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eBook Category: Science Fiction
eBook Description: A fundamentalist cult escapes a raging war and posioned earth, fleeing to a habitat where they control Comsat and Solstat, condemning the Symbolists, those who can read or write. They ban science, reading, writing as tools of Satan. What can save us? A book ... one book?

eBook Publisher: Fictionwise.com, Published: Rockers, Shamans, Mannikins & Thanathespians, 2001
Fictionwise Release Date: December 2002

34 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [84 KB], eReader (PDB) [34 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [20 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [19 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [70 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [92 KB], hiebook (KML) [74 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [51 KB], iSilo (PDB) [17 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [22 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [49 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [32 KB]
Words: 5848
Reading time: 16-23 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

The Project seemed ill-fated from the very beginning, for the newly-formed Church of the Fundamental Ecologic, CFE, was an unlikely coalition, including ecologists, creationists, aesthetic realists, space scientists, and fundamentalists. Nevertheless, the escalating worldwide economic and ecologic collapse precipitated by the Mid-East War coalesced the group into a closely-knit alliance. And on December 25, 2012, The-Eye-IN-The-Sky was placed into low orbit around Earth by the CFE.

Audio-disc excerpt from the Introduction of RETURN OF THE ICE MAN, a book confiscated June 7, 2052.

The nervous chatter grew louder as Exodus II levelled, beginning the long approach to the landing field south of the San Fran Shield. First trip nerves, I thought, or perhaps the new travel drugs were not effective, for I, too, sensed an increasing tension in my body as we neared San Fran, and it was certainly not my first trip on a shuttlecraft from the Eye to Earth. Like my Brothers in the Order of Mark, I'd been called to Earth for numerous trials--Guardians of the Instruments of Justice, sworn to carrying out the judgments of MOSES. But this trip was different: Not only a big trial, seventeen Symbolists, but coincidently my first visit back to my birthplace. I was excited by the prospect.

I sighed, closed my eyes, and tried to visualize old San Fran as it had been in the late '20's before the Shield was constructed; I tried to recall my parents' faces. But all was a nebulous blur, dimmed by the passage of twenty-five years. Of course I remembered being taken from my family and going to live at the CFE Child Care Center downtown when I was ten, after the time of bruises had passed, and the subsequent days of testing. Then, before that first trip up to the Eye, the terrible news: My parents had disappeared on a trip to Couver, probably killed by outcasts. Yes, both gone. But even after all these years I could still hear my mother's voice: A gentle, soft whisper, crooning across time so sweetly--Mikey, dear Mikey--

The nervous talk had suddenly stilled in the shuttlecraft, and the unusual silence disturbed my reverie.

I opened my eyes, turned in my seat, and looked about, really noticing for the first time since boarding the ship at the Eye my fellow passengers. A few wore the secular blue uniform of Public Broadcasting System techs; and though the majority, like myself, wore the gray robe of the CFE, I saw no other scarlet cowl designating my Order. All eyes were locked on the big screen above the flight deck partition.

I turned back to view the screen myself.

Exodus II had finally penetrated the high cloud bank and, for the first time since departure, I saw the real surface of Earth and felt an unsettling sensation of rapid movement. Taking a deep breath, I touched the insert on my seat arm, trying to relax as the chair contoured protectively to my body shape.

On the screen, we saw wisps of yellowish mist, and just visible far below, a bridge. The remaining tower of the old derelict loomed up in the mist, the badly rusted metal blending with its original burnt-orange color. It was the Golden Gate, of course, a structure I recognized from a recent Mid-Watch, featuring relics of the West Coast of North America. As the shuttlecraft passed over the bridge tower, the camera rotated down, and for a fleeting second, we glimpsed the black road surface end abruptly over the gray-green colors of the bay. Then, we were zooming along high above the water and over an island with remnants of another bridge leading west to the ruins of San Fran. Still flying southerly we began our final descent, but the dirty fog thickened so much that our view of the San Fran Shield was obscured...

A few minutes later we hit down hard, bumping along a rough runway, and for a moment I thought the shuttlecraft was going to rattle apart; and all too suddenly the pilot was braking to a jarring stop. Thank God for the cocoon seat!

Despite the travel drugs, my pulse raced furiously, and it took several minutes for me to catch my breath.

Then, before leaving the craft, we were all busily occupied, donning protective masks and coveralls, giving everyone a bulky, monsterlike appearance; and, indeed, most of my fellow passengers shuffled to the exit clumsily, experiencing difficulty moving in the gear against Earth's gravity. But I managed relatively easily, my regular exercise routine at the Monastery gym, even in .8 gee, quite effective.

As we stepped outside onto the ramp, though, I shared my fellow passengers' discomfort, for even through the insulation of our coveralls we were overwhelmed by the humidity of the sweltering air; and before I reached the ground, my face, armpits, and crotch were all prickly . And, yet, at the same time I was experiencing the muggy heat, I felt a rush of excitement, as if I'd been released from the confinement of a cell--that special euphoria experienced by all habitat dwellers when first stepping outside into the great, unbounded space enveloping the Earth. A sensation I relished on every visit.

A host of CFE West officials herded us into pedi-cabs for the short trip to the San Fran Shield. Of course I had ridden in similar vehicles in Ny-Ny, but these were smaller, one-driver affairs. I settled back into my assigned seat, sharing the cab with a young PBS tech, whose pale face, when he momentarily slipped from his mask, was flushed a deep pink. He babbled on, after wiping away the sweat and repositioning the mask, obviously a first-time traveller from the Eye, quite overwhelmed by the trip--

We stopped abruptly!

There seemed to be some sort of commotion up near the beginning of our entourage. I leaned out and spotted figures ahead in the mist, several appearing to be dressed only in rags and unmasked. Then a CFE official blocked my view, rapidly explaining that there was no danger, the three unmasked men were only outcasts begging for plastic. He moved on quickly to enlighten the next cab. After a few moments the way was soon cleared and we moved forward again.

Outcasts?

I slumped back down in my seat, but my sense of euphoria had disappeared, and my skin underneath the coveralls was covered with a clammy sweat. I shivered, wondering if the outcasts were defectives or had they been Marked in the past. Absently, my fingers sought out the tiny silver case inside my robe, the Instruments of my guardianship. A heavy responsibility, indeed.

After a few more minutes travel, darkness fell as our driver followed the procession of cabs, pedalling along an old asphalt highway. My fellow traveller pointed out the surprisingly excellent state of repair of the pre-Collapse road, all the potholes filled with some kind of sand/gravel mix--

Suddenly he was shouting in a voice thick with awe: "My God, look at that, Brother!"

I Jerked my gaze east in the direction he was pointing, and across the bay the darkened horizon seemed lit by a green luminescence, blurred only slightly by the curtain of fog. It was the famed Livermore Burndown, of course. An impressive, but grim reminder of the foolishness of the Symbolists. "Groundstar,"I murmured, shaking my head sadly.

The remainder of the short trip was relatively uneventful as we slowly moved through the unshielded outskirts of the city. Here and there a candle flickered, illuminating a ramshackle hovel; but most of the shacks or tents were unlit, blending in with the dark heaps of rubble, scenes very similar to the outskirts around Rio D, Ruscow, or any of the post-Collapse Shields.

Outcasts. I shivered again, remembering the beggars back at the shuttleport...

We passed through a perimeter of relatively neat ruins, then waited to enter one of the decontamination locks of the Shield. I breathed a sigh of relief, anxious to get out of the restricting mask and coveralls.