"I must inform the House of some immediate changes, undemocratic as this may sound. Genesis will still go ahead; it will have our total backing and support, but, I am damned if I am going to be the first world leader to be reflected in what little might be left of history, as a failure. And fail I almost did. In the pursuit of the answer I forgot the question, and I almost committed the most heinous of all crimes, genocide, the mass slaughter of almost all our children, and for this I most humbly apologise. Blue Project Plan A will continue in parallel with Plan B, even though fruitless so far, a broader spectrum of approach will start immediately, call it Plan C if you want, I personally don't give a damn what it's labelled.
"First things first, I have ordered the immediate withdrawal of all suicide pills circulated locally, and this directive will most definitely not be passed on globally. Within the hour I will speak with world faith leaders, the Pope, Dalai Lama and Arch Bishops, it would seem contradictory to attempt Genesis without their direct help, but I also want to speak with them about prayer. We all turn to it in times of tragedy and desperation, no matter how irreligious we might individually be, it therefore must be considered a tangible force, I want this force to be elevated to a mass instrument rather than a quiet private one; I will propose a collective unified church, it might only be for these last few days, but in these last few days no stone, no matter how bizarre, strange, magical, ridiculous or unscientific, will be left unturned.
"If we go down we go down fighting, it is our way; I want your ideas, if you don't have any I want you to go out on to the streets and find some, spread the word, people are an imaginative lot at all levels, tell them the world is fighting back by every method possible, and we need their help. Humanity has survived global wars, plagues, diseases on a nightmare scale that initially seemed insurmountable, we beat all those; we will beat this; humanity will survive. I want solutions, and I want them now, be back here in an hour with them or have a damned good reason why you're not."
They fled the House with an exhilaration and enthusiasm they hadn't felt for years, after all they had just been relieved of a death sentence, as had their loved ones. A few stayed to confer with each other, some even questioned the sanity of it all, but sanity was a word that had been redefined.
"We have radio communications with the Vatican," announced John to a much revitalised leader.
"Excellent, do we have a translator?"
"They have one their end."
"Good, remind me, how do I address him?"
"'Your Holiness,' but it's not important, most translators correct lapses in protocol unless otherwise instructed."
They hurried to her office. "Update me."
"The suicide pills hadn't been fully distributed. Those that have are being retrieved. There are no reports of any premature usage. Some countries are willing to support Genesis at a local level, they have no methods of transporting children and minders to these shores if these shores are the closest to the island; they are suggesting that their race be supported at a local level if possible, even if it is at a reduced number, as long as the ethnic children meet required criteria. If this isn't possible they're asking photographs and a script of their history be placed on the island in memory; they all send their blessings and prayers for success."
"Do we have enough power and flight capabilities to affect transportation from these countries?"
"I sincerely doubt it, but I will consult with the military on this possibility."
"Let's pray it doesn't come to that." She took a long deep breath to compose herself before speaking. "Your Holiness, my warmest greetings; forgive my haste but I have a few days to attempt the impossible; have you been briefed of my proposals?"
Reception was intermittent to say the least on this old shortwave transceiver, electronic bird whistles and outer space crackles faded in and out as if God Himself was trying to have a say, but through it all dialogue was established, translated, and on the whole successful. Confusion about a United Faith Church was explained as not a new faith, more recognised religions standing side by side in united prayer to all Gods. This message was relayed to all religions and faiths across the globe and not a single one had problems with the proposal.
In three hours all beliefs would unite in prayer. Where geographically possible physically side by side holding hands, if not then side by side in thought, at a spiritual level the world was united.
The House not so much reconvened but busied itself in small clusters of politicians proposing, relaying and discussing ideas. Security was low level as members of the public wondered almost freely in the main areas, some with ideas, some just in curiosity, and some with small children and hope. On the whole there were no problems, occasionally an over zealous or eccentric person had to be ushered out discretely, one in particular protested loudly, claimed he really did have a solution.
"Wait, what is the problem?" asked John.
"Everything's under control sir, he's just a little mad."
"With no disrespect may I be the judge of that?"
"Sir, he's proposing time travel. I think the House is busy enough."
"Let him speak."
The young man angrily released himself from the guards grip, glared at him as he redressed his dishevelled clothing, turned to the secretary. "Time travel exists; ask the leader, it is a fact that I know, the military are notorious for suppressing such information. I don't know the specifics but if we can send someone back, or if that's not possible, send back evidence, photographs, records, current data, who won the 2006 world cup, whatever, but communicate with the past in some way then we might be able to arrest these past blunders and rewrite history."
The guard rolled his eyes, but the secretary was deep in thought.
"Ok, let's just think about this, we send back a message assuming we can, and assuming they correct the historical mistakes we suggest, why are we having this conversation?"
"Oh man, have you never watched a single science fiction movie in you life? There are parallel time lines. We are somewhere else right now sitting in a park listening to the birds sing."
"Come with me." The secretary brought the man to the office leaving the bewildered guard shaking his head.
"Does time travel exist?" John asked D.
"I am not aware of it, or any project working on it." She looked at the young man and had the situation sussed. "Wait," she asked pressing a button on her desk, "Get me Franklin… I don't care how busy he is, get me him now."
There was a short pause with all three lost in imagination and credibility before she reacted to a reply.
"Do we have time travel capability...? Damn you, you bastard don't laugh at me; I'm trying to save the lives of your wife and children." There was a long one sided conversation at the end of which she thanked him.
She turned to the young man. "I can most definitely assure you that time travel does not exist within my government, or, to the best of our knowledge, any other power, much as I wish it did at this moment. I do however thank you for your idea. Is there anything else we can do for you?"
The young man nodded, but not in affirmation, mumbled some thanks and left a little awkwardly.
"Update me."
"No pertinent developments," the secretary stated.
"Do I need to address the House?"
"They seem quite busy."
"Good." She paused as if it were needed to switch off some enforced high level of concentration. "Not even one of those small plastic bottles of whiskey you used to get on flights?"
John smiled, "I'll find you something if I possibly can."
The door knocked and a guard entered. "A young boy wants to speak with you?"
"Zak?"
"I'm sorry; I don't know."
"Show him in."
It wasn't Zak, but a red haired boy a few years older. "Do come in. How can I help you? Or, hopefully, how can you help me?"
"I know how to regenerate ozone," was his simple reply.
"Go on."
"Salt," he stated with an air of arrogance as if further explanation should not be necessary.
"I'm open to more information."
"Have you heard of salt lamps?" the boy enquired.
"Are they those orange rock lamps you sometimes see in peoples' homes?"
"Yes," replied the boy raising an eyebrow in unexpected surprise at the expanse of her knowledge. "They ionise the air, I believe an increase in negative ions could assist the oxygen ozone regeneration."
"Well as this may be true I fail to see how table lamps at a ground level are going to generate enough ionised air to reinforce the ozone layer 20 kilometres up."
"10 to 40 kilometres up actually," asserted the boy, "and I'm not foolish enough to suggest that lamps could possibly do enough. But, what about the Himalayan salt mines? Turn the whole mine into a lamp. Light a bonfire in the heart of the mines, the effect won't be immediate, but keep it going and it will certainly affect the ozone layer, after all, they're high enough to be in the stratosphere."
"The peaks are but are the mines?" The boy fumbled, raised an eyebrow, he wasn't used to being cerebrally outgunned by a female. "Come, I want you to talk to my Blue Project staff. I feel your idea a tad fanciful, but I have a 'no stone unturned' policy, if you can convince them it could help you have a go ahead, a bonfire isn't going to exhaust resources, and if nothing else it would be a hell of a sight. I have an inside man in the area too, the Dalai Lama, you don't by any chance speak Tibetan?"
He returned her glance, raised an eyebrow, "Which dialect?"
She left him to put his theory to a Blue Project scientist, another red head, perhaps if the idea, surreal as it sounded, could convince her, and produce positive results, the two would become the Adam and Eve of the new Bible, appendix 2; although playing Cupid was really just a momentary whim. The leader left them together and talked deeply with the Project leader, still only a state of erratic balance was being monitored in the stratosphere; they even had a name for it: leaky bucket syndrome. The situation was exasperating; it was becoming a question of which would happen first, exhaustion at a political and scientific level, or global wipe out. D left engaging a gear that wasn't in the gearbox, running on empty had reached a higher level.
"There's a rather dishevelled, once famous I'm reliably informed, rock star wishing to see you. Something about a concert I believe. Shall I show him in?"
"I haven't had time to play an mp4 in ages. Which one is it?"
"He goes by the name of Dog Biscuit I'm informed," claimed John rather uncomfortably.
"No stone," she stated. The secretary gave her an enquiring look. "Show him in, there's nothing left to lose."
Her thoughts had time to wonder only long enough before an unshaven Irishman wearing dark glasses greeted her, not so much verbally but with the broadest smile she'd seen in a long time.
"Thank you for your time and visit Mr. Biscuit, please forgive me, I haven't had a lot of time for the arts, and I must confess I'm unfamiliar with your music."
"Please call me Dog, and it's me that should humbly thank you, saviour of the planet."
"If only, if only; I will not insult your intelligence with false hopes, it is not looking good... Now, what can I do for you?"
"A concert, the healing power of music, I am sure it will have great and beneficial effects for our mutual desires, the world whole again as one, in harmony."
"If only it were as simple as another massive benefit concert, no disrespect intended to you or your co-performers, but wonderful as past concerts have been for the young I fail to see how music can correct the weather. And quite simply Mr. Dog, we just can't spare the power you would require for such an event."
"Who said massive?" he replied. There was something intoxicating about his irreverent smile, something mysterious about this rock star, the dark glasses indoors, the way he held himself, leaning back proud; days before Armageddon anyone who could smile must have some ethereal quality. He picked up on her thoughts, "Sometimes the image overtakes the reality, and when that happens in my business, the image becomes the reality; I would feel incomplete in public without my shades, it would only disappoint my fans; like yourself we have our duties to the public... I don't need your valuable power; that can be better addressed to other needs; but I do need your permission."
"You have me at a loss."
"The concert can be acoustic, no power required, except that of the artists, their creation, the power of their song; and the power of belief, that of the audience; and the power of nature, Mother. I would like myself and some fellow artists to perform an 'At one with nature, please forgive us' concert, in the only way possible left to be close to nature, in the city green houses. I am positive that if we are at one with Mother Nature, we can all benefit, we can unify as one, and correct this madness. I'm informed that soon there will be the power of prayer, then why not the power of song, for the benefit of mankind?"
"No disrespect to your gender Mr. Dog but I prefer the word 'humanity,' and… 'cool,' if that is the current hip term, as your idea might be to you, I cannot in anyway endanger the green houses to a mass gathering of… well what is basically a party of well doers. No, it's out of the question. By all means do have your concert some starlit night, your acoustic gathering, enjoy what might be your last days on earth in the ways best fitting to your pop culture, but do not ask me to risk our last vegetables and flowers, and let us be perfectly frank here, concerts, youth concerts, do not have the best behavioural records."
"Dog, not Mr. Dog, and humanity, you're right, please forgive centuries of my sex oppressing yours. But a concert outside, near or beside will have no healing power whatsoever, it has to be 'as one with nature,' nothing else will work, can work, or come close. I am not talking thousands here, ten or twelve musicians, twenty five, thirty select, sensible, beautiful people, organic farmers, faith healers, druids, complimentary therapists, naturalists, just some new age people in love with nature, Mother will hear them; we just want to hug some trees; we just want to say 'Hello', maybe even 'Goodbye', but most of all, 'Forgive us'."
"You know I can't risk this; I can't authorise this."
"At the first sign of trouble let a guard shoot me down dead. That is how confident I am of the pure peace intent of this project."
"That is one mistake I most definitely will not be ordering again," she sighed, rubbed her temples, fatigue was taking over.
"With your permission," Dog stepped closer, behind her, gently supported her shoulders and neck, took her weight upon his body, massaged tense tortured muscles, absorbed her pain, tried to take away the tragedy ripping through her head. It was a long, long time since anything had felt so natural, good, useful, so comforting, maybe it was against all rules of protocol, but just for a few moments she let herself fall to his bohemian touch, just melted away from this impossible job for a few seconds, let the insanity of a hundred years of governmental blundering, dumped, upon her shoulders, disappear, or at least, appear to. The door opened like an axe.
"Ten minutes before the united faith prayer, I'm sure you'll want to address the House beforehand," said the secretary. If there was any surprise at the intimacy of the situation he showed no outward sign of it.
"Two minutes, I'll be there," D replied, followed by a sigh. Dog didn't stop, just slowly eased his touch, and softly kissed the top of her head as he let her return to reality. "Mr. Biscuit, are you flirting with a world leader?"
"Do you want me to?"
She smiled, "You should be a politician, always return a difficult question with another question. Are you a religious man?"
"I have some Gods I answer to."
"And Mother Nature is one of them."
"As is one of yours," he proposed.
"Please, take off your glasses," she asked. "Can you assure me not one vegetable or plant will be damaged?"
"With my life," he insisted.
"That much won't be necessary. You can have you concert tomorrow in 'one' green house. Do all you have to do but do it gently, and with respect, it is a finely balanced ecosystem, do nothing to upset it; twenty people, that includes both artists and audience, no more."
"I need thirty," he gently insisted.
"Twenty."
"Twenty five and it might work."
"This is not a bargaining situation here."
"Please, I need their energy, what harm will five more do?"
She paused. "You really do believe you can commune with Mother Nature?" He nodded. She looked deep into his eyes at his truth, there was so much powerful self belief inside this rough exterior, could it just be ego? "Ok," she replied, "Thirty. And I wish you every success. Now," she said, composing herself for another world, "shall we pray?"
And in the large governmental hall, a frantic historical twelve hours, ended quietly, reverently, apologetically. Most held hands with heads bowed, some chose to kneel, a few embraced, and a lone voice recited The Lord's Prayer; 'Amen's echoed in sympathy and some pondered the last line; three Buddhists sat on the carpet and chanted, some none Buddhists came and joined them in solidarity, elderly politicians are not renowned for their fitness but managed to cross their legs rather than attempt full lotus; heads of state and ordinary public stood side by side, old and young together, a world leader, her secretary, an enigmatic rock and roll star holding hands, praying to Mother, asking for a second chance.
And all across the world religions unified, Arabs in Synagogues, Christians in Mosques, Protestants and Catholics holding hands in Vatican Square as the Pope blessed them equally, there was nowhere in the night world in a populated quarter that you couldn't hear the ambient drone of a prayer coming from somewhere, and although drowned out by the storms in the day world, reports did come in from some parts, that the raging planet, did appear to ease, if only a little.
5. the fixer song