Samuel's Wish

“In your pocket hides the locket,

The secrets are all there.

With your kiss and Samuel’s wish,

Flowers everywhere.”

Paul looked up from his infoPaper and watched, bemused, as the children sang the nursery rhyme he knew so well since childhood. It had been sung the discovery of the V21 virus and the subsequent birth of New Dawn—a government plan to protect and ensure the safety of the survivors. According to his father and grandfather, the time before New Dawn was a era of interaction, family, love and intimacy. Unfortunately, those were the key conditions that led to the spread of the communicable disease. Worldwide, it claimed nearly six billion lives in 2182, almost three-quarters of the population.

The children spun in a circle rhythmically, the acceptable distance apart and absolutely not touching. The artificial light of Sun II inside the dome cast their shadows across the playground as the breeze generators slowly turned the merry-go-round. The old plaything creaked and groaned; forgotten and off limits. It was clearly tagged for destruction and denounced as a remnant of rust and red from times long lost.

He turned back to his infoPaper and it's moving images. Headlines emphasized with dancing pictures described tremendous advances in society. Platitude after platitude, it was monotonous. On a whim, he said, “Show me Samuel's Wish.” It went blank and then projected an image of the newest home development in the downtown area, endless rows of identical and austere, grey high-rise buildings. He decided to push further, “Show me the author of Samuel's Wish.” Again, hesitation while his infoPaper went blank and generated a new lie. This one was of an image of vacations at the Lake of the Pines. He knew nothing would be displayed. It was a child's song whose origin was lost in antiquity and great lengths were taken to keep it so. Yet, something within his memory was unsettled with the absence of information.

Just then, his infoPaper rang a small, soft bell set by his design to daily alarm him that his lunch hour had ended. Gathering his coat and folding the paper into a small card, the shape of his identification badge, he tucked it away and began his walk back to Level C.

He took the same route as always, just down the path around the artificial grass bank and trees at the end of the pond. It was manufactured, of course, but beautiful. He thought about the pamphlets he was given regarding natural life, which he had trouble even imagining. He has made some new friends over the last few weeks. Well, “friends” with dangerous ideas, but ideas of such grandeur. They asked him to imagine a life with real plants and trees and lakes and actual contact with people. Not just those that were in his family group. The idea sounded foreign and wrong, but somehow, he longed for it.

In his reverie he had failed to notice that he just passed the commercial district. In fact, he was several blocks off track to returning to level C. He spun around to gather his bearings and it was then that he spied a figure standing at the end of the alleyway, looking at him intently. The face was hidden by shadow, but he could make out a long overcoat and what appeared to be a top hat, if his history lessons were correct.

“Come here Paul, I have to speak with you.” The gentleman spoke into the air with authority, and it echoed his baritone voice down the alleyway. Though crime was literally a memory, Paul was hesitant. “Do you know me Sir? “

“I've come a great distance to meet you. This is the noted time and place and therefore, you will Sir,” the stranger said with urgency. “However, that is the thing we lack, time.”

Though he was reluctant, Paul’s legs moved against his better judgment to commune with this man. As he approached, he could see more detail of the stranger. He wore a long, dark purple overcoat and indeed a top hat on his head. Getting within a few feet of him, Paul saw numerous tubes pumping oxygen to his obviously superior mask. In fact, these tubes extended around the man's face connected into areas hidden by the top hat. There was a soft hiss of fluids.

“Paul, I come with the greatest of urgency. I am Matthias. I have traveled back in time through a wormhole; in fact, I am called a Void Engineer. In your future, humans are capable of one-way travel through a bend of time and space…and we don’t have time for this.” Paul began to stammer a reasonable and incredulous response, but Mathias waved his hands shushing him. “I only have 72 hours of sustainable life. You are Paul Mason; you live at unit 12 of Development 42. You work at Level C in the bio-optics division. Your wife, Anna, also works at Level C. Your mother and father were named Joseph and Caroline... Do I need to tell you more?“ Paul digested the facts. Shocked, he responded, “please, the floor is yours.“

“Do you know a man by the name of Dr. Samuel Kent?” Mathias spoke directly and without hesitation.

Paul shrugged. The answer was obvious.

“Yes, that's what we feared. We could find no record of this person in your time. So, we ran several algorithms and were able to decipher the name Kurt les Amend as an anagram of that name. We know from history that a group called the Amendment exists in your time, which is the definition of the surname. Do you know of this group? “

Paul hesitated a moment, The Amendment was a group of revolutionaries with a credo to overthrow and disrupt the current mandate of The Establishment, the power in charge over society, “elected” ensure the safety of the public. “Obviously, you wouldn't ask if you didn't know that I have had some contact with them. But I assure you it is merely casual and certainly not my interest. Nor am I part of this group.“

The stranger sighed, it was overly dramatic and seemed ironic while his pumps hissed and whined, pushing fluids through his exterior tubes. “Paul, in the next 72 hours you and Dr. Kent rid us of the scourge of V21. He is the Oracle of the Sea.”

The last words were perplexing but dismissed as the prior sentences grabbed his shoulders and shook him awake. There was an end to this? How could he have anything to do with it? He worked in the bio-optics department developing new transponders, hardly world savior material. Putting aside his immediate response of doubt, “I can try to contact someone within the group. But the only person I know with any affiliation is an old crazy man who probably read some of their propaganda and likes to fantasize about it. I honestly don't think he's going to be much help.“

Mathias nodded in response and without a word walked right past Paul, his purple overcoat fluttering behind him.

Paul turned and broke into a full run for the outskirts of the Dome. After 10 minutes he was sweating profusely and reached the small entrance to the hidden crack, which would allow him access to the exterior. Glancing around and making sure that no witnesses were present, he slipped between two pillars and under a dense plastic bush after which he crawled on hands and knees to reach a small exit--a very narrow and claustrophobic escape to the unknown. He mused, how fitting that a crack in this perfect world led to a place that he desired more than the one within the confines.

Paul had met the older man, Les, several months ago when he was at the pond drawing. He was roughly 70-ish years old, disheveled and curious about Paul's art. Approaching meekly, he commented upon the contrast and his use of colors. “You know that's a lost skill. I don't believe art is emphasized very much in this generation's curriculum.” From that, a semi-informal relationship developed which was germinated with discussions of arts and blossomed into conversational, but sometimes spirited arguments. Paul was convinced that Les was a hermit, likely mentally disabled, as he had no access to societal sponsored care but nevertheless enjoyed the company. However, aside from his mania, this older man was very well-informed and stubbornly opinionated. His ideas were revolutionary and criminal to the current structure, thus he segregated himself outside the Dome.

Finishing his crawl and covered in debris, Paul made way along the dirt path toward the old man’s hovel. There was no vegetation outside the Dome, real or otherwise. Long ago the earth had died as part of the efforts to curb the destruction of the virus V21. Outside the Dome, the earth looked like the surface of Mars: rocky and barren. Within a few minutes, Paul reached the cliff, which signaled the end of the path. To the average eye it would appear incredibly steep and impassable but after instruction from Les, he knew exactly where to jump so that his landing would be softened by a gentle bank allowing him to slide some 50 feet. And there was the entrance to Les’ home. No need to be delicate about it, it was a cave.

Paul called out, “Hey Les, it's Paul are you here?” There was no answer and the salvaged red curtain that served as a doorway fluttered dispassionately. Distantly he heard, “ah yes, come on in Paul!” There was genuine happiness in the invitation.

He walked in to see his friend cheery, smiling and welcoming.

Les began to sputter some words of welcome but Paul cut him off shortly. “Listen I don't have time to explain this to you, but I need to get in contact with Dr. Samuel Kent or Kurt les Amend. They are related to the Amendment group and somehow connected to me. Most importantly that man has the solution to the virus. I need to find him; he's called the Sea Oracle?”

Les’ face grew dark as he listened, and Paul was sure that a tear spawned in his eye. Quietly he whispered, “I haven't heard those names in a very long time. I am Dr. Samuel Kent or Kurt les Amend after I went into hiding from the establishment. I thought it was quite a clever anagram.

Quietly, he reached beneath his long coat and withdrew a heart shaped locket. He choked on the next sentence, pain obvious and running through the lines of his weathered face. “This was a gift from my daughter several weeks before she... Before she left us because of the virus.” Opening the locket, he showed Paul what appeared to be a dark purple black flower petal. “And my dear boy, I am not the Sea Oracle. May I present to you the last remaining worldly pedal of Alcea Rosea.”

Paul leaned in closely to look. Squinting, he saw what the history studies referred to as a flower petal. At any moment, it looked like it would disintegrate. Nodding his head, he silently said yes. “I don't understand, what is the Sea Oracle?”

“Have you not listened to me? I love anagrams and the Latin name of this particular petal of flower is Alcea Rosea. However, Lily had a tough time saying that when she was little. So, we played with the letters and came up with ‘a Sea Oracle’. It led to some of the fondest memories and stories I have with her.” His face was unabashedly covered in tears. There was a long moment of silence while Paul allowed him to grieve.

Paul looked at the aged man stricken with grief and though he hated to interrupt the fond shadows of Lily’s memory dancing in front his eyes, he reluctantly touched Les’ or Kurt’s or Samuel’s arm and said, “You are going to make Lily very proud.”