The Aegis Solution (2 page)

"Over the next days, weeks, and perhaps months, I will meet with my friends and colleagues in the
House and Senate. Together, we will attempt to forge the necessary legislation to effectuate the creation
of this new place – an establishment which will operate under our aegis, to guarantee that each and every
person, if faced with the most dreadful of choices, has a new, and I believe better, final alternative."



Matt Clements watched the county electrical inspector as he replaced the screw securing the cover
of the main breaker panel.

"Everything look all right, Ben?" he asked.

Ben Barnes tucked the screwdriver into the back pocket of his jeans and nodded, making a note
on his inspection sheet.

"What else do you have on your list?" Clements asked, anxious to wrap up the final inspection and
finally get home to his wife.

Barnes looked at him and grinned. "Don't tell me you're in a hurry to get out of here."

Matt laughed and glanced around at the cavernous main electrical room, deserted except for the
two of them. "I think twenty-three months in this place is long enough."

The inspector, a retired general contractor who had built more than a thousand buildings in his
career, set the clipboard on a transformer and slowly looked around the room. "This is a first for me.
I'm sure for you, too."

"What do you mean, Ben?"

"Have you ever built anything, especially anything this massive, knowing that after you walk out,
you'll never see the inside of it again?"

Chuckling, Matt quipped, "I hope I don't."

Barnes did not join his former general superintendent in the laugh, a somber expression remaining
on his face. "I just don't know about all of this. I'm not sure it's right."

Pulled down into his former employer and mentor's mood, Clements fell silent.

Only moments passed before Barnes snapped back to the here and now. Picking up his clipboard,
he scrawled a large X on the box next to "approved," separating the bottom sheet from the two-part
form and handing it to Matt.

They walked without the banter they normally shared, exiting the electrical room and turning down
the main corridor toward the entrance. Their footsteps echoed back at them, amplifying the unease they
both already felt as they made their way to the elaborate door system, which was currently secured in
the open position.

For the last time…, Clements thought to himself, as he and Barnes passed through into the
sunlight. Squinting against the brightness of the day, he saw the four members of the U.S. Marshals
Service clustered around their point of egress, sweating. The Arizona sun is unforgiving enough this
time of year, he thought, without compounding it by wearing black.

He was about to inform them that the final inspection was complete, when Barnes, without slowing
his pace, announced, "That wraps it up, boys. It's all yours."

Stopping by the marshals, Matt called out, "Ben…."

Not breaking his stride, Barnes looked back over his shoulder at his old friend and said, "I'll catch
up with you later. Call me after you get home to Lisa."

Matt watched as his friend climbed into the white truck with the county emblem on the door,
started the engine, and promptly drove off.

One of the marshals – Clements had not bothered to learn their names – turned to him and
inquired, "Is that it?"

His eyes still on the receding truck, he barely nodded, noticing that the rising heat from the
pavement was now causing the shimmering effect known as a mirage. Barnes' truck seemed to be
suspended a foot or two above the asphalt, as it disappeared into the distance.

He looked away from the horizon and focused on the federal officer. "Yeah, as he said, it's all
yours," he answered, holding up the final inspection.

"Well, you beat most of them," the marshal said.

"Most of whom?"

"The other countries who followed Walker's lead. According to the news, there are at least three
other versions of Aegis going up overseas. The only country to get theirs built quicker was Japan."

One of the other marshals tilted his head in the direction of a large temporary tent, which had been
set up a hundred yards from where they stood. "I guess these folks will be happy to hear that the place
is ready for them."

 Matt glanced at the tent. His tone somber, he commented, "There are even more here now than
when I went inside this morning."

"Yeah," answered the marshal, "they just keep coming."

Squinting once more in an attempt to see the faces of the gathered, Matt said quietly, "It feels like
a funeral."

"In a way, it is."

The marshal turned to his men and instructed, "Okay. Go ahead and let them know. Escort them."

The three men began to walk toward the group, when the lead officer cautioned, "Remember, all
of you stop at the door. No one takes a step inside – unless you want to stay, that is."

One of the three departing men turned back and gave their supervisor a look expressing his
surprise at the last comment. One glance at his boss's expression dissuaded him from any sort of a
comeback remark.

As Clements and the marshal watched, the federal entourage reached the group. The assembled
strangers immediately surged forward.

"My God," Matt gasped, "they're acting as though it's opening day at a new shopping mall."

His companion was silent for a time, before finally saying, "I guess I was wrong."

"About what?"

"I didn't think anyone would take us up on this…whatever it is."

The group, numbering more than a hundred, moved rather quickly in their direction. The two men
had to step off the concrete walk to give them room.

Now getting a better look at their faces, Matt saw that they were all staring forward at the yawning
maw of the entrance as they hurried past. They were a mixture of almost all ages, from teens to
octogenarians.

He remembered his wife, Lisa, telling him that it had been decided there would be no formal
ceremony for the opening and that all media coverage was banned. As he watched the strange group
file past him, he decided this was probably a good idea. His mind visualized a gamut of broadcast
reporters lining the walkway as these people entered, shoving microphones in front of their faces and
shouting the usual tasteless and insensitive questions.

With a slight nod toward one of the members of the group, the marshal, in a near whisper, asked,
"Why would someone that old be going in? It doesn't make any sense."

Letting out a sigh, Matt answered, "My wife has been following this pretty closely during the
months I've been out here building it. In addition to being on the news, the story has been all over the
Internet. I guess some people are opting to move in here because it's a better alternative than what
they've got."

He stared at the face of the woman as she passed. She was clearly in her late seventies or early
eighties, using a walker to help her stay upright and stable. As she slowly proceeded up the walkway, he
added, "She has probably lost her husband…run out of savings…either doesn't have any kids or at least
doesn't have any who are inclined to help her. I'll bet she's thinking this is her best option."

"Either that," the federal officer began, his voice betraying an emotional secret he was not going
to share, "or her kids wanted to take her in and she prefers this to placing that kind of burden on them."

Clements nodded. His eyes suddenly connected with those of a young girl who was the only one
in the group not staring expectantly at the entrance, but glancing all around. She noticed that he was
looking at her, and smiled. It was a half-hearted smile.

She couldn't be any older than my daughter, he thought to himself.

"Maybe sixteen or seventeen at the most."

He did not realize he had spoken the last thought aloud until the marshal responded, "What was
that?"

Snapped from his reverie, he answered, "I was just noticing that young girl. She can't be more than
seventeen. What the hell is she doing going in there?"

Following Matt's gaze, the officer found her in the crowd and shrugged. "Do you know how many
kids that age kill themselves?" he asked rhetorically. "Too many!"

As they talked, Matt noticed that the girl's eyes never left his and she was slowing her pace, letting
the rest of the group pass her. As she came even with the two of them, she had managed to make it to
the back of the crowd.

As the other new entrants proceeded through the door, she paused near the threshold, looking
undecided. For some reason, she was still looking at him. As if drawn by her stare, he stepped toward
her, immediately feeling the grip on his arm from the federal officer.

"I wouldn't do that."

Clements turned and looked at him, his normal urge to rebel against authority waxing without
encouragement. In a motion slightly more violent than he intended, he jerked his arm free from the grip
and insisted, "We were told that through the doorway was the point of no return. She hasn't gone in
yet."

The man shook his head. "That's not what I mean. It's a no-win deal for you."

Matt took a quick look over his shoulder and saw that she was still standing and waiting, apparently
for him.

"What do you mean?"

"Since we've been posted out here, I haven't let any of my men talk to them."

"Why?"

The marshal's expression softened, and his eyes shifted to some point off in the desert, as he said,
"Think about it. Only two things can happen. If you talk to her and don't change her mind about going
in there, you are going to wonder about her for the rest of your life…with absolutely no way of ever
finding anything out. She will keep popping into your head when you least expect it, and you'll want to
know if she's okay…what her life is like in there…if she's even alive."

Matt thought about his words for a moment before saying, "I understand. I can deal with that. But
what if I talk her into not going in? That'd be a good thing."

Shifting his eyes back, the marshal persisted, "Would it? You have no idea why she's doing it. You
don't know what a mess she's made of things. And if you throw her a lifeline, you might as well adopt
her because she is going to attach herself to you like a tick on a hound dog."

He started to respond again, but was cut off. "And what if you do talk her out of going in there and
a month from now, or six, or a year, she decides to take the other way out? You're going to feel as if
that's your fault. You are going to have to deal with the guilt of knowing that if you'd let her walk
through those doors today, she'd still be alive."

The two men stared at each other for almost a full minute before Matt shrugged and said, "I hear
you. But it won't hurt to just talk to her."

Before the man could respond, Clements turned and walked over to the young girl. As he crossed
the fifteen feet between them, he noticed that she was painfully thin, almost anorexic. Her red hair was
shaggy; either it was the result of the latest in youth hairstyles or she had hacked at it herself in front of
a mirror. As he came closer to her, he saw that her eyes were a deep green, almost aquamarine color and
her face was covered with freckles.

"Hi," she greeted him as he arrived.

"How's it going? My name's Matt." With that, he reached out to shake her hand.

Tentatively, she took his hand. "I'm Tillie."

Smiling at her, he asked, "Short for Mathilda?"

Grinning back, dimples tucking themselves deeply into her freckled cheeks, she replied, "Yeah! Not
too many people get that. That's cool."

He released her hand, and she reluctantly lowered it back to her side, as she said, "It's an
old-fashioned name. I happen to like old-fashioned."

"I do, too. Matt is short for Matthias."

She smiled, and they both fell into a brief silence until he began, "I walked over because it looked
as though you wanted to talk."

Tillie dipped her chin closer to her chest and looked at him through her top eyelashes. The move
was too coquettish to be natural in his mind. He waited for her to speak.

"I did. I mean, I do."

Letting one side of his mouth curl up in a half smile, he remarked, "Here I am. But why me?"

"You…I guess you remind me of my dad."

It was Matt's turn to grin. "As I watched you approaching, I thought to myself that you were about
the same age as my daughter. How old are you?"

"How old do you think?"

"Sixteen, seventeen maybe."

She jerked her head in a rapid shake, making even the shortened hair twirl back and forth. "I'm
almost twenty."

"You don't look it."

"I get that. All the time."

He drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly, before asking, "What did you want to talk about?"

The lightness on her face disappeared. She looked down at the edge of the walkway and motioned.
"Can we sit down?"