John Krygelski - The Aegis Solution

The images of the unpleasant discussion still lingered in his mind as Elias saw the first hints of the lush swamp lands which would be his view for the balance of this leg of the journey. The club car was nearly half full with passengers, mostly refugees from the coach cars: a group of four men placidly sipping their drinks and playing cards, a family with several small children who were running up and down the center aisle, whooping and shouting, the cacophony they raised no doubt dampening the reverie of an elderly couple who were seated side by side, facing a window. Other than Elias, the couple seemed to be the only occupants who were attempting to experience the minutiae of a train ride through the bayou.

He returned his gaze to the window and tried, once again, to visualize what he was going to encounter inside Aegis. No one really knew how many people were in residence. Actually, Elias realized, that was not completely true. With the existence of the entrance surveillance camera, which was divulged to him only yesterday, he surmised that there probably was a head count, at least a tally of those who had entered. That number was somewhere in the briefing papers he had yet to fully read. There were two variables which would affect the reliability of that number as any sort of a basis for the current population. The first, of course, would be deaths. The second, and this was one of the many things William Walker never contemplated in his emotional rush to open Aegis, would be births.

It seemed obvious, in retrospect, that if you put men and women together anywhere, offspring were going to result. However, the enabling legislation creating the institution did not acknowledge this reality and failed to address what to do with these children. It was presumed that the parents understood the ramifications of what they were getting into when they checked in. They knew that one of the inviolable terms of entrance was that it was a one-way ticket. But the children…were they to spend their entire lives inside the walls of Aegis? They had no voice in the decision.

This, along with a multitude of other issues, was grist for public debates, position papers, and think-tank studies. The public was constantly reminded that the core concept of Aegis was that the net effect of choosing to enter was, from the perspective of society, equivalent to death. There could be no contact, no communication; in no way could anyone who was inside have even the slightest effect on the external world.

So, in the twisted logic of the current proponents, it followed that those children would have never been born, because their parents would have chosen the act of suicide rather than checking in. And, therefore, if one were to follow the fundamental premise of Aegis, society had no obligation to even acknowledge their existence.

While Elias occupied his mind with thoughts of the bizarre construct he planned to enter, a part of him was aware of the train attendant who corralled the clamorous youngsters and seated them in a circle of chairs. He placed a game of some sort on the table before the children and softly cajoled them to join in, serving the function neglected by the parents who were oblivious to the mayhem their progeny were causing.

Multi-tasking, a portion of his mind continued its attempt to conjure an image of what the world inside Aegis would be like, while another part dwelled on the question of what kind of parents he and Leah would have been, had they been given the chance. Both of these avenues were dark and murky, offering nothing but an inexhaustible source of depression and angst. It was down these two shadowy paths his mind doggedly wandered throughout the remainder of the trip into New Orleans.

Elias stepped down from the train onto the covered platform of the New Orleans Union Passenger Station. The Crescent had arrived on time, and it was close to 7:30 in the evening. He was not hungry, having eaten in his bedroom compartment almost two hours earlier. The Sunset Limited was scheduled to depart New Orleans shortly before noon the next day. Elias went through the routine of a cab ride, an overnight stay in the nearby Windsor Court Hotel, and the ride back to the station, without indulging in even a moment of sightseeing. He was not tempted by Harrah’s Casino, Morton’s, or the shops along the Riverwalk Marketplace, all within short walking distance of his room.

The following morning, Elias arrived at the station at a few minutes after ten, immediately found a Red Cap, and showed him his first-class ticket. The baggageman greeted him pleasantly, “Good morning, boss. Hop in,” and took the one suitcase Elias was carrying, placing it onto the rear deck of his cart.

Elias was barely settled into his seat when the Red Cap floored the pedal and the electric cart shot forward. With a series of long beeps on the horn, the man expertly maneuvered the cart, weaving through the maze of people and luggage, scooting blithely past the long line of passengers waiting at the gate for permission to board the train.

“What’s your name?” Elias asked, shouting over the whine of the cart and the noise of the terminal.

“Barton,” he answered without turning his head. “Willis Barton.”

“I’m Elias Charon.”

“Mister Charon,” Barton yelled as he swerved the cart into an access tunnel at full speed, missing the concrete wall by mere inches, “a fine and proper French name. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll shake your hand after you’re finished driving.” Elias was gripping the edge of the canopy above his head to stop himself from sliding out of the vehicle.

Barton tilted back his head and barked out a laugh. “Fair enough, Mister Charon. Fair enough.”

They exited onto the platform next to the blue and silver train. Barton swerved to make room for another Red Cap to pass, the tires of the cart coming so close to the edge of the concrete that Elias was certain they were going to plunge down onto the empty track. Successfully completing the slalom maneuver, Barton continued heading toward the front of the train, passing the observation car, the club car, and the dining car, and coming to a stop at the first sleeper.

Barton slid off his seat and grabbed the single suitcase from the back. “Here we are.”

Elias swung around and planted his feet on the concrete, standing slowly. “Is this my sleeper?”

“Yes, sir, it is. You got the best car on the train.”

“Why is that?”

“It’s the closest one to the dining car and the farthest from the engine. Bedroom E is six inches bigger than the others on the car. And, best of all, your attendant is my brother, Napoleon.”

Elias, a frequent train rider, was accustomed to the pervasive nepotism in the ranks, at least in the service roster of the train employees. Frequently, the attendants, once called porters, were third- or even fourth-generation employees, their grandfathers working for the railroads then owned by Santa Fe, Burlington Northern, Union Pacific, or the fallen flag of the Southern Pacific, and many times bringing the entire family into the profession.

“I’ll go fetch him,” Barton promised, disappearing through the open door of the car.

As he waited, Elias took in the sights, sounds, and smells which had always brought him pleasure: the throbbing hum of the engines, the smell of the diesel exhaust, and the look of the train itself poised on the track. Despite his ever-present malaise, Elias detected a faint tremor of excitement as he contemplated climbing aboard for the second leg of his journey.

He was shaken from his pleasant meditation when he heard Barton emerge from the sleeper car. “I found him, but he’s still trimming himself up. I’ll take you up to your room.”

Elias smiled at Barton. “Thanks, but I know the way and I think I can still handle my suitcase.”