Camp Zester, USA

While that was both sad and happy news for us all, we kept up our rotation as if nothing had changed.

Doors opened that next Tuesday, and on every Tuesday afterwards, showing us new sets of rooms.

We got swimming pools, soccer fields, badminton and handball-racquetball courts, volleyball spaces, basketball courts, and all the equipment to go with them.

We got hospitals with many, many birthing rooms / operating theaters.

We got a set of running tracks set up as concentric straightaway/curves all in a pillar farm that would let people watch from the infield or outfield. Each concentric ring was a different length, from a quarter mile / 400 meters, to 800, to 1 km. Two levels had additional lengths of 1600 meters, 3200, and 5k, though those were out-and-back tunnels with minimal lighting and strong airflows that meant something else was going on, too.

The swimming pools had a diving platform and a deep end, as well as super-long lap pools with lots of lanes, and a wading pool water-park for kids.

Unfortunately, there were no waterslides.

A treasury / bank opened on each level, with safes full of US coin money and a plastic version of currency that wasn't the USA normal paper currency. The mayor took possession of that but promptly handed it over to a trio of people, any two of which could open the safe.

Side-Habs Galore

At two months in, really once we had the ag wing pretty well set up with what it said would be enough food to grow for our own use, the doors with the tools opened.

We got the ability to open our side-habs!

Unscrewing bolts to unlock the side-habs, we expanded them out and it turned our normal habs into two-story 2200 square foot houses. Granted, we had to do a lot of bolt-tightening and careful interlocking, but the floor joists that spanned the distance between the two habs turned into comfortable living spaces.

The only thing they lacked was running water. There were four bathrooms, but these were just rooms with equipment for a wash-bowl and closable bucket-toilet. Taking the soil water to a dump-station (closets opened in walls we didn't know were there) let us use an automated metal cleanup that I enjoyed not having to use.

The idea, we all knew, was that once the women were pregnant enough, walking all the way to the bathroom to pee was going to be a huge hassle.

Kitchens

I've left off a description of the kitchens.

The tools that let us open the side-habs let us disassemble the containers in the cafeteria, which in turn let us open the doors into the kitchens.

In the back of the kitchens were immense bulk-storage containers with grains, oils, etc., enough to let us have hot food off a grill instead of microwaved, or not, MRE's.

Part of the goal of having kitchens was fresh meat, but we couldn't have fresh eggs until the chickens were 18 weeks old, and the ducks took longer, about six months.

With the opening of the kitchens and the emptying and removal of the containers in front of them, we had to staff them. This led to city-wide choices of people wanting to be on kitchen staff vs. ag or animal work, and that (of course) meant tracking time spent places.

We agreed to a check-in process for a shift (city-wide, meaning just our level), but it pretty much matched the process everyone else was using, too. A central person was the timeclock, and when we'd start a 'shift', we'd go there, they'd find our paper, note the time, and we'd come back to clock out end of shift.

Everyone had to work a certain number of kitchen setup or cleanup hours, by consensus, to make sure we all understood them and didn't take it for granted that we were put in a place forever.

Confirmation of Sizes

Pipes, by the layouts I had and our own inferred drawings, sometimes went but then appeared later having been carved (with no access) deep in the rock. Everyone knew, that couldn't happen. Thus there were engineering spaces we didn't have access to.

I wasn't in a huge hurry to get in there, but it seemed like a good plan to _want_ to, so Jamie and I (and some others on other levels) tried to infer what was in there.

In one of the manuals we found, we found specifications on the various pipes going through one of the junction galleries, where all sorts of pipes and valves were located. It showed the colors of the pipe and the numbers on each pipe, the typical water flow rates and pressures, the typical yearly min/max pressures and flow rates, and the design maxiumums.

The yearly max numbers (not average numbers, but what might happen by random chance in a maximum event) were astounding. They showed some of the larger pipes would be moving 1 acre-foot of water per second. I didn't quite know what that meant, but after some rough calculations, Marsha said that since the pipe was 10 meters in diameter, the water would be going 45 miles an hour.

How, exactly, do you have a pipe 10 meters in diameter, and the water in it is moving at 45 miles an hour? That kind of flow rate was a bit boggling to the mind. That was a lot of water.

There were diagrams of lakes with a 30 meter depth in most of it, but a large semi-walled section that was only 2 meters deep. Some of the areas were labeled, "Wetlands". That sounded an awful lot like mosquito territory, and I wasn't too anxious to see that part, presuming it was built.

For all we knew, all of these fancy places were just dreams, or, at most, open volumes of rock with nothing in them. We had no idea if any of it was true. We only had symbolic diagrams for a lot of it. But, some of the factory drawings showed the names of German and Swiss manufacturers, so we weren't sure what they were.

Freedom of Skin

Roundabouts the beginning of the second month someone decided that nudity was irrelevant, and soon a fair number of folks just started walking around that way. It was generally cool, but very consistent, and people adjusted to the temperature like room temperature just happened to be 55f.

I liked more clothes on than that, but walking to and from the bathrooms? No one cared.

Initially, I had worried. I thought if I wasn't careful, someone would think something bad about me. After a while, though, we all realized it just didn't matter that much.

Further, even in the lunchroom, people (including me, though that was more rare) could be naked and eating, or grabbing some food on the way to/from somewhere.

And, since no one had swimsuits, the pools were all definitely naked-spaces, and it just Did Not Matter.

We all slept naked, at least to hear tell of it, most of us did, so that didn't matter either.

Births and Deaths

The first births at Zester were stillbirths / miscarriages, which is pretty normal though it was not much discussed very much in American culture as far as I knew, but then again I wasn't really old enough to have friends that could happen to.

The first live birth at Zester (in Area A) was Anna-Nicole Jessup, 4 pounds 2 oz, a Very Tiny baby, born at 29 weeks, which is 8 weeks premature and it was a risky thing. We had very primitive NICU equipment, mechanical ventilators and incubators, but she managed to survive and thrive.

Not all births were this lucky.

Not having epidurals, one of the plans the doctors put in place was hypnosis, for all who could do so, and (for a limited set of people) it helped quite a lot.

In those next few months, we had many die in childbirth. It was a risk. We did what we could, but there was only so much help to give.

Still, the overall population rose steadily, and then it got time for Jo.

Yay!

I don't think there's anything in the world that matches watching the birth of your child. NOTHING. AT. ALL. COMPARES. ... EPIC!

Yes, it messy and risky and painful and complicated and worrying and all those things. Then, trying to get the kid to suck-suck? When the mama doesn't know how to make it happen? That's a thing. Yes, as if anyone needs to be told, YES, there is skill in getting a baby to suck your nipple, just ask any mother. Sometimes the magic works, and sometimes it doesn't.

I loved each child.

I loved each of my wives - and, yes, we decided to officially marry, even though that point was moot - and rejoiced in them and with them and over them, as they did with me.

Each child we added, added joy to our lives. Each cry and kvetch and giggle and hug, it all 'Added to the Tapestry', as the UU minister says.

We had so much work to do in those first several years, until our animal husbandry caught up with our capability, and our farming skills rose to create patterns of success.

It wasn't easy by ANY margin, especially with young ones running about, falling over and off of things, wanting to be read-to, held, told stories of The Life Before TLB (shorthand adopted pretty universally).

We had libraries and schoolhouses and kindergartens with toys and swing sets, we had ball fields with balls and games of all kinds. We had beer, too, eventually, a one-year anniversary gift in a container in a 'special stuff' room that opened then.

The beer was kind of not-great, but we decided we might be able to help that along with some selective breeding of the yeasts and methods.

Gap Years Pass

To talk about the intervening four years after we arrived would require too much forbearance of you, my reader. My life is interesting to me, but probably not to most of you reading this.

Summarizing, personally, our families grew at a rapid pace, since more mouths to feed was a small price to pay for more crops harvested and better managed animal pens.

The living space expanded, as new levels, whole sets of hab galleries opened up in four new lower levels, and though they had kitchens and ag equipment, they had no animals, so that had to be handled in a controlled way.

Since one of our neighbors moved away, we took advantage of the space and moved half the family to the neighboring hab.

Several women had decided they weren't happy where they were - it happened - and due to my fame, they were interested in me. After we talked it over, I didn't feel I could outright refuse, and we let them move. Soon there was no difference between old and new, and I shared their beds, and gave them more children yet.

Each of my 17 beautiful wives (yes, being famous did lend some to switch husbands) bore as many children as they wanted, which is to say about one a year. Our household (by year 4) was up to 43 children (!!), each as happy as the last, and each finding a group of mothers happy some of the time to play and other times to cuddle and read to them.

So, the next section of my history carries a somber note, but this context of it is that of one family in a huge neighborhood of mostly-happy and mostly-healthy kids. Everyone had to work, no matter how young, and the play time happened while the rabbits got chased or the goats got milked.

About 9:30 am on a Thursday, 4 years, 3 months, and 20 days since we arrived at Zester, a klaxon sounded through the public address system.

This was a pretty big deal - it NEVER did that. We'd had precisely zero sounds out of the automated PA except tri-tones for the time of day.

This, instead, sounded like one of those battle klaxons on a battleship. It rang out for about 30 seconds, super loudly, waking every baby in the place, every sleeping kid or mom, everyone, and putting some serious PANIC in our minds.

Just about the time it turned off, our ears popped - the air pressure changed.

Something was wrong - Deeply, Deeply Wrong.

I was reading to Melissa, Amber's precocious 3 year old, and watching 3 more toddlers run amuck in the inner yard. Everyone boiled out of the house doors and we looked at each other, a cold chill running through us.

It's the kind of fear that doesn't just stay there, it drops deep into you. I didn't think of myself, honestly - it was all about the kids... could we save them? What was going to happen?

A LOT of kids immediately picked up on the panic level and cried, so I scooped up one and knelt to have everyone hug me while we waited.

The PA voice, a pre-recorded one, said, "ATTENTION PLEASE. YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE."

Well, no shit, lady, we're at attention, got us there.

"Stand by for a message from National Command Authority."

The voice that came on was computer generated, reading text in the kind of almost monotone that comes from speech synthesizer reciting text.

"FROM: W R Adams, Secretary of the Army, United States of America.

TO: Project ECHO installations

For Immediate release.

Teams. A week ago, a large group of people suddenly died in Europe without apparent cause. Autopsies revealed myocardial infarction, heart attack, caused by infection with a unique pathogen. As of this morning, we have determined this is a man-made, purposefully-designed gram-positive bacterial agent, spread person-to-person, with an incubation period (given circumstantial evidence) of 5 to 8 weeks. No known cure exists. No test exists. The bacteria is highly infectious but causes no outward symptoms. The only clue is sudden death after incubation.

No airborne transmission route has been determined.

All project Echo locations have been triggered to seal airtight and watertight. This seal will be effective and safe for 7 to 10 years from today's date. An auto-unsealing process will re-evaluate conditions based on macroeconomic and macroscopic changes like unique commercial AM and FM radio broadcasts and certain chemicals being present in the atmosphere.

As of today, the safest place to be on the entire Earth is where you are right now.

Knowing what I know now, we recommend sheltering in place for at least 20 years following this event. However, these are early days. We will advise with further information as it becomes available.

No danger to Project Echo locations is known, and considerable safeguards protect against this exact risk factor. Thus, we wish you luck, and we ask for your prayers for the fate of the world outside you. Peace be with you all."

The recorded voice came on again and said, "Message has ended. That is all. This message will be repeated tomorrow at the same time of day."

We just stood there in silence.

Outside our idyllic city, in the 'real world', people were dying. Innocent people, dying, for no good reason.

Huh.

Anniversary Party

I'm writing this as an old man. I know I'm old. The doctors tell me I have a lung tumor and there's no real medicine for it. Radon has not been my friend. Or, maybe, it's just TOO close a friend for me. Doesn't matter. I don't have a lot of time left.

So, I've assembled this document (based on a memoir I did a long time ago) and I hope it meets the historical need.

Areas 4 through 12 opened when I turned 40, each with 64 levels (though it's definitely warmer if not hotter on the lower levels). It's a good thing, too, since space was getting a little tighter, but now, well, there's no lack of space. We were once seriously concerned there would be enough space and food growing capacity.

I have too many grandchildren to count. Four of them have a version of Etta, but it's not a good thing for them, they're in each stuck in reveries or autistic dysfunction. We still love them. Perhaps someday one of my descendants will turn up with the same high-function as I have, but frankly I just hope it goes away.

It's Seriously Painful as a parent or grandparent to watch a kid struggling with autism. You want to help, but really, there's only limited stuff you can do.

As best we can figure, we're over one-third done with our life sentence in Zester Prison / Refugee-camp. Our great-great, great-great grandchildren will learn what it's like to run again under the sun in open air, or to wade into an ocean with waves crashing on you, or stare up at stars and wonder at the sheer vastness of the universe.

I had the chance to do these things in my youth. Since I remember everything, Yes, I remember that, I can re-experience those sights and sounds if I want to.

But, that direction lies in the past, and we're pointed at the future. Setting up factories for various things - shoes or glass bottles, or repair parts for broken ag frames - this had occupied our time. They are worthy as a set of goals, of course.

That said, there is no higher calling than making Love. Not 'making love' as sex'; I'm talking about creating love and caring and friendships with the people around us. I've forged families out of happenstance and luck and love and joy and anger and forbearance and forgiveness and caring and compassion and... did I say love already?

I was thrust into an arranged marriage in a foreign land, a marriage that had its own set of 7 bonds just for the first 7 women I married. Later when that turned into seventeen wives, the additional ten became Exactly as dear to me as the others. I cannot compare. It's not fair. More than that, though, it's not possible.

So, my wives and kids and grands and great-grands and onward, as you read this, know I'm just a guy, a normal guy, who happened to be walking down the right hallway at the right time to get recruited by a nightmare team. That nightmare turned into a blessing and now we are all blessed.

A definition: To be blessed is to be RIPE, to be found by God to have achieved a status of being Ready to Do and Be and Become.

We are all Blessed by God as People, at whatever age. We are blessed to be able to help our group, our family, our tribe, our city... and our greater humanity as we may or may not be the last humans. We don't know. We can't know. You whippersnappers, you'll find out.

May God Bless you and Keep You, and Make His Face to Shine Upon You, All The Days of Your Life.

-- Kevin Jenson Kooper