One Billion Drops of Happiness (21 page)

They walked for several hours in a comfortable hush, before Lars said it was time to go.

‘I’m going to fight soon, you know,’ he said in a low voice, as they clambered back into the boat.

‘I thought you would,’ she said. Her brain was buzzing with a thousand questions, but she bit her lip. She did not want to spoil the afternoon.

‘Will you remember me?’ she asked, feeling fretful.

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’ll remember everything and everyone. My memories will keep me going when I’m out there.’

‘I’m sorry for my country,’ she said suddenly. ‘I really am. I wish it wasn’t a part of my past.’

‘Never be sorry,’ Lars said, rowing them back across the lake again. ‘Your history makes you a part of who you are. It moulds you future and helps you become the person you’re supposed to be.’

‘You’re so full of wisdom, Lars,’ she said simply.

‘I’m not,’ he replied, fixing her with his eyes.

It should not be allowed to have eyes so blue, thought Xandria, noticing them.

‘I’ve just had a lot of time to think about life, that’s all.’

* * *

‘Are you ready?’ The woman asked functionally, surveying the couple before her eyes. They were on the one hundred and eighth floor of LovePotion Incorporated. She was about to administer the syringe of potion into the man’s arm.

‘Wait,’ said the man suddenly, withdrawing from the needle. His partner peered quizzically at him. She had unusually shaggy eyebrows. ‘I had this potion with someone else a little over six months ago. Is this going to be alright?’

‘Well,’ said the woman, putting her syringe down onto the resin table. ‘As it was over six months, the initial dose will have worn away. Tell me; did you feel any of the side effects commonly experienced?’

‘Not at all,’ he replied. ‘In fact, I feel no different today as I did back then.’

‘Then you must have a remarkably strong constitution, sir.’ The woman replied. She allowed herself to digress. ‘But of course, the country already knew that. I have boundless gratitude to you for what you’re about to unveil.’

‘Thank you.’ The man said without pleasure. ‘He turned to his partner. ‘Bathsheba, shall we proceed?’

‘Of course, Henry,’ she said, presenting her arm.

The deed was done.

* * *

Bathsheba Ermez had always vowed never to be subjected to something as silly as the love potion. But that was before she met Henry. Despite it being her who was now President, he was the figure she most respected and took orders from. It was essentially Henry who was running New America these days, albeit without the grand title and privilege.

They had worked together an exponential amount since she was promoted from the prison. She was willing to stay all night and work for four or five days straight if need be. Following the incident when she had unwittingly exposed Xandria’s true nature to Henry, he had trusted her implicitly. Hers was the sort of blood that the country needed in this crucial transitional period.

Henry had been brooding much on his mental state. Ironically, since he had taken the potion with Xandria, he had achieved leaps and bounds with the progression of Ophelium. He was not superstitious, but if there was any factor he could replicate to ensure continuing success, he would be sure to take it. True to his word, he had not suffered a single side effect of the initial love potion. It was like it had never been administered. Perhaps somewhere deep down in the echelons of his being, it was having some sort of effect, but he was positively immune to it right now.

He supposed he ought to have some sort of top up now that six months had passed. With the entire country losing their marbles and roaming around completely off-kilter, he could not risk the same happening to him now that Ophelium was in its final stage. The turbines were having the finishing touches applied to them – a dab of paint here and a lick of paint there - and then Ophelium was good to go.

Soon the mindless masses would revert to their former efficient states. They would forgive them just this once for their calamitous transgressions. They could not punish the entire country. A few weeks of New American industry and progress slowing down and having a rest would be a mere drop in the ocean when the gas was finally working. What marvelous new inventions would ensue, he could only imagine.

He was vaguely aware that the Old World was gathering soldiers but he had to admit he was not following the saga. They were not releasing much information, but the dribs and drabs that had leaked through to him via various contacts did not sound overtly threatening. He had not taken any of his precious time to consider what the Old World could do to stick a fork in the works. He did not honestly think that they posed a threat, despite Bathsheba Ermez’ low warnings that they must not dismiss it entirely.

He preferred to make a mockery of the Old World’s efforts by not retaliating. New America had plenty of goodies in their armamentarium that they could dig out if the time came, which he severely doubted it would.

Proposing the love potion to the new President was easier than he imagined. Informing her gravely that their positions of authority were at stake if they did not take precautionary measures, it did not take her long to agree with Henry that despite it most probably being an ineffective gimmick, it was best to take it just in case things suddenly changed.

Privately, Henry had believed it did work on some particularly susceptible individuals. He had noticed a tangible change in Xandria’s demeanour after she had been injected. He rather hoped for her sake that Bathsheba Ermez would remain the same. If anything, the love potion appeared to double up as a screening tool for potentially weak-minded individuals. Perhaps he should look into developing that after Ophelium, he thought.

As for Xandria, he hoped she was rotting wherever she was. Her own grandfather had disposed of the most valuable member of New American society, and he, Henry, had been associated with her. It had made him look foolish. This is another reason why it was a good idea he swiftly associate with someone new; a woman of a far better calibre than before.

A colleague of his had suggested a few other names at the time. Names of citizens he would not do too badly to be connected with. Among those had been some men, although Henry was of the staunch opinion that he would only be suited to the partnership of a woman. Say what you like, but he believed that despite the sexes being entirely equal and alike these days - except from the fact that women still incubated children - arising from the fact that nature just would not co-operate and allow those grown in man-made conditions to survive, a woman was still different. Their essences appeared dissimilar to his; he believed that it would be more beneficial to join forces with somebody with a different skill set to compliment his.

His father Reginald had disapproved of his choice at first, believing he could do better than Bathsheba Ermez. Despite being well immersed into the New World, Henry suspected that deep down his father would always notice appearances. More interested in securing Ophelium, Reginald had ultimately told his son he could do what he liked outside of work as long as they could turn the damn gas on soon, because it was making him decidedly itchy.

On a drizzly Friday afternoon, he took her for what seemed like a final walk. The air was full of finality; it positively reeked of the word. She knew what he was going to tell her; he had already told his mother and Xandria had seen her tears streaming freely.

When they left she had glimpsed her staring numbly out of the window after them, watching them disappear down the lane, the tears drying in polygonal blotches on her face. She had understood, of course she did, and it was for the good of the world, but no mother wanted to send her son to bloodshed.

As they turned onto the lake shore, Lars turned to her slowly.

‘I’m going, Xandria,’ he said gently, looking down at her face. ‘I’m going very soon.’

‘No,’ she breathed, her head filling with dread. ‘You can’t.’

‘I have to fight,’ he said, pulling his jacket closer around him. ‘I have to go.’

‘When?’

‘Soon. Not yet.’

‘You’ll come back?’

‘For sure,’ he smiled.

‘Your God will protect you,’ she said.

‘That’s not how it works,’ he said.

She was trying not to cry. She was trying to hold back an enormous wave of poignancy and heartache. She had never before said goodbye to somebody she hadn’t wanted to leave. In her mother’s case, she had been willing her to leave sooner. She was so ashamed of that incident now. Today she was different; not even the strongest dam could hold back the sorrow of farewell.

‘That’s exactly how it works,’ Xandria said, her voice rising. ‘That’s what you told me. If your God supposedly loves you, then he will keep you out of harm.’

‘No,’ Lars interrupted softly. ‘The promise of God’s love is not to stop the bad things happening, but to be there for you when they do.’

‘Shut up with this rubbish!’ Xandria yelled, spinning to face the lake. She picked up a stone and hurled it in frustration. It went whizzing across the water’s surface, skimming several times before it disappeared.

‘You’re selfish! You’re going away for a cheap thrill, to fight for something that doesn’t even matter! Did you see your mother? She’s broken! Because of you! You’re selfish, selfish, selfish!’

‘Xandria, stop…’ he started, his face clouding with sadness. ‘This is not how I wanted it to be. I have to fight. For me. For you. Maybe one day you will understand.’

‘New America is the strongest force you’ll ever know,’ she continued yelling, quite ignoring him. ‘If you go and fight now, you may as well dig your own grave next to my grandmother!’

His eyes were wounded but he said nothing. Xandria took another stab.

‘It’s all so pointless! Just stay here and carry on with life, if you’re so strong you will find a new way to live. You can’t leave us!’ She hiccupped on her words. ‘It will be a better life! A life without all this oscillating of emotions! Your mother will never be sad again, don’t you want that?’

Still he remained motionless, dejection in his eyes.

‘You’ve broken her heart with your selfishness. You think you’re better than everyone else, always with a point to prove. You and all the others, you’re just the same with your own agendas. You may as well be in New America already!’

‘I can’t do this Xandria,’ he muttered, looking at the ground, biting his lip. ‘I must go.’

‘Fine, go!’ she yelled, as he turned away slowly, ‘Go and die for all I care!’

Lars walked to the trees without turning back; his figure becoming smaller and smaller before he could be seen no more.

* * *

Xandria could not concentrate on anything. Her mind was flopping and heaving all over the place. She hated rowing with Lars; she had seen the hurt in his eyes at her acid words and if truth be known, it had bludgeoned any spirit she had managed to build since she arrived.

She was truly, truly sorry. This feeling was a cousin of shame but it came with the distinct urge to leap up and immediately rectify the situation. She could not rest until everything was fine again.

He was right; of course he was right. She could see it now. Thinking of Lars and his intimidating integrity living in a world suffused with gas – it made her feel sick. It was against the natural order of things. He was a being who should never be silenced. Without emotions and morals, he would be just like everybody else in New America. He would no longer be special.

He was without doubt, the finest being she had ever known. She had never respected anybody before she came here. She was racked with hatred at her former country for trying to tamper with all the beings in the Old World. They were perfect as they were. Surely everybody in the Old World was lucky enough to have a Lars, somebody they looked up to and deep down without knowing it, doted on every word they said. They had no right to take it away, the beasts, the beasts!

He had every right to go to war. She was the selfish one. Even if she did not want him to go, he was going to fight for something he believed in, and she doubted any man in New America would have the courage to do the same. What must he think of her? Cold, unfeeling alien foreigner from New America. Did he imagine she was just like all the others? That she had not changed one bit?

She had to go and show him; prove to him that this was not so. That thanks to Lars, finally she could see the light, she could see all the reasoning in his words and in the hearts of the whole of the Old World. This was where she belonged now. She wanted to feel, she wanted to feel so bad. If being with Lars every day was an inkling, a clue of what it could be like, then it was not so bad at all. She would learn to deal with the worst of emotions; she would learn no longer to be afraid. She could have that future, but only if it was fought for.

She herself, she couldn’t fight. Mrs. Olsen had told her she was not emotionally ready, that being from New America, she would put the surrounding soldiers in grave danger. She was a target, after all. To fight, you had to have clear in your mind every second of the day and night why you were risking your life. The reason had only just come to Xandria; she was not yet ready enough. In time she would be, but for now she would have to sit back and watch as her old world and new world came to fatal blows.

She ran out into the night to find Lars, to tell him that he was right and that she was sorry. She ran across fields and fields looking for his shadow, but she could not find him. Only his sheep could nuzzle her hand for comfort as the tears of frustration leaked down her face.

Tomorrow she would tell him, she vowed to herself, returning to the light of the house. Tomorrow will be another day.

But tomorrow was too late.

For he had already gone to war.

* * *

How strange what is remembered when everything is over. Little snapshots of time taken for granted. Xandria was enveloped by empty days; a million separate moments which were gnawing to be filled. Where was Lars when she needed him? What was he doing?