Seeds of the Bitter Harvest. John Sheppard

chance of returning home, but even less hope of having a life outside of the camp. The welcome from the residents of the city had been anything but warm. The infrastructure had been stretched to the breaking point; housing and food prices had skyrocketed with the influx of the additional population. The sense of kinship the refugees had expected from their fellow citizens had not been forthcoming.

      Andy waited in line to eat and shower. He did his best to make his clothing and his appearance look more presentable, and headed out to look for Mr. Lange’s office downtown. The gleaming business district could clearly be seen from the camp, and since he lacked both a car, and the money for a cab, he decided to walk to downtown.

      After hours of effort, several wrong turns, and requests to numerous people passing by for directions, Andy stood in front of the KML International office building. He guessed the structure to be one of the tallest in the city, perhaps thirty-five to forty stories tall.

      Most of the exterior was a dark reflective glass, which muted the images of the surrounding buildings. At the street level, the external walls were clear glass, with highly polished chrome pillars supporting the upper floors. The combination of clear glass and pillars at this level gave the appearance that the upper portion of the building was floating in midair.

      Once inside the lobby, the visitors were treated to the playful splashes from several large, rectangular fountains inset into the floor. Andy found the KML offices on the lobby directory. They were on the 25th floor so he headed towards the elevators. It was hard for him to ignore the stares of the well dressed office workers. There he was in rumpled clothing, hiking boots, needing a haircut, and looking more like a street beggar than the son of one of the nation’s prestigious families and a possible heir to a vast fortune.

      The ride up on the elevator was equally uncomfortable. None of the other passengers spoke to him. Andy felt like some sort of social leper. He was almost surprised that one didn’t suggest that he get off and find a freight elevator up to his destination. To avoid the discomfort, he focused on the screen flashing the floor numbers, as he and the other passengers rode to the upper floors of the office tower. Mercifully, the elevator door finally opened to the 25th floor.

      The lobby of this level was an extravagant display of contemporary elegance. Andy had seen it all before, but it still took his breath away. While he had exited at the 25th floor, the KML suite of offices actually took up five floors, but could only be accessed through the lobby on this floor. The lobby walls soared up to all five floors. The glass exterior walls to the left and right of the elevators offered unobstructed magnificent views of the port, and the ocean beyond to the right, and the view of the mountains to the left were equally stunning.

      Opposite the elevators, the walls were covered in black marble and dark smoked glass alternating vertical panels. The doors to gain access to the offices were skillfully inset into this wall, so as to make them difficult to see to the casual observer. A massive, multi-tiered, contemporary crystal chandelier hung overhead. Andy quickly estimated that it was at least twenty-five yards or so, from the elevator doors to the receptionist desk.

      The receptionist desk was made of black and grey granite, with deep red veins of color. It stood in contrast to the gleaming, spotless, white marble floors. A lone receptionist sat at a desk so large, that it almost appeared to swallow her. She was a petite, beautiful young woman that Andy guessed to be somewhere in her mid-twenties. Her waist was about a size zero, and she gazed at him with cold, hard eyes, as she beheld him.

      The young woman made no attempt to smile at him, but Andy approached her anyhow. Her contempt for someone dressed like he was, remained painfully obvious; by the scowl which deepened the closer he got to her.

      “What may I do for you”, was the best she could manage, with a voice inflection which indicated she would rather not do anything for him, other than maybe drop him out with the trash.

      Andy fumbled for the business card, and she let out an impatient sigh. As he handed the card to her, she took it as if it were a dead rat.

      “Could I please see Mr. Chadwick Lange?” he inquired in a voice so weak, it embarrassed him.

      The receptionist glanced at the card, then at him, then back to the card. Finally, she said in a voice as cold and detached as ever, said she would see what she could do, but that Mr. Lange was a very busy man. She doubted if Andy could see him any time soon, and she was certain it wouldn’t be today.

      “Go, um. . . stand over…. there,” she said, pointing to a spot out of sight of the elevators, on the other side of some large potted plants. Andy moved to his assigned spot, and she picked-up the phone, dialed a number, and turned her back to him.

      He overheard her say a few mumbled “I’m sorry, sir”, followed by “… of course. . . right away”. Before the receptionist could turn to face Andy, Mr. Lange burst through the double doors, which lead to the corporate offices. He moved like a man with his clothes on fire directly towards Andy, with his right hand extended in greeting.

      “ANDY, son, I’m so very glad to see you!”

      Chadwick looked much as Andy had remembered him. The man appeared to be in maybe his mid to late fifties, and about six foot tall. He had a slight paunch, which his expensive, well tailored, charcoal-grey, suit covered well. There was a bit of a double chin starting to form on a tanned face. Broad shoulders and a thick neck hinted that the man once had been an athlete. Mr. Lange was just starting to have a receding hairline, with hair color that varied in shades of almost a white-grey to grey-black.

      Before Andy could acknowledge the greeting, his hand was caught in an iron-grip handshake, and Mr. Lange threw his left arm around Andy’s shoulder. At the same time, the older man briskly moved the two of them through the double doors, into the corporate offices.

      “See that refreshments are brought to my suite, ASAP!” snapped Mr. Lange, as they passed a very pale receptionist.

      After being swept past cubicles of various types, and some smaller private offices, they entered the well appointed outer office of Lange’s personal administrative assistant, who stood as they entered. Before she and Andy could exchange even a “Good Morning”, he was taken into Mr. Lange’s office. The office suite was much as Andy remembered it. It was an office befitting one of the two vice-presidents of KML for this region.

      The expansive corner office’s north and east walls were glass from floor to ceiling. The panoramic view stretched from the port in the east, to the northern portion of the port city and the land far northward. His sizeable desk sat in the northeast corner, facing visitors as they entered the suite.

      A heavy, ornate, rosewood conference table, which could seat ten, was to the right of the desk. Like much of Mr. Lange’s office it represented a contrast in styles from the most up-to-date to antiques. It was a look that only the most professional interior designer could pull off successfully.

      To the left of the desk, was a small grouping of four low slung chairs around a glass topped coffee table. Mr. Lange directed Andy to the seating area, and motioned for him to take a seat, while he moved to the windows. Chadwick stared out the window for a long moment, his gaze focused on several thin columns of grey-white smoke coming from a point far to the north. The younger man knew he was staring at smoke rising from the Capital.

      “I never thought I’d live to see this; I was here in the office the night the Capital fell, I couldn’t believe the terrible orange glow in the sky that night…We thought we were next…”, commented Mr. Lange, his voice breaking a little as he spoke. He was still facing the window, and it was as if he was speaking to himself, rather than Andy.

      “When did you get out…. and your family?” he said in a soft voice, turning to face him.”I’ve been pray…, uh, um, thinking of them.”

      “I got out…. Friday night. . . just. . . before the Capital fell. . . my family didn’t, as far as I know.” Andy choked on the words, hoping he would not fall apart in front of this man who was almost a stranger to him.

      Mr. Lange sensed the need to change the topic a bit, and inquired.

      “Where are you living?”