“. . . as we try to piece together what happened here, neighbors are telling us that the parents set the fire in the tree house when they discovered their children, and several neighbor children, were keeping and reading books up there . . .”
Priscilla frowned, and wanted to learn more, but had to get a batch of cookies out of the oven first. She was back a minute later.
“. . . firemen are lowering the body of the girl who was still in the tree house when the fire was set. Medics are examining her, but it appears nothing can be done. Police are keeping reporters away from the parents, but neighbors are saying the girl was eight years old . . .”
For a split second, Priscilla felt all the sensations the girl must have experienced — fear of being trapped, panic as she tried to find a way out, the
NEBADOR Book Nine: A Cry for Help 276
choking smoke, the burning heat and flames — and tears started flowing even as she stood there, just outside the old dance studio.
“. . . a fireman is coming down the ladder now with a scorched book in an evidence bag . . . can we get a camera on that bag, Terry? Yes, ladies and gentlemen, as you can see on your T.V. screens, it appears to be a copy of the same book about the future that everyone seems to either love or hate . . .”
Priscilla’s heart was in her throat, and it clearly intended to stay there. She struggled to breathe, but only managed a few gasps.
“. . . out on the front lawn, something else is happening. Jason, can you get out there with a camera? It appears that a preacher is talking about what happened, and people are gathering around to listen. Our cameraman is arriving on the scene. Another preacher is arguing with him. Both are saying things at the top of their lungs. Your sound isn’t working, Jason — we have visual but no audio. The preachers are now taking punches at each other, ladies and gentlemen. This is unbelievable, right here on this front lawn, so near to where a tragic death just occurred, these two men of God are having a scrappy fist fight . . .”
Finally her breath came a little easier as Priscilla continued to listen and silently cry.
“. . . a policeman is breaking up the fight. Over in the driveway, I can see a couple of female detectives, with a tape recorder, listening to the children who got out of the tree house in time . . .”
Priscilla hoped they would find their courage and tell the whole story.
“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, here’s a new development. The parents are being led to a police car, and I believe I can see . . . yes, I can see it clearly now
. . . they are definitely in handcuffs . . .”
Priscilla’s face remained streaked with tears as she breathed a deep sigh and returned to the kitchen to set out the freshly-baked cookies.
The following Monday, Harold To-kamra arrived with everyone else for breakfast. Before finding a place to sit, he handed Priscilla a video tape.
“Good morning, everyone,” she said as they got settled at nine o’clock.
“It’s the tenth of August, Sarah is taking notes, George is here, and Lisa must be at work.”
NEBADOR Book Nine: A Cry for Help 277
George nodded. “We’re going to take turns whenever possible.”
“Good. Harold is here today, as his staff got copies of all the news coverage of the tree-house incident. I only saw bits and pieces on one channel, and I know some of you didn’t see it at all, so we’ll all learn something.”
For the next hour, they watched the coverage of the event on location, and some commentary in the television studios later on. The entire group was very sullen when the video ended.
Retired General Ko-fenral cleared his throat. “There are casualties during any big change. We always wish there weren’t, especially innocent children, but nations, and the world itself, cannot change without them.”
The team absorbed his comment in silence.
Doctor Ko-silma raised her hand. “Harold, are we in time to add a dedication to that paperback edition?”
“Certainly.”
“Great idea, Betty!” Priscilla declared. “She’s the first anthropogenic climate change martyr, and deserves to have her name remembered.”
“That could rile up her parents.”
“Our book has the whole world riled up.”
“They might take legal action!”
“What
kind?”
“Do we care?”
“We might not, but Po Publications might . . .”
Everyone fell silent and looked at Harold.
He laughed. “There’s no law against dedicating a book to someone.
Besides, those who fear this book already burned down our building. If Po Publications was squeamish, you’d know it by now. Fact is, every publisher dreams of having a banned or hated book in their catalog. I’ll dig up a nice picture of the girl, find out her birth date, and put together a very respectable epitaph on the back cover. What was her name?”
Sarah looked at her notes. “Tiffany Ko-moran.”
Priscilla made sure everyone had a chance to express their opinions about the dedication and epitaph. Most were in favor, as long as the parents weren’t
NEBADOR Book Nine: A Cry for Help 278
mentioned. A few continued to worry about the publisher.
Colonel Bo-torin the political scientist waited until everyone else had spoken, then raised his hand.
Priscilla sensed he had something important to say as she pointed to him.
“I think this is a piece of a larger process. The general public has heard a lot about our book recently. Po Publications advertises it, many scientists and a few other insightful persons promote it, most of the small religions condemn it, community leaders and educators are split down the middle. The average man and woman can only hear so much about something before getting tired of it. I think they’re near that point now, and the tree-house incident just might push them over the top. When the general public burns out, the news media will go with them. Next week, they’ll turn their attention to the space probe launch, and I don’t think they’ll want to turn it back to our little book any time soon.”
At that moment, the doorbell rang.
“Lunch,” Susan said as she stood up.
“Thank you, John,” Priscilla said while Susan paid for the pizzas. “We can talk more while we eat, but I know several people have to leave soon. I propose we dedicate next Monday to exploring this idea, see if we can figure out how it will affect us, and how we might want to change our plans.”
Everyone nodded as they turned their attention to the serving table.
Harold To-kamra sat with a frown on his face, lost in thought.
The celebrations began nearly a week before the launch.
The world was sending its first space probe to all the outer planets, and then onward to the stars. Many nations had contributed designs, technology, experts, or money. Leaders, scientists, and celebrities had sent in greetings to whatever aliens inhabited the universe. All over the world, the space probe was seen as a symbol of what the human race could accomplish — no challenge was too great, no distance too far.
It was an especially important moment for those who believed that no limitation should stand in the way of progress. The planet was so vast, and its resources so great, that they could never be exhausted. Human ingenuity was limitless, and nature was to be tamed and controlled.
NEBADOR Book Nine: A Cry for Help 279
Everywhere, people partied. Telescopes and star charts were sold out, shelves were stripped bare of snack foods and drinks, and only the very rich could get a dinner reservation within sight of the launch pad.
Even in the Beklan Empire, spirits were high. True, their own space probe was still months away from launch, but they had eyes and ears in place, and planned to learn from anything that went wrong with this launch.
As Colonel Bo-torin had predicted, all news coverage ceased about a certain book that did not give the same message about human potential as the space probe launch.
While the rest of the world celebrated, Harold To-kamra outlined, for a small group meeting in a little house, his modified publicity plan. With sighs and mixed feelings, they saw his reasoning, and agreed.
When the advertising managers at large media outlets decided to cancel the ads for a certain Po Publications book that was just not fashionable at the moment, they were surprised to discover that the ads had already been withdrawn.
The world rejoiced on Launch Day. The countdown, lift-off, multi-stage separation, and trajectory into space went so perfectly that the Beklan spies had little to report. People danced and partied everywhere.
Many children forgot dreams of being firemen or nurses, and vowed to become astronauts.
Tiffany Ko-moran, and the book that had played a part in her death, were forgotten by nearly every upstanding citizen in the world.
What the world didn’t notice was the publication, a week later, of a small, plain paperback book that included a coupon for another copy, free of charge.
That paperback book didn’t mean anything to those wide-eyed children who dreamed of being astronauts.
But to youth old enough to know how the world really worked — about ten and up, but not yet busy with the concerns of adulthood — it meant a lot.
They knew in their hearts that very few people could ever be astronauts, even in a perfect world. They also knew that perfect worlds only happened in fairy tales.
If the original hardcover book had found its way into a few tree houses, the little paperback edition spread like a virus.
NEBADOR Book Nine: A Cry for Help 280
But since it was so small and plain, and hardly took up any space in a daypack or shoulder bag, the upstanding citizens of the world never noticed it.