Teasers
Note to readers: The following four chapters of The HAARP Letters are from the submission copy. Looking forward to any queries and comments you may offer.
Amazing Contact
To: Bill
It is amazing to have seen your message. How long has it been, twenty or twenty-five years, since we had regular contact? Do you recall our brief conversation seven years ago, a couple of months before Big Thunder struck? I told you my crazy little theory then, that someday an earthquake would cause the increasingly brittle ice of Greenland to crack and cascade into the sea. We tried to warn them, remember, back when the world still had the glimmering facade of civility? I still see the coverage of it in my nightmares: all that ice cascading into the ocean.
When the world's media started covering the ice fragmenting this was the only thing you could tune in, it was everywhere. I watched in horror as did many. Although I can still see those idiots they interviewed on the streets partying and carrying on as if everything would be alright. Advertisements abounded for crushed ice parties and the bars were full of people. Well, it didn't take long, within seventy-two hours the ice was tumbling off the island. They estimated that twenty percent of that ice came down within six hours and fell into the Atlantic.
The masses thought it was over. You and I, and millions more, knew it was just the beginning. Within a day, a tsunami, thirty-five feet tall, was hitting Canada. The images from the East Coast highways jammed with traffic and people running to get out of the way, were sickening. It paled however, as the tsunami kept sweeping southward. How many millions, if not billions, of lives were lost in that alone, as the wave sped its way along the coastlines of the Americas, Northern Europe, Africa and beyond.
It was one week later, with the world still in complete shock, with chaos ruling the former sea sides of the earth, when the killer blow hit. I have learned, from information stored here at HAARP, sixty percent of the remaining ice crashed into the ocean within minutes on that day.
The most devastating aspect wasn't the ice cascading off Greenland. No, the deadliest result was from the pressure being released from the land mass. I've seen, and read, satellite reports, confirming Greenland rose forty feet that day. The next wave swept the globe in just four days. Think of the speed; the wave itself at its lowest height was just over one-hundred feet. This has led the scientists to believe that a second earthquake had hit the Mid Atlantic ridge and it wasn't just an aftershock.
That wasn't even the worst of it, Bill. The amount of gigatons of methane released from the ocean floors were off the charts; not only did temperatures soar but precipitation patterns around the globe were scrambled. I'm nauseated, we warned them but they would not listen. Let's change the subject.
I'm in Alaska now, at the HAARP compound actually, holding up with four scientists: Rosa, Patricia, Vicky and Robin, whom I have dubbed the might Sci-Quad. This place is amazing! They had to have had alternative plans in mind when it was constructed. It is our hope that someday a computer genius will come along, in order to break some of the security codes. I would love to read all the classified information in these systems.
How we got here is a rather long story. I will give you the nuts and bolts of it now. Right after Big Thunder, my son, Jay, and five of his buddies came to me seeking advice. They had heard me, on more than one occasion, expanding upon the prospect of Rapid Climate Change while we were all camping and fishing on the islands of the Mississippi. I miss those quiet times late at night when the only real threat was West Nile virus from mosquitoes. My son and his buddies are ex-special forces, which, perhaps, is why I am still alive today. It all seems almost surreal now.
We tried the eco-village lifestyle a couple of times over the years. Marauders came in the first time, stealing and wrecking everything when we were on a fishing expedition. That was back during the first year of madness. It was my mistake Bill, in thinking I had the group located far enough away from any signs of civilization. The second time, the men and I were on a reconnaissance mission securing medical supplies from an abandoned military installation. We had several places for the women and children to hide, a well regulated perimeter to kill any intruders, plus an alarm system that was of military grade. We hadn't seen what has become known as marauders, roaming groups or individuals that are ruthless and sometimes cannibalistic, nor had we had contact with outsiders for about four months. This must've created a false sense of security for the women, for we found them outside the perimeter with baskets, half-filled with blackberries, scattered around their bodies. I will spare you the details as to their condition and the atrocities perpetrated upon them.
It was all I could do to keep the men together after that, they were thirsting for blood vengeance, and wanted to track the marauders down. There were so many tracks. I knew they couldn't overwhelm that force, thankfully Jay listened to me with the help of his friend Jake. We convinced the rest of the men that, a plan of survival for now and revenge later was the way to go.
We traveled north for four years after this tragic day, becoming a sort of vigilante anti-marauder squad. I kept the group together by allowing them to attack only when we caught the marauders plundering and attacking others in small numbers. The J-Squad, my son's friends, wanted to wipe out all the camps along the way. It would have been suicidal. They are good, but not that good. Long story short, on a reconnaissance mission near Juneau we ran across sixteen assholes pinning down and shooting at four women held up in an old barracks. It didn't take long for the squad to neutralize the situation. We found four female scientists who were conducting a little recon of their own.
Rosa is their leader. She was the one who mentioned being in contact with someone in the badlands. Imagine my surprise finding out it was you. It seems Rosa was a freshman in college when she read your book, Flat Line Fossil Fuel Usage. You made an impact, Bill, she became a climatologist. I didn't tell her we once worked together.
Our little group has expanded since then from eleven to sixty-five. There is so much to tell you. However, I hear an argument brewing as the hunting party is returning. Many in the group are strict vegans, I am not in that number. My boy, Rosa, and I make up the ruling council. I have not ran across anyone older than forty-four since after the pandemics. We, my friend, are relics—you at 77 and me at 67; it wouldn't surprise me if we are the two oldest people still alive on the planet.
I have to run, but let me pass this on first. It is very heart-warming to know there is someone out there who can still recall the old times. I will write later. Right know I have to play diplomat.
Abram
P.S. Before I run Bill, there are valleys here that can only resemble the proverbial Garden of Eden. We have a botanist in the group, Vicky. She has found new plant species. I never mentioned to you that I suspected Rapid Climate Change caused evolution to make leaps and jumps. Through all the devastation we have witnessed, it is amazing to see new life springing forth upon the earth. Sadly, we will never live to see what the next dominant species of the planet will be.
The HAARP Compound
To: Bill
I'm writing this letter very early in the A.M. hours. Sleep, deep, restful sleep, is a forgotten memory. Even now in the extreme safety of this underground labyrinth I can't find peace. We have been here around fifteen months. There are ample living quarters, yet, I maintain the J-Squad sleep in a barracks unit. They believe this is for reactionary time, in the off chance marauders get inside the compound. The truth is, Bill, three of the men still suffer from PTSD: waking in the night, screaming and ready to kill. I keep them together for the safety of the group at large. They served in the Greater Arab Conflict that engulfed Syria, Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan. After the rape and massacre of their wives, and we suspect the kidnapping of some of the children and two of the younger women, their tremors--as I call it--broke out in their sleep again.
I had mentioned that this compound must have been built for alternative reasons. The main grounds cover about fifty acres, roughly, with buildings and laboratories. However, concealed accesses give way to miles of underground tunnels. It comes complete with living quarters, recreational centers, laboratories and various other facilities. In my mind this was built as a survivor, doomsday complex. It seems apparent to me that this complex hasn't been fully utilized in years.
The main power supply is from geothermal energy. It is my understanding that solar arrays are in the nearby mountains for back-up power. The transmitting system is a Smart Grid, installed two decades before the United States began their belated construction efforts in the lower forty-eight. (Really pisses me off knowing they had the technology when they claimed it wasn't fully feasible. Just another one of corporatocracies' lies.)
Here in existence are fully functional underground horticultural centers capable of feeding at least two thousand people. Yet, in the material I have read, we have found that the compound only has living quarters for seven hundred and fifty! The only thing that makes sense is that those housed at the compound were to be caretakers for the site. I've speculated on it to the Sci-Quad, only to have them rapidly change the subject, or suddenly need to shampoo their hair. I know there is more information here than meets the eye. Derrick, Jay's best friend and the communication expert for their team during the war, has been working on getting into more of the classified files. He claims, an automatic system is changing the codes. Until he can break through this, we can only speculate as to the reasons the compound was designed to hold such a low number of people.
I enjoy working with Vicky, the botanist, pollinating the plants. While it is rather tedious, my green thumb still exists. I asked her if they had any Kush seeds. She said that Patricia, the second in command at HAARP had refused to release them for production. In my mind I was thinking how odd, as any of the other members of the Sci-Quad seemed better qualified to be in charge of such a decision. Storing that little tidbit of information away, I asked Vicky why not. It appeared from what Vicky told me, that they would be released in time. It was a matter of priorities; and creating edible plants that could be utilized by survivors were the top priority.
That is another issue I have to deal with, speaking with Patricia and convincing her of the need for hemp and bamboo to be introduced topside, if they can engineer a bamboo GMO that would survive. I have no doubts that Industrial Hemp, hemp and opiates could be raised. Oh the multitude of uses, we could apply that to, from the construction of our rope and clothes, to medicine, writing paper, and flour made from the seeds. I would love to use it for the three boys with PTSD, in an attempt to help them sleep through the night. Boys, they are in their late thirties to mid-forties and seen more horrors than any person should. Men forged through the crucible of war-hardened life, sadly. They get a chuckle out of me calling them boys, in return they refer to me as the Relic or Old Man.
Rising early yesterday, I prepared breakfast for twenty of us, who make up the morning crew. Yes, I still love to cook. I took Rosa her breakfast, as she wasn't around per her usual. I found her crying her eyes out and very upset, blathering on really. Some aspects of womanhood never change, thank Gaia for that.
She showed me satellite images of the area where your transmission comes from. (Curious Bill, have you ever had an affair with a cute little redheaded American intern? This woman holds you in high regard.) Yes, the Sci-Squad has access to all remaining civilian and military satellites, and information, I am just learning it today! She was pointing at the screen and carrying on about the desolation of your predicament and the scarcity of food, water, and power supplies in the area. When I pressed her on how she could ascertain all that information, she dried up the tears quickly and changed the subject.
Patricia, the brightest of the scientists, was a child prodigy I am told. She has, they claim, five Ph.D.s. She is the type of person whose idea of idle chitchat is quantum string-theory. Personally, I suspect she was secret service at the compound. I asked Derrick to set up monitoring posts in some of the off limit tunnels marked radioactive and extreme bio-hazards. We have caught her coming and going through those tunnels.
Yes, the Sci-Quad and the J-Squad don't trust each other. I guess human nature, in spite of extreme trials, is still human nature. Another issue on which I am working to correct: transparency and full disclosure.
Forgive me old friend, my circumstances here are a paradise compared to those of anyone surviving in the lower latitudes, or on the outside--up here--for that matter. Once again, however, I ask you for your help: please send a message out to Rosa and to the survivors across the globe. Tell her, them, to trust and help each other. They claim that around 375,000 people are left on the planet, somewhat higher than James Lovelock's projections. If their number is right, I suspect that 70-80 percent of them are nihilistic marauding beasts. It is hard telling how many will be left after they finish killing each other off. Remember, I classify humanity in two categories, the humane and the animal.
I need to understand the full potential of the HAARP Complex; you, my friend, may be able to persuade Rosa to release the information. For the record, they claim only 15,000 are in the Badlands, all the rest have migrated above the Arctic Circle. I have repeatedly tried to discover the how and why--only these four were here when we came on the scene--only to be shut down, ignored and have the subject changed.
They tried to blame it on the plagues, once. Perhaps this is the truth, that they survived, joined up and headed north out of Washington State as they originally claimed. Somehow, I highly doubt this, around here things are too well organized for that.
So much is still a mystery. Sometimes, here in the early morning hours, I forget how fortunate I am. After all, I have my son. I will leave you with a statement from father, “old too soon and wise too late.” Write that letter Bill, literally the slim chance our species has may depend upon this outpost of antiquity. Who knows, if man does survive, this may become a fabled story like Atlantis.
Your friend winging it, as always.
Abram
P.S. You asked how and why humanity came to this point in your last correspondence. Here is my attempt at an answer.
Never awakening, the masses knew not what their shopping sprees would cost the lot.
Laughing and joking they looked upon those with wisdom to see beyond.
Tree huggers, hippies, nature freaks.
They thought all was fine and all was right.
We, the enlightened worked day and night.
We tried to reason by logic, scare by fright.
We did not fail humanity.
It was the nihilistic beast.
That failed humane divinity.
May the Red Road Live Again
To: Bill
Snap! With a flash of blinding white light before my eyes, I heard that hideous sound. Waves of chills swept over my body, and nausea gripped my innards. I'd been straining my ears to overhear the conversation between Patricia and Rosa when my tile spade broke. Heart wrenching actually, as that spade had traveled north with me. It had been in the family since my great, great, great grandfather used it for busting virgin soil in Iowa.
It is strange Bill, grief overcame me as I gazed at the broken tool. It was as if my best friend, a friend made in kindergarten and by your side your entire life, had passed away. In retrospect, I believe I have trained myself to develop a callous outlook upon the world. It would appear I have transferred my compassion to this, and other items, instead of people as we have made this perilous journey north.
Before the events of Big Thunder, and the resulting chaos that gripped humanity, I had lived near the confluence of the Iowa and Mississippi Rivers in a big ole farmhouse. I never told you about the house; although I had shut off rooms, changed light bulbs and generated a gray-water collection system, it wasn't exactly the model of an eco-lifestyle. It was however in the region of the country that spawned Aldo Leopold, Mark Twain, Edgar Lee Masters and Chief Blackhawk. The land was breathtaking, a beautiful bounty to behold as the seasons transformed the landscape.
I still recall hand turning my first garden there with that tile spade. Still with me is an old trowel I dug up that first season when digging the hothouse. I used it to clean off the dirt that collected on the spade as I prepared the soil for planting. It also came in handy for tending small patches of soil, like herb gardens, and guerrilla patches of vegetables we planted over the years. Also, I still have with me my collection of whetstones and files.
At that peaceful homestead, I managed to turn enough dirt year in and year out to have a nice garden despite the changing precipitation patterns. Like the IPCC predicated, the Midwest found itself under a changing paradigm. The rains came fast and furious during spring, late fall, and eventually, even in the winter as I aged. We collected rainwater and used plastic jugs to hold the surplus until we needed it for watering. The summers continued to grow longer and hotter with less and less rain falling as the Midwest was going through desertification. Those gardens were capable of sustaining my family while giving some away to help out the neighbors as well. In a good year, I could even sell off some of the extra produce. Of course it was black market produce as Monsquito, Frontiersman, and other corporate giants had made selling fresh produce illegal, claiming it was a health risk. After a few seasons I created a strawberry patch, asparagus bed, black raspberry, and blueberry plots; these, along with the peach, pear and small apple orchards I tended, generated a hearty respect for husbandry within me. It was the ethical thing to do to reduce my carbon footprint. So, I suppose that tile spade had become my partner in the battle against Climate Change. Therefore, you can understand the waves of emotions that swept over me when it snapped.
I have to admire the J-Squad. They never once questioned my reasoning for insisting that every man carry tools with them. We, of course, didn't all carry tile spades, but you get the idea. Whenever we moved, the boys had to pull double and triple duties. Sometimes they would go three or four days before getting any rest as we had to advance stealthily over the land, find a camp, set up defenses and secure well camouflaged storage capabilities. Then the bigger guys would go back and portage our equipment to the next site, all the while still carrying firearms. Seriously, I take my hat off to these men for all they have done and continue to do.
Jay, Derrick, and I agreed to help Patricia and the girls with one of their ongoing projects shortly after we arrived here. Vicky and Patricia had come up with the idea of sowing the outlying valleys with herb and vegetable plants for survivors. They already had several vegetable gardens planted towards Juneau, before the western expanses become too dangerous to go into. This was all possible due to the dedicated work of Robin.
She is about as quiet as a church mouse usually. A biochemist who is also an expert on gene splitting and creating genetically modified organisms (GMOs). Something I was pretty much against before the downfall, now--I'm telling you--it might just save our species. Robin worked at the compound during her post-grad years, an interesting story here Bill. For now, let's just say that we have many different varieties of GMOs that we can raise under the lighting conditions here.
Really, later I will have to tell you in detail about the conversation Robin and I had. She had worked on the geoengineering project to alter precipitation patterns. I wonder, are you aware that they tried to implement this shortly after Big Thunder? I'm sure you're aware of the results like the sulfuric rains that now plague the mid-latitudes.
Anyway, back to the issue of putting out vegetable plots. Between speaking with the women and scouting reports we soon learned an interesting fact. The marauders almost always were found toward the western expansions of the compound, which were the more settled areas of what was Alaska. The extra members here, who among us we call the Others, now come from wandering groups we find beyond the eastern boundaries. They have been brought back to the compound either for medical reasons, or hoping they can benefit our little society. I think the more passive members of society have either found, or simply been pushed out there, for safety reasons.
After we analyzed the situation, it was decided that the western expanses would be abandoned, and as a collective we would focus on planting where it could best benefit people we thought were worthy.
Of course, who is to say who is worthy and what will happen in the future--we can only plan for the day.
Adapting the concept of not planting close to home, which Vicky came up with, we maintained a two-day minimum hike from the nearest entrance to the underground labyrinth for any vegetable plot, although the access points to the tunnels are well hidden; why invite danger, right? So, after a week of having things hiked into the valley we were ready to plant a small orchard of fruit trees, herbs, and a vegetable plot.
I was working up the dirt for the last tree when Patricia and Rosa walked by. They were only about ten feet away when they dropped their voices speaking in a hushed tone. I was straining to hear and not paying attention when, snap! Not to worry though, Bill, the compound has implements of manual labor in storage as well. While I have access to an angle grinder, I believe I will sharpen one the old fashion way, just like I always did great, great, great grandpa's, by hand with the whetstones. At least that will keep me in touch with the past.
I was wandering around the compound the other day, after getting a whetstone, aimlessly strolling down the corridors of the agricultural center when I heard music softly playing in the distance. In the furthest horticultural lab, the one we use for starting the apple and pear trees, I heard a stringed instrument playing. Now, I am not tone deaf by any means, however, being a Midwestern of somewhat modest means I never developed a taste for classical music. I am quite sure that was what I was hearing. So, following the music, I ambled down the rows of young trees. There, in the back of the room facing the wall, was Patricia playing the cello. Clearing my throat, I scared her as she jumped up screaming, then proceeded to read me the riot act on respecting a person's privacy. As she was walking away, I mentioned that I thought she played like an angel. She stopped frozen in her tracks, turned around with her anger subsiding and thanked me. She asked if I would like to hear more. We sat there for about an hour, her playing and me sitting with my back against the wall, eyes closed, swaying to the music.
I think the frost is starting to come off this one. We had an interesting conversation. I will try and pass on to you the jest of it. I did a lot of bobbing my head up and down as it was well beyond my limited capacity of understanding. It dealt with changes in weather patterns. She was describing a concept that many paleoclimatologists believed was once an existing pattern. During earth's history the poles once had micro-climates, before the thermohaline ocean conveyor belt had established itself, and that... hang on Bill...
Bill, I just came back from the hall. One of the Others, the one I call Reverend Ned Swaggard, is at it again. Patricia, Rosa and Jay all have him cornered. Odd really, as Jay is actually on this guy's side. I thought for sure he was going to mutiny on me over this argument. The Sci-Squad and I have basically outlawed preaching in the compound. This guy can really belt it out. He must have been a Baptist preacher, he scares the hell out of everyone that will listen to him. So, perhaps I will come back after speaking with him yet again. Rosa has agreed that he can preach faith, if I can convince him to accept the concept of Gaia, and sustainable Earth First practices as his mantra, or the Bible.
There is an old saying, 'back to the garden.' The Sci-Quad and I concluded that if faith-based preaching is to be allowed inside the compound, we will take it back to the garden, back to hunter-gatherers and all the practices of the native peoples on the globe. We will at least try and engender a respect for Mother Earth. If mankind survives, may the red road live again.
Abram, out.
Project Eden
To: Bill Siemens
Author Activist
Flat Line Fossil Fuel Usage
From: Rosetta Effloresco
Climatologist
Alpha Leader, Project Eden
Alaska Division
Mr. Siemens,
I am a great fan of yours. Your writings helped to change my life. During my freshman year in college, New Orleans was once again hit by a massive storm, similar to Hurricane Katrina, which breached the levees, only this time it completely denuded Bourbon Street and the entire Downtown Historic District. The similarities were so striking its name was changed from Katie to Katrina II. The first time a retired name for a hurricane had ever been restored. It was the eleventh out of sixteen named hurricanes that season. It had become rather a vogue fashion for the more affluent collegians, in my day, to assist in humanitarian actions as disasters from Climate Change were causing billions of dollars in damage a year.
One afternoon, the full impact of the devastation and horror that these people were facing dawned upon me for the first time. Waves of emotion swept over me, leaving me feeling alone and vulnerable. That evening, after my friends had retreated to a campfire to drink and pat each other on their backs, I was sitting alone. The assistant professor of our group came over and sat down beside me. I remember it like it was yesterday. He put his arm around me and said, “It is enlightening and depressing when the scales of polite society fall away from one's eyes.” He then handed me a well-read copy of your book. I devoured it.
The next semester, to the disgust of my family, I changed my executive business major to climatology with a minor in paleoclimatology, and have never looked back to the narrow-minded viewpoints of materialistic society since. I write to you today rather perplexed as Project Eden has gone off track, and I find myself somewhat lost for solutions. I have had a meeting with Abram, and now know you two worked together in the past. So, let me explain to you what Project Eden is all about.
Project Eden: Late in 2009, after the Copenhagen meeting on Climate Change, it became apparent to many leaders around the globe that Abrupt Climate Change would overtake humanity unless a technical solution could be found. It was decided then to keep this information from the public at all costs, to move forward globally, seeking technical solutions only for this problem, while presenting window-dressing environmental actions to the public. (Now we know how the geoengineering projects turned out, they just expedited the process.)
Drastic times deserve drastic measures, as they say. It was determined that five locations around the globe would be turned into bunkers which could, if needed, attempt to reseed the planet. Conspiracy theorists could've never concocted such a plan. Number one, the sites had to already exist, both underground and at elevations that would remain dry in the advent of a 120-foot sea level rise. The original requirement was 300 feet, but five such sites could not be found.
The HAARP Complex, a military-industrial compound, was picked for the Americas. The other four are in Norway, the Himalayas, Switzerland and the Vehoyanak Range. Two of these are located in the Badlands. The remaining three complexes are located well above the 45-degree latitude line. It was speculated that Abrupt Climate Change would usher in an ancient weather pattern that many paleoclimatologists believed once existed, and the area nearest the poles would maintain very livable atmospheric conditions. The air quality over both polar regions are habitable. Everything in what we use to call the temperate zones is a nightmare. So far this pattern is holding, who knows for how long.
The sulfuric rains started in the equatorial regions before moving north over a three-year period. After Big Thunder, three separate conveyor systems established themselves rapidly. This was very fortunate as the increased methane released into the atmosphere, thanks to the rising of Greenland, caused cyanobacteria blooms to excel in the mid-latitudes. Within three years, the storms had reached all encompassing proportions making life in these regions next to impossible above ground. Cyanobacteria blooms send clouds of poisonous gas over the new shorelines; sulfuric rains, resulting from the geoengineering projects, release flash floods as massive storms sweep the land and sea.
From what we can tell via satellite observations, we believe somehow 12,000-15,000 people have taken to underground shelters growing their own produce and purifying water in the mid-latitudes, now referred to as the Badlands. Daily survival is all they must think about. Doc, before she passed on, spoke of how such survivors would be beneficial, that many of them had to carry antibodies from which she could have processed vaccines against the plagues.
The overall mission of Project Eden was to help any survivors, indirectly, establish a new foundation upon which humanity could repopulate the globe. The means to do this was through sustainable earth first practices of husbandry while somehow engendering earth first principles within the surviving population.
It was much easier when discussed in theory over a power point presentation. We complained about the usage of GMOs for this project, but we soon came to realize that if the new weather pattern established, crops would be needed that could adapt to the light conditions and unknown temperature variations. Therefore, it was imperative to have a variety of GMOs, which could be put into production given a variety of seasonal conditions. A project was launched, Vicky took this research over in her postgraduate studies in 2052, to modify vegetables that could self pollinate like orchids. She was recruited to the HAARP team a couple of years before Big Thunder struck. Some limited success had been achieved. Patricia works on a bee project, in one of the off limit tunnels. We have managed to release some bees for the last three years and they assisted in the pollination of the vegetables we put out.
All of the Eden compounds consist of five female professionals. A climatologist, botanist, biochemist, doctor and the fifth member who could come from any discipline of study as long as they excelled at fighting for the causes of environmental principles. Patrica fills this position here. These individuals were trained to be security specialists for the compounds. They were to act as the group conscience, the voice of Gaia in the ear of the leader, the climatologist of Project Eden, in our case, me.
We were to either recruit from the survivors and train people as our replacements, or find mates and raise children to carry on. Another option was artificial insemination. The compounds have semen stored from some of the most brilliant minds on the globe. Cloning was the last resort. Great strides had been made in the past twenty-five years to perfect this process, specially for this purpose; however, quandaries over the mental capacities of human clones were still being pondered when Big Thunder occurred.
In reality things worked out differently. As I have stated, we have lost our doctor. She revolted against so many of the plans almost right from the start. I believe the loss of so much of humankind and seeing the victims of the plagues, were too much for her to bare. I only hope the other four compounds are having better success with the plan.
The other night, Abram invited Patricia and I to have dinner with him, and discussed what role we would allow for faith-based practices—preaching, to have at the compound. This was another one of his subterfuges, as he operates by a feint within a feint, very irritating to say the least. He has control issues and is manipulative, perhaps he had to use these tactics with the J-Squad, while coming north, but my fellow associates and I find it very insulting and denigrating to our intelligence.
Don't get me wrong. The people here have elected him as the primary leader, for now. He set up the triumphant of power between the civilian, science and militant groups. Actually, he is a good leader. I get this feeling although that he would rather be a hermit living on a hill. He is fine in small groups or leading a large discussion. Other than that he seems to melt into the background when four or more people collect. Often, when Jay, his son, or I am conducting meetings, we look around to get his input and he's gone, only to be found later wandering around in a horticultural lab tending to the plants. He, of course, wants a full report on what happened at the meeting, at that point. Like I said, he is a weird, infuriating man.
Having prepared for us an outstanding seasoned vegan meal (why he still eats meat I have no idea!), he offered to carry out the dishes to the kitchen. Before he left, however, he mentioned that he and you were in regular contact and had been associates back in the day. He wanted to share a transmission with us from you. That manipulator had this set up, as you came on speaking to Patricia, calling her Cathy, which made her turn pale.
I, of course, know who she is. All of us with Project Eden have alternative personas and were supposed to employ them whenever we encountered outsiders. When we met the J-Squad, we were actually on a rescue mission trying to convince our doctor to come back to the compound and do her work. She had set up a clinic at Juneau and was helping those who struggled north. With regret we found her; the marauders regrettably had been there first and well, she was a very attractive woman. We found ourselves trapped and besieged by marauders and were very happy that Abram and his group came along. With the stress of having found Doc's body tied up spread eagle and severely beaten, used, and tortured, Cathy was the only one who kept her senses about her and switched to the alternative persona when introducing herself.
So, there you were blowing her cover so to speak, when you were addressing her by her given name, she stormed out of the room with me right on her heels attempting to calm her down. There, in the hall, outside the door stood Abram. Cathy glared at him, slapped him across the face and stormed off. He told me that it went better than he had thought it would've, and invited me back in so we could have a discussion on how the compound was supposed to be ran. After a lengthy discussion, I agreed to speak with Cathy in the morning. I do agree that we should put all our cards on the table, and Abram, as the compounds duly elected leader, needs access to everything that this project has to offer.
Bill, we have severe reservations concerning your friend Abram. Do you believe him to be competent for a such a position of leadership that he represents here at the compound?
So, here I am, stuck with what I consider an antisocial leader of a group of militants, and a ragtag collection of individuals. The Others, as Abram calls them, are hardly the pick of humanity. Vicky has had difficultly training some of them to hand pollinate, not a difficult task. I have felt rather helpless since we lost Doc. It is my hope Mr. Siemens-Bill, that you can act as a second voice of reason for me. Maybe together we can bring Cathy back to the program, since shortly after the J-Squad got here she has been at odds with me. I think somewhere in her past there is a fallen soldier, someone, that has caused her pain and distrust of anything militant. Perhaps it is only a scientist's rejection of violence.
What I do know is this. We could have never envisioned such a world as we have created. Together, with Abram, Cathy, Jay and myself, and hopefully you, from a distance, we can still achieve some good in helping to mold a better world, a better humanity.
With my profound respect.
Rosetta (Rosa) Effloresco
Project Eden Leader
Alaska Division
