“Good morning, Mr. McCabe. What do you believe?”
Mac scanned the room. Things began to take shape – a square room large enough to be a living room, spartan, with only his twin bed, a couple of chairs, and a small dining table off to his left. The floor was light blue-and-yellow printed linoleum with the odd choice of rag rugs, one under the table and chairs, and the other at the foot of the bed. The walls were painted institutional green. On the wall opposite the bed, directly in front of him, was a Warner Sallman portrait of Jesus. In the corner stood a brass floor lamp. On his right was a nightstand with a small lamp, a glass of water, and three pill bottles. In the left rear corner was an open door to a full bathroom. The scene reminded him of his great-grandmother’s house, except there were no gridded windows with floral drapes, and there was only one exit door, which led to what looked like a hallway. In fact, there were no windows at all. And it was hard to see the hallway from the vantage point of Mac’s bed. It didn’t look like much of a hospital room. But Mac wasn’t sure what to expect after he’d been gone so long.
What do you believe? The question sounded perfunctory, like someone asking how are you? or how’s it going? But Mac was still a little foggy about the past day or so. Crash landings can do that. Mac was not in any condition to answer questions, let alone one like this. How was he supposed to answer? So, Mac smiled and waved his hand weakly.
“I believe it’s a miracle I’m still alive,” Mac muttered.
A young man he assumed was a male nurse smiled and said, “Good enough for now, I suppose. Indeed, it is, Mr. McCabe. Just rest now and we’ll have you on your feet soon.”
Mac couldn’t remember much about the crash, or the moments leading up to it. Yet, the last ten years of his life were taking shape in his mind. The mission to Proxima Centauri had not been trouble free, to say the least. Most of the journey took place at near-light speed, with a mostly routine pre-choreographed existence, punctuated by boredom, self-doubt, and anxiety. He had arrived back on Earth 85 years in its future, give-or-take, but he was only about a decade older. He was among the first to experience what time dilation felt like. No matter how much he was prepared for it intellectually, it was still a shock to his system. He could only hope all the data the crew had gathered was still intact.
The question rattled around Mac’s brain. What do you believe? What could such a question mean? What did he miss in the last 80 years? How was he expected to answer? Was this a test? Did his fate somehow depend on his beliefs? Given the direction things had been going when he lifted off, it seemed possible that certain beliefs were now more important than others. The words, I believe what I saw, came to mind. About that, he had no doubts. But he kept that answer in his head.
The ship was cheered, the harbor cleared… the line from “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” slid into Mac’s consciousness. His mission was not just a journey to the nearest star system, but a test of a revolutionary star drive. That was worth cheering. His crewmates were hailed as heroes – a decade – or 85 years – ago, depending on one’s frame of reference.
Why wasn’t his return at least acknowledged? Surely, someone remembered who he was, but he felt like just another patient. Absolutely no effort was made to welcome him home, much less give him a hero’s welcome. And more alarming to Mac, no one asked about his crew. There was no concern, much less cheer. The star drive had worked. One of the greatest scientific advancements of all time. Near light speed. Humans had visited another planet over four light-years away and he had lived to tell everyone about it. But all anyone could ask him was, what do you believe?
It wasn’t until the next morning that Mac saw what he assumed was a doctor. The man greeted him with a cheery, “What do you believe?”
All Mac could come up with was, “I believe I’m thankful to be here.”
“You should be, Mr. McCabe,” the man replied. “I apologize. I’m Donald Graham. I suppose your head injury is making things a little fuzzy. You will remember who I am in God’s time.”
“How could I remember you, Dr. Graham? I’ve been away for three or four generations. You could be my great-great grandson for all I know.”
“That’s good one, Mr. McCabe!” Graham chuckled. “I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re some kind of celebrity too.”
“Well, I am. I was on the Star-Seeker mission. You know…to Proxima Centauri. The first working SLW drive, or star-drive as we called it. There were twelve of us. We worked in pairs, in one-month rotations. It was dangerous to sleep too long so we took breaks. I know that’s a strange thing to say, but that’s what we did. Surely, you’ve heard of the mission.”
Graham responded matter-of-factly, “That mission failed a long time ago. The ship lost contact after it left Earth. Those people were doomed. It’s in all the history books. A great example of scientific hubris. If men were destined to travel to the stars, the Bible would have said so. I’m afraid you were in a car accident, Mr. McCabe.”
“But I’m back. We went to Proxima Centauri. But most of the crew stayed. There’s a new Earth out there, Mr. Graham. It’s habitable. Just get the data from the Star-Seeker lander. Clarke and I…”
“I’m sorry. Your passenger was killed in the accident, Mr. McCabe. You must be having post-traumatic delusions. It’s easy to confuse dreams with reality. Maybe you read about those benighted souls before your accident and their story is still fresh in your mind. Naturally, you want to forget about the crash itself, and your mind has substituted an alternative version of reality.”
“That can’t be. Where’s my jumpsuit? My helmet? My AR glasses? My wrist computer?”
“None of those exist, Mr. McCabe. I’m sorry. Perhaps in a few days you’ll come back to reality.”
“But I’m telling the truth. The flight was real. My friends were real. Proxima B is habitable. There’s a little settlement. Nine decided to stay on Proxima. I’m sure they’ve tried to contact Earth by now. One died when his pod failed – Mendez. Clarke and I sent regular transmissions.”
“There is no record of any messages after the first week of the Star-Seeker mission. All were presumed lost.”
“But I was on the crew. Look up Joseph McCabe, nickname, Mac. I’m the commander.”
“A man by that name was the commander. I admit what we have here is quite a coincidence. But that Joseph McCabe is long dead. Maybe you’ve fallen into this delusion because you share his name. The sooner you realize the mission failed, the sooner your memory might return.”
“Look, Dr. Graham. I remember everything. And I remember it well. We powered up the drive the day after we left the orbital assembly station. The field formed as designed, and we were on our way. The data recorder…”
“There. Is. No. Data recorder, Mr. McCabe. Only what’s left of your car. I think we’d better end this conversation for the time being. You need to get some rest. I’ll come back tomorrow. What do you believe?”
“I believe I went to Proxima Centauri.”
“I know you do. But you didn’t. You obviously need more time to heal. Rest now.” Graham left.
For a moment, Mac wondered if Graham was really a doctor. Maybe he was a psychiatrist. Maybe Graham was just there to gaslight him. The journey certainly felt real. Current circumstances didn’t add up.
“I saw what I saw,” Mac muttered as he drifted off to sleep.
As Mac woke up, he remembered Clarke didn’t die in the crash. She died well before re-entry. Kayla died before they reached Mars’ orbit. Her body was still on board the Star-Seeker, orbiting the moon. And why didn’t anyone answer his repeated transmissions? He tried to announce his return. He asked for help. Was he really in a car accident? It didn’t make sense. Maybe he was delusional.
The male nurse left the door ajar before Graham arrived the next day. He overheard the question, “What do you believe?”
The young man replied simply, “Christ is Lord!”
Mac had at least part of an answer to his questions. But for the time being he decided to plead ignorance – to play dumb, as they used to say 85 years ago.
“What do you believe?” Graham asked in a cheery tone.
“I believe I’m still pretty confused,” Mac offered.
“How so?”
“Yesterday, you told me I was in a car accident. But I don’t remember driving a car. I remember the lander losing power and ditching in the bay. I remember seeing Australia on the way in. Baja California…a thrust-vectoring failure. I lost consciousness. Then…”
“Calm down, Mr. McCabe. I know these things all seem real, but they’re not. I was afraid this would happen. Here are a handful of photos of you and the car at the accident site. There’s even a photo of your companion – Clarke, I think you called her – if you can stand to look at it.”
Graham showed Mac a photo of a broken and lifeless middle-aged woman.
“That’s not Kayla!” Mac shouted. “I don’t know who that is, but it’s not my…umm, crewmate. She died saving my life. I wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t decided to…”
“I know this is hard. Your delusion is deeper than I thought. Do you mind if I say a prayer?”
Mac paused for 10 seconds. After he regained composure he replied quietly, “It wouldn’t hurt. Please go ahead.”
Graham bowed his head. Mac followed suit. “Dear God. We beseech thee to heal our brother, Joseph McCabe. Be ever-present in his hour of need. Restore him to good health. Clear his mind of its confusion. Help him understand where he is and who he is. We ask it in Jesus’ name. Amen.”
Mac remained silent. He kept his eyes closed and thought to himself: I sure as hell know I’m on Earth and I’m certain my name is Joseph McCabe. I also know I loved Kayla more than life itself. It should have been me. Now I need to figure out where I’m being held and what the hell happened while I was away.
“Are you alright, Mr. McCabe?”
“I’m feeling a little better, I think,” Mac lied.
“Praise Jesus!”
“Thanks for the prayer, Dr. Graham. Or is it, Mr. Graham?”
“It’s Mr. Graham. You can call me, Don.”
“Alright, Don. Could you find a way I can read about what really happened to the Star-Seeker mission? Maybe that might help. Is there a report I could read, or a video I could watch?”
“I’m afraid we don’t have any video of the mission. We do have historical text files though. It’s strange you should ask about video. That form of record-keeping is no longer in use, but you should know that. Your delusion is drawing on false memories even as you ask for more information. Let me see what I can do. Perhaps an accurate account will help. I’ll bring a playback book later today. What do you believe?”
“I believe I owe you a debt of gratitude for trying to help me,” Mac still did not feel like completing the expected exchange.
“Mr. McCabe, admitting you need help is a good sign. I’ll be back after lunch.”
At that moment, Mac decided he had to get out of this place. It was the only way he would be able to tell for certain what was real and what was not. He suspected whatever Graham might bring him to read or see was revised history, or at least ignorant of the real Star-Seeker mission. How could a trillion-dollar mission be written off as…what was the word Graham used? Benighted? And why did he say humans were not destined to go to the stars? Clearly, Mac did not share the same belief system as his…counselor.
Mac got up and walked around the room. He tried the door. It was locked. He looked for cameras, but didn’t find any. He tried a few calisthenics. Very few. He tired easily. But old habits die hard. He had exercised 4 hours a day on the mission. He and Kayla. Together. God, he missed her. Another thing came back to his memory. If he had asked Kayla, “What do you believe?” She would have said, “I believe I love you, Mac.” Greater love has no man, or woman, than to give her life for her friend, Mac reflected. “I believe I love you too, Kayla.”
After his attempted workout, Mac rested. After what seemed like half an hour, the male nurse brought him lunch.
Before the kid could ask him what he believed, Mac blurted out, “Look, I don’t even know your name. I’m Joe McCabe. You can call me, Mac.”
The young man looked startled. “I’m…Joshua Daniel Jones, but you can call me, J.D.”
“That wasn’t so hard, was it, J.D.?”
“No, Mister…Mac.”
“That’s better. Tell me J.D., what do you believe?”
“Christ is Lord!”
“Ah, yes. It’s coming back to me.” Mac lied again.
“Praise God!”
“Well, not all of it yet, J.D. Maybe you better save a little praise for later. I know I’m going to.”
“Oh. Certainly. We can praise God at any time.”
“I don’t doubt that. Tell me, are there any women nurses in this place?”
“Of course not. That’s a strange question. In this profession…well, healing in general…there are no women allowed. You should know that.”
“Right. I was just checking.”
“Good. We all know a woman’s place is…”
“In the home?”
“Yes. Taking care of the little ones and keeping the hearth. Your memory must be returning.”
“I hope so.”
“Praise Jesus for that.”
“J.D., would you be willing to tell me more to help jog my memory?”
“Well…I’m not supposed to, but if you believe it’s helping…”
“I believe it is. Maybe God wants you to help me regain my memory.” Mac lied…again. He also believed there was no other way to figure out what was going on than to play a little game of poker.
“It is possible I could be God’s instrument.”
“Tell me more about what you believe. And how you became a nurse.”
“I’m not a nurse. I’m a healer’s assistant. You ought to know the job hasn’t been called nursing for a long time.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s right. As it shouldn’t be.”
“Right.”
“Tell me, J.D. What happens if a person says he or she doesn’t believe?”
“You should know that too. I don’t even like to talk about it.”
“You know I’m having trouble remembering. So, you don’t even have to pretend I don’t know.”
“Well…Mac, if a person doesn’t believe, or if he puts some other God before God Almighty, he will live a hard life. All the good jobs are for believers. You know, Christians. The rest must make do with whatever they can find. If they’re fortunate, they can subsist on bread lines, or a church congregation might take pity on them, but most end up in the walled enclaves…”
“What are you doing, Brother Jones!?” Donald Graham strode through the door.
“Just trying to jog Mac’s…Mr. McCabe’s memory, Sir.”
“Well, that’s enough of that for now. What do you believe?”
“Christ is Lord!” J.D. exclaimed.
“You may leave now, Brother Jones,” Graham spoke curtly.
“The kid was just trying to help. Don’t be too hard on him.”
“Mr. McCabe, what do you believe?”
“Umm…Christ is Lord.”
“Do you truly believe that?”
“As much as is possible for a flawed man like me.”
“Not a bad answer.”
—–
Mac spent the rest of the day listening to an account of the Star-Seeker mission from the playback book. Graham’s interpretation seemed to be confirmed in the official record. He and his entire crew were declared “lost” about 8 days into the flight. No attempts were made to search for them or launch another mission. According to the recording, he and his crew were honored, thoughts and prayers went out to their families, and the entire space program was cancelled. Earth was declared the only home God intended for mankind, and further exploration of space was prohibited. Soon, all non-essential satellites were deactivated, and all telescopes were dismantled. Most scientific research was considered “too dangerous” and “unsuitable,” therefore “impermissible.”
The recordings on the playback book reminded Mac of Francesco Sizzi, a 17th Century astronomer who argued against Galileo, “The satellites [Jupiter’s moons] are invisible to the naked eye and therefore can have no influence on the earth, and therefore would be useless, and therefore do not exist.”
After Mac and his crew left Earth, apparently the majority agreed to close their eyes to the study of the cosmos. Yet just because planets orbiting other stars are far away doesn’t mean they do not exist.
What else happened? Mac searched for the history of the last 80 years. Nothing. Maybe young J.D. would help. Maybe he could get out of this…whatever this was.
—–
“Hello, J.D. What do you believe?” Mac began on a positive note.
“Christ is Lord! And what do you believe?”
“Christ is Lord.”
“I see you’re feeling better. Praise God!”
“Thanks to Mr. Graham providing the playback book, I’m now up to date on the Star-Seeker mission. I must say, it was tragic.”
“Indeed, it was. Are you beginning to understand that there is no way you could have been a part of that?”
“I am.” Mac lied…again. He reflected that he might be headed to hell, but at least he might learn the truth before he packed his bags. “You know, J.D. What I’m still hazy about is how what we believe came to be so…dominant. Would you fill me in? I think I’m getting close to remembering.”
“I’m sorry…Mac. I’m not supposed to talk about anything other than helping you get well.”
“I really think it will help. For a while there, I couldn’t even remember what I believed, until you and Don stepped in.” Mac paused. “The playback book only provided the story of the Star-Seeker mission. But I think I need more information to jog my memory. I’m trying to pull everything together. Please, J.D. I’m counting on you.”
“Well, I can see how more sharing might help. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to give you the short version.”
“The short version it is, J.D.”
“All I know is what I learned in school. I suppose reciting that wouldn’t get me in trouble. The CRNA, Christian Republic of North America, was originally founded in 1787 as The United States of America. Our country was always intended to be a Christian nation, one based on Biblical principles. But, for over 250 years, the forces of evil did everything possible to undermine those principles. The nation was attacked by abolitionists, progressives, feminists, homosexuals, transexuals, liberals, socialists, communists, and other perversions of God’s will. For a time, the government tried to solve everyone’s problems, but as Saint Ronald predicted, the government itself turned out to be the problem. In the era of the internet, no one could tell what was true anymore. Things got so bad the country had to be re-constituted based on the original truth – Christ is Lord – and we share that today.”
“So, Christianity was mandated,” Mac tried to sound like he was realizing the truth.
“Now, you’re getting there. First, there was a Constitutional amendment repealing the religious test clause and mandating Christianity as the official national religion. But this was not enough. The forces of evil rebelled and had to be put down by force. At last, a Constitutional Convention was called, and a new document was forged, re-establishing the rights of men and restoring the privileges of normal people.”
“And by normal people, you mean people like us.”
“Absolutely. The right to vote was returned to men who own property. Do you own property, Mac?”
“I don’t…remember, J.D.” Mac tried to sound sincere.
“You will get there, Mac. Have faith.”
“I do.” Mac lied…again. He could feel the fires of Hell warming up to him. But he knew more than he did a few minutes ago. “I’ve been wondering. Wouldn’t it be easy for someone to lie about what they believe?”
“Are you lying, Mac?”
“Of course not, J.D. I just wonder how a person could prove they aren’t lying.”
“Oh, that’s easy. We all carry Christian ID cards, like this.” J.D. showed Mac his card. “My photo ID shows I am in fellowship with a Sanctioned Christian Denomination. An SCD. In my case, it’s also a driver’s license, but the two can be separate. You know. For those who can’t drive or don’t want to drive.”
“I’m sorry. That was a silly question. I should have remembered…”
“Don’t apologize. You had a terrible accident.”
“What happened to my ID?”
“I’m told it was lost in the accident. They’re working on a replacement.”
“That’s a relief.” Mac paused. “One more thing, J.D. What about the internet? Was it shut down?”
“Yes…and no. Most of the world wide web was banned, along with thousands of perverted books and authors. But remnants of that Satanic technology live on. Even as we speak, the Network Security Force is shutting down private networks and rounding up users. None of them are true believers, anyway. Most will end up in prison or exiled to the walled enclaves.”
“What about other countries?”
“I learned this in school. The Charter of 2084 established non-aggression between five large autonomous zones. Eurasia, Southeast Asia, North America, South America, and Africa. It was agreed that trade would continue, but no political, economic, social, or military interference would be tolerated. It would be four against one if that ever happened.”
“Are we doing alright with that?”
“Well, there haven’t been any wars since then.”
“And we are a Christian Nation.”
“That’s right. I think this is helping, don’t you, Mac?”
“More than you know, J.D.”
“I’m glad to help. Praise Jesus!”
—–
Mac felt a little like Rip VanWinkle, except that he awakened in a land that had taken a giant step backward. No more space exploration. The world-wide web tightly controlled or banned, along with who knows how many books. And no one cared he had gone to Proxima Centauri. Or, if they did, they intended to gaslight him into believing he hadn’t. Nevertheless, he wasn’t sure J.D. was anything other than just a pawn in the game.
If the USA was now a theocracy, how was he going to make it? If he rebelled, he might stay incarcerated for the rest of his life. Yet, if he fell into line, he would have to deny everything he stood for. For now, Mac concluded he must at least appear to “recover,” to play along until he discovered what Graham planned to do with him. He wished Kayla was still with him. She was a rock. Always set him straight. Kayla had a low tolerance for bullshit. Mac loved that about her. Brains and beauty, with the ability to see through any situation and decide what must be done. She would have had Graham give her a grand tour of the nearest city by now. And J.D. would have no defense against her, even if she was “just a woman.” Kayla Clarke, M.D., Ph.D., would have given him a crash course on women’s accomplishments, at least prior to her sojourn in interstellar space.
But Mac was on his own now.
—–
“Has anyone contacted my family, J.D.? Are there any family members I can call, or you can call for me?”
“I don’t know, Mac. I can ask. But Mr. Graham won’t be in until tomorrow.”
“That’s alright. Maybe you could send him a message for me. I’m just curious. I can’t remember my family, but there must be someone, right? A relative, at least? And would you please check on my ID card?”
“I’ll send Mr. Graham a message. He hasn’t shared any family information with me. Maybe there is someone. Let me see what I can do.”
“Thank you, J.D. That’s very kind of you. God bless you.”
It occurred to Mac that J.D. was in the dark about anything Graham didn’t want him to know. The kid was no mastermind. He doubted whether Graham would share anything useful, at least until he thought it was time to introduce someone posing as a family member, to help convince him he never left Earth. Still, it was worth a shot, and he would learn something either way.
J.D. sent a message to Graham.
—–
To: Donald Graham
From: J.D. Jones
Joseph (Mac) McCabe asked me whether anyone in his family has been notified about his accident. Mr. McCabe has become stronger in the past few days. If he has someone, maybe that person could help him recover his memory. He also asked about his ID card. Just passing on his request. Thank you. Christ is Lord!
“We intercepted this message, Linda. Could this be your great-grandfather’s brother? We saw the fire trail a few days ago. The timeline matches. Maybe you should go check it out.”
“Where is he?”
“Donald Graham works at the Christian Rehabilitation Center. I hope he hasn’t brainwashed your great uncle.”
“If he’s a McCabe, he’s too hard-headed for that. I need some help, though. John, you’ll have to be the front man for this visit.”
—–
“Mr. Graham, I’m John Smith. This is my wife. What do you believe?”
“Christ is Lord!”
“Indeed!”
“Who are you?”
“I represent the Office of the Examiner of Religion. I’m here to interview Joseph McCabe.”
“I need to see your ID and credentials.”
Graham perused the documents. “I wasn’t aware someone would be here so soon. Mr. McCabe is still recovering from the accident. These seem to be in order, though.”
“I don’t know why they wouldn’t be. I’m doing God’s work, Mr. Graham. Now, would you please take me to see Mr. McCabe?”
“In my opinion, he needs more time to remember who he is.”
“I have received information that Mr. McCabe has made good progress. And I must verify his beliefs if I am to recommend a new ID card.”
“Alright, if you insist.”
“I do.”
Graham conducted the “Smiths” to Mac’s room. John told Graham and J.D. to wait outside and closed the door. Mac was seated at the table. J.D. had not yet cleared the breakfast dishes.
John began, “Mr. McCabe, I’m John and this is Linda. We may not have much time. It’s wonderful to see you sitting up.”
“Who are you people and why are you here?”
“Let me get right to the point. We believe you are Linda’s great-great uncle. If we’re wrong, I apologize. Were you a part of the Star-Seeker mission?”
“Yes. I was the commander. But nobody here believes me.”
Linda embraced Mac. “I believe you, Uncle Mac. Welcome home.”
“Thank God.”
“Thank J.D. – We read his message to Graham,” John interjected.
“Well, what now?” Mac asked tentatively.
“We told Graham we were from the Office of the Examiner of Religion. We are going to insist that you go with us for further questioning. Just play along. Make it look like you are contrite and willing to share everything you believe.” John paused. “What do you believe?”
“Christ is Lord!”
“Very good. You sound like you’ve been here all your life.”
—–
Graham vehemently objected, claiming he needed to make sure Mr. McCabe understood who he was first. He said he didn’t think Joseph was ready to leave yet. What he meant was he was unable to check their documents in the time he was given. In the end, Mac left with John and Linda.
Their car whirred fifty or sixty kilometers out-of-town, beyond an unoccupied zone towards a city-sized walled area.
“Isn’t that where atheists are exiled?” Mac pointed to the wall.
Linda replied, “Yes and no. That is where people are forced to live when they don’t believe exactly what the state says they must believe. But you might find that doesn’t mean what you think it does.”
“How so, great-great niece?”
“For one thing, we picked up your transmissions as you approached Earth. For another, we follow lots of messaging. We know about the Rehabilitation Center. We pieced together where you were being held based on reports of a massive fire trail in the sky a few days ago and reading J.D.’s message to Graham. I’m sure he doesn’t know how helpful he was.”
“If you picked up my signals, why didn’t you contact me?”
“We like to keep our capabilities secret.”
The car was waved through a gate. Inside there were rows of dilapidated buildings – store fronts, apartments, town houses. The place looked like a slum where nobody in their right mind would want to live. All that was visible from the gate led Mac to believe he had made a huge mistake. Linda told him to take a breath. The car sped around one block, then another, and another. Then into a giant parking structure surrounded by what appeared to be other uninhabitable buildings. Mac wondered if people were living in the garage. They continued down three levels to an underground staging area.
“Just in time to catch the train,” John observed.
“To where?” Mac inquired.
“To EPU. The train will take us to the southeastern walled enclave,” Linda replied. “There are only about five hundred people living above us, but the regional enclave of EPU is a short high-speed rail ride through that tunnel. About twenty thousand live there, including some of your descendants.”
“So, you can receive signals from space, hack private messages, fake top-level IDs, and travel underground by mag-lev rail?”
“Among other things,” John replied. “It’s amazing what people can accomplish if they work through problems rationally rather than ideologically. EPU has extensive hydroponic agriculture, fusion reactors, and its own secure private network. You’ll also find we’re not destitute.”
“We live a separate existence from the theocracy around us,” Linda added.
“And they don’t check on you?”
“Not often and not more than a cursory glance,” Linda continued. “We live in plain sight. Who would want to check what’s going on in what appears to be a wasteland, especially if they’re blinded by their presumptions of superiority? The Christian Republic of North America has no need to spy on non-believers. After the government decides that someone does not believe the right way, they become an outcast – literally. The CRNA has built hundreds of miles of walls around us.”
“What about the bread lines and charity cases I heard about?”
“They just say that to scare people into believing,” John answered.
“Does it work?” Mac asked.
“Not as well as they think.”
Before long the train glided into a station. Above the station was a vast atrium, overlooked by glass-walled dwellings or more-or-less comparable size – not palatial, but certainly clean and comfortable. It looked like no one had ostentatious wealth. Mac was struck by the difference between the 1950’s-style Rehabilitation Center and the style of EPU, reminiscent of Buckminster Fuller’s Skybreak designs. Plants were integrated into the architecture, and it seemed everyone had a role in maintaining the city.
“Is this utopia?” Mac ventured.
“No, Uncle Mac,” Linda replied. “EPU is a communitarian society. Community needs here are just as important as individual rights. We believe that no matter what you believe you must first agree to work together towards the common good. There is no room here for someone who only cares about what’s in it for them. Before you ask, the self-serving types tend to become officials and lackeys for the CRNA. Their god is no more than a front for their desires.”
“I was afraid it would come to that someday. Tell me, what does EPU stand for?”
“E PLURIBUS UNUM,” Uncle. “Welcome home!”
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