The Angel of Earth

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Eight

Getting there was easy, since Blackpool was still in charge of the facility. He and Melody both took precautions to maintain the fiction that the two of them were not closely connected.

The staff at the chemical Repository - whether empowered or "just folks" - welcomed Melody back. Of course, part of this attitude was due simply to the change in routine she brought to the isolated facility.

After meeting and greeting the regular staff, Melody headed downstairs. The reporter mentally griped, and not for the first time, that the only elevator was reserved for cargo; which was mostly dangerous chemicals. Anyone who could use the stairs was expected to, since protective gear was required for using the elevator. Downstairs she encountered the persistent problem that no matter how many murals were painted on the walls, no matter how much sound absorbing tile was put on the ceilings, and no matter how the occupants tinkered with the ventilation system, the place was still dank, echoey and claustrophobic. That effect was likely more psychological than physiological, but it was no less real for that.

Melody was planning to first go to the room several levels down where the continuing project with quantum computing was underway. However, some sort of antechamber had been added outside the entrance, partially blocking the hall and completely blocking access to the room. There were also two armed guards monitoring passage through this. Once Melody explained that she was there to see CornFed, she got redirected to the empowered genius' office. CornFed was also very glad to see the reporter.

"It's so good to have someone familiar but not too familiar around," she said. She laughed. "I hope that was decipherable!"

"I think I got the gist," said Melody, a bit wryly. "I take it that Insight is at a critical phase. I also learned that Professor Edmund Bright is no longer part of the project."

"Oh, yeah; he left months ago," said CornFed.

"I'm a bit surprised. He kept threatening to leave, but didn't. So, he finally did?"

"Part of his problem comes from the fact that his first attempt at getting his Doctorate was rejected," said CornFed, with a smirk. "He never tried again, out of spite. He's had a chip on his shoulder ever since."

"Well, speaking of chips on shoulders, have you heard about the problems with The Protectorate?"

"Yes," said CornFed, her expression quickly changing, as if she were suddenly tasting something sour. "Not only from the usual sources, but Insight is giving not-so-cryptic warnings about that group. The fact that those are so plainly worded is especially worrying. I think the only reason we here at the Repository haven't had trouble from that group already is that they just aren't aware of us."

"Well, this place officially still doesn't exist," said Melody, now with a smirk of her own.

CordFed was about to say something when her intercom buzzed.

"Yes?"

"You have a visitor."

"Another one?!"

"I don't know anything about that. I just know that Michael Schmierer is here. Says he needs to talk to you."

"The private investigator?" said Melody, alertly. "What's he here for? More training?

"Actually, he called ahead. I just didn't think he'd get here this soon. No, he's having problems with an empowered criminal he hopes we can help him catch. No, I can't talk about that situation. Sorry."

Actually, you just did talk about it, thought Melody, smugly.

* * *

As it turned out, Mike had quite an audience for his request. Not only CornFed and Blackpool, but the visiting reporter and Aaron, himself, all with Mike's approval. They were welcomed, partly in the hope that one of them might have a useful insight.

When Mike finished making his pitch, the first response was from the oldest listener.

"Not aliens again," said Aaron, tiredly. "Do people never learn?!"

"What the perpetrator believes is irrelevant," said Mike. "I'm... The law is after them because they're committing criminal acts. That includes hurting and killing people, besides stealing."

"All right," said Blackpool, nodding. "Having Insight correlate what was taken from those 'alien' collections and using that to predict what this person seems to be after shouldn't be difficult."

"Which should yield probabilities for future targets," said CornFed, nodding. "I'll set that up."

"Thank you," said Mike, smiling his gratitude.

* * *

Though it was not her main purpose for being at the Repository, Melody definitely set aside time to speak with Aaron. However, she was primarily there for the dual purpose of getting bio info on many of the other empowered at the Repository - including Michael Schmierer, since he was unexpectedly available - and what they knew about the history of the empowered. Along the way, Melody was repeatedly reminded that most empowered were just people. People who could do incredible things, but still people. Sometimes the things they were proudest of were very mundane.

"It always smells so good in here," said Melody, as CornFed waved her over, during supper in the Repository cafeteria that evening.

For a while the two women ate in silence. After the edge had been taken off their hunger, however, the empowered woman broached a topic.

"You need to come by sometime and listen to us play, sometime," said CornFed.

"'Play'?" said Melody, pausing with a fork load of pulled pork almost to her mouth.

"We've got a Hell of a band," said Mannequin, smirking as they slid in beside CornFed. Who made a face at the intrusion, but accepted it in good humor. Even when Mannequin transformed into a duplicate of her. An exaggerated duplicate. Which took some doing. "How can it be otherwise when we have an angel on piano?"

"Aaron plays in your band? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. He's a music lover and has even composed some music."

"Well, Aaron is with the group about half the time we play," said CornFed, pointedly ignoring her inflated double. "Occasionally, though, Malak sits in."

She grimaced and spared the person beside her a sideways look.

"Mannequin is always there."

"I mostly just sing," said Mannequin, modestly, shifting back to their usual, apparently genderless state. "Everything from soprano to bass, whatever is needed."

* * *

Melody approached Aaron's office at the Repository a bit early, wondering if he would be there. He could easily have gone to deal with some emergency. However, his receptionist - a government employee, like all of the non-empowered staff, many of whom were also active or former military - smiled in greeting as the reporter approached, and nodded. However, he did not say anything. As she drew nearer, Melody understood why. Aaron was singing.

It was a hymn with a cumulative refrain; as each verse was sung, a line referring to it was added to the repeated part.

"Take my arms I still can reach you.

"Take my arms I still can reach,

"Take my eyes I still can see,

"Take it all I still believe."

The hymn ended, and all was silent for a moment. The receptionist sighed, then smiled at Melody.

"One of the perks of this job."

He used the intercom on his desk to let Aaron know that Melody was there, and was told to send her in.

She entered Aaron's Repository office, the pair exchanged greetings, and the reporter sat. Melody felt unaccustomedly uncomfortable for this meeting, since she knew she would be asking some awkward questions. She covered this by plunging ahead. Though she chose an innocuous subject for the start.

"According to CornFed and Mannequin you're in a band with them."

"Well, it's strictly an amateur effort," said Aaron, modestly.

They spoke for a few minutes about the band and music in general. Suddenly, though, Aaron gave a bit of a laugh and shook his head.

"All this talk about music reminds me of a problem a few empowered have," he said, with a sad smile. "Many who have their intellect enhanced feel that because so many things which used to puzzle them are now obvious and even easy to understand, that everything must now be obvious and easy to analyze, if they would bother to think about it. Only they usually don't. Or they don't think much about it. Because without knowing much about the situation they think it's simple and obvious and not worth their effort. A variation of the Dunning-Kruger Effect, I suppose.

"I remember this one, recently-empowered young woman I took under my wing - no jokes, please - in the Fifties. Her boost was primarily mental, and she had some of those peculiar blind spots I just mentioned. During one conversation she panned my interest in music, announcing that she had 'done' music. On further inquiry, she claimed she understood all of it in full detail of execution and motivation, and therefore didn't need to listen to it any more. I argued that music was too varied and individual in its expression for any one person to have a full understanding of it, no matter how intelligent. I also pointed out that the emotional impact could vary with the listener's mood. However, she insisted she understood all of music, full stop. I eventually learned that all she had done was analyze the show tunes her parents loved and had High-Fidelity records of. Nothing wrong with that; that field of music is extensive and quite varied. However, her exposure to other forms of music was very limited, and she had essentially ignored even that, since that wasn't what she was used to and it didn't fit her idea of what music actually was."

"I imagine you found some way to enlighten her," said Melody, who by this time had a good idea of how important Aaron felt a broad education in music was.

"I played her the original Duke Ellington, 1930 instrumental release of 'Mood Indigo.' Made when it was still called 'Dreamy Blues.' She appeared to be having a religious experience. I then played several other versions of that piece, some with lyrics, and she was astounded at the variety in the individual interpretations of the same piece."

Melody nodded, slowly and thoughtfully. Thanks to Aaron, she had herself heard this piece of music in several different versions and could understand the reaction, at least in those circumstances.

"You didn't come here to ask me just about music, though, did you?"

"Well, no. I've asked you about details of your life and activities as Malak before. Now I have a more general question."

"Shoot."

Melody took a deep breath, steeling herself. She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer to what she was about to ask, but as a reporter she needed the information.

"Why didn't you - the empowered collectively and you personally - take actions to stop the Second World War?"

By now Melody had a good idea of what a group of empowered - or even just one with appropriate abilities in the right place - could do. The reporter knew the reasons they - including Malak - had for not intervening in some situations, but often still wondered why they had not helped with a particular problem. To Melody those events were history, but here was the chance to get the story from someone who had not only lived through them but in some cases participated in them. However, Melody was still a bit uncomfortable asking about this. She had pondered situations in the past where it seemed that certain of the empowered could and should have acted, and hadn't. She wondered why, and now worried that - in this case - the reason might reflect badly on people she had come to respect. Being an almost compulsively inquisitive person, however, Melody had finally decided to ask.

"That is a simple question with a complicated answer," said Aaron, with a tired sigh, ducking his head and running a hand over his short-cropped and very thick hair, before straightening and again resting his forearms on his crowded desk. "Keep in mind the fact that by the time I gained my power the seeds of discord which led to the Second World War were already sown. You can see examples of this in the Treaty of Versailles and the way it was enforced. Some people - myself included - actually did express concern over those events. Even then, most reasonable people - the majority of empowered minds among them - just didn't realize the situation was becoming as bad as it was by the mid-Thirties. Or, if they did know, think that there was any way it would get significantly worse. After all, too many people had too much to lose if there were another war.

"Much of the way subsequent events evolved was shaped by that sort of wishful thinking, a reluctance to believe in evil and neglecting the pervasiveness of simple, shortsighted self-interest. As well as by a lack of checking assumptions. Even those who were bothered by the punitive finish to the Great War - which included me - felt that sensible people wouldn't let things go sour again. Those few who were openly worried - empowered or not - were generally persuaded by the sensible people that things were getting better, so we focused on other problems. Like helping those left destitute and hungry by the Great Depression.

"There were also many empowered who thought that what was happening in Germany, Japan and other places were in their best interest, the best interest of their nation, or simply none of their business. Some empowered not only aided those changes, they deliberately concealed the extent of what was happening, including from other empowered.

"Throughout the Twenties and the early Thirties many of us - empowered and otherwise - were very busy dealing with personal, local and regional situations, and had little attention or energy to spare for larger matters. There was so much going wrong... we had little interest to spare for things we saw as purely local political matters in other nations. We often were only barely aware of what was happening outside our own immediate areas of interest.

"Remember, at that time, for most people, communication beyond their physically immediate social group was largely through print media, some of which was heavily censored and most of which was slow, plus the various forms of radio, and the occasional theatrical newsreel. All of which was subject to manipulation by governments and/or influential people.

"Finally, there was the problem that many of the stories about German atrocities from World War One turned out to be fabrications. As were many of the tales the Germans and their allies spread about French, British and Americans committing war crimes during that conflict. Many people - myself included - were determined not to be taken in by such propaganda again. The stories from the Thirties even well into the start of the Second World War of what the Nazis were doing were often too extreme to be believed by sensible people. Even things the Nazis, themselves, said, were dismissed. Sensible people would state 'Oh, that's just them pandering to their supporters. They don't really mean it. People wouldn't actually stand for that.' Even many Jews in Germany thought that way. Until things became blatant. By which time it was too late."

"I remember that quote from Pastor Martin Niemöller," said Melody quietly.

"You could also apply the parable of the frog in the pot. None of that excuses our - or my - disregard of the situation. I'm simply pointing out that most activists - empowered or not - were not aware in any detail of the anti-social activities connected with the rise of the Fascists, Socialists, Communists and Imperialists. Even for those who were, the information we had was that while there might be problems, they were local and being dealt with. Besides, they made the trains run on time."

He looked at Melody, to see if she got the reference. She seemed to, looking a bit puzzled but not asking for clarification.

"Of course, as we later learned, train service in Fascist Italy wasn't actually improved, and was often worse. However, because the government controlled the press they reported that the trains were running on time."

"Oh..." said Melody, in sudden revelation. "I know... I mean, I knew where the saying came from, but not that it was a lie promoting the Mussolini government."

"In many instances during that period, when concern was expressed about what was happening, people selected by the government being evaluated as sympathetic or unlikely to ask awkward questions or who were simply gullible were shown exactly what the particular bureaucracy being challenged wanted them to see. This included establishing model towns with actors or residents given special benefits for pretending to be happy with their treatment. This happened in many places besides Russia, Italy and Germany. Then there were the carefully edited newsreels. Pictures don't lie after all. Except that altered and staged photographs are almost as old as photography!"

Aaron sighed, and took a moment to compose himself. He was calmer, though still passionate, as he continued.

"For the most part, everyone - including in those nations where the atrocities were committed - simply accepted what they were told with little or no questioning, and even less criticism. Especially since they had plenty of problems of their own to deal with. They kept their heads down and went about their own lives. I know I was busy just trying to feed those I knew of with the greatest need. As well as deal with outbreaks of bigotry, oppression and greed in the US."

"Hunger in America," said Melody, softly. "As well as racism. Misogyny..."

"Exactly. Add to those the enthusiastic but ignorant search for 'scientific' treatments of the mentally ill; which were mostly anything but. Some even thought poverty could be cured by punishing the poor. I was focused on keeping my family safe, fed and clothed, and then on helping those less fortunate than most in and around Chicago. Even with my powers, those tasks took nearly all of my time and energy. The rest went towards working with others - mostly a small group of empowered I was associated with - on larger problems. Which generally meant conflicts with other empowered in the continental US, as well as dealing with corrupt officials. We almost never even considered anything in other nations, such as the rise of the National Socialists and increased Japanese aggression. Or the post-Imperial breakup of China into warring states."

"Things did get better most places as the Thirties progressed," said Melody, nodding slowly, "especially in the US."

"Yes. By that time I was... tired. I thought I could go easy for a while, relax and enjoy myself, be with my family more. Then, within a few years, I was busier than ever. By the late Thirties the Nazis were so strong - and even deliberately making their own empowered, at the cost of hundreds of lives for a few with useful abilities - I could see that my energies were better spent on other matters besides direct confrontation. Though I did try to draw attention to the atrocities."

"Even with all your power, you can't help everyone," said Melody, firmly.

"I'm still haunted by the screams of the millions I couldn't help." He gave her a tired smile. "Figuratively, of course."

"Of course," said Melody, not at all sure that was only figurative. She glanced at her notepad and suppressed a smile. His comment actually connected with what she had noted to ask about next. "One last question. How long have you been able to understand birds?"

At least she had startled him. He recovered quickly, and gave a wry laugh.

"Nearly ninety years," he said, his smile fading. "We were in our first actual house, in suburban Chicago. I was trying to finish some paperwork, when I suddenly heard what sounded like a toddler screaming for its mother. I went outside and quickly tracked the sound to a young robin, on a branch near the top of a tree."

He looked quite sad, now, and his gaze was distant.

"It was not quite old enough to be on its own, and looked bedraggled and very underweight. My brain somehow interpreted its cries as a human child screaming 'Momma, come back! I'm just a baby!'"

"Oh, my..." was all Melody could say.

"I tried coaxing it down with some mealworms - which I already had on hand as bait for fishing - but it was too wary. The time was late in the day and I had work to finish, so I figured I'd get a fresh start on helping the bird in the morning."

He leaned back in his simple, wooden chair and sighed, shaking his head.

"That night was unseasonably cold, with a driving rain. I don't know what happened to its mother - or father - but in the morning I found it on the ground, under that tree, dead of exposure."

"Oh, my..." said Melody, again. Even without using his enhanced charisma, such tales when told by Aaron carried a great deal of gravitas.

"I learned an important lesson from that," said Aaron, rallying. "Be careful in evaluating priorities. Active rescue situations come first. Usually, paperwork can wait, until those at risk no longer are."