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  STORK: Sowing Season

  Book I

  Brian Patrick Edwards

  ROGUS ARDENS

  BIRMINGHAM, ALABAMA

  Copyright © 2020 by Brian Patrick Edwards

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  Brian Patrick Edwards/Rogus Ardens

  Birmingham, Alabama

  Email: [email protected]

  Instagram: @cathoholicism

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Layout © 2017 BookDesignTemplates.com

  Edited by Samantha Gluck

  Cover Art & Design by Chris Lewis (www.BaritusCatholic.com)

  STORK: Sowing Season/ Brian Patrick Edwards. -- 1st ed.

  ISBN 978-0-578-67513-8

  This book is dedicated to Lyla, Kristen, and the Blessed Mother. I’m increasingly thankful for you all every passing day.

  I’d also like to give special thanks to Samantha Gluck for all of the incredible help and work you put into this project with me. It would have been in the trashcan without you!

  The family is the test of freedom; because the family is the only thing that the free man makes for himself and by himself.

  ―GILBERT K. CHESTERTON

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  PROLOGUE

  “How did it come to this?” This is the question asked by those few with whom morals and objective truths still resonate. It is a mystery -- a scandal, actually -- that despite such magnificent advancements in technology, the innate barbarism of humanity was never truly quenched.

  Instead of becoming more humane, we remain savages inhabiting a sleek and modern world. We are yet wicked in these times, which pull tomorrow into the present at an increasingly rapid pace. Immorality has made us its slaves. Its deceptive brand of false freedom forces us to live within a beautiful lie. Now, many have forgotten what was stolen from us right before our eyes. Sacrifice, slaughter, offering our own before the gods of this mean, new era; all done in the name of convenience, fear, success, and prosperity. At what point does mankind stop moving forward, to pause, to turn back and behold all that we have left behind?

  The citizens of the Earth now live under a singular leader, a god of modern times. His mercy and benevolence extends to those most obedient; and, the disobedient suffer his wrath, which visits and stings quietly in the night. His name is Unity and he is the answer - for most. Unity, a tireless, ever-working artificial intelligence that reigns with cold calculated data. If the earth becomes hungry, he feeds it. If the earth becomes full, he empties it. The people spend their days wishing and praying to this singular provider, and he listens. He hears all, but he only answers his most obedient.

  Religion has been slain, eradicated; the churches stand empty. Countries previously known as the most devoted are now populated with corpses of the past -- a people with no sense of the transcendent. Waves of famine and disease – some raising suspicion and giving birth to myriad conspiracy theories – serendipitously resolved many of the overpopulation concerns reported by a global consortium of scientists. Rather than draw on our incredible imaginations to innovate solutions for these and other modern fears, we allowed our primordial barbarism to drive our decisions.

  The skeptics -- and those much maligned conspiracy theorists -- claim these supposed natural events were not natural at all, but synthesized. They believe Unity developed a new and powerful way to execute swift solutions to global problems, while protecting the naivety of Earth’s citizens:

  Indeed, all life between both tropic lines, around the globe, went dark. No heartbeat of light could be seen from the heavens, no traffic moving people to and fro, no humanity remained between those two imaginary lines.

  This ushered forth a new era -- one in which an unprecedented manipulation of mankind began. Rights were taken from us and we watched without protest. Looking back, it was all quite easy, really. The blueprints for this new global world had already been drawn. For nearly a century, most women of the world were already on board with the idea that to prevent and terminate pregnancies gave them power and freedom. As with one shrill battle cry, women demanded freedom from what they believed to be an insufferable burden -- childbearing.

  In order to convince women to abandon their innermost longings and their true purpose, the status of human life must be demoted. News, magazines, books, movies -- all forms of media -- promoted a new definition of what was once considered sacred and precious. That a pregnancy amounts to a clump of cells, a parasite, a non-human became the ubiquitous belief for most.

  In this way, human life became increasingly unimportant in the minds of the masses. Suddenly, due to one of those mysterious natural events, all human females became infertile -- the ancient world called it barren -- and, thus, free of natural pregnancies. The great majority of people barely cared at all, so blind were they.

  The claim that this global infertility came about from an act of nature was taken as fact. No one questioned it, certainly not the media. Out of this crisis was born a company, STORK, a new, safer pathway for those wishing to raise a child. Babies produced through STORK were all lab-grown, perfectly healthy, and free of detestable genetic and physical flaws. What else would anyone want in the new age of health and overall perfection?

  Though this solution to the infertility problem may seem wonderful on its face, the reality is that only the most obedient can afford the high cost of a STORK child. Citizens of the Earth who refuse to pay taxes due to their strongly held moral beliefs will never have access to an income capable of covering STORK’s fees. Only the elite and obedient are capable of experiencing the joy of parenting.

  So, for some, the question is no longer, “How did it come to this,” but rather, “How do we put an end to this?” Some people are awake and are pausing to turn back and behold all they have left behind. And what they see makes them long to return down that path. They desire to reclaim those stolen natural rights and the freedom to enjoy living. A new generation is rising and they seek to rule themselves for better or worse, until the last breath from the very last human fades.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Michael woke with a startle as a clamor of harsh sound erupted directly into his ears. His high cheeks lifted to meet the enormous eyebrows lowering as he winced in pain. He’d been in another place, within his resting mind, soaking his feet in the sandy and gritty surf of a beach far away. The disconnect between heaven and earth lurched forward, right as he was ready to dive into the waves as they met the beach. The realization that his feet were no longer wet and the sun no longer burned on his back brought him quickly back to reality and he knew he was in his bed.

  “Well, off to work we go.” Peace followed once he deactivated the device embedded within his ear, the Auris, with a quick pinch to his earlobe. He glared over at the curtain caught up in a light breeze, momentarily letting sunligh
t bleed through. His pupils shrank until all that could be seen in his eyes were brightly lit fields of hazel and green. Michael sat up, tied his unruly long black, greasy hair behind his head and let his eyes run along his wife’s curves, as she laid turned away from him, completely covered in sheets. Today was an off day for her and he didn’t want to disturb her. The fog of sleep lifted rapidly as he sprang from bed and grabbed his scrunched-up jeans and a shirt from the floor.

  Now fully alert, he quietly got ready and listened intently to the news his Auris implant, a device that along with the Visum contacts had replaced the traditional phone. The Auris implants were for sound and listening, and were quite nice in audio quality. The Visum, contacts that changed in opacity for the viewer to read and watch whatever they desired. The contacts watched for whatever gestures their users made, changing from page to page or even typing at times when they didn’t want to speak whatever private message they wanted to compose. Most everyone had them, some like Michael and his family used bootlegged versions. They have nearly all the same features, but retain a certain privacy when it comes to anonymity, something which is quite important to those who live outside the laws and taxations declared by Unity. Yes, technology had become great and evermore powerful, but there were still limits, and men still had means to remain secretive, even in a world that is ruled by the supreme Artificial Intelligence. The bootlegged versions were, of course, illegal and some had many defects, but no one was going from ear to ear checking them.

  The Auris read to him, “Protests in Southside, last night, in the wake of the failed bombing attempt on Birmingham’s STORK clinic last week. The demonstrators were assembled, petitioning the Unity to finally put an end to the radica-” His mood changed quickly after hearing the opening details, prompting him to switch the news off. Silence would be better, although his thoughts were already filled with conflicting ideas and emotions that further bottled themselves up for a later time. He hated STORK and the atrocities he believed they and Unity guilty of committing, but he had an even greater disgust for the radicals these days. The radicals -- people who championed familiar dogmas, who had been holy and devoted at one time -- had allowed themselves to become corrupted with seething hatred.

  Numerous factions from across the globe make up the group commonly referred to as radicals. A diverse variety of gods and ideologies feed the group’s common desire to control and destroy. The two major factions comprise the bulk of the radical presence in the North American provinces -- the Retrogrades and the self-proclaimed Zealots. Numbers for both groups continue to grow rapidly as hatred for Unity deepens and spreads.

  The Retrogrades want to send all of humanity back to the Dark Ages, simply desiring a more natural world, empty of advanced technologies. The Zealots, whose adherents largely consist of fallen-away Catholics and various protestant Christian denominations, seek to end the practices of STORK and eventually overthrow Unity altogether. They are more destructive than the Retrogrades, often carrying out violent attacks because they believe that without engaging in a holy crusade, the end of their kind will surely be upon them. Even with the Church’s excommunication of the Zealots’ leaders, they continue to make excuses and vehemently claim that the violence is necessary and their fight a holy one.

  He allowed thoughts about all of this to swirl in his mind while vigorously brushing his teeth. Drying his hands, he quickly glanced at the mirror to make sure his hair was at least passably neat and smoothed back. To Hell with these old wooden stairs! Almost every step creaked as he finally made his way down to the living room. There he found Cole, already awake. Cole is the younger of two cousins living with Michael and his wife. Their mother is an addict and when Michael found her strung out in an alleyway, something he learned happened daily, he invited Cole and Stone to live with them. The father vanished just before Cole’s birth and no one seemed to know his name. Michael believes their father introduced his aunt to opioids early on in the relationship, but it’s entirely possible the two boys come from different men.

  Cole stands quite a bit taller than his older brother, his light complexion and curly brown hair contrast sharply with Stone’s short, stocky build, dark hair, and dark complexion. Their personalities differ as much as their appearances. Stone goes out often and typically ends up partying, fighting, and chasing skirts. Cole is reserved, keeps to himself, and has no problem following rules.

  Cole sipped from his steaming mug of coffee, peering at Michael above his fogged-over glasses, his boney, hairless face hidden behind the cup.

  “Mornin’ Mikey. Left some bacon and eggs on the counter.”

  “Thanks, bud. You still up for the move today?”

  “Yup, think I’d be up before eight on a Saturday otherwise?” Cole’s chipped snaggled-teeth revealed themselves through his smile. “How’d they get evicted, anyway? I don’t think you ever told me.”

  “Too expensive -- even for a studio, especially with John being out of work.” His response was muffled as he quickly scarfed down the remaining scrambled eggs. “Really appreciate the breakfast, but maybe next time you could leave out the shells.” Michael pushed the crunchy bits out with his tongue, plucking them up with calloused fingers.

  “Maybe next time you could get your lazy romp out of bed and make ‘em yourself,” Cole retorted, flipping him off.

  “Speaking of lazy, where’s that brother of yours? He said he’d be here.”

  “Um…I remember him leaving last night. Must’ve stayed over somewhere,” he said, placing his empty mug in the sink.

  “What for? You didn’t think to ask?” Cole didn’t respond. “Whatever, I’ll talk to him later about it. We gotta get moving though. Grab us some water.”

  …

  Within ten minutes, the moving truck they ordered arrived. The vehicle, like most others, was self-driven and fully electric. Michael and Cole climbed into the front seats, and commanded the vehicle to its destination. The truck took off quickly, weaving in and out of traffic with ease, using perfectly calculated speed and merges. Michael often wondered what it must have been like to be the one controlling such a large truck. To grip a wheel between your hands and press on the pedals, all of which this truck, along with many other vehicles, didn’t have. Like any of them, this one takes verbal commands only and has a touch screen, which allows the rider to select parking spaces and alternate routes. It was a good thing that people no longer drove, Michael knew that for sure. After all, it was a car accident that killed his father many years ago.

  He and Amelia were left now to care for the family and keep the house in which he and his sister, Maria, grew up. When he turned twenty-one, his mother said her goodbyes and moved to the gulf, where she cared for her father who couldn’t afford hospice or the treatment for his cancer. The merciless disease ravaged him, leaving him bedridden in his last days. Once he passed, she never returned, and visiting her was very expensive, making it nearly impossible for them.

  As they traveled along, Michael’s eyes stared at the road and sidewalks, watching the proud people and families of Birmingham stroll outdoors in their fancy outfits for their breakfast and day of fun-filled activities. His excitement over seeing his sister and brother-in-law grew as they got closer to their home, but he desperately wanted a day free of obligations for once. Michael hadn’t had a single day off work over the entire summer and the sight of all these people irritated him. He could tell they were really close now. He could see the short, weathered brick building Maria and her husband were living in. It stood just halfway up the Iron Mountain from Five Points, neatly tucked between the ugliest buildings in the entire city. Window air-conditioning units hung from its walls as if they were about to fall out and constantly rang and rattled throughout the day and night.

  The truck parked and a feeling of eagerness came over him, making him forget his longing for rest. He hadn’t seen his sister in months, but at last she appeared over the stairs carrying a box of chattering dinnerware. Her long mahogany-colored hair dance
d along in the wind as if each strand were waving to them. Nearly tripping at the sight of the moving truck, an enormous smile broke forth, stretching all across her slim face.

  Michael wasted no time jumping from his seat to yell, “Maria!”

  “A sight for sore eyes!” she cried out cheerily with a giggle, while setting down the heavily taped box.

  “Missed you, sis,” Michael said as he leaned in to give her a tight hug. He felt the bones sticking out of her back as she gasped for air.

  She peeked over his shoulder at Cole’s skeleton-like frame. “Have you not been feeding this boy?” She grabbed her cousin and hugged him as well, saying, “I’m going to have to cook a feast for y'all tonight. Amelia at work?”

  “No, I let her sleep-in a while longer. She spent a little extra time last night cleaning out the room you’ll stay in. As for Stone, the punk went out last night and I haven’t heard from him this morning, Cole says he must have stayed over somewhere.”

  “That’s fine. I think we’ll get this knocked out real fast anyway, especially since you two got here so quickly. John’s upstairs in the apartment breaking down the bed, but hopefully not actually breaking it. Go help him out with that and Cole and I will load up some of the boxes.”

  “Sounds good. Maybe he hasn’t done any damage yet,” Michael joked. Friends and family knew John’s clumsiness and short-fused temper quite well.

  …

  The apartment building was an extremely inexpensive place to live. Anyone just walking by along the block could see that. The corridor floors inside were concrete, but had cracked over the past century and a half. Dirt, turned black with time packed into the cracks. Amelia would have had a fit if she’d ever visited. Paint chipped off of the warped, wobbly walls and littered the floors. Michael’s nose filled with the many aromas that flowed from each tenant’s apartment. On the first floor, he smelled curry and once he reached the second flight of stairs he noticed a haziness to the air; marijuana was popular among many of the apartment building residents. Finally, he was on the third and top floor -- the one Maria and John lived on. He could see the door wide open and heard John fidgeting with things from within. He quietly snuck into the studio and walked up on his crouching brother-in-law. The wooden floors groaned and startled John, catching him completely off-guard. John turned, his arms and legs stammered and buckled, as he warily looked at his intruder, a smiling Michael.