Sunday,Mar 29 2009, 03:06:50 AMFuture Kings

TOMORROW'S KING

Clifford Latta - 10-16-97

 

POSTSCRIPT: Jackson Beigwort leaned over and kissed the aging, wrinkled brown cheek of his wife, Nora Beigwort.

She looked like a painting he had once seen of a dying slave, a woman, old. Now his wife skin, always the color of hot chocolate, had begun to darken.

She opened her eyes. "Jacky, I had a wonderful dream." She smiled broadly at him, her eyes seeing him, talking to him...then it was gone. She looked through him. She blinked once, twice, and a third time that opened heavy and pulled her back toward sleep. Her eyes opened: "Jacky..." she said like she might scratch an itch, automatically, devoid of consciousness, then she was back in her inside world and Jackson was on the outside.

"Nora, lovely Nora, your children send their love. They asked me to say these words to you, 'Mother of Salvation, vessel from which we flow, know that your road is forever, starting with you. Your children, all 1593 of them, dream wonderful, powerful dreams for you. God Mother, good night.'. "

She opened her eyes and smiled, "Jacky," she whispered, smiling right at him. "Hug the kids for me." She chuckled and died. It was easy. One minute laughing at her own joke and the next moment appearing to sleep.

Jackson and Nora Beigwort, recent ancestors of slaves, had met at the synagogue in Brookland's Noriega Heights. They had converted to Judaism, got married by Feador, the local rabbi, and immediately began to gather cash to themselves until, in just a few years, they were , by far, the richest black conservative on the Earth. Jackson had his motto stitched into ostrich skin: "A hundred million here, a hundred million there - pretty soon we're talking real money." He did that as a 34th birthday present to himself. The following hear his wealth increased by $1.5 billion. Since then it had been ups and downs but mostly ups.

 

Chapter One

He was hung over. Too much Champaign on his fortieth birthday part. Not really a party just the two of them. Nora had two bottles of Cooks Champaign on ice. She liked to drink inexpensive wines. Money, as most people view it, had long since lost any meaning to either of them. It had simply disappeared as a concept. Money had become a one-upmanship game for them. Each morning they'd play 'Investors' and try to correlate their dreams and thoughts and hunches and inclinations against the stock market. Then they'd call their stock broker and place their bets. Again, it was far more ups than downs.

His favorite magazine was "Science News". The story almost escaped his attention. Had it things might be much different. "A frozen egg is thawed out, fertilized, implanted in a surrogate mother and a healthy child is born."

"Dean Wilson speaking," came the familiar voice through the telephone.

"Dean ol' bean, I need some info. Do you read Science News? Never mind. I know you do. Did you see the article about the frozen egg." He paused, "Never mind, I know you did. My question: Can you take five or ten thousand eggs from Nora, mature them or what ever it is that nature demands of these eggs and then freeze them?" He went on quickly, "Second question: How long will the eggs stay viable and will there be, if they are viable, a deteriorating effect with the passing of time?"

"Chucky," - Dean had started calling him Chucky right after they had first met and he steadfastly refused to change it - "no prob, with the eggs. That's old science. The freezing aspect is new but well tested, first with animals then humans. We do it routinely. How long. For ever, as far as we know. So you got any more questions and when do you want me to start harvesting those Nora eggs so you two can establish an army of your children that will cut across generation lines. Am I reading this right?"

Jackson sat back in his office chair with a woooosh. "Why don't you just kick me in the balls? How did you get all that from the tiny bit of material available in my questions?"

"Chucky, you are a disgustingly rich man. Without feeling a single tinge of an awareness of 'money gone' you can away a billion hear and ten billion there. You are very proud of your accomplishments. From great, great grandson of a slaves - oh, yes, and great, great granddaughter of slaves; I'm not overlooking Nora - To mega billionaires. Not bad. And you and Nora are childless. New technology was available but the two of you just haven't wanted to deal with a surrogate mother and all the other shit. No kids. Good eggs, good sperm, bad womb, and now you find out we scientist can freeze eggs and sperm for ever and unfreeze it and make children. Why wouldn't you want to pass your wealth on to a non-existent army of progeny. Sure, I'll help. We'll create your army out of you and Nora. That works for me. You'll need a foundation to establish a self-perpetuating entity. How many kids were you and Nora thinking about?"

Jackson rocked back and forth in his non-rocking desk chair. "We've given this a lot of thought. We're both 40. If we start with 20 fertilized eggs this year and then fertilize 20 more each subsequent year, we'll have 800 children when we're 80. And you know, science being what it is and the power of money, both Nora and I will probably live a very long time."

 

Chapter two

"How time flies," thought Jackson as he rubbed the darkened chocolate of Nora's dead hand. He didn't think he'd be following her. She had just missed the train. A new strain of bacteria had taken up habitat in her lower respiratory system. It was one of those bugs that has evaded all attempts to destroy it. To kill it you had to kill the host. That was something of a comforting feeling. The bug was now dead, too.

"I'm 120, look 50 and am moving toward whatever age I want to be. Dean ol' bean tells me the prion break-through is the last thread, the last tiny bit of fluff needed to make the entire picture 'clunk' together in a solid, scientific FACT. If you have the bucks, old age is a thing of the past. No longer do we struggle against decay, successful for the time being, now I, we, Dean ol' bean and I, will never die. We'll get younger and younger." He laughed a strong Hud-a-hud-a-hud-a, "When we reach thirty we'll catch up with the kids."

Generations before Dean Wilson had begun a gradual rejuvenation program that had the kids all moving toward a common age of around 30. Jackson had endowed each of his children with a million dollars on their 18th birthday. They had wit, wisdom and money. They also had a family structured for support, learned early from the Jews. That was the reason both he and Nora had, independently of each other- they didn't yet know each other -, decided to embrace Judaism. From the ghetto they had watched, in that distant land of wealth and influence, families taking care of each other. "Hey, Abe, your boy Sammie doesn't have a job. Tell him to come by in the morning. He works hard, I pay him a lot of money. I'll set him up in business, too." Why go outside your own family, beyond your own world to give away something as wonderful as a good job with good pay and the opportunity to make a successful life. They had both watched their own, small ghetto world crush children, smashing their dreams from their weary minds and bodies. And when Woppi Goldburg, when asked about her Jewish name, replied, "Why'd I take a Jewish name? Look around. I wanted to be successful."

 

Chapter four

The year was 2005 and the world was ragged around the edges. A few terrorist atomic bombs had made their mark. A short but devastating atomic exchange between India and Pakistan had made such a demonstrative, world-wide ecological impact the industrial leaders had to make business decisions...and the decision was to allow the human race to continue to breed for slave stock. Germs and viruses had taken their toll. Science moved in late but in time and absolute extinction of the species was averted. The collapse of civilization is finalized when the food delivery system and the garbage pick up system fail to work. The interruption of food the grocery story would be the predecessor of vermin and pestilence that come when the garbage begins to pile up. The poor didn't stand a chance. Cannibalism was a way of life. If you wanted to live you ate the dead. There was no other way, not if your were poor. Inside mountains the rich survived on lobster thermadore and Mumms Champaign; squab and crumpets; sherry and ice cream. Decades passed with those who needed to help restructure the world leaving for whatever time was required to take care of business then they, too, would return to their own mountains. There was 123 such mountains though some of them weren't inside of mountains; some were underground in various deserts; a few under the oceans. Elaborate bomb shelters built for the filthy rich by Bio-dynetical Products, one of Jackson's most successful ideas. Hollowing out a mountain was indeed an expensive process and the billionaires of the world paid many billions of dollars to have it done by the world's only privately owned mountain hollowing out business.

'Jackson's Mountain' was the best of the best. Jackson, Dean o' bean, their families and a select few, were brought together, from all parts of the world, just in the nick of time to avoid the 'Destruction on the Mother's Face". They lived well, inside Jackson's Mountain. They studied and prepared for the next phase. When the inhabitants of the hollowed out mountains that had survived began to emerge they were called the 'Controllers'. Because of their preparedness and unity they soon became The Controllers. They built a new world, from the ashes and corrupted earth, where everyone got along; where there weren't even any rules...except for one: Fuck up and you die. So now everyone gets along with marginal lives, enough to eat, more sex than you know what do with, a lot of high quality videos and other good stuff. The Controllers, of course, being the Chosen Ones on the Mother's Road to For Ever live a whole lot better and they live a whole lot longer. Their leaders Chnoraucky and Dean o' Bean are often seen laughing a lot.

 

The End