The Chlorophylliacs and Others

Contents

THE CHLOROPHYLLIACS

BLOOD IN THE SINK

SECRETS FROM BEYOND

THE CHLOROPHYLLIACS

The frail old man walked to the head of the table and after a nervous look at the clock in the opposite wall addressed those gathered in the well lighted, spacious, conference room.

‘I guess that you all know why I have summoned you here today,’ he began clearing his throat. ‘It is imperative that we reach a decision today on this very sensitive matter.’

A heavy silence followed these words. Certainly, they all knew the subject to be discussed, what they ignored was the gravity of the situation.

‘The Executive decided to terminate the researches being carried out by the Space Agency in nutritional solutions for prolonged interplanetary travel and is asking our Department to vacate the camps as soon as materially possible.’

A chorus of surprised voices from his colleagues received these words from the Chairman of the Congressional Committee of Internal Affairs. They all knew about the experiments being carried out by the agency and were well aware of the mounting costs, but never imagined that they were going to be interrupted so abruptly.

‘What is the reason?’ asked a heavyset man with small shifty eyes.

‘All I know is that the studies had being terminated for reasons unknown to me,’ the Minister responded defensively.

‘This is not fair,’ protested an elegantly dressed woman with a high coiffure and facial evidence of previous cosmetic surgery. ‘We should have had some warning about what the government was planning so we could prepare for it with anticipation.’

‘You are right,’ retorted the Minister with embarrassment, ‘but there is nothing we can do about it.’

‘How are we going to proceed?’ asked a husky young man with intense blue eyes.

‘That is precisely what I want to discuss with you.’

‘How many volunteers are we talking about?’ the man insisted.

‘Approximately five thousand.’

‘I suppose that by now they are useless to society,’ the elegant lady commented softly.

‘Yes,’ agreed the Minister sighing deeply. ‘The researches render the subjects incapable of been re-incorporated into society. Most of them will remain more or less in a vegetable state.’

Again an uneasy silence gripped the gathering as each member of the group pondered the significance of the enormous task at hand. It was obvious that the country was going to be encumbered with a heavy burden. What else could be done?

‘Not fair, not fair at all,’ grumbled the heavy set man shifting uneasily in his narrow seat while the Minister kept looking anxiously to the other members of the group in search for a meaningful suggestion.

‘Could they be institutionalized?’ asked the lady with the coiffure after some hesitation.

‘I don’t think this is possible,’ responded the Minister categorically. ‘The nation does not have the resources for such a monumental undertaking.’

‘Could they be utilized in any other governmental project?’ asked a young fellow with unraveled blond hair.

‘Not that I know of, sir...If the supervising authority didn’t mentioned it is because there is none,’ he responded.

Another brief suspense elapsed before the Minister spoke again in a halting voice, full of emotion. ‘I guess dear colleagues, that there is only one way we can fulfill the governmental mandate, and that is the application of Directive 51.’

A chorus of voices expressing concern, dissatisfaction and even outright disapproval aroused from the audience. ‘This is a monstrosity!’ shouted the young man with unraveled hair. ‘Have we lost all sense of propriety?’

‘What you are proposing, Minister, is not only morally reprehensible, it is outright unenforceable,’ declared the heavyset man wiping with a hankershift the sweat forming in his forehead.

‘Maybe you can tell me what to do,’ growled the alluded in a somewhat offended tone. ‘What do you think we can do with such a vast mass of humanity?

These words were followed by a tense silence. Nobody seemed to have any viable alternative to what it was been proposed. ‘Any other suggestions?’ the Minister asked. None was forthcoming.

‘We have never applied Directive 51 to such a large number of people,’ commented the elegant lady staring vacantly at the ceiling.

‘There is always a first time,’ quipped the Minister.

‘How are we going to do this?’ the husky fellow asked in dismay.

‘We will use a different method than in previous occasions,’ responded the Minister who was reluctant to enter into specifics.

‘What will that method be?’ insisted the husky man.

‘I myself don’t know those details, neither is this our responsibility. We are only assigned the task of effecting an orderly evacuation of those camps and turn the volunteers over to the care of the Dept. of Resource Utilization instructing them of the procedure to follow. That’s all!’

‘We have the right to know,’ protested the young fellow gesticulating with both hands. ‘Directive 51 deals not only with evacuation procedures, but also with disposal arrangements.’

‘You are right,’ assented the Minister somewhat embarrassed, ‘ but the authorities, because of the magnitude and sensibilities of this case, decided to assign to the Dept. of Resource Utilization the handling of disposal arrangements if we approve the enforcement of Directive 51 ‘

It was obvious the futility of continuing to argue the point if no better proposal was forthcoming, so the matter was subjected to a final vote.

‘Those who agree with the application of Directive 51, please raise your hands...Now, those oppose...The motion is carried!’ the Minister exclaimed pounding with his gavel on the table. There was no way to turn back the decision.

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Eugene yawned and stretched his numbed legs tapping at them with his hands several times. He was getting old and those long days manning his shop alone were becoming a daunting task. He began slowly to close his books and putting them away for the day. Outside, the night was falling fast. Three years had gone by since the unexplained disappearance of his son and since then his life had become a rosary of misfortunes. Eugene clearly remembered the last time he saw his son Albert dressed in uniform and wishing him farewell, not even faintly imagining that he was never to see him again. It happened barely three months after the lad volunteered to the army. He was enthusiastic and proud, full of dreams and looking forward to participate in a secret project of great importance for the future of humanity. Thanks Dad for being such a good father he said before leaving.

At first his son wrote regularly, reassuring him and his mother that everything was fine, although he never gave details about his life and the project he had enrolled into. Eugene frequently sent him news from the family, pictures, small presents even occasionally boxes of the cookies he used to love so much. As time went by the letters became less and less frequent and sounded unenthusiastic. Finally, they stopped altogether a few months after he left.

Needless to say Eugene tried everything, making all sort of enquires with the Air Force, but to no avail. He simply was told that his son whereabouts were classified information. He complained to governmental authorities and even contacted newspapers and broadcasting stations explaining his situation and asking for clues about such a strange disappearance, but his efforts were entirely futile. Nobody knew anything. But the case of Albert was not an isolated one. Many other similar instances came to light in the following months and years, but the government never gave any hints as to the fate of this group of army volunteers. A group of grieving relatives organized to pursue all legal avenues of disclosure but with no results. One disturbing change reported by some of the parents, shortly before their sons disappeared, was a peculiar greenish discoloration of the skin. Many also reported an unexplained loss of appetite.

Eugene’s wife Sophia never forgave Eugene for his endorsement of their son’s wishes. She was a strong, possessive woman and Albert was their only son. She hated the military and never understood why a young person could enjoy being part of an organization that only taught people how to kill. For her the notion of protection of fatherland and freedom was nonsensical. You are not freer by killing others she used to say.

After Albert’s disappearance she became moody and acrimonious. In fact, she never truly recovered. Sophia changed from being a very religious person to never again visiting a church, arguing that God had betrayed her. From being outgoing and socially engaging, she became withdrawn and even belligerent, arguing about the smallest things. She began eating less and less and lost a lot of weight. I just have no appetite, was her excuse. Finally his wife became bedridden and the doctors were at a loss to explain what was happening to her. No organic cause for her illness was ever found. Sophia’s death came as a relief to Eugene who had to care for her and keep his business going. Despite her bitterness toward him for endorsing Albert’s dreams and, toward the end, the constant nagging, he missed and forgave her. Loneliness breeds depression and one day over a cup of coffee he decided to move from that house full of memories and start anew.

Eugene dreaded the nights. That was the time when the loss of his loved ones became more painful and his loneliness more oppressive. Submerged in his sad memories and ready to close his shop was he when suddenly there was a loud ring of the doorbell. Who could have been that late? He certainly wasn’t expecting anybody. After hesitating for a few seconds, he then rushed to the door. To his surprise there was nobody to be seen in the desolated streets, but a small envelope hanged in his mailbox. The envelope was blank and well sealed. Inside, there was a note written in small, neat characters. Meet me in the Rose Park tomorrow morning, it read. I will be seated on the bench next to the fountain.

Eugene felt his heart jumping inside his chest. What could be the reason why somebody wanted to see him? He had recently moved into the neighborhood and therefore whoever wrote the note probably knew him from before his move to the new place. He had no creditors or any other relative. Could it be something related to his son Albert? The mere chance of such a possibility kept him awake all night beset by old memories and wondering who could want to see him.

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It was early next day, a Sunday morning, when Eugene finally decided to get out of bed after the long sleepless night. His whole body ached and he felt exhausted from the lack of sleep. He dragged himself to the kitchen and mechanically made some black coffee in the same old metallic pot used by his wife for many years. Eugene cherished those early hours when invigorated by a cup of coffee he could collect and order his thoughts and plan for the day, even more on Sunday when he could look forward to an entire day of leisure to relax his body and soul. But this Sunday was different. After a couple of sips of the hot black coffee he threw the cup in the small sink and dressed in a hurry to meet the stranger who left the note in his mailbox.

The park was a few blocks from Eugene’s shop and it took him only about ten minutes to get there. The morning was sunny and warm but only a few kids playing with a ball were present. He walked briskly to the far end where the fountain was. Predictably there was a man seating in one of the benches. He was a middle-aged fellow with a short graying beard wearing a rather old felt hat. His left hand held an elegantly carved wooden pipe and his eyes were hidden behind thick, dark glasses. When he got close enough Eugene nodded cautiously to the man who immediately got up and approached him with a broad smile.

‘’I’m glad you could come,’ he said giving Eugene a warm handshake.

‘I am also glad,’ he responded politely.

‘Please, sit,’ the stranger invited motioning to the park bench where he was sitting.

Eugene sat next to the man and kept looking curiously at his companion who brought the pipe to his mouth and inhaled deeply. A cloud of bluish smoke ushered from his puckered lips before dissipating slowly in the gentle morning breeze. ‘May I ask why you want to see me?’ he finally dared to ask full of misgivings.

‘What I have to tell you is of extreme importance,’ the stranger indicated.

‘I’ll be glad to hear whatever you have to say,’ Eugene indicated, ‘but I warn you…if what you want to tell me is something about my son you should know that I am not easily convinced by rumors concerning him.’

‘These are not rumors,’ the man asserted calmly. ‘I only want to alert you as to what is going on. It is up to you to believe me or not. I also want you to know that I am not moved in my desire to help by any profit motive whatsoever...Do you understand?’

Eugene agreed with a nervous nod, anxious to hear the story the man was about to tell him.

‘Have you ever heard of Directive 51?’ he asked enigmatically

‘No,’ Eugene responded

‘This Directive,’ whispered the stranger getting closer to him, ‘is a secret protocol the government follows to dispose of undesirable elements in society.’

‘Never heard of that,’ confessed Eugene. ‘How is it relevant to the case of my son and other members of the Air Force who have disappeared?’

The man kept silent for a few seconds while again inhaling deeply from his pipe and watching with delight the convoluted wisps of smoke he released into the morning breeze. ‘I am not surprised,’ he commented. ‘This program had been instituted by our government rather recently, and the reason why it is relevant to you is that soon it will be applied to your son and others enrolled into the research project.’

‘What do you mean? ‘Eugene enquired after a few seconds of indecision.

‘It means that they will be subjected to…euthanasia!’

The answer was not unexpected, and yet Eugene felt a knot in his throat and his heart pounding furiously. In fact, he didn’t know exactly why he asked such a question. It was perhaps a need to be told by somebody else what he suspected all along.

‘Why is the government doing this? Why to commit such a hideous crime?’

‘The project had terminated and the volunteers are now useless to society. There is no way to rehabilitate them. The injuries they have suffered on account of the invasive procedures they have been subjected to are...irreversible.’

‘How do you know all these things?’ blurted Eugene who still had a big dose of skepticism.

‘I have reason to know,’ the man answered smiling enigmatically.

‘Why are you telling me these things now? I alone can do nothing.’

‘Your curiosity will be satisfied in due time,’ the man asserted casually.

‘Who are you anyway? ‘

‘’I told you that I have reasons to know,’ he repeated. ‘There is nothing else I can tell you now. It is your choice to trust me or not.’

Not satisfied with this blunt answer Eugene wanted to explore how much his companion knew about the research being conducted in the army volunteers. He still didn’t trust the strange fellow sitting next to him smoking his pipe with such...aloofness. Perhaps a few leading questions were going to help.

‘What kind of researches are these young men subjected to?’ he asked directly.

‘I am glad you ask,’ the man answered calmly. ‘The experiment consisted of cloning the gene of chlorophyll into their genomes to explore the possibility of self-sustained nourishment in prolonged interplanetary flights. If successful, the volunteers were only to need a strong light source, minerals and water to subsist.’

The stranger paused momentarily to light up his pipe again. After almost ceremoniously blowing into the air a large cloud of smoke he returned to his story. ‘A surprising side effect of the investigations was that the volunteers began to lose the capacity to perceive pain. The anesthetic quality of the cloning immediately opened up the possibility of utilizing these properties in surgical interventions. That was a change in the intended purpose of the researches and therefore required an approval from higher authorities.’

Suddenly a small flock of pigeons appeared from nowhere and fluttered briskly above their heads before landing in the ground a few feet from their bench. The stranger rapidly retrieved a small plastic bag with crumbs of bread from one of the pockets of his coat and lost no time in throwing a handful of it to the pigeons. ‘They love it,’ he claimed smiling with satisfaction. ‘It is very relaxing to see them eating.’

‘Do you come here often?’ asked Eugene amused by the frenzy feeding of the birds and amazed at how well prepared his companion was for the occasion.

‘Yes’, he confessed candidly. ‘This park is not close to my home but occasionally I make the trip solely to feed them.’

‘Unbelievable!’ exclaimed Eugene with surprise.

‘Why is so?’

‘I find it very unusual that somebody would make a long trip only for the purpose of feeding birds.’

‘Nature has always fascinated me,’ the man admitted. ‘One of the greatest enjoyments of my life is to feel that I make a difference to living creatures...It make me feel important and also part of Creation.’

‘These are great thoughts!’ Eugene exclaimed with admiration.

‘Because I feel this way, is why I decided to talk to you about the crime that is going to be committed against your son and the other volunteers.’

‘You were telling me about some change in the intended purpose of the researches.’

‘Oh yes!’ recalled the stranger, almost apologetically. ‘It required the approval of the government. The Space Agency wanted to proceed with the original experiments so they lobbied strongly with the authorities for the right to continue them. Their interests collided head on with the intentions of the Health Services who wanted to use the volunteers in their investigations. There was no way to enlist big enough groups in both programs.’

‘What has all this to do with Directive 51?’ asked Eugene still confused.

The stranger kept quiet for a few seconds staring at the hungry pigeons scavenging the crumbs of bread strewn on the ground in front of them. ‘The authorities tried to reach some sort of compromise whereby both government agencies were going to take turns with the same group of volunteers in their investigations,’ he said smiling faintly, ‘ but that didn’t work. Each group wanted absolute control of the volunteers adducing with good reason that the design of the research programs required from the beginning possession of all the resources needed to carry out the experiments. It was impossible that the studies could be conducted productively with leftovers from other projects.

The government was in a real quandary. With no previous warning, vehicles from the Public Health Services appeared one day on some of the secret chlorophylliac camps, as they began to be called, and claiming a mandate they didn’t really have rounded up from their barracks groups of the volunteers and took them to facilities where the surgical experiments were to be carried out. That amounted to piracy. The government had a serious problem on their hands. The conflict threatened to spill out into public light, something that would have been catastrophic for all. There was need for rapid and strong action to put an end to the internal bickering.’

The stranger paused again to take another puff at his pipe and watch the smoke dissipate in the blue sky. ‘That’s where Directive 51 comes into play,’ he affirmed. ‘The Government tired and embarrassed by the feuding branches of the Administration and the danger of an eventual collapse of the secrecy of the experiments, decided, much against its will, to terminate the studies and erase all evidence of the camp’s existence. To that effect it needs to dispose of all those enrollees in the experiments still alive, who, by then, will be useless to society anyway. Only few members of the Executive know the real reason for requesting application of Directive 51. The others ignore the internal bickering and had been told only that the experiments had concluded and the camps needed to be cleared.

‘Infamous!’ rumbled Eugene trembling with fury. ‘But what can we do .against an all-powerful government? Besides, our sons might be dead by now,’ he pointed out with dismay.

‘Many of them are still alive,’ his companion reassured him, ‘but time is of the essence. Soon the process of disposal is going to start.’

‘I want to know how we can possibly stop this holocaust!’ shouted Eugene with desperation.

‘You alone can do nothing,’ the stranger admitted. ‘You need help.’

‘Why did you choose me in the first place?’ asked Eugene, intrigued at being chosen over so many others.

The man with a friendly smile rested one of his bony hands on Eugene shoulder. ‘That is because you inspired our confidence,’ he explained. ‘The story is kind of long and we will eventually explain to you in detail why we choose you. Suffice is to say that we needed a dependable person to help us, somebody credible and responsible. We feel that you fulfill these requirements.’

‘Whom are you representing and what do you want me to do?’ asked Eugene still wondering what that strange man wanted from him.

‘I won’t be able to tell you today. I know that this probably annoys you, but this is something that cannot be disclosed on a park bench. You will be contacted again. My mission is solely to ask for your cooperation.’

After shaking hands the stranger departed leaving Eugene standing next to the park bench watching at his companion walking away slowly. Who was that man? What were his motives? Storm clouds were beginning to gather in the distance promising a generous afternoon thundershower. Eugene lost no time in hurrying back home.

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‘Good morning,’ exclaimed the smiling young woman hesitating at the door of Eugene’s shop, which opened with the characteristic jingling sounds of the small bells.

‘Come in,’ he invited waving his hands. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Oh...I would like to look around if you don’t mind,’ she commented in a musical soft voice.

‘Not at all,’ he assured her politely. ‘You can take as long as you wish.’

The woman walked slowly with a rhythmic feline cadence casually looking at the numerous apparel articles elegantly arranged throughout the showroom and occasionally stopping to feel the texture of some of the fabrics in display. Her skin complexion was very white, which contrasted with her jet-black hair and round, intense, black eyes. The full, sensuous lips and easy sinuous gait completed an overall very attractive and dignified look...or so Eugene thought. After a few minutes of searching she stopped to look at a small exhibit of handbags in a corner. She picked up a beautiful leather purse and after inspecting and feeling it for a few seconds turned then to Eugene:

‘How much for this one?’ she asked.

‘It is not cheap,’ he commented. ‘It is made of marmoset skin.’

‘I know,’ she said in a slightly irritated tone. ‘I just want to know how much it costs.’

‘Ten thousand,’ he told her rather bluntly.

The newcomer then walked at a leisurely pace toward a group of umbrellas close to a window, picked up a red one of a smooth glossy texture and again after inspecting it carefully asked Eugene for the price. Not