Children of Eden
Page 20
They called his methods hacking, techno-terrorism, cyber-guerrilla warfare. But he never harmed a soul, not a person or beast or plant. Unlike the world governments and the destructive weapons and technology they controlled. Al-Baz only took over systems to prove his point, to make people see that they were on a path to destruction—and offer them an alternative. For his pains, he was questioned multiple times and placed under house arrest, his assets frozen.
Somehow he escaped prison for many years. Then came the Ecofail.
According to the history I am reading, the world governments were about to launch their mission to alter the atmosphere to fight global warming. A laudable ambition, though Al-Baz told them it wouldn’t work. He tried to stop them, attacking the system that would launch the particles into the atmosphere. But he failed, and was thrown in prison, and while he was captive the Earth died. By the time his followers broke him out, there was barely time to implement his long-term plan, the work of his lifetime: Eden. He activated the program that turned all of the world’s technology toward two linked goals—reviving the planet and saving mankind.
In an act of great nobility he saved the people who betrayed him and the Earth—or as many as he could. He preserved the humans who had been unable to care for their own planet. Al-Baz gave us all a second chance, an opportunity to do penance for our selfishness, our stupidity.
And I’ve lived in his house all my life, and never knew it.
As soon as Mom comes home—before either Ash or Dad—I pounce with questions. “How did we end up living in Aaron Al-Baz’s house?”
“Can we talk about it later?” she asks. There are dark circles under her eyes, and her hair is uncharacteristically messy, with strands flying crazily out of her usually tight twist. “We have a lot of other things to discuss.”
“No, this is important,” I say. “How could I not know?”
She shrugs. “It isn’t a big deal. We’re distant relations, through his sister, I think. But it was a long time ago. How did you find out?”
I didn’t quite think that one through, but she doesn’t seem to notice the long pause before I say, “I came across a mention in an old history of Eden. Is there anything here that belonged to him?”
“Oh, no,” she says quickly. “It was so long ago.”
“Not really. Two hundred years isn’t that many generations.”
She won’t tell me any more, and immediately changes the subject.
“Your lenses are ready to be implanted.”
I hurl myself into her arms. She’s a little taken aback, and I realize she’s expecting me to still be upset at leaving home. I am, of course, but to my chagrin the first thing I think of is that I’ll be more easily able to walk the streets safely when I sneak out tonight to see Lark. With my eyes looking flat like everyone else’s, and what’s more keyed to someone else’s identity, I can walk past any Greenshirt without a qualm.
“When do we leave?” I ask.
“Oh, they’re ready, but your surgery won’t be for a little while. Another couple of days at least.”
“And with them I can pass as an official citizen, a firstborn?”
She nods. “These will be a huge step up from the black market lenses criminals use. They can’t access all of the technology. Some things, like the filter for the altered sun rays, and the identity chip, work okay on the cheap, removable lenses. But there are deeper layers that no one has been able to suss out . . . until we found someone brilliant. Normally, the lenses are manufactured in a factory, and then sent to the Center for further modification by EcoPan. The cybersurgeon we found managed to hack into the Center to get the exact specifications. You don’t have to worry. They’ll work perfectly. Lots of other second children aren’t as lucky as you.”
“Lots?” I repeat. This is the first I’ve ever heard of other second children. What a day for revelations.
“A few, yes, but others use the cheap, removable lenses too. My sources don’t talk much, as you might imagine. But from what I gather there are criminals using lower-quality fake lenses, rebels, cheating husbands and wives . . .”
So I’m in great company. But back to the second children. “How many of us are there?” I ask.
She presses her lips together briefly. “Not many. According to my source, perhaps twenty still walking the streets.”
“Oh, that’s . . . Wait, what do you mean still?”
“Oh, honey, you’ll be just fine. We found a real genius to make your lens implants, bought the most secure identity, bribed all the right people . . .”
“What are you saying?”
She bites her lip. “My source told me that the survival rate for second children trying to integrate into society . . . isn’t as high as we’d like.”
“You mean, we die?”
“No, no,” she hastily begins, then amends it to “Well . . . a few are captured. But there are a lot who simply . . . disappear.”
A chill tickles my spine.
“Don’t worry, honey, it won’t happen to you. We’ve taken every precaution.” She shakes her head as if tossing away the unpleasant thoughts.
I’m haunted by the image of second children disappearing. The way Mom said it, it sounded like they just evaporate, turn into mist and drift away. It must be the Center, though, capturing second children. They must be dragged away into the night and fog, and no one ever knows what happened to them.
Mom won’t talk about it anymore, no matter how much I press. Not long afterward Ash comes home, and with a quick mutual glance Mom and I agree not to discuss anything serious or worrying in front of him. Stress aggravates his condition. I also want to ask where I’ll be going. Will it be to a childless couple? Will I be posing as an orphan, adopted by a kind relative? I might even have a brother or sister. Will I like them?
My new family must be kind, though, if they’re taking the risk of welcoming in a secret second child. They’ll be generous and loving and patient and caring, and they’ll help ease my way into the world. I know they will, because only that sort of person would defy all Eden to help a child.
How can I worry too much when I have Lark’s company to look forward to? Dinner passes insufferably slowly. I know I should be savoring every moment with my family before it all changes, but my thoughts keep straying to tonight.
Somehow he escaped prison for many years. Then came the Ecofail.
According to the history I am reading, the world governments were about to launch their mission to alter the atmosphere to fight global warming. A laudable ambition, though Al-Baz told them it wouldn’t work. He tried to stop them, attacking the system that would launch the particles into the atmosphere. But he failed, and was thrown in prison, and while he was captive the Earth died. By the time his followers broke him out, there was barely time to implement his long-term plan, the work of his lifetime: Eden. He activated the program that turned all of the world’s technology toward two linked goals—reviving the planet and saving mankind.
In an act of great nobility he saved the people who betrayed him and the Earth—or as many as he could. He preserved the humans who had been unable to care for their own planet. Al-Baz gave us all a second chance, an opportunity to do penance for our selfishness, our stupidity.
And I’ve lived in his house all my life, and never knew it.
As soon as Mom comes home—before either Ash or Dad—I pounce with questions. “How did we end up living in Aaron Al-Baz’s house?”
“Can we talk about it later?” she asks. There are dark circles under her eyes, and her hair is uncharacteristically messy, with strands flying crazily out of her usually tight twist. “We have a lot of other things to discuss.”
“No, this is important,” I say. “How could I not know?”
She shrugs. “It isn’t a big deal. We’re distant relations, through his sister, I think. But it was a long time ago. How did you find out?”
I didn’t quite think that one through, but she doesn’t seem to notice the long pause before I say, “I came across a mention in an old history of Eden. Is there anything here that belonged to him?”
“Oh, no,” she says quickly. “It was so long ago.”
“Not really. Two hundred years isn’t that many generations.”
She won’t tell me any more, and immediately changes the subject.
“Your lenses are ready to be implanted.”
I hurl myself into her arms. She’s a little taken aback, and I realize she’s expecting me to still be upset at leaving home. I am, of course, but to my chagrin the first thing I think of is that I’ll be more easily able to walk the streets safely when I sneak out tonight to see Lark. With my eyes looking flat like everyone else’s, and what’s more keyed to someone else’s identity, I can walk past any Greenshirt without a qualm.
“When do we leave?” I ask.
“Oh, they’re ready, but your surgery won’t be for a little while. Another couple of days at least.”
“And with them I can pass as an official citizen, a firstborn?”
She nods. “These will be a huge step up from the black market lenses criminals use. They can’t access all of the technology. Some things, like the filter for the altered sun rays, and the identity chip, work okay on the cheap, removable lenses. But there are deeper layers that no one has been able to suss out . . . until we found someone brilliant. Normally, the lenses are manufactured in a factory, and then sent to the Center for further modification by EcoPan. The cybersurgeon we found managed to hack into the Center to get the exact specifications. You don’t have to worry. They’ll work perfectly. Lots of other second children aren’t as lucky as you.”
“Lots?” I repeat. This is the first I’ve ever heard of other second children. What a day for revelations.
“A few, yes, but others use the cheap, removable lenses too. My sources don’t talk much, as you might imagine. But from what I gather there are criminals using lower-quality fake lenses, rebels, cheating husbands and wives . . .”
So I’m in great company. But back to the second children. “How many of us are there?” I ask.
She presses her lips together briefly. “Not many. According to my source, perhaps twenty still walking the streets.”
“Oh, that’s . . . Wait, what do you mean still?”
“Oh, honey, you’ll be just fine. We found a real genius to make your lens implants, bought the most secure identity, bribed all the right people . . .”
“What are you saying?”
She bites her lip. “My source told me that the survival rate for second children trying to integrate into society . . . isn’t as high as we’d like.”
“You mean, we die?”
“No, no,” she hastily begins, then amends it to “Well . . . a few are captured. But there are a lot who simply . . . disappear.”
A chill tickles my spine.
“Don’t worry, honey, it won’t happen to you. We’ve taken every precaution.” She shakes her head as if tossing away the unpleasant thoughts.
I’m haunted by the image of second children disappearing. The way Mom said it, it sounded like they just evaporate, turn into mist and drift away. It must be the Center, though, capturing second children. They must be dragged away into the night and fog, and no one ever knows what happened to them.
Mom won’t talk about it anymore, no matter how much I press. Not long afterward Ash comes home, and with a quick mutual glance Mom and I agree not to discuss anything serious or worrying in front of him. Stress aggravates his condition. I also want to ask where I’ll be going. Will it be to a childless couple? Will I be posing as an orphan, adopted by a kind relative? I might even have a brother or sister. Will I like them?
My new family must be kind, though, if they’re taking the risk of welcoming in a secret second child. They’ll be generous and loving and patient and caring, and they’ll help ease my way into the world. I know they will, because only that sort of person would defy all Eden to help a child.
How can I worry too much when I have Lark’s company to look forward to? Dinner passes insufferably slowly. I know I should be savoring every moment with my family before it all changes, but my thoughts keep straying to tonight.
