Future Farming Ch. 03

Future Farming

The ending to "Future Pharming"

This one has a bit more sex than Part I, but not much. It's in LW for continuity. Again, I consulted actual scientists, even though it's fiction. Besides, I've been in the food distribution business for thirty-five years. Knowing how and where literally all of our food is grown, slaughtered, and processed gives me a leg up on the details herein. Suspension of disbelief is important in such a heavy story. So, this story's future timeline is based on what could be possible, based on current, real-world facts.

This futuristic fictional story has changed the name of the chemical coating used on some of the fruit (avocados and tomatoes are also fruit) you buy at the market. The real name is 'Apeel' and I'd suggest you do some research on it. Try some of the articles from actual food scientists, not USA Today. More than half of the fruit producers nationally do not use it, so consumers have a choice - for now.

Relax; it's just a story, people.

From the ending of Future Pharming:

"Steve, it's Gabriela," her voice was barely above a whisper, and I couldn't be sure it was her. "Do not turn on any lights. I'm coming into the room, where are you?"

She'd heard me scramble. I didn't want to take the leap of faith, but I did. "I'm here at the door," I whispered back. Gabby entered her gun trained on me. She lowered her weapon and got right into my personal space.

"If you want to live," she said. "Come with me. Don't bring anything. We're leaving now. I have everything you need in the car."

****

The look she wore told me not to argue or hesitate. I only nodded as I followed her down the stairs and out of the house. As I started towards the driveway from my porch, she grabbed my elbow and sternly said, "No, this way."

We went out through my back gate into the alley, Gabby taking the lead. I followed her down two houses opposite mine, and we jumped over a small fence, then across the backyard, to a gate next to the neighbor's garage. She closed it carefully, and I followed her to a white 1965 Mustang GT, two-door sitting at the curb. We were now on the opposite block from my house and had evaded surveillance.

Gabby motioned for me to hop in the passenger seat, as she pulled a bag from the back. "Put these on and put your clothes in the bag." She ordered. I was only wearing my boxers and a T-shirt.

As Fontes pulled away from the curb, she began to fill me in. "We have about a two-hour head start," she said, "which isn't much. We need to cross the Mississippi in that window, and that's about an hour forty-five out. If I can get us at least sixty miles into Missouri we'll at least have a chance."

A chance at what?" I asked, very much in the dark.

"Tom, Agent Wilcox, and I," she started with a sigh, "We were supposed to bring you in this morning. You're officially a suspect in possible domestic terrorism."

"Why?" This wasn't unexpected, but I was shell-shocked that they'd go from surveillance to that extreme.

"Because" she stated emotionlessly, "you left your wife. More precisely, because she officially left you. The feds see you as a risk, because of your former wife, your skill set, and your proximity to others in your field. Stratagem has convinced the higher-ups that you pose a threat."

That last part hit home. "Have my friends been arrested?" I was steaming then.

"Not as far as I know," she replied. "But your little laptop stunt didn't help either you or them. Christmas Eve almost cost us everything."

"Cost who everything?" I questioned as another light came on. "Why are you helping me instead of arresting me?"

After a pause and another long sigh, Gabby continued. "Because we need you. I need you. Your expertise, to be exact. Steve, I'm now a fugitive too. That's a long story, but your life as you knew it was ending anyway, and where we're going your knowledge and skill could save millions of lives."

"Sounds familiar," I grunted. "We have plenty of time now, so explain it, so I can at least decide for myself. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for your help, but I'm not sure I want to get in any deeper than I already am."

I expected she'd tell me about some new medicine, or some interaction with medicines or vaccines already available. She shocked me with the real situation she wanted me to get into.

"My Father is Dr. Raul Fuentes," she told me. "We have different last names for just about any and every reason you could imagine. Mostly, so the government doesn't know we're related. He has a PhD in chemistry, a Masters in Analytical and Environmental Chemistry, and a BS in Geological and Earth science, from the National Autonomous University of Mexico.

"Early on, my father was adamantly critical," she went on, "of almost every environmental issue controlled or partnered with the US Government. I think he was already being labeled a quack before I was born, regarding stratospheric aerosol injection."

"What's that?" The woman was damned smart.

She giggled. "Sorry, a force of habit," she said with a wry smile. "I think you might know it better as cloud seeding, you know, chemtrails. It started long before any government officials admitted to it. They began testing in the mid-1940s and started making rain in 1957. Part of the problem with the soils in our heartland has to do with the metals used, and how they interact when they get into the soil and groundwater."

"I'm sorry," she was taking too long. "What has this got to do with me?"

"Patience, Steve," she scolded. "I'm getting there. Let me jump ahead and spare you the boring stuff that twenty-five percent of the world calls 'conspiracy theory.' After the Bill Yates' hearings and his subsequent imprisonment, my father received an urgent attaché from the federal government. Suddenly, instead of countless, ruthless smear campaigns, they asked him, literally begged him, the way he tells it, to help save the US farmlands."

"From what, exactly?" I asked.

"That's what he and his team of six thousand, give or take, are trying to discover." She paused a moment, choosing her words. "And that's what he needs your help with. It's not my field of expertise, so it will be better coming from him."

"And what exactly is your area of expertise," I asked with only a bit of sarcasm. "Besides sitting outside my home and working for the..."

"Formerly, worked," she corrected. "My immediate field of expertise will be keeping you safe... and happy. Oh yeah, and focused."

"Because lives depend on it," I replied with a chuckle.

"Gabby," I asked tentatively, unsure I wanted to know, "was my wife coerced by Stratagem?"

With a pitiful smile, she said, "No. As far as I can tell, she wasn't." There was more awkward silence.

"For what it's worth," Gabby said, almost lovingly. "I didn't see any malicious intent on Sarah's part."

"You've got to be kidding," I replied incredulously. "How can you see it as anything else? She knew what would happen. She knew the risks to our marriage, and she didn't give a shit about me."

"From your point of view, Steve," she corrected. "You're going to learn that it isn't just you that bases your beliefs on your life experiences. We all do. Sarah's entire career, her adult life has been dedicated to the sick - to saving lives. Why do you think companies like Stratagem look for volunteers in healthcare? They know too."

"Why are you defending her," I had a full head of steam then. "You make it sound as if she made the right choices."

"No," she replied, the pitiful look returning. "You asked if she was coerced. I told you no, because she has free will. She could have thought things through better. In the end, maybe what happened to her mother, and then to both of her parents, influenced her decisions. Maybe, she thought as a husband and a man of science, that you'd accept her decision. But of course, she didn't have the guts to tell you. That goes to her character. All that aside, she's either quite the selfish one, or she's not too bright."

We crossed the river into Missouri at the hour forty-five mark, at Quincy. Gabby knew what she was doing. She took a southerly route to Palmyra and then Highway 36 to Monroe City. We straddled Mark Twain Lake, as we headed southwest - first to Paris and finally to Mexico - both small towns in the great state of Missouri. With only a few bathroom breaks, and some light snack food, Gabby seemed to settle on a run-down-looking motel in Mexico.

I was pretty tired, both mentally and physically, as we both ate our chicken salads at the greasy diner. Gabby watched me intently all through the meal, studying me like we'd just met. Whatever she was looking for, she did well to hide it.

Once back in our room, Gabby used the restroom first to get ready for bed. There were only two chairs and a queen-sized bed in the room. She came out in a tasteful, but fairly short nightie. When I raised my eyebrow at her, she reached into her suitcase and tossed me a three-pack of briefs, still in the wrapper.

"You didn't think me heartless, did you?" she cooed, with a wan smile. Then she threw me a clean T-shirt and a brand-new toothbrush. "We'll only need to rough it tonight, possibly tomorrow."

When I finished my business and came back into the room, Gabby was under the covers, with only the faint bedside light on.

"I take it I'm sleeping in the chair?" I really didn't want to.

Gabby patted the bed beside her playfully. "Not tonight big guy."

She saw the surprise written on my face. She also saw the excitement.

"Do I need to spell it out for you?" Gabby laughed. "I've been watching you for a month, and besides pleasuring yourself in the shower, I'm very sure you could use a little... tumble."

She patted that empty spot again, and when I didn't move, she gave me a 'move it or lose it' face. I moved it. The covers were thrown back, and I took in the beauty of the wonderful naked creature before me. I was hard before I even climbed aboard.

We started with light kissing, which quickly became more urgent. Gabriela was no rookie. She nibbled my lips, and smashed her tongue deep into my mouth, wrestling mine. When we both came up for air, she went to town on my neck and earlobe. When her soft hand found my cock, I almost lost it.

"Stop!" I almost yelled, pulling away. She looked perplexed. "I don't want to cum right..."

Gabby interrupted me with another kiss. She stroked me hard and steady, using her thumb on the sensitive underside of my cock head. She never broke the frantic kiss, and with my pre-cum oozing and providing lubrication, I shot my first load in record time.

"There, there," she coyly remarked, scooping my fluid off my stomach and licking her fingers. "My turn. Can you help a girl out?"

I only smiled, and Gabby took that to mean... straddle my face! "Do a good job, white boy, and we can go two more rounds."

Gabriela got settled with her clit right over my mouth, but unlike my orgasm, she wanted to take her time and enjoy. She leaned back, two hands on my torso, so I was licking her entrance, and even further back. I never closed my eyes, like I usually did with Sarah. Hers were locked on mine, in a visual dance of lust. She scooted another inch forward.

"I made sure to be very clean, back there," she whispered. "Tease my ass with your tongue, stud."

Gabby wasn't one to mince words. She received an eager rimming from me, while she groaned out her satisfaction. With two fingers in her dripping pussy, a thumb diddling her clit, and my tongue swabbing her asshole, the orgasms were coming in rapid succession. Finally, she pushed my head away.

"No mas!" she screamed. Gabby and I then had a rough fuck. She wasn't stupid and knew I was taking out some ill-placed anger, and she not only allowed it, but she rolled with it. We both got off again and then we needed a rest.

I was awakened an hour later with a spectacular blow job, and then we made love for the first time that night. I hoped there'd be much more.

Gabriela, in just one day, had gone from foe to friend and she'd literally saved my life if I was to believe her account of things. I had no reason not to believe her. But I had been an untrusting bastard for quite some time, so the jury was still out until we reached our destination.

In the morning, Gabby rushed me up and out. But only after quickly trimming my hair, and putting some chemicals in it, to make it thin out and turn slightly grey. She joked that I'd be an old man by sundown. I teased back, only if I could be her 'ole man. We stopped at the same diner, each of us grabbing an egg sandwich and a large coffee to-go. We headed down state highway fifty-four, and took backroads through Springfield and Joplin, en route to northwest Oklahoma, and the Cherokee Nation reservation.

We talked a lot about our past and specifically, our childhoods. Gabby was still keen to avoid my questions about what the government had planned for me or what they might do to me if caught. She was reluctant to discuss what her father had in store for me as well. I tried to get her to talk about what would happen to her if she was caught, but she shuddered and remained quiet.

"What was last night about, Gabby?" I broke the silence.

"What, you didn't enjoy yourself?" she quipped after a pause. "I pulled out most of my tricks, so I hope to hell it was memorable."

"It was." I gave her my best smile. "I'm hoping for more, but you hardly know me, is all."

"That's not true, sir," she playfully mocked. "I know absolutely everything about you. You've been my mark for a month now. What, you think Wilcox and I sit in the car and tell sex stories all day?"

"Come' on!" I said, getting a little ticked off. "I'm being serious here, Gabriela. This has... been all too much. Everything's happening too quickly, and the hits keep coming. Why are you risking your life for me? What was, or is, Wilcox's role in all of this?"

Look, Steve," she seemed pissed herself. "You have no idea. And Tom put his neck on the line for you, to cover what you were doing. He's the most at risk here. He has a family; two small children and a wife he loves very much. You put all of us at risk with your little stunts. What did you think FBI surveillance meant, huh? Your laptop was wiped, and it's probably sitting in some run-down repair shop in Brooklyn. Did you really think you were going to achieve the very thing the government was on the lookout for?"

I just stared out the window like a sulking wife. She was right of course. I had no idea.

"No offense, Steven," she consoled. "So you understand, this past decade has been very taxing on the agency. Agents on assignment were openly and aggressively surveilled by True States Guard, or as you probably know them, state militias. Those groups used to work in tandem with the FBI and DHS. We've had disgruntled agents quit, retire, and become whistleblowers. Morale has taken a big hit since 2021.

In 2023, my former partner and I were on assignment at a school board meeting in South Dakota. It was a medium-sized town, and we were monitoring the meeting from our vehicle, listening in for 'domestic threats.' We shouldn't have been there in my opinion. There's always local law enforcement at these meetings, all over the country. We were snooping for folks with dissenting opinions. Halfway through the meeting, we found ourselves surrounded by Dakota Guardsmen, and not the ones under the control of the Governor. Six vehicles, with lights all shining on us, with at least two dozen guys in flack, and probably full-body armor too. We didn't like our chances. When their spokesman rapped on my partners' window, telling us to show hands, I thought we might be killed. We were questioned and told to go back and tell our bosses not to send any more agents. The head of the Dakota Guardsmen and the pacific northwest inland guard sent formal letters to Congress and to the regional deputy directors explaining what would happen the next time constitutional lines were crossed. My partner resigned a week later. That's when I met and partnered with Tom Wilcox."

"That doesn't make any sense," I said. "The FBI would have gone back in force. You've heard of Ruby Ridge, right?"

"Steve, trust me," she responded quietly. "The lower forty-eight state's guard now outnumbers the entire US military and all three-letter agencies five to one. That's a little different than a guy and his family hiding out in the woods. That's enough of a history lesson for today."

That night the sex I was hoping for had to wait. Just before we were about to climb into bed, we heard the town's sirens. Turning on the TV, we discovered we were under tornado warnings, and a funnel was on the ground moving in our direction. Gabby and I put our heads down and held each other tight, in the small grimy bathtub, of that Motel 6. The windows rattled and occasionally bowed even though the tornado was a mile and a half south of us, in a mostly rural area.

Sex ended up being warm and tender, and we cuddled afterward, lost in our thoughts. I didn't know what she was thinking, even as I tried to guess. She was very good at hiding emotions, and that was very unlike Sarah.

The next day, it was only a short drive to our first destination. Gabby made it an hour longer as we used back roads less traveled. By noon though, we were pulling into a ranch twelve miles inside the reservation. I saw armed men at the ranch house strategically dispersed around the open property. Our ID's had been checked at the ranch gate. The entire scene looked like a border party gone bad. Every person I saw was Latino or Hispanic.

As Gabby and I walked up the front steps to the porch, I felt their eyes on me as well. From a swing on the left side of the door, we heard a sturdy voice.

"Gabriela!" the man's deep tone resonated. "Mi hija especial!" Gabby's eyes lit up as she moved quickly to embrace the man, her father. After affections and a few sentences in Spanish I didn't understand, Gabby turned and presented me to her father.

"Papa, Permítanme presentarle, Senior Stefan Boswell," she said proudly. "Steve, this is my father, Raul."

Raul was an imposing man, quite large for being of Hispanic persuasion. He smiled and reached his hand towards me.

"Esteban," he said using his best American accent. "It is such a pleasure to me you. Please sit. You must be hungry and thirsty after your long trip."

Raul clapped his hands together two times quickly. A young woman appeared, and he gave some orders to her before she scurried away.

"Please, sit," he said. "We have much to discuss." Raul poured Gabby and me some sort of pink concoction, which I soon found out tasted of watermelon and herbs. It was quite refreshing.

Raul turned towards Gabby. "You weren't followed?" he asked.

"No, Papa," she replied with a smirk. "I was careful and always vigilant."

"Perfect!" he answered her. "Then let us talk and eat."

The young woman returned with a large platter, filled with carnitas, beans, and rice. She placed a tortillero in the middle of the table alongside the platter. I was starving, so as soon as Gabby and her father reached for a tortilla, I was ready to dive in. I noticed there were no serving utensils on the platter and thinking the young woman had forgotten to bring them, I looked around, prepared to get them.

Gabby gave me a funny look, but Raul already sensed what I was thinking. He motioned to me with a slight nod, and tore his tortilla into quarters, then pinched two ends and used the other as a shovel, scooping up meat, beans, and rice at once. Gabby saw me relax and she smiled.

Steeben, may I call you Steeben?" he began when I nodded. "Tell me about your research and your background with Aspen."