Thomas Sniegoski - A Hundred Words for Hate

And then he saw it.

It was totally out of place in the harsh desert surroundings, a white bubble . . . a dome, looking as though it had erupted up from the dry brown earth . . . a kind of boil on the flesh of the bleak desert skin.

As the plane banked to the left in its descent, he saw how large it actually was, the white dome even having its own runway. The private jet came in for a landing, smoothly touching down and rolling to an eventual stop.

The pilot emerged from the cabin with a gracious smile, opening the door and extending the steps. Remy unbuckled his seat belt and stood.

“Thank you,” he said, and the pilot touched the rim of his cap as Remy exited the plane. There was something in the man’s eyes that told him he too was a Son of Adam, something that said he had lived upon this world far longer than normal men.

The desert heat was stifling as Remy walked down the steps to the runway. There was a van waiting for him, and he saw Jon, no longer dressed in his heavy New England-winter clothing, but now wearing chinos and a white short-sleeved shirt.

Jon had the look in his eyes, as did the others who had accompanied him to Boston earlier this morning.

Remy had known about the Sons for many, many years: direct descendants of the first man, they exhibited longevity uncommon to most humans, almost as if they had a special purpose. Most had sworn an oath to care for their seemingly eternal ancestor, forming a kind of secret community around him.

The Sons believed that their most holy ancestor had been wrongly accused by God, and waited for the day when the Almighty would see the error of His ways, and allow His first creation to return to Paradise.

As Jon approached, hand outstretched, Remy had to wonder if the rift with the Daughters of Eve had ever been mended. That was a bit of a mess that had gone on for centuries, and might still be going on, for all he knew.

“Mr. Chandler,” Jon said as they shook hands. “Thank you again for coming.”

“No problem,” Remy said, following the man to the waiting van.

“Pretty impressive,” he added, eyeing the dome in the distance as he prepared to get into the air-conditioned vehicle.

“Wait till you see it from the inside,” Jon said as he turned the van around on the runway and onto a road that would bring them to the fenced area surrounding the half bubble bulging up from the desert.

“I can’t wait,” Remy said as they drove closer. “Is this where the Sons are living now?”

“Some of us,” Jon said as he rolled down the window as they approached a high gate. He removed a key card from his shirt pocket and slid it into the face of a metal security box atop a post, and the gates began to slide apart to grant them access.

“Over the years some of us have decided to go out into the world, occasionally returning when necessary, but a large majority of us remain together, looking after Adam’s needs.”

Jon brought the van alongside the great dome and got out. Remy followed, standing alongside the man as they approached what Remy imagined was an entrance.

There was a keypad on this door as well, and Jon again used his card to grant them access.

“After you,” he said, gesturing for Remy to step inside as the door slowly slid open with a hydraulic hiss. Doing as told, Remy immediately noticed the temperature difference from outside.

“The electric bill must be enormous,” Remy said jokingly.

“We supply all our own power here,” Jon said, heading down a corridor. “If you weren’t aware, this is a biosphere, a self-sustaining environment all beneath this dome.”

“Nice,” Remy said.

“We do research here in energy, agricultural genetic engineering, and alternative medicine, as well as some excursions into the fringe sciences,” Jon explained.

“I always wondered what you guys did for fun,” Remy commented slyly. Jon didn’t appear to be all that up on sly.

“We hold a number of very profitable patents that allow us to live the life of seclusion our order requires,” he said as they passed through another door into a circular atrium. The room was white, blindingly so, and very cold and antiseptic—not at all what Remy would have expected of an order that had existed for so many thousands of years.

There were multiple doors surrounding them, and Jon gestured to one in particular. “You’ll be going in there,” he said, the door sliding open on its own as they approached.

Passing through the door, Remy could see nothing but green, the air so thick with humidity that for a moment it was almost difficult to breathe.

“It’s beautiful,” he said, looking around at the equivalent of a tropical rain forest in the middle of a desert. The rich colors were stimulating to the eye, brightly colored birds flitting around above them, their joyous cries reminding the Seraphim of a familiar place from so very long ago.

“It’s our temporary piece of Paradise,” Jon said, looking around the jungle. “And hopefully, someday soon . . . with your help . . . we’ll be able to have the real thing.”

“Maybe,” Remy answered him, uncomfortable with how to respond. As far as he understood, the first of humanity had been banished from Eden for their sins against God, and the Garden of Eden was cut loose from reality to prevent it from becoming a beachhead during the war with Lucifer and his followers, but then again, maybe there was something he didn’t know.

Remy hoped that this meeting with Adam would help clear up some things.

“The one you need to speak with is down there,” Jon said, pointing down the length of the path that disappeared into the thick jungle foliage.

“You’re not part of this meeting?” Remy asked.

Jon shook his head. “This is not the place for someone like me. I’ll see you after.”

He turned away, leaving Remy alone in the man-made jungle, alone in this attempt to re-create the Garden of Eden on Earth.

Remy followed the path into the shadows, pushing aside the leathery leaves that blocked his way. Something squawked loudly as he stepped out into a clearing, and he looked up to see a large parrot perched upon a thick branch, peering down at him with one beady eye, its head cocked at a bizarre angle.

“No fear,” he told the parrot, reassuring the colorful jungle resident that he meant it no harm. The bird seemed to accept his word, going back to breaking open with its powerful beak the nut that it held in its taloned foot.

In the distance, beside an artificial stream, he saw the box. It appeared to be made mostly from clear plastic, and reminded him of a high-tech coffin. There was a housing for machinery that hummed softly that was attached to the back of the box, which was standing in an upright, vertical position. Remy could see that there was something— someone —inside the box as he came up alongside it.

Peering inside, he saw the almost mummified body of a man, his thin, leathery dark skin pulled tight across his skull and body—as if his skeleton had been dipped in a brownish paint and that was all that covered his bones. His eyes were barely open, see-through, tinted goggles that appeared to provide moisture for the ancient orbs in his withered face.

Stepping closer to the front of the box, he could see that the man’s bare arms and legs were adorned with tubes that disappeared beneath the thin flesh like burrowing worms, a series of monitors on the front of the coffinlike box providing readouts on his health.

The box was helping to keep him alive.

“Hello, Adam,” Remy said sadly, placing the palm of his hand against the front of the plastic case.

If this could be called living.

Flashes of memory appeared before his mind’s eye as the nature of the Seraphim at the center of his being was stirred by the memory of the one within the box.