Intelligent Design: Revelations to Apocalypse (23 page)

Perez turned to face the now-ready fighter. Dux Cloelius stood back and made a slashing wave down to the ground, indicating the fight was on. The large crowd in the stands was still growing as more Terrans pushed and shoved into the coliseum—all shouted with enthusiasm. Perez blocked them out. She focused on her opponent’s size, the distance between them, and the location of the Terran’s hands, arms, and neck. While she had a number of strategies and techniques to choose from, the one she had practiced nearly every day for months on both Hydra and Dee Dee flashed before her, as if she were back in the practice ring they had set up in one of Terra’s many engine rooms. Hot, noisy, and out of sight, it had been the perfect place to train.

After a few seconds of circling each other, Vorcha launched at her. Perez vaulted at her as well. Vorcha’s intent had clearly been to strike out at Perez, so the look of shock on her face when Perez’s legs quickly wrapped feet-first around her was gratifying. Perez held on to Vorcha’s chest protector as one leg wrapped around the back of Vorcha’s neck and the other tightened around her waist. Her weight, size, and momentum carried both of them to the ground. Perez landed on her own back, so Vorcha might have thought she had the advantage, as she was above her still. It was only when Perez crisscrossed her ankles and tightened her grip at Vorcha’s neck that her opponent realized she was in danger of a swift defeat.

Perez clenched her thighs and legs together, then used both of her hands to grasp and hyperextend one of Vorcha’s arms. The crowd’s yells of shock and their chanting echoed throughout the entire cavern that contained the biosphere. Perez forced herself to focus. Vorcha was off balance but still standing, and Perez watched her struggle—one arm was trapped under the legs that were squeezing air out of her while the other was completely immobilized by Perez’s hands. Only Perez’s shoulders and head were still touching the arena’s floor.

She watched Vorcha’s expression mutate from anger to surprise to panic as the trapped woman stood above her. To the onlookers, the sight of a hairless giant upside down with her legs wrapped around a broad opponent in a supposedly superior position had to be confusing. Grinding her teeth, Vorcha attempted to lift Perez off the ground as a way of breaking both the arm lock and leg grip. Perez held on for dear life, hoping and praying that her enemy would show some sign of succumbing to her precise attack. There were more shouts, cries, and chants but Perez did her best to block them out. Sweat coated her body. She focused on just holding on to Vorcha with all her strength and prayed for her to submit. If her friends were shouting suggestions or if the crowd was jeering, she was unaware of it. She could hear only her own rapid breathing and the sound of her pounding heart in her ears. The smells of their sweat mingled in the air.

After what seemed like a century, Perez finally felt Vorcha’s torso tremble. A moment later Vorcha fell sideways. Vorcha’s one arm remained hyperextended while her other stayed completely locked under squeezing legs. Her initially violent struggles were fading swiftly. Perez suddenly had a horrible thought, and fear gripped her at the idea that she might be capable of killing someone. While she knew the contest was not meant to be to the death, she had seen it happen before. Fear gripped her at the idea of killing someone. Before she could think more, both Hydra and Cloelius were on her, loosening her grip and pulling her off a motionless Vorcha.

The sudden pulls that forced her to release her combatant broke the spell she was under and the rush of the roaring crowd flooded her ears. Disoriented, she lifted herself off the ground with Hydra’s help. Sweat stung her eyes, and her arms and legs felt as if she had run a marathon. She wiped her eyes and saw that the crowd, significantly larger than it was before, was on its feet. It took her a moment to realize that both her name and her adopted family name, Ferris, being chanted loudly. Hydra held Perez up, and Vista appeared by her side as well. The young woman with two fingers on one hand raised Perez’s arm up, indicating victory. Perez allowed herself to be turned around to face the stadium’s entire standing, cheering crowd. When Vorcha came into view again, Perez was greatly relieved to see that Cloelius had revived her. Vorcha’s crestfallen expression made it evident that she would have preferred to be unconscious—or worse.

“So what was that move called again?” Hydra asked into her ear, above the roaring crowd.

Perez took a moment to collect her thoughts. Dee Dee had adopted that attack—and a couple of more—from a martial art on Earth called Brazilian jujitsu. After two more victory spins, the name came to her.

“I think it’s called a flying triangle choke.”

Hydra smiled. She and Vista each held up one of her arms up as they spun her around to acknowledge the still-growing crowd. Perez made eye contact with Dimitra. Still in her seat, her stoic expression was graced with the same ghost of a smile she had seen at the beginning of the fight.

“Maybe this is a bigger victory than I thought,” Perez said quietly.

Resolutely train yourself to attain peace.
—The Buddha

Christine Reich sat comfortably in the Spartan environment of Principal Adam Smith’s office. She was pleased that the principal had converted his office to a residential staff recreation-and-break area in exchange for a much smaller office—the floor plans she had seen years ago for her private school for orphans had called for a much larger space for him. This room’s best feature was its floor-to-ceiling glass wall that overlooked a large courtyard surrounded by four massive buildings that included teaching centers, living areas and recreational spaces, as well as vocational training centers. At the helm of the institution was a fifty-four-year-old African-American man, social worker, and therapist by training. Reich was very happy that she had chosen him to be the principal of her school. Sadness gripped her, though, as she wondered if it were true he might be its first as well as its last. She shook her head to clear it of the bad news about Jupiter’s impending transformation into a sun and the devastating effects that would wreak on her world.

“So Ms. Reich, I am so happy you dropped by to see how we are doing,” the principal said. He always wore a suit, crisp white shirt, and matching tie. Not the stereotypical therapist for sure—she was glad he had come out of retirement to take the job. A private practice and teaching was more than enough for anyone. But his passion for child welfare and his vision for the children were inspiring. The outrageous paychecks from Reich Enterprises to him and all the staff also made positions at Future Academy the most sought-after in Massachusetts, and on the whole East Coast.

“I’m glad you are here because I have a question—or rather, a puzzle—I would like you to help me out with,” he said.

The look on his pleasant, kind, and calm face showed more concern than usual. Even though he was always happy to take her everywhere on the campus to see the children, programs, classrooms, all culminating with lunch, it was easy to see he had something on his mind. At first she wondered if he wanted to move on to another position or to go back to what he used to do. She looked down at her own attire quickly to make sure she was appropriately dressed for a tour of a school for children aged six to nineteen. She could still hear her master computer’s feminine voice criticizing everything she wore and reminding her of the need to be a role model, while Lux, the resident Terran, tried to dress her to hide all exposed skin: “It is as if you are a giant marsupial with shaved hair. Not very attractive. The more you cover the better.”

While she would have preferred going with a higher hemline and an adorable sheer top under a blazer, she went with a near-classic, old-style business suit reminiscent of the early 1980s and Wall Street.

Thoughts of the principal’s puzzle interrupted her musings; that he had something on his mind had been apparent to her all morning and afternoon. “That’s obvious,” Reich said softly to herself. She appeared relaxed; she had learned to just wait for things to unfold when it came to social situations. Still, the planet’s demise weighed heavily on her mind.

“Well, as you know, your wards from Russia and China have flourished here, along with the other students. And with the generous resources you’ve provided us, we’ve been able to invest in the best technology, equipment, and computer systems—they would make NASA envious. That said…” the principal paused as he pulled something out from a top desk drawer. “Felicia and Hong used it to do some research on you and your company.”

Reich’s interest was piqued. He handed her a red folder that was half an inch thick. Without a word, she opened it and saw a very familiar-looking person in various, though blurry, surveillance pictures. As she went through it she saw her former self, Roberta Josephine Riesman. She had been a former army major and her last position was executive director of Readiness and Disaster Logistics in the Federal Emergency Management Agency’s Office of Response and Recovery—as noted in the obituary that formed part of the file before her. Her old training and experience had come in useful—and how—over the past several months. She never thought this was how her story would be revealed, however.

“Dr. Riesman died in a tragic explosion and fire in Boston. I was heading there when I missed my plane,” Reich said, a well-practiced lie. Her new persona seemed far more real to her than her past life ever had. Her mind raced to old news footage of her old life's funeral with her sister and nieces weeping in front of a closed casket on a rainy, Midwest day surrounded by hundreds of colleagues, soldiers, peers and enemies. An overwhelming feeling of rushing out of the office and flying to see them was quelled by the knowledge that if she did, they would be in danger.
Past life. My poor sister. My nieces.

Children’s voices brought her back to the present. She looked at the principal.

Mr. Smith nodded to indicate that he understood.

Not very convincing on his part. He still believes the children. Impressive,
Christine thought. Her eyes had already brimmed with tears. She rubbed them away, hoping he would think it was allergies. If he was suspicious, he never let on.

“I’ve got this thing about encouraging children when they are curious, no matter about what, to pursue their line of inquiry. And while I assured them that the resemblance is uncanny, that is where the mystery lies. But it
is
uncanny,” Smith said. He looked both sad and serious. The room was quiet, only noises of children playing outside in an extended recess wafted their way in. Reich looked at her former identification picture. She was much thinner now, more athletic, and had let her naturally red hair and smaller frame show. That had been so many years ago. As she stared at the picture, an idea came to mind.

“Principal Smith?”

“Yes, Ms. Reich? I hope you’re not offended with this drill-down investigation. I just think the kids, and all of us, are intrigued by you—your generosity
and
your past,” he said. His tone was apologetic.

“Of course. I understand. I have something I would like for you to have your students do. And can you have Hong and Felicia lead the investigation?” she asked. The look of confusion was evident on his face, so Reich continued.

“I want your students to construct a ‘what if’ scenario,” Reich said. She pushed the material she held back into its red folder and then pulled her blazer tighter around her as she sat back in her chair.

He was still a little confused, surprised, and at a loss, but she was pleased to see his quick recovery. He was still in his seat, but in response, Principal Smith simply pulled out a pen and pad of paper. It was not the first time he had done this—he always wrote lists for her of what he needed. Now, he was taking notes about something
she
needed.

“I have a team working on what might happen if there was an astronomical event that resulted in Jupiter igniting into a sun. A smaller sun, for sure, but a second sun for our solar system,” Reich explained.

If Smith was surprised, he hid it well. He was good at detecting the truth. Saying it out loud sounded strange to her. And she
knew
the truth. She pressed on while he was still writing.

“I am impressed with your students’ tenacity and persistence. And while there are some truths in this file, I would stick with the uncanny resemblance explanation, and redirect them to work on this project. I want them to work on this for the next several weeks, two months at the most,” she added.

Smith nodded as if the request were not at all unusual.

“All right. The science department was looking for a project anyway,” he said.

“No, Mr. Smith, not just the science classes. I want the whole school to work on it,” Reich said.

Smith’s eyebrows knitted together. His mouth slackened just a little bit. Before he could ask why, she gave more instructions.

“I want this to be a campus-wide question. What would happen if Jupiter ignited? What would happen to Earth? What would we need to survive? Where would we have to live—underground, or high in the mountains? What would we take? What kind of community would we need to have? I want all seventy-two students, teachers, and staff working on this as a project. And before you ask why, let me tell you what the students and staff will win,” Reich went on. Her mind’s eye recalled hours of her Keeper’s simulations of mass destruction—earthquakes, tsunamis, fires, volcanic eruptions—the end of days. She refocused on her conversation. It was not easy.

“Okay…” was all Smith could say.

Reich let the silence sit for a moment. Smith must have thought it was for dramatic effect. In reality, she was trying to think of a compelling reason for them to suspend their planned curriculum and scheduled events. It finally came to her as she looked outside the windows to see more children, older ones, coming out for recess.

“I have a team of professionals working on this scenario already. But if your teams come up with good answers and a better plan than theirs, all staff will get a thirty percent raise and every student who goes to college will not have to worry about room and board, tuition, or books and expenses—regardless of where or when they go.”