Man therefore lives increasingly in fear. He is afraid of what he produces—not all of it, of course, or even most of it, but part of it and precisely that part that contains a special share of his genius and initiative—can radically turn against himself. – Saint Pope John Paul II, Fides et Ratio
Training Facility, Eastern Idaho
Ajax entered the training yard, noting the relaxed posture of the guards on the wall above and the deadly weapons on the corner towers. The younglings received their last lessons before the third meal and darkness, clustered around the screens or squatting in front of instructors, oblivious to the reality of their incarceration. Their pointed ears twitched and swiveled with each sound, even as their eyes remained fixed on their lesson. One of the instructors yelled across the yard at another group of older students making too much noise during combat training, the collision of their bodies and grunts of exertion echoing off the concrete surfaces, punctuated by yelps and squeals when razor tipped talons found unprotected muscle.
With the arrival of the latest generation from the nursery, the yard was too crowded and chaotic for efficient training, but perfect for concealing other activities.
Ajax edged away from the group of little ones and gave a hand signal in front of the hidden eye he knew Abbawatched. After a moment, a nearby com screen flickered, and Ajax stepped forward and tapped a talon on the reinforced surface in the prescribed pattern. A subtle shift in the pattern indicated a successful connection, and Abba’s soft voice issued forth.
“Speak.”
Ajax leaned in.
“Surt reports scenting Caesar’s blood by the rocks near the far fence last night. He brought back a piece of metal that holds the trace. What happened out there?”
Silence. Ajax waited.
“Who has Surt spoken to about this?”
“Only myself. He wants to tell Xerxes, but I directed him to wait until I sought your counsel.”
“And Telemachos?”
Ajax shook his head. “He continues his teachings, but he will want to perform the rituals if Caesar is no more. The Laoswill demand that.”
More silence. Ajax scanned the training yard to confirm their privacy remained uncompromised. Finally, Abbaspoke.
“Tell Surt to give you the piece of metal. Remain silent. Do not share the metal. Do not tell Xerxes or the others. Report back when you have the metal.”
“My duty to Xerxes…”
“That is all for now. Other plans are unfolding.”
The com screen went blank. Ajax turned away and rejoined the group, mulling how to enforce these new orders from their unseen Father and how to navigate diverging allegiances.
Chapter 6
Streams of cars merged from both sides onto the congested Eisenhower Expressway, each negotiating with the thousands of other drivers inching forward, adding to the serpentine river of brake lights. The rippling carmine pulsations peristalsing toward the fading orange of the western horizon looked like the sprawling tentacles of a giant creature entwined with the landscape.
Even with all the sensors and automation attempting to manage the collective behavior of Greater Chicago, too many people traveling at the same time still caused problems.
Michelle took a break from working on her tablet and stared out at the endless stream of vehicles. Despite their late start and hectic departure, she hoped they could still get well down the road before they spent the night in a motel. It was going to be a long two days of driving to get to the unknown wonders of Rexburg, Idaho.
Adam sat next to her up front per routine. From the earliest age, he refused the back seat. Fantasia played on the tablet lying in his lap, his Thomas the Tank Engine blanket balled up against the car door. His superficially vacant stare was fixed somewhere in the middle distance off to the right, his hands subtly tapping and moving to mysterious cadences.
The appearance of his belongings in a pile by the doorway of their apartment this morning was a good omen, the Thomas blanket on top in a wad. Michelle never knew for sure what got through from their one-sided conversations, but clearly Adam agreed with the school decision. Once more, his docility in the face of this significant break in his routine signified some kind of understanding and assent, even though Michelle couldn’t be totally sure.
She smiled at the luck of his cooperation and reached over to him in the passenger seat. As always, his skin felt soft and warm, and she gave his hand an affectionate squeeze.
The initial bouncy melody of The Sorcerer’s Apprentice theme sent her thoughts wandering again. Gazing out the windshield, she imagined the multiplying brooms, waterfalls, and floods from overflowing buckets. During these moments, she could ponder the mysteries of unintended consequences, how one stray thought could get away in a moment of inattention, like the dreaming wizard’s apprentice, allowing them to multiply out of control making a much bigger mess. Unintended consequences, like making a wish and then people die when it comes true. She pushed the blooming guilt away, burying it back down deep.
Her AI assistant signaled for her attention with a chime.
“Yes, Tink?”
“Routing challenge requiring consideration. Political unrest at the Iowa border, blocking all the Mississippi crossings. In addition, extensive construction on state roads in Wyoming suggest an alternate northern route, through Wisconsin and South Dakota.”
“Even though that’s more time in Compact States?”
“Instability is more likely in the border areas. The northern route is currently free from obstruction and has a low probability of discord in the next 72 hours.”
Michelle considered this, then agreed. Tink rarely steered the autopilot wrong.
“Oh, and Tink?”
“Yes?” responded the gravelly baritone. Michelle smiled. “How can I help you, Wendy?”
It never got old. During the Fun Times, her friend Tiffany had a hacker friend get into an earlier version of Michelle’s device and changed the agent settings so that it would only answer to Tinkerbell, and give service to Wendy. Appalled that her new fancy work tech was so easily compromised by her lack of experience, Michelle tried vainly to get them to change it, but then gave up and adapted. It motivated her to master the powerful features to prevent more serious breaches and prove to Jonah she could be trusted with such powerful software. When this upgrade came with the default baritone, it cemented the humor of the original prank and she kept it. No matter how Jonah might be skirting the regulations around how AIs could be used, she was grateful to have this advantage.
“I need you to keep up activity on all my accounts to make it look like I’m still around Chicago. Also, disable the GPS on all my devices. I don’t want anyone snooping while I’m gone.”
“Alright. Route communications through the car, or disable that as well?”
“Um, go ahead and disable, except for you. I’ll only use the handheld for now. You keep handling the autopilot.”
“Okay. Interruptions?”
“No calls, except from Jonah. Text everything else.”
“Very good.”
“Any issues?”
“The usual noise, a few interesting intrusion attempts, some spoofing of a few of your better-known identities. Your adversaries Rusalka and Dera Ghazi Khan seem to be coordinating efforts, but nothing directed at you. Some attacks on your City Council reporting, but nothing that requires legal action. I am monitoring.”
“Hmmm. Okay, keep me posted.”
“Have a nice trip.”
“Thanks. I’ll check in when we get there.”
She broke the connection and put the tablet down, then looked out at the traffic, still bogged down. She heaved a big sigh. The exodus from Chicago was not going smoothly. Doubts returned. What was she getting them into? This clinic in Idaho was such a big change, yet they were given so many positive references, and their persistence wore her down. She watched the slowly passing warehouses and industrial sites then returned to her device.
She flicked through the newsfeeds, saw an item about Dr. Charles Korn’s interview and paused, finger hovering. She hesitated, tapping the picture, and accidentally started the clip midway.
“…complicit in genocide. No, you listen to me! When you try to wipe out a class of people because they are different, that’s genocide, and that’s what you are advocating!”
“Ms. Hodges, please calm down, I’m not saying…….”
“You said it! You just said it! Use prenatal testing to identify them and then you’ll abort them. That’s genocide. You can dress it up any way you want, but dealing with autism by genetic cleansing is genocide.”
“It would be for treatment. All the research shows that early treatment……”
“What kind of treatment? More vaccines and toxic chemicals? The mainstream medical industrial complex has been ignoring effective therapies for years, and now you expect…..”
Michelle closed the window in disgust, at the lunatic who derailed the interview and her own naïve good intentions. She wanted to do everything she could to support Adam’s school, and they knew she had connections with the Timmy Stevens Show. Could she get Dr. Korn on, to help publicize their fundraising efforts? Timmy was such a vacuous dipshit. She hesitated exposing anyone to his alternating obsequious or snarky nonsense. But Dr. Korn was sharp and they kept asking.
***
It had started well enough. Timmy appeared to be a little intimidated by Dr. Korn and kept his questions very general, allowing Dr. Korn to do his professor thing. Timmy hunched forward, hands clasped in front of him, elbows on his knees, as if he was begging for something, perhaps respect. Dr. Korn seemed at ease, and as Michelle watched from home at the time, she was cautiously optimistic.
“So tell me about your work, Dr. Korn.”
“Thanks for having me on your show, Timmy. I’m the Medical Director at the Jane Addams School in Lincoln Park. We serve intellectually disabled children from the Chicago area. We’re a privately funded and operated school, although we do receive grants and some support from the City and the state of Illinois. We’ve been in existence for thirty-five years and have a great reputation in the community, but as with all non-profits, we always seem to be struggling.”
“Never enough, is there? But you do good work from what I’ve heard. I would think people would be happy to support the school.”
“Well thank you, it’s nice to hear that. Yes, we do have great support, but there’s always something. Our building is old, and it’s hard to keep up with repairs while spending everything we need for helping the kids. If we have to choose between funding a therapist or fixing a leaky roof, the therapist always wins, but there is a limit to how long we can do that.”
“Ah, that is difficult.”
Ugh, that fake smile, Michelle thought to herself.
“So you were in the news recently talking about genetic testing for autism,” Timmy continued. “Can you tell me more about that? What is autism?”
Michelle knew at that moment the interview headed for disaster. Timmy hadn’t said anything about asking questions about genetic testing. Dr. Korn didn’t hesitate and plowed right in.
“Autism is a complex problem that involves impairments of communication, social interaction, and sometimes sensory or cognitive difficulties. That’s probably the most general definition to use these days…”
“And that’s quite a lot to get a handle on, at least for me!” Timmy flashed his dopey grin into the camera and the audience twittered approvingly.
“Well, even the experts struggle with this. Look at the controversy with the latest DSM criteria. After all these years, and we’re still arguing about what exactly constitutes a diagnosis of autism. Seems like we’ve come full circle more than once on some of these issues.”
“Like what?” Timmy leaned forward and rested his chin on his fist. Michelle saw his eyes flicking to the monitor and the subtle adjustments he made to appear as serious as possible.
What a phony.
“As our tools for testing specific neurocognitive functions have improved, it’s become clear that there is significant overlap between what occurs in the developmentally typical population and specific subsets of various developmental disorders, both in terms of deficits and higher functioning. In addition, the complexity of the genes involved and how they interact makes it difficult to pinpoint a single difference as being specific to autism, which makes a clear genetic definition for diagnosis challenging to articulate precisely. There aren’t obvious physical characteristics, anatomical differences in the brain, or even genetic markers. Every time we think we’ve found one, it turns out that it only seems to be associated with a small sub-group of the larger ASD population, and still has lots of overlap with other disorders, as well as the typical population.”
“ASD?”
“Oh, sorry. Autism Spectrum Disorder. It’s the old terminology. Old habit.”
“Ah, I see. So there’s still no clear way to say who has autism and who doesn’t?”
“Not precisely. The problems with social interaction and communication skills become so obvious, and we’re so good at picking them up early, that it’s pretty clear who has it and who doesn’t. The challenge is figuring out what interventions are the best for which people, depending on what specific features they have. And that’s where the genetic testing comes in.”
Timmy broke into an incongruous smile, alarming Michelle.
“Tell me more about that,” Timmy prompted, struggling to conceal glee. Dr. Korn continued, oblivious. Michelle cringed.
“We’ve made a lot of progress identifying specific genes that are associated with various aspects of neuronal development and function. For example, we learn more all the time about the genes that specify the proteins involved in the growth and structure of neurons and how they interact. We have a good understanding of how they influence the operations of the nervous system in the general population as well as in some groups of autistic patients, but we still don’t have a single, simple explanation for how it all ties together. I think that has more to do with how much we still don’t know about the higher operations of thinking and knowing, what makes up an individual’s identity and personality, which are some of the more serious challenges with autism.”
“Whoa! That’s a lot of big words, at least for me.” Timmy turned and winked into the camera. “So how can genetic testing help?”
“There are correlations we’ve found between specific genetic markers and certain manifestations of autism. Knowing that as early as possible can guide therapy, and the sooner therapy starts, the better the results.”
“What does that mean?”
“Building strengths, developing skills, supporting a happy and fulfilled person. That much we do know for certain: the right therapy started early and pursued aggressively, can lead to impressive results for some people. The key is matching the right child with the correct treatment. And making sure the resources are available, of course.”
Dr. Korn smiled, waiting for the follow up question about the fund-raising campaign. Timmy returned the smile, but then turned to the camera while beckoning off stage.
What is that sonofabitch up to?
“Well, that is a perfect intro for our next guest. Marcella Hodges is the national spokesperson for the Genetic Privacy Initiative, and one of the most vocal opponents for any kind of prenatal or medical testing using genetic information. We thought this would be a good opportunity for you two to discuss the pros and cons of how this testing might help or hurt American children.”
Michelle’s heart sank. That sneaky bastard.
Dr. Korn appeared calm and unflustered by the ambush.
Good for him. Now, just how crazy would this woman get?
Dr. Korn stepped forward to greet the new guest, and she reciprocated his handshake with a rigid smile.
“So, Ms. Hodges, what do you think of Dr. Korn’s idea about these new tests for autism?”
“Thank you, Timmy. First, let me say how much I admire Dr. Korn and his school, and all the members of the medical community who work with children with disabilities. I think we all agree that these people need all the help we can give, and they should be our highest priority. Where we may disagree is how to approach these challenges.” Dr. Korn nodded at the compliments, but made no reply, so Hodges continued. “As you may now, our organization feels very strongly that the collection and storage of genetic information constitutes the gravest invasion of privacy and the biggest threat to individual liberty this country has ever faced. In addition, we are convinced that the focus on genetic causes of diseases is misguided and serves only to distract from the real sources of our illnesses, the degradation of our environment by toxic chemicals and genetically altered foods and organisms.”
Timmy turned to Dr. Korn.
“What do you have to say to that, Dr. Korn?”
Michelle held her breath.
“Those are interesting questions, and without getting into too much detail, I think there is plenty of room for debate on the relative role of genetic versus environmental causes of disease. As the whole field of epigenetics shows, there really isn’t a clear line of demarcation between the operations of an organism’s genome and how it interacts with the environment.”
Good answer, thought Michelle. Dr. Korn took a breath to continue.
“Of course, we can’t know for sure….”
Hodges leaned in, scowling. “With all due respect, Dr. Korn, is that really a scientific opinion, or just the words of someone who makes his living as a shill for the medical industrial complex?” Dr. Korn stared at her in stunned silence, while Timmy squirmed, grinning.
Well, that didn’t take long, Michelle concluded morosely. It just went south from there.
“The pharmaceutical industry and corrupt government agencies conspire to…”
***
The traffic broke up and the car accelerated. Watching snippets of the interview aggravated Michelle’s anxiety, and she repeated the relaxation mantras her therapist gave her to control her breathing. She checked on Adam, still quiet watching his movie, hands still moving, fingers tapping.
His jiggle bag. The soft gray fabric bag holding a selection of his favorite colored tiles wasn’t in his hands, nowhere to be seen. Where is it? Panic surged.
Michelle suppressed the urge to tear apart their bags searching for the precious comfort item. Adam usually had it in his left hand, stroking the fabric, manipulating the tiles, creating the soft clicking sound that calmed them both. Of all the repetitive self-stimulating behaviors he could have, this was one that actually soothed Michelle as well. Where did she leave it?
She wracked her brain, reviewing their departure, the packing and loading of the car. Adam had been so calm the whole time. When would he figure out it was missing? How bad would the meltdown be? Should they turn back? How much time would they lose? Was this whole thing a wildly stupid decision?
The autopilot carried them north toward Wisconsin, Adam appeared unconcerned, and Michelle agonized silently, hoping to keep him that way.
Chapters 7 and 8
Robert Wack 