Pulling The Dragon's Tail (2 page)

* * * * *

Herschel had ‘bumped’ into her at midday at a
café next to a park in the Old City. They were after all two of
just sixteen specially chosen people to carry out Mitchell
Hilliard’s longevity experiment. Even after a communication cutoff
of nearly thirty years, their bond was instantaneous.

Anastasia Mullins, who now went by Wakely
Karris, was still petite and blond. Her long hair danced in the
gentle breeze. She wore a short-sleeved white blouse and mid-length
dark blue skirt. Herschel barely noticed her light tanned skin,
instead transfixed on her deep blue eyes.

With elbows on the table, and her chin resting
on her hands, she told him about her activities of the last three
decades. She married then divorced, and had no children. She
converted to Islam. A law degree followed. Boredom with that led to
an extended trip around the world and eventually to a spiritual
crisis. A friend introduced Wakely to the Church of Abraham
(CHOFA), the exciting new religious faith inspired in the 2030s by
the powerful visions of Mars astronaut Winifred Bakila. The past
three years Wakely helped run a CHOFA mission in Jerusalem that
helped women escape from the international sex-slave trade.

Millions of people had joined CHOFA since
Winifred Bakila asserted in 2038 that she had been visited by a
super technological being from the Andromeda Galaxy. This highly
advanced entity, proclaimed Bakila, had regularly visited the Earth
via the space-time phenomenon called a wormhole. The initial visit
was with the patriarch Abraham in 1889 BC, and culminated with his
visit to Bakila, who had changed her name to Sister Sarah. Father
Abraham, as the entity was called, helped Sister Sarah form the
tenets of the Church of Abraham: selfless devotion, equality of all
religions, and radical pacifism.

CHOFA’s message of peace and reconciliation in a
world growing more violent resonated profoundly with those
disillusioned by mainstream religions. Tens of thousands of CHOFA
members had been sent into the midst of wars and altered the
political destiny of nations with the blood they shed for radical
pacifism. Thousands had died to proclaim Father Abraham’s message
that total adherence to non-violence was necessary at this tipping
point in human evolution.

Wakely’s commitment to CHOFA was as unwavering
as Herschel’s own radical faith. Yet she represented everything he
was passionately against. Hoping to hide his disdain for her
contemptible beliefs, he concentrated on how she didn’t look one
day past thirty. In fact, she looked exactly as she had three
decades earlier.

“Please call me Annie like you used to.”
Wakely’s long, brown hair flowed down nearly to her waist while her
eager eyes sparkled with anticipation of what Browning Watts would
say. “So what’s my old friend been up to?” she said leaning
forward, elbows on the edge of the tiny table. A tiny wisp of a
warm midday breeze danced through her hair.

Browning Watts now called himself Herschel
Hatton. In 1998 he and fifteen others were chosen by Mitchell
Hilliard to participate in an experiment to extend biological
longevity. Now, in 2059, three decades after Hilliard’s own
mysterious death, the Alpha Group members were left on their own,
free to discover the power of living for centuries; to contribute
or detract from the growth of humanity; and to cope with challenges
that no other set of humans had ever endured.

None dared to expose themselves to the prying
eyes of the world, each firmly believing what Hilliard told them:
that their survival depended on total secrecy. Exposing the
experiment would destabilize Earth’s already fragile political and
environmental systems.

What to tell an old friend? Herschel was
ruthlessly methodical in personality and habits, as attested to
when he murdered for Gideon’s Army—a radicalized offshoot of the
Christian faith. However, he’d given little thought to this moment.
So what do you tell an old friend you may not ever see again? He
mouthed the obvious things, like his current profession of ag
engineer. And he got through discussing his faith in Christianity,
carefully avoiding the radical aspects. When he said he was single,
he noticed that old familiar twinkle in her eye.

He sniffed the air and smiled. “Your favorite
perfume, right?”

“You remembered! And that nose of yours—accurate
as always.” She leaned closer to him.

He forced out a weak smile, mentally
recalculating whether it had been a good idea to look her up
because …his eyes melted into hers.
Just maybe... she and
I…

She returned his knowing gaze-and tried to avoid
looking downward at his well-chiseled body. Expelling her breath,
she closed her eyes and vowed to maintain her pledge of celibacy.
They had had a brief fling in the Alpha Group’s early days, but it
had ended, if not badly, at least awkwardly.

“I’ve been keeping up with a number of”—she
glanced briefly around, observing the other lunch patrons—“you
know, our other, um, colleagues.”

“Really? Well, good for you.”

“Yeah. It’s been fun to share in the lives of
some pretty special people, you know? In fact, I spoke with Marisol
just last night. Hey! Maybe you’d like to call her? I’m sure she’d
love to hear from you.”

Through the years of forced Alpha Group meetings
and further experimentation Herschel had had enough of them all—but
Anastasia/Wakely was different. “Um,” he fumbled, “I...ah…maybe
later. I’m content just to see you.” He reached across the table
and patted her arm.

While well aware of Herschel’s distaste for
socializing with the Alpha Group, she found it disconcerting that
he would reject it outright. Her smile disappeared.
“Brown—Herschel—are you doing okay? I mean, really okay?” She
shifted positions in her seat as her leg brushed cozily against his
under the table.

He didn’t back away from her warmth. Anastasia
could always see right through him. “Just preoccupied, that’s all.
You know, the ag tech business isn’t what it used to be. Anyway,
between you and me, I’ve got hundreds of years to try to figure it
out, right?”

They stared silently at each other, scanning the
other’s face. Then she giggled. “No wrinkles yet, right?”

It was an inside joke only sixteen lucky humans
could understand; the only ninety-somethings who could say that.
She mopped up the last piece of hard bread with olive oil and then
paid the bill on the table computer port.

He needed to go, finding his fingers nervously
drumming on the table. He had done what he wanted to do—to see her.
While one more task remained…other instincts beckoned. “Could I,
ah…is it possible to…”

Wakely was late for work as it was. She was
flooded with memories of those passionate nights years ago. “Yes,”
she said with a suggestive smile. “How about we start with supper,
tonight, say 6 o’clock? I make the city’s best falafel.”

Herschel smiled contentedly. He pulled himself
closer, and under the table patted her leg. “Good food always gets
me in the mood.” Both of them had discovered that one of the
benefits of the Experiment was a more intense, prolonged sexual
response.

She felt herself grow warm. Celibacy pledge or
not, she was sleeping with Herschel

He arched his eyebrows suggestively and walked
his fingers up her leg.

God! That takes me back in time
.
“Hersch—stop—I mean not now.” Reaching under the table, she grasped
his massive hand, then caressed it. For a moment they stared
silently at each other. “Not yet,” she whispered.

And needing to change the tone she said,
“Remember how you’d break up those boring sessions with Hilliard in
the early days?”

“Yeah.” His smile evaporated—his hand pulled
away from her. The mention of Hilliard’s name provoked a sullen,
seething anger which he struggled to quell.

“I remember one prank you and Skip pulled.
Hilliard literally had egg on his face! I think if he could’ve
tossed you both out of the experiment, he would’ve done it.”

“Oh, I remember,” replied Herschel, futilely
fighting back a frown. “I don’t dwell on those early days a lot, I
guess. It was a different world then. We—I, was so naïve about
life, about the experiment.”

Finally she glanced over at him. “Sounds like
you do think a lot about it.”

Damn, am I that transparent?
“Well, maybe
I do. All I know is that Hilliard was such a sunuva,” he bit his
lip and grunted, “…gun.”

“Yep-pure genius,” replied a smiling Wakely,
“Every day I get to occupy this Earth, my physical well-being is
living testament to him. To be young, to feel young, to STAY
young—it’s just so incredible!”

Herschel cleared his throat. “Hilliard certainly
didn’t understand all the implications of extended life.”

“Well, of course not,” replied Wakely
matter-of-factly. “That’s why we’re here. I still miss him so much.
That government manhunt for him was just ridiculous.”

“Well,” replied Herschel, trying to sound as
philosophical as possible, “Mitchell Hilliard was a rebel from the
time they threw him off the Human Genome Project. I’m sure he stole
all that research just like the government said. Mitchell
Hilliard’s name is about as demonized as you can get.”
He’s dead
and gone—as it should be.

“But we know he was a great man,” said Wakely,
cocking her head sideways, a bit unsure how to read his latest
comment. “Extending biological life was—is—the right thing to do.
It’s just unfortunate that we can’t proclaim it to the world. But
maybe someday,” her voice unconsciously lowered, “when our species
has matured and there’s no more overpopulation concerns, humanity
can handle it.”

He chewed on his lip.
That will never
happen
, he vowed. He got up from the table and extended his arm
toward her. Putting the vile Hilliard out of his mind, his thoughts
turned to the beautiful woman at his side. It had been a long time
since he’d had feminine companionship. He felt an easing of tension
for the first time since he’d arrived in Jerusalem.
Lord, all I
ask for is one more day
.

She wrapped her spindly arm around his massive
bicep and they began a slow stroll down the cobblestone street.
Perhaps she could rekindle an old flame. Perhaps it would only be a
night of wild sex. Perhaps she would just renew an old friendship.
No matter the outcome, life was good, very good. She was happy to
be a CHOFA member and grateful to be in the Alpha Group. Most of
all she was eager to have her special friend all to herself that
evening. It was a night, she was sure, that would be
unforgettable.

Dugan’s report had unsettled Nate. He glanced
around, feeling two pursuers on his heels. He increased his running
pace, but they were steadily gaining, until they finally overtook
him. First were the spiritual issues which had been dogging him,
especially of late.

And despite a desperate long, hard-charging
sprint, he failed to elude the second pursuer as well. Wobbly, weak
legs finally forced him into a stiff, halting walk. He still
couldn’t fathom the loss of his friend Wakely. With hands on his
hips, he leaned over, fighting off dry heaves.

Panting hard, he was suddenly reliving that
morning’s conversation with Sister Mariah. She had asked him to
serve on a committee to address an emergent crisis in the Church of
Abraham. Father Abraham, a Super Intelligent Life Force, had
declared that he visits the Earth via a wormhole. Thousands of
light years were quickly and efficiently crossed using this
space-time feature. However, human science had recently concluded
that the actual existence of wormholes was extremely unlikely.

* * * * * *

“There’s no wormhole problem for me,” Nate had
told her. His words had bounced around the stone walls and wooden
floors of the hilltop chapel, a re-creation of a medieval castle.
Sister Mariah’s office was in the northeast turret, and overlooked
the magnificent, ancient pillars of Stonehenge a kilometer away to
the north.

“It
is
a problem,” she had insisted, “and
no amount of wishing will make it go away.” Sister Mariah was a
middle-aged—in normal human terms—woman of Jamaican descent. She
had been seated in a straight-backed wooden chair. Stained glass
windows graced the rounded room, save for the large square window
that faced northward.

She wore a traditional Jamaican head wrap, deep
lavender in color, and below it lie thick black hair with speckles
of gray. Above her high cheekbones and slightly broad nose were
delightfully playful brown eyes. Her smooth dark skin usually
cradled a ready and engaging smile. But today Nate noted none of
that. Instead she spoke through tightly pursed lips hiding any
pretension of a smile.

She was dressed in a plush lavender robe that
reached to the floor. This seamless garment symbolized all that the
Church of Abraham advocated: the Seamlessness Principle of
Non-Violence.

The human race will survive, so said Father
Abraham, only if all violence against humans by humans was
eliminated. There were no exceptions for the Church of Abraham
believer; no abortion, no euthanasia, no participation in war or
with those who profited from killing, not even a pretense of
violence against humans. But a CHOFA believer did not stand idly by
merely spouting pacifist ideology. Instead church members actively
helped to protect others in danger and laid down their lives if
necessary to fulfill these principles.

“So why can’t we just accept it on faith that
the wormhole exists? Why search for proof?” Nate sat on a well-worn
couch directly in front of her.

“I understand your fears and concerns. For it
was those very issues about physical proof that drove you away from
Christianity, wasn’t it?”