Forever Young

Chapter Seven. Food Poisoning

Chapter Seven 

Food Poisoning? 

Howie Galgov, almost seventy, still enjoyed the hunt. His personal floater, acquired illegally, had extended his range to silver fox territory. Another couple of pelts, and his wife would be able to complete the coat they had planned for their granddaughter's coming of age. Organization of the Alliance had caused him to neglect his family responsibilities. His granddaughter, Lana, had grown-up, almost overnight it seemed. The coat would be an apology for years of neglect. 

The sun was just above the horizon as the floater eased out of the farmyard. Howie, still wary of the sub-freezing temperatures, had clothed himself in his winter hunting outfit. No skin was exposed. He could have been taken for a fur-bearing animal except for the dark visor that protected his eyes from the glare, and the bow and quiver slung across his shoulder. 

As the day progressed, it became obvious that Spring had sprung. The temperature rose, snow fell from the overloaded branches, frozen rivulets regained their gurgle, and the sap began to run. Howie felt rejuvenated but decidedly uncomfortable. He had overdressed. The first item he removed was the white fur-lined hooded parka. Even though the underlying deerskin hunting- shirt was short-sleeved, Howie felt comfortable in the warming rays. He also enjoyed the greater mobility. 

Howie was a traditionalist. When he saw the two foxes, still resplendent in their winter coats, he abandoned the floater and donned his racquettes. The animals were to have an equal chance. Luckily, both wind and camouflage conspired to conceal his presence. The foxes had survived the winter in prime condition and were now enjoying a gambol in the sunshine. As the hunter approached, the foxes, oblivious to his presence, continued to snuffle in the snow. This was going to be an easy kill. He was in the process of drawing an arrow from the quiver when some unerring instinct alarmed the foxes. Heads raised, and ears pricked, the foxes surveyed their immediate surroundings. Obviously uneasy they decided to leave, and set off at an easy lope along the riverbank. The hunt was on. 

Howie prided himself on his conditioning. He had always been active but maybe now the years were beginning to take their toll. As the morning wore on and the foxes showed no sign of stopping, Howie's discomfort increased. He couldn't believe the heat. Sweat was pouring out of every pore. His clothing was drenched. There was no alternative. He had to stop.  

As he stooped to remove the racquettes, an uncontrollable shivering wracked his frame. It seemed strange to be sweating profusely and shivering simultaneously. The trembling of his hands made it extremely difficult to remove the thongs around his mukluks. As he was bent over, fumbling with the straps, both hamstrings simultaneously underwent a violent involuntary contraction. Howie let out a scream of agony and fell backwards into the snow clutching the backs of both legs. To relieve the pain he tried to massage the stricken areas, but his thick fur leggings reduced the effectiveness of his frantic rubbing. 

Howie had great difficulty removing the leggings. Unable to stand, the stretch to unlace them became an exercise in agony. The only solution was to unclasp his belt and lower the furs. The cooling effect of the snow on his bare posterior brought instant relief. His pounding pulse slowed, the shivering stopped, and constant kneading of the back of his thighs eventually eased the violent cramps that had disabled him. The foxes were long gone. It was now a question of making it home.  

Despite the fact that the temperature was hovering just above the freezing mark, Howie found it unbearable to don any clothing. He made almost a mythological figure as he shushed naked through the snow with his bow and quiver slung across his back, vainly attempting to make it home. 

The abandoned furs, and tracks in the snow that gave every indication of his terminal disorientation, led the search party to the shrivelled corpse.  

Howie's death was followed in rapid succession by the demise of three other leading members of the Alliance. All died under similar mysterious circumstances. The remaining council members called a meeting. 

"It is my considered opinion," said Dr. Olgov," that all the deaths were caused by food poisoning." 

"You must be joking, Doc?" shouted a burly fellow at the back of the capacity crowd in the Alliance meeting room. "I bet the bloody Myr had something to do with it..." 

"Let me finish, Sir." 

The man muttered some obscenity then acquiesced. 

"It appears that all four of the deceased attended a dinner party a week ago. They all ate the same dessert, a syrup pudding. I believe the syrup was contaminated with alphega." 

"Not by bloody accident I'm sure," shouted the loudmouth, voicing the feelings of the assembled throng. "They won't rest until they're rid of every last one of us." 

The crowd rose as one roaring their agreement. The doctor raised both hands above his head pleading for silence. He looked to the chairman for support. Repeated blows of mallet on podium, and yells for order, eventually subdued the crowd to angry muttering. 

"Now if you don't mind let the doctor finish what he was about to stay." 

"Thank you, Mr. Selby. This must have been an isolated incident. No one, other than those attending the dinner party has been affected. But we must be cautious. Avoid over exposure to sunlight..." 

"I don't believe you Doc. You want us to start living like the bloody Myr with their exposomats and their other contraptions. To hell with that! I've had enough. Let's get out of here, start our own community, free of the bastards." Roars of approval greeted this inflammatory statement and the meeting came to a chaotic end.  

At a subsequent meeting, all residents opposed to the alphega diet were invited to join the Alliance in setting up their own self-sufficient community.  

Traditionally the Darsian miners  spent their summer retreats in the town of Engelsbay on Lake Nipogon. This town seemed to be of little interest to the Myrians. They ignored the blatant flouting of the sign laws and the fact that business there, largely conducted in the short summer season, was routinely carried out in Darsian. The MRP even tolerated the existence of non-Myrian summer schools. It seemed as if they had allowed the town to develop as a release valve for the pent-up frustrations of the immigrants. The town survived on tourism, fishing, and agriculture. Currently the population was small, but there was plenty of room for expansion both in the town and along the shores of the massive lake. The alliance intended to make Engelsbay an alphega free zone. 

Over the ensuing months, the majority of residents of Bellican or Darsian descent, tired of all the shortages, language restrictions, and the constant propaganda, made their way down route 401 to Engelsbay. A handful of Myrian families, who had not been seduced by the government offers, and dissatisfied residents from all over Pergamon, joined them. When the migration petered out, the population of Engelsbay had swelled to around ten thousand souls. 

The MRP ignored the exodus. Their towns and villages were now ethnically cleansed. There would be no more discord or tiresome demonstrations, and they now had an endless supply of food and energy. Scientist had developed a solar powered defence shield that would leave them free to develop Myrian culture from the corrupting influence of the outside world.  

They would take care of the Engelsbay commune later.