Fresh Sobbing Winds

ends.

1

It won’t be easy, Girl, Marissa said as she swiveled the rear-view mirror and admired her mouth. We’re talking about full blown Nasclerosits. She touched her lips with the derma-blast lipstick and turned to Gwen. The pigmentation of her mouth instantly changed to dark red. I’m sorry Girl, but it’s the real thing. Your parents are infected for good.

Gwen stopped chewing on her gum. No wonder they looked bad. Prescription drugs could only go so far, and her parents had tried them all. She looked outside with a sigh. Her worried eyes surveyed the various cars stuck in traffic under the morning drizzle. Only a select group of license plate holders were allowed to drive in Old Town, the only area in Norangeles where vehicles could drive on surface streets. Today, it seemed that all these privileged commuters were here. After a moment, her eyes moved to and followed the squeaky windshield wipers of the hybrid wreck Marissa drove.

They’ve been good, though. Marissa broke the silence, then refreshed her lips with the lipstick. Her mouth quickly turned purple. She hesitated for a moment, then refreshed her lips once again. Satisfied with the bright red tint, she smiled. See? She put the lipstick back in her purse. At least your dad is hanging on. He won’t give up so easily. She put her hands back on the steering wheel. But your mom, Girl...

If it wasn’t for you, Gwen spit out her chewing gum, wrapped it and put it in the pocket of her open coat. The MSFs would have taken her straight to the Mines. I owe you big time.

What are friends for? Marissa adjusted the red scarf she always wore around her neck. It looked ugly and didn’t go with her usual denim. After all, like most people Marissa dressed like a factory worker.

Are you, Gwen turned to her friend. Scared of the Mines?

Marissa’s eyes swung to Gwen. Saying nothing, she stared at her for a moment, then turned her eyes back to the traffic.

Since I returned from my vacation... Gwen murmured. Things seem different.

Got the vacation blues, girl?

Maybe. She started to play nervously with the buttons of her flannel shirt. I took the required post-vacation pills, you know the Maximum Strength Orpaspirins. It usually takes a day or two to get back to normal. But, this time around, it’s like... She sighed again. Little things, you know. Places that changed, new people in our building, weird signs on the streets.

I wouldn’t worry about it. Marissa pressed a few buttons on the dashboard and accelerated the car slightly. Meds are meds. It takes time.

The most alarming is that... Gwen swallowed hard. I feel like Mom and Dad aren’t really my parents...

Marissa remained silent for a moment, then suddenly burst in laughter. You’ve been on vacation too long! She shook her head. Of course they’re your parents! And they’re as immortal as you are, as we all are! She shrugged her shoulders. They act strange? So what? All Nascrelotics do. She sighed. You’ll get used to your parents again, and to Norangeles and to our wonderful Nogaplan. Her voice sounded ironic. You’ll have to.

If I could only remember, Gwen muttered. Marissa, how long have I been on vacation?

Girl, Marissa patted Gwen on her back, sensing her friend’s confusion. That’s what a vacation is all about. You’re off to unplug, to forget our dreary immortal lives. You’re there to turn the page, so-to-speak. But don’t worry, it’ll all come back. Sooner or later. It will all come back. She smiled, compassionately. And don’t think you’re developing symptoms of early-Nasclerosits. Nothing’s wrong with your health, Gwen. To the contrary... She sighed again. With your kind of vacation? She shrugged her shoulders. Girl, you’re as good as new!

I guess so, Gwen mumbled, still puzzled. Turning to the passenger rear view mirror, she saw the traffic behind them loosen up. It looked like the cars were making space for an emergency vehicle.

Within seconds, honking and whistling unpleasantly, several green trucks marked with the emblem of the Mines Special Forces appeared on their tail. Displeased, Marissa pulled over and followed with angry eyes these mid-sized assault vehicles.

What are the MSFs doing in Old Town? Gwen asked, visibly upset. She had never seen such a deployment in this part of town.

Their job, Marissa said in a grim tone of voice. Suddenly, grinning like a monkey, she stepped on the accelerator.

Marissa! Thrown back against her seat, Gwen shook her head in disapproval.

Who cares! Amused by honking commuters angered by her driving, Marissa started to laugh. To make things merrier, she too honked.

Oh, Marissa! Gwen muttered. ’You’ll never change, you daredevil!"

Trying to trail the MSF vehicles as closely as possible, Marissa picked up speed. As she quickly gained distance on them, they seemed to slow down, then suddenly stopped.

Shit! Nearly throwing the women over the dashboard, Marissa slammed on the brakes. Like a mad pilot, she skidded off to the side, missing the last of the green trucks in line by a hair. Her car spinning, she switched gears, then miraculously steered the vehicle to a complete stop only inches from the sidewalk.

It was a short ride, she turned to her friend. But what the heck. We’re ahead! She sat back, content with her foolish exploit.

Watching the MSF agents run in various directions, Gwen held her breath for a moment. They wore anti-riot gear and carried powerful stun-grips on their belts. Deceptively looking like oversized handcuffs, these weapons when activated and deployed could send incredibly painful and concentrated shock waves at the targeted individuals.

Instinctively, Gwen shut her window. Although she hadn’t done anything wrong, she felt threatened by the presence of these battle-hardened troopers.

They didn’t come for us, Girl. Marissa said, turning the engine off. Don’t worry. We’re clean. Noticing Gwen looked overtly tense, she added: Okay, I’m guilty of a few moving violations, but that’s not MSF business. You know well they don’t deal with petty crimes.

Right, Gwen muttered, sweating. She didn’t know why she was so afraid of these agents. She couldn’t remember ever being in trouble. It wasn’t in her nature to defy the Nogaplan, the rigid law established to rule their immortal world. And, unlike Marissa who sometimes got ahead of herself, Gwen had always been a model citizen, hadn’t she?

Feeling hot, Marissa rolled down her window. Her cautious eyes surveyed the men. The MSFs may have been after somebody else, but that didn’t mean everyone around them was safe. Unlike the police who usually followed some kind of procedure before taking you to jail, the MSFs acted fast. They asked few questions and deported so-called offenders straight to the Mines. Due process wasn’t part of the MSF lingo.

Screening the surrounding cars and checking building entrances, the MSFs quickly canvassed the whole street. Before long they had secured the entire perimeter.

Swallowing nervously, Gwen sat up straight. Through her window she saw MSF agents open manholes and descend into the sewers. They were terribly thorough and determined. They would get what they wanted.

Lately, Marissa declared breaking the silence in the car, they’ve been hard on the Natullists. She cleared up her throat. The other day they got a bunch of them in this very sector.

Natullists? Gwen asked, surprised. Here in Old Town? She shook her head. There had never been any Natullist ring so close to the Civic Center. She knew something about this. She had worked here. Unless... She seemed pensive, then added whispering: Unless I’ve been on vacation for a long time...

Vacation... Marissa murmured. Long time... She prudently rolled down her window all the way.

Immune to their complaints, the MSFs dragged severely burned men to the green trucks. Like weak and vulgar bags, they threw them inside.

No! Gwen covered her mouth with her hand. Natullists or not, she could hardly stomach such heartless handling of human beings. The Nogaplan went too far! She’s always known it! But only now, after her prolonged vacation, she could articulate in her mind thoughts of dissent. What was wrong with her?

Kneeling by a manhole in Gwen’s view, the Commanding Officer shouted quick orders to his men down in the sewers. He seemed overly excited, a trait rarely exhibited by MSF agents. Triumphantly, he helped his men come back to the surface and pull a pregnant woman out of the manhole.

No, Gwen whispered, afraid of being heard. No. Her heart sank at the sight of that woman dragged on the pavement. As her eyes met those of the pregnant woman, the Commanding Officer drew a Zapper out his holster. It was a two-pronged flexible sword. Please, don’t. Gwen whispered, imagining being that pregnant woman.

The Commanding Officer held his Zapper in the air for a second or two.

Gwen’s muscles tensed. She could almost feel the blow coming. It was a weird, realistic feeling – as if she had been through such an ordeal before. But of course, like most immortals she was sterile. She had nothing to do with the Natullists. She was a Model Citizen. Her eyes glued to the Zapper, Gwen swallowed hard.

When the Commanding Officer swung his weapon and heartlessly stunned the woman, the sizzling Zapper sent sparking electrical surges in the air.

Gasping for air, the pregnant woman fell on her knees. As her distressed eyes met Gwen’s one last time, she sank to the ground, then hit the pavement - face first!

2

Standing alone on the sidewalk, disheartened and ready to cry, Gwen couldn’t help but replay in her mind the dramatic arrests she had witnessed. The Nogaplan truly went too far. Thinking what it would be like to be in that pregnant woman’s skin, she felt the shivers. Once she arrived in the Mines, that pregnant Natullist would suffer an exemplary punishment - one that would last the remainder of her immortal life! And for what? Gwen sighed, stepping forward. The Natullist resistance made little sense to her. Their whole struggle was a complete folly. None of these women could become the Sheen; none of them was the Sheen. None of them would give birth to the mythical child who would change the world.

Gwen sighed again. The Sheen was a myth, but the births were real. And Norangeles was already severely overpopulated. She sighed once again, remembering a passage in the Nogaplan that stuck in her mind. Paragraphs 7 and 8 warned that to bring newborns into this immortal world was indeed a criminal act!

As her friend’s car slowly disappeared in the stream of traffic, she turned towards the majestic steps behind her and looked up.

The Kronoss Building. She whispered, recognizing the neoclassic palace-like complex. Erected a good hundred feet above, it was built into a massive pyramid-like structure. And hundreds of steps to climb.

Her open coat flapping in the wind, she began her ascent. She wasn’t in a rush, so she stopped on the first of three landings protruding out of the pyramid’s base. Even from this elevation, one could already get a good glimpse of the view offered to those occupying the Kronoss Building above.

Despite the thickening morning drizzle, like a tourist freshly transplanted to a new environment, she studied the city’s skyline. From her viewpoint, the elevated and imposing neoclassic architecture standing behind her two landings above, she already dominated the identical multilevel town houses laid in perfect symmetry all the way to the horizon and beyond. Her eyes surveyed the privileged Old Town Quarter, a cluster of twentieth century urban village-like structures immediately adjacent to the Civic Center Complex. It looked like an architectural oasis in the middle of an endless reclamation project. How had the City of Norangeles changed into such an ugly conglomeration?

Gwen turned. Her eyes scanned the vast first landing where she stood. But for an old giant clock planted atop a vulgar metal post half way above the stairs, it was flat and empty. The clock’s cast iron hands pointed on each of its three faces to a quarter past eleven. Although the time was accurate, the mechanical rectangular dial was stuck on the same date as it’s been for decades: April 26, 2067.

Back here again, are you? Gwen said to the clock as she approached the artifact. For years she had opposed proposals to remove or dismantle this antique. It was one of the few vestiges of the City’s past left on the Civic Center’s grounds.

Undisturbed by the rainy condition, a bald man in a green uniform appeared at the edge of the stairs and hid behind a column. He watched Gwen with interest.

They wanted to put you inside so you wouldn’t be such an eyesore, she continued, talking to the clock. But they must have changed their mind. She smiled. Good. You’re too beautiful, too authentic. I knew they would keep you here even after their massive renovation. She paused, pensive. Renovation... I’ve been away for a long time, haven’t I? It takes months to renovate something like the Kronoss Building. More than a few weeks! She paused for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders and slid around the post. Releasing it, she ran to the stone ramp overlooking the city and again she gazed at the skyline. Norangeles, she laughed. Will the wonderful streets, the blue sky and the millions of palm trees ever come back? She thought of counting the microwave streetlights that began sending static discharges upward to generate synthetic daylight, but there were too many of them. In spite of the permanent cloud cover that hid the sun forever, the surges brightened the skies.

Furrowing his brows, the bald man pulled his virtual hand-pad out of his front pocket. Intermittently peeking at Gwen, he entered some data. Shortly, her picture and a brief description in a language only understood by Sector Managers appeared on the small screen.

As she strolled away from the stone ramp, Gwen began singing. She hadn’t done so in a long time. That she could remember. Gwen stretched her arms and started to dance in the thickening rain. The morning may have started on a somber footing, but now she felt happy, happy to be back. Her vacation had been long, all too long...

Hiding behind a column, the bald man returned the pad to his pocket. Cautious to remain out of sight, he continued observing Gwen. But for his menacing dark green eyes that followed her every step and a crooked half-opened mouth, his face betrayed little emotion.

Wet and cold, Gwen hopped over to the stairs. She never saw the man. He had vanished before setting a foot on the steps that reflected the growing static discharges that rose in the sky. As she climbed up, spotlights throughout the Civic Center Complex blinked, then slowly warmed up to illuminate the whole structure. It was a majestic and imposing sight - a neoclassic Taj Mahal. When she reached the last steps, Gwen stopped and admired the Kronoss Building anew. It looked better, cleaner, greater that she could remember.

No wonder the powerful Council of Norangeles chose this place as their Headquarters! She paused, remembering she had once worked here. But that was then. Now, she was just... visiting?

Stepping forward, she reached out to push in one of the massive glass doors when suddenly the bald man stood in her way. Their eyes met. She wanted to protest, but she quickly realized who the man was. Buff and mean looking, he wore the usual striped green uniform with the district emblem of a Sector Manager on his right shoulder as well as the emblem of the Health Police on his left breast.

You’re late! He noted briskly.

Saying nothing, Gwen smiled, nervously.

The Press Room is out of limits now! His crooked smile had changed into a poorly formed curl.

Holding her breath, she stared at his pale face. It absorbed rather than reflected the synthetic daylight. All Sector Managers looked like a well-preserved living corpse, but this one was particularly scary.

You can’t come in. He murmured in a mechanical tone of voice. He wasn’t a machine, but acted like one.

Gwen swallowed hard. A Sector Manager could call on MSF agents anytime to deport anyone on the spot - no questions asked.

I’m sorry, she muttered. Searching her pockets, she added: I’m only expected backstage. I’m not a reporter. And I got clearance...

Clearance? The Sector Manager grimaced. What kind of Clearance? His voice sounded like an unpleasant squeak.

Gwen’s eyes swung to the Fitness Tattoo on his neck. It shifted as if it breathed. Of course, the man was a Raham. All Sector Managers were Rahams. Physically reconditioned and improved during their stay in the Mines, as a rule, Rahams suffered long and painful Rehabilitations. Besides the physical and mental retrofit, Raham memories were completely wiped, each of them was given a new personality, a new identity and a new mission to live by. With reconstructed facial features, a Raham couldn’t be recognized by his next of kin or his former friends and acquaintance. In every respect, a Raham was a new being. And once he had been reinserted into society, like a robot he served the Nogaplan and lived only to enforce the Health Laws.

Where is my Pass? Gwen bit her lips, searching her pockets again. Believe me, I got clearance.

Clearance or not, the Raham said, coldly. You’re late. His unnaturally green eyes reflected the synthetic light surges rising in the sky. Tardiness for any Council Event is a violation of Council’s Rules 22 and 29. It’s a violation of the Council’s Protocols, Sections 78 to 93 and... He reached out and touched her left shoulder. And with violations piling up, we could soon make a case for a thorough Medical. You might be Mines material!

You’re out of your mind! She pushed him away unaware of the seriousness of her new offense. Even touching a Sector Manager was a crime according to the Health Code. Let me through!

Enough! Violently, he pushed her against the door. He looked straight into her eyes. Shall I take you down for a check up or send you straight to the Mines?

I... Tears bobbled in her eyes. What do you want from me? I don’t understand!

Precisely. He released her then tilted his head to look at her from an angle. You don’t understand. Not yet! He studied her as she adjusted her coat. And it’s not Nasclerosits either. You are in perfect health, that I know. He put his cold palms on her cheeks and admired her face. Like a newborn: healthy and innocent. After a moment he slid his rugged index finger on her neck. Seeing nothing but a smooth unadulterated skin, he hissed: No tattoo? So, you’re a Special Issue?

Excuse me? She pushed his hand away, then rubbed her spotless neck.

I’ve never seen one before. He stepped back, in admiration. Special Issue... That body of yours... He sighed, envious. You ought to take good care of it.

Indeed, you are out of your mind. She said, shaking her head.

I won’t write you up this time. He groaned, pointing his index finger at her. But we’ll get there, sooner than you think!

3

Gwen felt sweat run down her temples. She wiped her forehead. Though spacious, modern and beautiful, the colossal arched lobby of the new Kronoss building wasn’t properly air-conditioned. Was it neglect or bad design? Shortly, she reached the entrance of the amphitheater where the press conference was already in progress. As she stared through the giant door’s small tinted windows, a sudden roar followed by applause rose in the Auditorium. She furrowed her brows. To her best recollection, she had never heard journalists cheer the Council’s Resolutions.

With a sigh, she stepped back, listened to yet another round of applause, then looked down the empty hallway. A dozen feet from where she stood, a man in riot gear appeared. He wore the distinct uniform of the Council Guards - a helmet with red stripes and a dark uniform with the emblem of Division M. She focused on the familiar face and smiled. Though she had lapses of memory, she recognized Major Tom Lascott. She had known him since he joined the force as a young man. She waved at him, and happily stepped in his direction. But before she got any closer, he called two other guards hiding behind the columns and hastily gave them orders.

The men immediately half knelt, deployed their protective shiny plasma shields and pointed their sizzling electromagnetic nightsticks in her direction.

What’s that all about? She muttered, astonished.

Arming his stun-grips, Tom stepped forward.

Don’t you move! He ordered in a strange, mechanically enhanced tone of voice. He too pointed his weapon in her direction. You are entering a restricted area.

Tom? She mumbled, trying to smile. It’s me, Gwen.

Citizen, he continued. This is a restricted area.

Sure Tom, she grinned. But it’s the only way backstage. She laughed, nervously. You’re so convincing.

Citizen! He lowered his visor. Stay where you are!

Tom, it’s me Gwen. Her voice trembling, she stepped back. Don’t you recognize me?

Freeze! He waved his hand to his men, ordering them so to carefully move forward.

Citizen, Tom ordered. Search pose!

Very well, Gwen extended her arms.

Guards, he barked. Switch the Insta-Scan on.

The smaller of the men stepped up. He tilted his shield and pointed his nightstick towards the ceiling. The tip of the weapon opened like a flower, then spit out a yellowish ball of light that bounced off the ceiling and burst above Gwen’s head. An umbrella of light unfolded. It slowly changed into a semi-transparent screen that enveloped her body. Numbers and words in various combinations ran across the trembling surface. Everything encoded in Gwen’s body, from her genetic makeup to her present financial information appeared on that strange screen.

Tom moved closer. Surveying the data so projected, he seemed to hesitate. Was anything wrong with Gwen?

Finally, he touched the semi-transparent surface and deactivated it. As he did so and the screen began to slowly fade away, Gwen felt a brief stinging behind her ear. She thought of reaching there to check what it was, but quickly changed her mind.

The Council Guards were known for their zeal. Every unexpected movement could cost the searched party dearly. No one liked the aftermath of an electrostatic blow!

Stepping back, Tom watched the screen lose all its shine and the readings vanish completely. He tilted his visor open and stared at her. He skilfully hid from his gaze whatever hesitation there may have been. After a moment, he said in a cold tone of voice: You’re clear, Citizen.

That’s all you can say? Gwen put her arms down and looked at him, disheartened. During the many years she had worked with the Council, they had been good friends - very good friends. But now, all of that seemed buried in some remote past.

According to Scan Results we have here a Class F Visitor. Tom disarmed his weapon. Citizen, he stared at Gwen straight into the eyes. Your clearance checks out fine and you may proceed. Please accept our apologies for this search. He turned to his men. Let this Raham go!

Raham? Gwen cried. I knew you have a good sense of humor, but you’re pushing it a bit too far

Like a robot, he swiveled in her direction. Their eyes met again. It was a chilling gaze.

That’ll be all Citizen, he said after a moment, in a monotone tone of voice. He waved his hand to his men. Take this Raham backstage and make sure she doesn’t wander around.

4

Gwen climbed the few steps and, hidden from sight by the massive curtain, she peeked at the group of twelve individuals in gray cloaks standing on stage. It was the Council, the most powerful men and women in Norangeles. Statue-like, they monitored every word their Press Secretary uttered.

She too focused on the man. He wore the usual perfectly pressed suit of a highly graded public servant with the shiny emblem of the Council on the sleeves. When he slightly turned and she could see his face, Gwen gasped. It was Maximus Lopez. She had worked with him for many years. He always boasted about his youthful looks and took great care of his aging body. But today, he looked fifty years older - if not more! Even the best makeup and staged lighting couldn’t hide the tremendous toll borne by advanced age. She swallowed at the thought that he wasn’t the oldest here. For a long time, with the right medication combos and out of this world plastic surgeries, he had managed to hide the most obvious symptoms of advanced Nasclerosits. But now, one could only wonder how he avoided being deported to the Mines.

Maximus Lopez grabbed the pulpit with his left hand and shook his right index finger at some twenty cameras pointing in his direction.

"Thus far, the Police and the Mines Special Forces