John Krygelski - The Aegis Solution

By now it was late morning. The section of Aegis into which he emerged was still quiet and unoccupied. He wanted to explore the areas and pockets of the complex not occupied by Walden, Madison, or ZooCity. Given the vast scope of Aegis, he had placed his cameras and microphones in the locations he had already identified this morning, or in the case of ZooCity, guessed. But Elias still had no idea where Kreitzmann was set up, and felt that the corridors and hallways would better serve his purpose of exploring, rather than the electrical service-ways above.

Although Aegis had no windows around the perimeter, there was a large center courtyard and, scattered about the layout, several smaller atria to provide the residents with access to fresh air and sunlight. The hallways adjacent to these interior open areas were built with ample windows to allow the sunlight to come in and to provide views.

Recollecting that the plans for Aegis had called for rather lush landscaping with automatic irrigation systems in each of these areas, Elias noted that the first two he passed were barren and dusty. Over the years, either there had been a malfunction in the irrigation system, which none of the residents were able or willing to repair, or the plantings and hardware had been cannibalized.

The condition of the previous two atria contributed to his surprise as he arrived at the third. From the window where he paused, Elias could see no farther than three feet past the glass. The atrium was bursting with life. Trees, ferns, broad-leaf plants, and vines were tangled together, creating the impression of a jungle, rather than the landscaped, open-air commons area which was originally intended.

His curiosity piqued, he followed the hallway to the first door, finding it not only locked but barred on the outside. Now, even more curious, Elias continued following the hallway, turning a corner when he reached an edge, and circled the unlikely jungle. The second door he encountered was secured in the same manner as the first. Turning the next corner, Elias discovered that the door on the third side was also bolted and barred. In his mind, he planned to simply break one of the windows if the fourth door was inaccessible.

It was not. The metal and glass storefront door swung out, instantly colliding with a large cowbell which hung on a rope above the door, announcing his arrival loudly. Elias was immediately struck with the powerful organic smells of a greenhouse. His hand instinctively sliding into his pocket, where he again carried the 9mm, he momentarily regretted his earlier decision to leave behind the assault rifle given to him by Sweezea.

Taking a step forward, he allowed the door to swing shut behind him, triggering another metallic clatter from the bell. There was a path in front of him, albeit a narrow one, penetrating the dense vegetation, and Elias slowly moved forward, leaving his sidearm in his pocket. So thick was the foliage that it took no more than fifteen paces for the door he had entered to become obscured completely, as was the entire perimeter wall around this jungle. The growth was so tall that he could not see the sky above, only indirect sunlight as it filtered through the stalks and leaves of the canopy above his head.

It had been many years since Elias had trekked through a real jungle, but he still recalled the various sounds caused by the sudden darting of animals through the underbrush, the whoops and cries of birds, monkeys, and other creatures. That discordant symphony was absent here. Instead, his ears were filled with the sound of the whipping wind, high overhead, as it twisted and twirled its way down into the open area. The effect of the unceasing turbulence was to set all of the plants in motion. Elias was surrounded by undulating branches and fronds, dragging and crashing against each other, generating a low-frequency din which nearly drowned out the voice.

“Stop where you are!”

Elias halted.

“Take that right hand out of your pocket.”

Complying, Elias pulled out his hand, empty, and let it hang loosely by his side.

“Where are you from?” the voice demanded firmly.

“Phoenix,” Elias lied.

“That’s not what I mean. You don’t look like a ZooCity habitant. Are you from Madison or those mush-heads at Walden?”

The voice was coming from Elias’ right, but he could see no trace of the man hidden in the dense, green wall.

Elias manufactured a touch of derision in his voice. “No way! I’ve met them both.”

The stranger paused briefly before asking, “What do you want?” His tone was a little less hostile.

“I just got here,” Elias explained. “I am trying to figure out where I want to plant myself.”

Above the sounds of the wind, Elias heard a chuckle. “You think I’m that stupid?”

“What do you mean?”

“You come into a park that’s been taken over by someone obviously obsessed with greenery, and you think that if you employ subtle comments about wanting to ‘plant’ yourself, I’m simply going to like you?”

Elias grinned. “It was worth a try.”

The stranger coming to a decision, the thick leaves of a philodendron to the right side parted, and an older man, probably in his early seventies, emerged, carrying a shotgun, which was not pointed at Elias.

“Aw, rats. I wouldn’t mind a little chat, I guess.”

The man extended his hand and introduced himself. “I’m Wilson.”

“Elias Charon.”

They shook hands.

“Let’s go sit down. My knees hurt from crouching.”

Wilson pointed down the path with the barrel of the 12 gauge and indicated, “That way.”

Elias’ smile broadened. “I see you’re also not so stupid that you let me walk behind you.”

“You got that right,” Wilson responded with a wink. “Now follow the path. There’s a shack dead-ahead.”

Surprised, Elias asked, “You built a shack here?”

“Uh-huh.”

Intrigued, Elias turned and followed the path. Within forty yards he found an obviously handmade structure, cobbled together from an assortment of salvaged building materials from the inside of Aegis. He noticed that there was even a porch with two chairs, incongruous in these surroundings as they appeared to have been pilfered from a conference room.

Elias stepped up onto the porch, followed by Wilson, who leaned the shotgun against the wall of the shack and said, “You probably want a beer. Well, I don’t have any. How about some tea?”

“Sounds good.”

“Take a seat, Mr. Death. I’ll be right back.”

“Mr. Death?”

Wilson, who was already halfway through the front door, looked back and remarked, “You really do think I’m a dolt, don’t you?”

He turned without waiting for a response and went inside, leaving the door open. Elias noted that Wilson had left the shotgun on the porch.

Sitting back in the vinyl chair, Elias stared in wonder at the dense foliage all around him. Not an expert in horticulture, he was certain that many of the species were indigenous or adaptable to the dry Arizona climate, but it seemed as if he were sitting on a cabin porch in the Ozarks rather than the Sonoran desert. Over the wrawl of the wind, he could hear the occasional clatter made by Wilson preparing the tea.

The setting of the shack, and the leafy palisade surrounding it, had a calming effect on Elias, despite the wind, and he could understand why this strange man had created and protected this environment.

“Do you want milk or sugar?” Wilson yelled from inside.

“Sugar, please,” Elias replied, raising his voice to be heard.

“I’d better put it in before I come out, or that wind will blow it away. How many spoons?”

“One.”

Within a minute, he returned with two mugs, handing one to Elias, who noticed that his mug had the phrase “Don’t tread on me” above the familiar image of the coiled snake. Glancing over, he saw that glazed on the stranger’s mug was the American flag.