Episode 18: Pack your bags

Throughout the remainder of the day, Sullivan tried to reconcile the meeting with Asha to no avail. That evening as he walked home beneath a starry sky, Sullivan thought about how best to broach the topic with Marcella, ultimately deciding not to broach it at all. He concluded that he was being baited, possibly by one of his old college pals, or perhaps by Marcella herself. Maybe Asha’s comment about Marcella being a troubled woman was his wife’s way of getting attention. But Sullivan knew Marcella well. She was many things–resourceful, adept, innovative, self-reliant. But troubled? It was all a prank, he reasoned, and he had little time for tomfoolery.

Minutes later Sullivan ascended the exterior stairs of the home he shared with Marcella, but found the front door would not open despite being unlocked. Instinctively, he applied a bit of elbow pressure and forced it ajar, stumbling inside and tripping over a half-dozen suitcases. His knees ached from the impact. Sullivan glanced up as Marcella approached, a marble Samsonite in her right hand and a leather duffle bag in her left.

“What’s going on?” he asked, struggling to his feet.

“Pack your bags,” she said, with eyes that declared there would be no deliberation. “That’s what’s going on.”

—

The next morning, Niko and Gisella arrived at Sullivan and Marcella’s residence. Following brief, albeit awkward, introductions, the quartet adjourned to the kitchen.

“I’ve made oatmeal if anyone’s hungry,” Marcella said warmly. “Coffee also.”

“I know this is a lot to take in,” Niko said, as Gisella poured herself a cup. “It’s a lot to digest. I understand if you have questions or doubts.”

“No questions. No doubts,” Marcella answered. “We were up all night discussing it. Bags are packed and we’re ready to go.”

“Wait a second,” Gisella said. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit blasé about this? Do you fully understand the charge you’re about to undertake?”

“You’re asking Sullivan to me to assume the roles of Santa and Mrs. Claus,” Marcella said. “We get it. We’re on board.”

Gisella pulled Niko aside. “Is it me, or is this all going down much too easy?”

Niko nodded. “I expected at least some resistance. Maybe they’re both obtuse.”

“Maybe. By the way, avoid the coffee. It’s horrid.”

“We can hear you,” Marcella said.

Gisella approached Sullivan, face buried in a bowl of oatmeal. “Hey big guy. You okay with all of this?”

“Marcella believes it’s real. I’m certain we’re being duped, but sure, I’ll play along.”

“It’s no ruse, but I appreciate your honesty.”

Sullivan gazed up from his breakfast and locked eyes with Gisella. “This machine of yours, the one that selected me, it’s never wrong?”

“It’s foolproof,” Gisella said.

“Okay then. What’s next?” Sullivan asked.

“As you know,” Nico answered, entering the room, “you’ll be relocating to a climate that’s, frankly, as hostile as they come. It’ll be a major adjustment. You realize that, following the inauguration, there can be no going back.”

Sullivan frowned. “What do you mean, no going back?”

“You’ll be swearing an oath. Once you’re in, you’re in. Likewise, you won’t be dropping by the old neighborhood pub to chat it up with your friends some June evening or volunteering at the local soup kitchen. And no goodbyes. As far as your friends and family are concerned, Sullivan and Marcella Wellenmeyer will have simply vanished without a trace.”

Sullivan glanced at Marcella for affirmation. “You really think I’m the one?”

“Of course you are,” she said.

Niko removed the data card bearing Sullivan’s name and address. “You’re the one. The only one.”

“Okay,” Sullivan said, inhaling deeply. “Let’s do it.”

—

While Sullivan was verbally committing to a life-changing decision, thousands of miles away at the South Pole in the submerged secret hideaway known as The Egg, and deep within the recesses of an operations room known as The Yolk, the gears of a supercomputer that had earlier produced the data card bearing his name slowly began to whirl and click, click and whirl. After long minutes, its mild hum became a deafening roar. The apparatus vibrated intensely and began spitting out dozens of data cards in rapid succession. Several minutes passed before the mechanism fell silent. A harvest candidates, 879 names and addresses from across the globe, lay stretched across the floor for none to see.