The Cross and the Circle

by Gregory M. DeSylva

Cover from "Jesus Christ saves" by Howard Storm
Copyright ©2004
ISBN: 0-87714-902-X eBook edition
ISBN: 0-87714-329-3 PB edition

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

DEDICATION

XXXX

THE AUTHOR

Gregory M. DeSylva lives in Rhinebeck, New York with his wife, Nancy, where he works as a consulting forester.

Gregory's interest in spiritual wisdom as it relates to temporal life ranges from the Transcendentalists to Dr. Norman Vincent Peale, and draws especially from Rudolf Steiner's Anthroposophy, the teachings of White Eagle, the Findhorn Community, and Theosophy. He is particularly interested in the spiritual and physical trends and influences shaping the future of humanity. The Cross and the Circle represents a synthesis of indications in this regard gleaned from such sources, presented via the medium of a futuristic novel.

Gregory is an avid hiker and canoeist with abiding concern for plants, animals, people, and the environment. He devotes considerable energy in support of peace and reconciliation in the Middle East and the world. Regarding literature, he is particularly appreciative of J.R.R. Tolkein's works and has much interest in accounts of near-death experiences and spiritual encounters with Christ, as documented by Dr. George Ritchie, Dr. Raymond Moody, Dr. Melvin Morse, G. Scott Sparrow and other writers.

Gregory has published a children's Christmas story and is an inveterate editorializer and talk show caller. He is working on another book.

THE BOOK

It is the year 2099. World ecosystems and economies have collapsed, scattering refugees to the farthest corners of the ravaged Earth. Picture a radiation contaminated Pacific island. How could it reportedly support viable colonies? How can they circumvent the enormous health risks?

Such questions intrigue Dr. Carl Barnes, cancer specialist and erstwhile psychic dabbler. Investigating, he gets caught up in a conflict between two communities espousing radically opposed spiritual viewpoints - monotheism and polytheism. Vaguely, he senses their discord to be related to the world crisis, and his scientific investigations lag as he becomes increasingly involved with these strange inhabitants. What sort of dementia has caused one group to fancy themselves some kind of latter-day Biblical figures, and the other to act out a perpetual rock festival laced with pagan ritual and witchcraft?

Insights forthcoming only deepen Carl's depression over global conditions. Hope does not beckon when he hears of a third colony - a mysterious, unapproachable cult the pagans once mixed with but now claim to be cut off from by the gods. Who are these people the monotheists hypocritically rebuke for usurping the name of an Old Testament prophet? Why did they once associate with the pagans, only to split away? What turn of destiny has put this forbidden colony on a remote island with the others, and what might this have to do with the world situation? Carl's journey of discovery and enlightenment is a riveting spiritual adventure and a profound exposition of the challenges and opportunities facing humanity.

EXCERPT

"Fear not, Daniel: for from the first day that thou didst set thine heart to understand, and to chasten thyself before thy God, thy words were heard..." —Daniel 10:12

Chapter 1

A pall hung over browned-out Manhattan, blurring the scars of endless cycles of rioting and National Guard actions. Dr. Carl Barnes, noted cancer specialist, took off his glasses and gazed wearily out the heavily screened examining room window. Across the sterile Hudson, flares cast a lurid glare under the clouds and smoky fires flickered here and there among the abandoned refineries. Dense as the pollution was, it seemed insufficient to account for the shadow that perpetually hung over the city. Barnes wondered whether it might be partly in the eye of the beholder.

Turning from the window, he greeted Brett Rand, a bearded, middle-aged sailor referred for ominous-looking skin lesions and severe chest and abdominal pains. Lucky to be getting any medical attention at all, Barnes mused. The odds of winning the health services lottery were fifty to one, and even then it was usually rigged in favor of the privileged. Even if you got a spot, the services were generally suspect - quality doctors like him were the exception. As a rule, one had to resort to the black market for reliable treatment.

Barnes motioned the sailor to the examining table and removed the dressings from his swollen arms. What he saw made him catch his breath, despite the multitude of melanomas he had seen during twenty years of practice. Black, swollen blotches etched by sickening red cracks covered Rand's arms, and his skin seemed ready to peel off. "Good God, man, what did you do - go swimming in a reactor?" he asked.

"That bad, Doc?" Rand groaned. "Guess there ain't much hope. Figured as much. It's what I get for screwing around on that damned island, anyway. Shoulda' stayed clear of it like I was told, but I never was much good at taking advice, 'specially when I get a wild hair."

Barnes, a lean six feet, frowned as he cleaned Rand's forearms and applied fresh dressings. "It's not time to give up yet," he advised, though the malignancy was almost certain to have spread. "We'll have to run the usual tests and scans, then we'll see," he declared, lifting the man's shirt to palpate his chest. "What's this island you refer to?"

"Tauratonga. Lies about eight hundred miles southeast of Tahiti. Some of the crazies who live there think it's the promised land - God knows why. Damned hell on Earth's what it is! Be better if it'd just sink outta sight for good."

"What's wrong with it?" Barnes asked, furrowing his worry-lined brow. Despite his forty-nine years, his wavy brown hair was only faintly sprinkled with gray. In contrast to his strong chin, his finely sculpted mouth bespoke sensitivity.

"Death land, that's what! Place's burning up with radiation from all the bombs the slant-eyes blew off there!"

"Why did you go there? Didn't you know it was dangerous?" Barnes asked.

"Thought maybe it was safe again, what with people living there. When I quit Maritime Lines I was looking for some place to hang out, and what with all the other islands being crammed to the hatches with ref'gees, there was about no place else to go," Rand said with a grimace of pain. "Guess I was wrong, though. Place was still hot as hell, and now there's hell 't pay."

Barnes' eyes narrowed. "People living there? I thought you said it was contaminated with radiation."

"Like I said, hot as hell. But there's people, lots of them, crazy as hell, going around in tee shirts and sandals like it's springtime in the park."

"You mean they aren't afraid of cancer?"

"Not that I could tell. Buncha' Bible-pounders and weirdoes, they were. Cult types, I expect. Guess they figured God or Santa Claus or someone would protect 'em."

"How long were you there?"

"Too damned long - 'bout half a year."

Barnes raised an eyebrow. "Did you see much illness?"

"Some, but too late for me to wise up, I'm damned. But they just keep living there, regardless. Some of 'em said they'd been there more'n ten years. Hell, there was one loony bunch stayed right up by the damned volcano - just to make sure things didn't get too dull, I reckon."

"Volcano?"

"Yeah, big 'ol stinking manure pile that'd puff and burp all night. They said it blew its top more'n once. Heard it was just a hill until they shot off the last nuke, a real super firecracker, that one. Split things wide open 'an she blew till there was this mountain where the hill had been. Anyway, them lowlanders hate that bunch up there - claim they're devil-worshipers, living in a spot like that."

"How many of them were there?" Barnes persisted.

"Hell, I don't know. Like I said, never went up there. But the hell with 'em and the whole damned place! What are you going to do about me, Doc?"

"Let's see what the scans show, and in the meantime we'll remove as much of the diseased skin as we can and attempt to graft new tissue from your legs. I'd like to put you on Livrium to inhibit cell division, but we've been out of it for almost a month. I wish I could be more optimistic, Mr. Rand, but you appear to have been exposed to an excessive amount of radiation, and our capabilities have been severely compromised by The Breakdown." Barnes pushed a button and an orderly came and took Rand away in a wheelchair.

* * *

Barnes couldn't get the conversation off his mind. Rand wouldn't last long, as the cancer had spread to his lungs and thyroid. Before he died, Barnes tried to pump him further about the island. Rand only growled, "You want to go there, don't you? What the hell for? Want to end up like me?"

"No, it sounds like a good place to stay clear of," Barnes winced. Yet the possibilities were intriguing. Perhaps there were clues there that had eluded his two decades of cancer research. The old American Cancer Society never made good on its promise to find the cure, yet the need had grown exponentially as environmental priorities were abandoned and pollution reached life-threatening levels. The thought that such a place could be inhabited was intriguing. On the other hand, how much trust could one put in reports by someone like Rand? Still, he certainly had been exposed to some potent radiation.

The next morning Barnes put in a call to Charles Gibson, a colleague at the moribund Nuclear Safety Commission. "Chuck, what can you give me on Tauratonga Island in the South Pacific?" he asked. "I understand it once was used for nuclear testing."

Gibson replied, "Interesting place, Carl. Used for tests by the Taiwanese prior to their showdown with China. Remember when they defied the test ban? Some of them were very dirty devices, and one of them evidently reactivated an extinct volcano there. During The Breakdown they also disposed of some high-level reactor waste there. After they abandoned the island nobody wanted any part of it, and it just sat there glowing. For a while the U.N. quarantined it and tried to maintain a patrol, but with The Breakdown funds ran dry and they stopped. Mostly, policy was to try to keep the place secret so as not to attract the curious and foolhardy."

Barnes interjected, "Well, it must not have worked. I understand there are people living there. What are its life support capabilities?"

"I haven't kept close tabs on the situation. I believe air surveys have shown considerable re-vegetation and maybe a few beachcomber huts. There also may have been attempts to reintroduce some of the native animals. But believe me, anyone trying to live there would be at risk. Several underground devices were detonated there, and the soil must still be quite contaminated. The fallout and the radwaste would be a threat to the water supply. Staying there for any length of time would be a risky proposition. I'm sure it's still plenty hot, and whoever goes there better be damned warmly dressed and have a return ticket."

"Warmly dressed in the tropics?"

"Maximum shielding radiation suits - hood, air filtration system, the works. Even so, I wouldn't risk more than a few days there."

"Not even in the interest of science?"

"Are you suggesting that we go?"

"Not we. Me. I'm interested in studying the carcinogenic impacts on whomever may be living there."

"Science!" Gibson snorted. "Just what are you going to prove? And if you do, where's it going to get us that it hasn't already?"

"You can't blame it all on science, Chuck. Without it we'd still be back in the Dark Ages."

"We are back in the Dark Ages! No, worse! At least they never knew anything better. We went from riches to rags, and that made people angry. It's the anger that bothers me more than anything. I don't see what can be done about it. Anyway, Carl, forget it. You're not going to find anything there but a lot of half-baked zombies, and you'll probably end up one yourself."

"I appreciate your concern, Chuck - and the information. I'll think it over. What clearances would I need?"

"None. Like I said, you'd be on your own. But please don't. I've lost enough friends. Please don't add to the list."

"Thanks, Chuck - I'll try not to. Please give my best to Susan and the kids."

* * *

The rest of the day Barnes couldn't concentrate on the endless stream of pitiful cases that flowed in the door. Since the Millennium, cancer rates had soared worldwide, in concert with rising radiation levels. The Taiwan-China war had escalated and spread its nuclear legacy around the globe, adding to the residues cast abroad by several smaller nuclear conflicts and reactor meltdowns. Now, medical science was helpless before the tide of the disease.

Barnes ate half of his tasteless soy-based dinner at the compound cafeteria and retired to his thick-walled, windowless room in an adjoining building. Nobody in their right mind ventured into the bullet-riddled streets at night. Besides the danger, there was nowhere to go. The paramilitary only controlled a few strategic facilities and installations, and the rest of the city was a no-man's land of roving guerrillas and criminals. He ached for Sarah and the twins, whom he hadn't seen since the City Hall riots. Their car was never found, and he feared they were victims of a car jacking by looters.

For years he had tried to lose himself in his work. But he was weary of the endless, hopeless rounds at the understaffed clinic, with its constant scarcity of vital medicines and supplies. Because of the critical shortage of doctors since the second epidemic, the cancer research program at NYU had been virtually shut down, and he and most of the other researchers had been assigned to hospitals and clinics. They struggled through two more epidemics without the benefit of effective antibiotics. He rarely left the clinic, and then only in an armored vehicle for rare conferences at the moribund university. Though he loved hiking and bird watching in the country, years had passed since a songbird had been sighted in the state. For reasons poorly understood, the bees had also disappeared, and without them many species of flowers and shrubs became rare. The silence of the hills was so haunting he couldn't stand it. Now, he mostly holed up in his room and read old novels or studied history, particularly accounts of early explorations.

Although Barnes rarely revealed his feelings to his colleagues, lately he'd been making increasingly frequent visits to the clinic psychologist for help with depression over his loss and the general state of things. How could the age of science have had such a culmination? Where else was there any sign of hope? Certainly not in organized religion - he'd given up on that long ago. Once he'd been drawn to meditation and the Eastern path, and his mentor maintained that he had considerable aptitude for things psychic. But he never had adequate time to devote to these things, and the main result of his efforts was frustration. He also dabbled in holistic healing and alternative medicine but was unable to put much of it into practice. This led him to question the validity of such endeavors.

Something deep within him cried for a breath of fresh air, no matter how improbable the venture might seem. Maybe getting away from the city would help the wounds to heal. With the idea turning over in his head, he collapsed on the institutional bed and lapsed into troubled sleep. A couple of hours later he awoke from a dream about a menacing yet enticing tropical isle. Thoughts racing, he sat bolt upright. Beyond all doubt, he had to seek out the strange land Rand so desperately feared. He didn't sleep a wink the rest of the night.

Electronic Editions: ( * Disclaimer )
Download via Email $6.95
3.25" PC disk $6.95 + $2.55 shipping and handling each disk.

NEW - InstaBook paperback Edition