Future Farming Ch. 03

I did, but I was enjoying his rant, so I shrugged. "It was that fucker, Yates, getting caught. All the testimony about plant-based food, during the trial. He, trying to save himself from prison, focused on himself as some kind of savior. Remember, he got caught making shady deals and using banks improperly, with the shell companies he and his partners set up. Nothing to do with his shit science, but that's where he went. That opened Pandora's box, for the congress. I danced in front of my TV when the scientists that had spent actual time on that continent, were finally able, to tell the truth about Antarctica growing, and ninety percent of the ice being the culprit in pushing the other ten percent into the ocean."

He had a wry, crooked smile as if recalling the specific day. I was sort of in agreement, but not quite.

"Yeah," I reminded him. "But they still uncovered and passed a ton of laws about pollution. I think in some ways, the climate nuts were vindicated."

Oh, I don't agree," he came right back. "As I recall, we finally passed the correct laws. Laws that truly addressed what humans were doing to the planet, common sense things that mattered, not Al Gore fairy tales. I'm a scientist, Steve, but also a realist."

Since I didn't respond, he kept talking. "Call me old-fashioned, but I was never much on the vaccine variants either, even though I was on the critical team who formulated the two previous ones. I warned them until I was pulled aside and told in no uncertain terms what would happen if I ever went public with my beliefs. That's what those asshat feds called it. As if scientists had beliefs about science."

"What did you say to them," I asked, curiously.

"Nothing," he shrugged. "Not after being threatened. I'd only ever said, my feelings on plug and play and CRISPR. You also may remember your college days, what happened when 2 varieties of the same species of plant life were spliced together."

"Yeah," I retorted. "Everything. A fucking million things at once."

"Exactly," he clamored. "And that's all I had said. It takes a decade to sort out the DNA and the side effects, not months. Too many things could go wrong."

I began to sit with Phil most nights. It was relaxing and cathartic. We unburdened ourselves over a few beers. I told him some of my ideas about a delivery system. He seemed skeptical.

A few nights later, Phil was in the lab late. I sat on my porch alone, enjoying a beer, and staring out over the hundred or so acres the growers had cordoned off for our experiments. I'd been thinking about a very old movie with Matt Damon, called "The Martian" and his epic design to grow potatoes. As I watched the huge center-pivot farm wheels - massive sprinklers really - pouring hundreds of gallons of controlled water over the field, it hit me.

I needed an atomizer to effectively deploy Phil's compound. A giant humidifier, yes, but we also needed to turn water vapor back into good old H2O. For that, heat was required. We needed to 'sweat' the vapor. I ran inside and wildly went through equations, until midnight.

The next morning, I called Phil, so excited I could barely contain myself. I brought my team together, and that only brought the excitement level up ten notches. Everyone was eager to make my design work. We were on cloud nine all day and worked well into the night. I was so exhausted when I climbed in bed, I forgot all about the lube and tissues, that I'd been using for relief while thinking about Gabby.

Within a week, we'd designed devices that would accomplish everything we needed. They would mount onto every sprinkler head, and we'd retrofit the heat source. We only needed to test it, on a large scale.

Phil and I were back to having a beer, and we were pleased that the work was well on the way to success, barring some unforeseen setbacks.

"Phil," I asked quietly. This was a tough subject for me, but one I hadn't been able to shake. "Let me ask you something theoretical."

"Sure," he said nonchalantly.

"I've been thinking about my wife... ex-wife, Sarah," I tentatively began. "About the threat of her condition, and also all the others that already have ENDO. The work we're doing here and now... it's got me wondering if there isn't a paradox."

Phil sipped his beverage and observed me. I could almost see his wheels turning as if trying to decipher my thoughts before a vocalized them. He simply nodded at me to continue.

"What would you say to a theory that perhaps, it isn't the vaccine that caused all this, but rather how the compound in the vaccine interacted with the chemicals in our food?"

"That's where I thought you were going," he said with a smile. "It certainly isn't inconceivable, but you're forgetting a big fact. We're all being slowly poisoned by the chemicals in fruits and vegetables, but only a small number of people, relatively speaking, have ENDO-causing cancer. So, to reach a hypothesis, you'd need far more to go on."

"I get that," I replied, still working the problem in my head. "But what if it had more to do with the way the chemicals reacted in individuals, based on their genes? Like the Yates trials related to tobacco."

During the 2026 trials, lawyers pinned down Yates, because his attorneys used previous cases against the tobacco companies from decades before. The prosecution argued, successfully, that the government had been in a war with tobacco companies, and to gain an advantage, had used the Surgeon General's warning to promote that tobacco was dangerous to people, when both the government and tobacco companies knew in fact, it was the chemicals that went into the tobacco to get people addicted that was causing cancer. The lawyers made brutal points about people smoking tobacco for thousands of years with no evidence of cancer. Then they tied the last one hundred years to the actual chemicals used to process tobacco as well as the filters on cigarettes. They concluded that the tobacco companies had been defeated at their own game because to call the government liars would only shine a spotlight on the fact, they used those chemicals to get people addicted to their product. That had been the turning point in the Yates trials, and later it had led to his undoing and conviction.

"I see where you're going, Steve," his mind was racing. "So, if someone has the specific genetic marker, they would be far more likely to get ENDO due to both sets of circumstances?"

"Yeah," I answered. "I'm just wondering how possible that is. It's barely a theory, and I'm not a chemist, but you are."

We sat for a few minutes, both pondering the subject. Then Phil got up to leave, and said, "You're right. You're not a chemist, and you should stick to your day job. Let me think about your theory a bit more though."

By week's end, my team and I had a delivery mechanism that worked on a small scale. We only needed the seedlings to sprout so we could begin larger-scale testing on the actual ground they grew in.

I'd been thinking more about Sarah, even in my sleep. It disturbed me, and I wondered if it was some sort of ricochet of memories, or missing Gabby. In my thoughts and dreams, there were visions of my heartlessness toward her. How my actions squared with over a decade of love. I determined that I, perhaps, was entering a different stage of grief related to Sarah and our failed marriage. I also reasoned with myself that any callousness on my part had less to do with a bunch of fertile guys, dumping sixteen different types of sperm into her vaginal canal for a month. It was because she lied to me - harshly deceived me - and then got me into a lifetime's worth of trouble with the government. The icing for me was her doctor friend going to the island to be her quasi-companion. That part hurt almost more than her other blatant deceit.

I wrote a letter, asking Gabby to see if Tom Wilcox could check up on Sarah. I explained everything going through my head, so she didn't worry that I might be having second thoughts about our relationship or wanting to reconcile with Sarah. That was never going to happen. But Sarah had been my better half for a lot of years, and I had to admit to myself, that I did care about her well-being. I gave the unsigned letter to one of Raul's security men, who was scheduled to head back to Oklahoma.

Four days later, we were making great headway, and the excitement amongst the entire science team was through the roof. One member of my team had tweaked the nitrogen intake valves to produce a richer flame, which in turn rapidly accelerated turning the water vapor into liquid droplets. It was decided not to send the findings back to Raul and his group until we had another two weeks of testing on the new crop completed.

Phil sounded a little down when he asked if we could have a few beers that evening. We were all so ecstatic that his tone surprised me. But when he asked me to bring a six-pack to his lab instead of his cottage, I became worried.

"Steve," he said as soon as he cracked his first beer, "come over here and check this out." He had two microscopes set up, side-by-side. I looked into the first one.

"That is genetic sequencing on our soil issue." He said as I stared at something that held no meaning to me. "Silver dioxide interacting with all ground metals - iron, arsenic, copper, and others. Changing their coding on a fundamental level."

I looked up and shrugged. "Look through the other microscope," he offered.

It looked similar to me but again, my limited knowledge of chemistry did me in. I looked back to Phil, asking with my eyes, for him to explain.

"They're almost identical," he said with a mixture of pain and pleasure. "The second one is Stage One ENDO, after vaccine number eighteen."

I wasn't comprehending, and Phil was becoming frustrated. "I can't even begin to say why. I thought about your theory and decided to compare plant and human cells. We found a way to fix the soil, Steve. We still don't know exactly why it occurred, beyond scientific speculation. But there, in front of you, it's plain to see that both plant and human cells are suffering the same degeneration or mutation. If we found the cure before the cause in the soil, we may have also just found a cure for ENDO."

I almost fell over as my knees went weak. Phil was alarmed and reached out to steady me. I refocused my attention on the dual microscopes, literally trying to find a hole in his thesis. They were nearly identical. We spent some time talking - mostly Phil explaining - what the differences were, and what they meant. I never got past my first beer that night. We put together a long summary for Raul and then redid it several times until we were satisfied.

The security guys had been briefed by Phil, explaining the significance of the package we wanted to be delivered to Oklahoma. Thirteen men drove away from our labs, whereas it was usually four or five. We still had another ten days of testing, and then most of the puzzle would be solved.

Five days later, some of the security forces returned, and I was taken into the command office and given a manilla folder. Inside, Raul explained that I was being immediately recalled to the ranch in Oklahoma and that I would be leaving that night with a large security detail. I wasn't to tell anyone, even my own team. I found that a little strange, but I trusted the man.

>>>>

We were pulling onto the ranch when I was awakened by one of the team. I'd spent a good portion of the twenty or so hour ride sleeping and pondering all we'd accomplished. Henry, one of Raul's most trusted men, turned over his left shoulder to look at me from the front seat.

"It's dark at the ranch," he warned ominously. "Keep your head on a swivel, and do what we tell you to, without hesitation." His words were a command. I sat up straight, shaking off my slumber as the adrenaline began to flow. The two men in the front, along with the wiry guy sitting next to me, discussed strategy, seemingly in Spanish, as we approached the ranch house slowly. As the car slowed fifty or so yards from the house, Henry opened the door and rolled out. The guy next to me did the same four seconds later.

The driver didn't make eye contact with me through the mirror but told me to stay close to him when he told me it was time to get out. My heart was racing, and I had to keep remembering to breathe. We stopped short of the parking area, and the headlights were extinguished immediately. We held our ground for almost a minute, then there was a short, strong whistling noise.

"Get out," he said sharply. "Step to the rear of the vehicle and get low." He stepped out, clearly making himself a target, and quickly opened my door. I exited and stayed in a crouched position until I was behind the trunk. Nothing happened as he stayed glued to my side. Five minutes later, Henry and the other man emerged out the front door.

"Nobody here," he said to my protector. Focusing on me, he said, "We're all going inside, do another sweep, and then we're leaving."

"Where could they be?" I asked somewhat frantically. My mind was on Gabby. "Is there trouble? Some place they would go to be safe?"

"We need to move," he told me without answering. As we ascended the front stairs, there was the sound of gunfire in the distance. A single shot - followed quickly by several rounds of a semi-automatic. The men moved with urgency then. Henry took over my shadowing, as we efficiently moved from room to room. I kept expecting to hear the men shouting, 'All clear,' but they were professionals and knew exactly what the others were doing. As we all met back at the front vestibule, I confronted Henry.

"We need to get to my cabin," I told him. "They might be hiding there." The shots seemed to come from a different direction, and the guards quickly conferred. We piled back into the car and drove without headlights the five hundred or so yards to where Gabby and I stayed. The same search protocols were implemented as I waited again behind the vehicle.

Henry and company gave the all-clear. Now, the men had a problem, and it was how to protect me, while also trying to help the others, wherever they may have been.

Looking at Henry, I said, "Leave me here. I can take care of myself. You need to find Gabby and Raul. If someone comes, I can hide and stall for time."

The indecision on Henry's face was palpable. There was a conflict, only someone in his line of work would have while trying to sort out the variables. Taking me along might slow them down and put all of us at risk. Leaving me behind could spell certain doom for a person they were paid to protect.

Henry went to the car's glovebox and returned with a 9mm handgun. He provided a crash course on its operation that lasted all of three minutes. With that, the men were off. I went into the house with only a flashlight they'd given me, to search for any clues that would tell me what had happened. I found nothing and came back out onto the porch when I heard more shots in the distance.

That's when I noticed the storm cellar door was open. It sat off to the side of the house about thirty feet and there was no reason for that door to be opened. If Gabby and Raul had fled that hiding spot while I was inside, I'd have had no way of finding them until later. Carefully, I walked over with my gun pointing at the entrance. I peered down into the darkness. Then I threw a stone into the abyss to see if I could startle someone. All was still, so I began my descent.

Shining the light left, I saw no one, but as I turned to my right, my flashlight presented me with a grizzly scene. The room was much deeper to the right, and hanging upside down from a beam was Raul. He was covered in blood, his face smashed in, and his right eye was lying against his forehead. Blood was still dripping from his left hand, and I noticed he was missing a thumb. This was done recently.

As I approached the man to check for a pulse, I noticed another figure in a dark corner. It startled me so much, that I almost fired my weapon. Putting my hand on Raul's neck, he was clearly deceased. I shone the light on the person who appeared to be squatting in that corner but not moving. It was Tom Wilcox, and his legs and arms were tied to a chair. I set my gun beside me as I knelt in front of him, trying to assess his injuries or if he was still alive.

Tom's face was bloodied too, and his head hung to the side. But he was breathing faintly, so carefully I wiped the mess away from his mouth, and then he stirred.

"Tom," I said urgently. "It's me, Steve Boswell. Wake up! Can you hear me?"

Tom muttered something incoherently, and then one of his eyes opened. I set the flashlight next to my gun so it wasn't shining directly on him. He stammered some more, and then there was recognition.

"Steve, where..." he began, confused. "When... how long have you been...?"

"Slow down," I ordered. "Tell me what happened here. Where's Gabby?"

"She's..." he was still shaking cobwebs. "They're hiding. We took a lot of fire. I stayed behind with a half-dozen men to look after Raul. Gabby took your wife to the bunkhouse."

What? I thought. My wife? Tom must have had a concussion. "What are you saying, Tom? Why would Sarah be here?" He was fading. I went to get up to find some water and a towel, and as I turned, there was a pistol point blank in my face.

"Don't do anything stupid," the voice behind the gun commanded. It took a minute, but I recognized that voice. It was Brian Noxworthy. I thought about going for the gun, but he had me dead to rights. I slowly raised my hands and tried to think.

"I should have known, Noxworthy," I said calmly. "That you'd be mixed up in this. What do you want?"

Noxworthy's laugh was evil. "Just you," he said matter-of-factly. "It's always been just you. But you had to make such a goddammed spectacle of yourself. Mr. Goodie-two-shoes. Well, now you've caused enough trouble for everyone. Walk slowly toward the stairs. Any sudden moves, and you'll wind up like the good doctor here."

I did as he told me. Noxworthy, if I guessed right, probably had about as much training with his weapon as I'd received twenty minutes ago. I had to try to stall, and I had to remain calm, even though my heart was pounding so hard, I could feel it throughout my chest. Then I had another thought.

"Where's Sarah?" I asked as I slowly walked to the stairs. "Why is she here?"

Noxworthy spoke into a walkie, "I need extraction. Target acquired. Guest house." Then he pointed again at the stairs with his gun hand. "Move." He ordered me.

Noxworthy made me sit on the bottom step, instead of climbing them. That worked for me unless Henry and all the other security guys had been eliminated.

"Your wife, fortunately for us," he said, "was brought here by Agent Wilcox. I guess he must have felt sorry for her. She missed you so much." He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his expensive suit.

"Bullshit!" I yelled back, not meaning to lose control. "She doesn't miss me. You saw to that. And what do you mean, it was always about me?"

You idiot!" he chuckled. "Your wife was only ever another volunteer. That is until we did our background checks. We need people like you. People who are dedicated to their work can be easily swayed to tell the public whatever we say to tell them. You were perfect for our organization. I spent over a month talking your wife into coming to the island. She worried that you wouldn't go along with the trials. I suggested you might take it better if we told you once you'd both arrived. In reality, I needed something to make you more... compliant. The carrot and the stick, and all that.

"Now, it seems," he continued, "you and Raul's team are trying to be the heroes. That's not going to happen. The people I answer to will never allow a bunch of 'nobody's' to make Stratagem look bad. Steal our thunder - or take credit. One of your team members in Yuma was undercover and reported everything to the Government and to me. Wilcox, the fucking traitor, bringing your wife here only serves us the opportunity to tie a nice tight bow around this shit show."