The Oasis Project

By J.C. Yester

The year is 2029. Environmental toxins, industrial waste, harmful dioxins, and biological and chemical warfare have rendered Earth's atmosphere uninhabitable. All unsupported plant life and domestic and non-domestic animals perish. Humans must survive in oxygen enriched domiciles and wear specially designed portable oxygen units.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pen It Publications
• Release date: Jun 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9781639844517

Book preview

PRELUDE

By the end of the 21st century, chemical pollutants and industrial wastes have combined to contaminate Earth’s soil and atmosphere.

In an effort to reduce pollutants, The World Health Organization and the Global Environmental Institute join resources and implement the Clean Air Act of 2035 which ended Earth’s dependency on fossil fuel and fossil fuel-based products.

Despite their efforts, by 2038 contaminants in the soil, caused by the improper disposal of toxic materials, destroyed all vegetation including plants, trees, and grass. Pollutants in the air drastically depleted oxygen, causing air quality to reach levels too toxic to sustain life on the planet. All unsupported plant life, domestic, and nondomestic animals perished.

With such high demands for clean air, supplies were being depleted at an alarming rate. Uprisings and rebellions are commonplace all over the world. New systems for governing have replaced the archaic systems of old.

In the United States, the Conservationists Party’s efforts to regulate and protect the storage and distribution of clean air for all is met with opposition from a powerful alliance between corporate executives and corrupt politicians.

In a battle for control, special elections were held. The opposition, known as The Governing Body, seized control from the Conservationists Party. Soon after, The Governing Body began hording clean air for the elite and professional classes, while diluting, raising prices, and restricting quantity to the working class. In other countries corporate groups formed similar coups.

In the summer of 2038, genius inventor and founder of the Global Environmental Institute, Dr. Sigurd Gulbrandsen had an idea that he believed would solve the problem of pollution once and for all. The Oasis Project was formed, and a team of scientists from all over the world assembled at the GEI research facility, located in Switzerland, to help bring Dr. Guldbrandsen’s idea to fruition.

In June of 2039, they created Oasis - a unique weather simulator satellite designed to produce a man-made, chemically laced rainwater. Once launched into outer space, Oasis’ mission is to produce a forty-eight-hour downpour that will bind with Earth’s toxins, absorbing them and washing them away, leaving only clean breathable air.

Oasis is thought to be mankind’s last hope for survival.

PART I

OASIS

-1-

Monday, April 8, 2038

9:45 AM

United States Governing Body Compound

Thurmont, Maryland

The Governing Body announced today that beginning immediately, all sales of C-ports will be limited to one unit, per person, per dwelling, per thirty-day period. Additionally, due to the current reduction in clean air supplies, all outdoor activities, excluding work related endeavors and sanctioned sports activities, should be limited to one outing per month. This does not apply to citizens who have been issued orange work Cports or yellow athletic Cports.

As clean air supplies diminish around the world, The Governing Body is doing all that it can to ensure that citizens of the United States of America get as much clean breathable air as possible. As always, we thank you for your continued support. God bless and keep you.

And remember, Keep America Great!

The announcement, broadcast over all public service announcement systems within the United States, came approximately two hours before the rioting and looting began.

Gazing through the floor to ceiling windows encircling the large conference room, cornered on the fourth floor of The Governing Body Compound, Austin Wentworth III stands with his back to the long conference room table. His panoramic view covers the commotion below. His pudgy hands clasped behind his wide back, brow furrowed, he glowers toward the crowd gathered outside the massive steel gates. A low groan ebbs from the back of his throat as his blue eyes drift upward. The angry gray sky above seems to mirror the irate working class, clad in uniform gray, below.

The individuals seated at the long conference room table behind him are the most powerful men and women in the USA.

The United States Governing Body of America.

Formed in 2035, the USGBA seized power at a time when the nation was in chaos, terrified that the atmosphere itself had turned against them. Taking control of the United States had been easy for Austin Wentworth and his cohorts. The Governing Body, running under the Corporatists Party platform, pushed an aggressive agenda of closing the borders, deporting illegals and those thought to be illegal, eliminating government oversight and aggressively assuming all clean air resources.

Then president, Andrew Stevenson, ran under the Conservationist Party’s less assertive platform of reduce, reuse, recycle, and research alternative clean air sources. With a nation tired of the same old rhetoric and failed agendas, Stevenson lost in a landslide. Even so, The Governing Body won in a series of baffling events.

In many lower and working-class areas there had been shortages of functioning voting machines. Extremely long lines forced many to return to their homes without voting, when their air canisters began dipping into the red. Many voting locations, some without working voting machines, others operating without proper clean air filtration, were unable to open at all.

Once in power, The Governing Body abolished the Constitution. All judicial and legislative bodies were disassembled, effectively making The Governing Body the ruling oligarchy. Then, they began diluting and classifying clean air so that they could raise the price of premium clean air to levels that the working class could not easily afford. Insurance paid for some but not all of the clean air needed by the majority of Americans.

Don’t those fools realize they’ll run out of air soon? Austin murmurs.

New technology and innovative devices are credited with not only saving thousands of lives but also increasing the quality of life for many. Before the advent of the C-port units, complex, industrial sized filtration systems were used in hospitals and also for large arenas that were equipped with beds to house the populous. Entire cities crammed into these facilities, living like animals in some of the most deplorable conditions imaginable.

Now, C-ports are worn like a fashion accessory, allowing humans to breathe clean air while traveling, grocery shopping, or spending time out of doors. Although the portable units were convenient, they could hold only a limited supply of clean air.

Austin’s narrowed eyes travel from the gray skies back down to the gray clad protesters.

"They are not our problem, Austin," says a wrinkled, old woman from her wheelchair, her thin voice raspy from years of smoking.

That’s right, says a red-haired woman with striking green eyes. It’s those other countries, Austin. They are our problem. They’ve got more reserves of clean air than we have. We must protect our reserves.

Austin turns from the window so he can face his colleagues. I have no idea what they have, but I seriously doubt that they have more oxygen than we do, so just calm down, Penelope, he says in a mildly condescending tone.

But we now have alliances with these countries, says a short, thin man sporting glittering diamonds on his fingers. Isn’t it about time that we conduct an audit? Why don’t we just ask them for an inventory?

Austin’s steely gaze lands on the man. Yes, Donald, we do have friendly accords with all the other countries, but they wouldn’t continue to be too friendly if we started sticking our nose in where it didn’t belong. We don’t want to be like our predecessors, now do we?

He rolls his eyes with barely concealed hatred for the man seated as far away from the head of the table, short of in the corner by the door, like a disobedient child, as Austin could place him.

Chastened, Donald Albertson, the former Vice President of the United States, shrinks back into his leather chair. Under his previous administration, the Conservationists Party, other countries were strictly monitored, made to perform yearly audits and document inventory. Some countries were spied on or forced to comply through rigorous military guidelines.

When Austin Wentworth conceived of The Governing Body he did so with an eye on the future. A future where there was no discontent between nations. No threat of war, no terrorism, counterterrorism, cyberterrorism, or espionage, no government oversight, checks and balances, no legislature, no supreme court. And since there were no wars there would be no need for the military. The world would be at peace, run efficiently for production, manufacturing, and industry, by corporate leaders instead of by two-faced politicians. Once USGBA took control of the reigns, Austin did what he’d promised. He drained the swamp. He did away with all the superfluous bureaucratic bullshit that his predecessors loved so much. Then, one by one, other governments forged mutually beneficial alliances with Austin.

He single-handedly brought the world to its knees. He knew what he was doing, and he didn’t need advisement from weak, degenerate men like Donald Albertson. But every now and then, Donald would try to slip in his two worthless cents. A bit of oversight here, a dash of government control there. Austin shut him down each time. It was Donald’s influence and connections that won him a seat at the table. That, and Austin wanted to rub it in the face of the out-going party’s loser president that his vice president was now his little bitch.

Well, I say we just keep the good stuff for ourselves…limit the supply to those bums, says a fat, bald man, jerking his head toward the bay of windows.

I agree, says a thin, dark-skinned woman. As long as our workers are well taken care of. I’ve been hearing rumors…

Don’t believe everything you hear, Monique. Austin interrupts.

Still standing, he raises his hand to his earpiece to have security remove the protesters. He pauses, his hand hovering near his temple. Inclining his head toward the window he says, I suppose those bums out there aren’t worth the effort. They’ll run out of air soon. Why waste the air it will take to shoo them off the premises?

His question is rhetorical. He expects no answer. Austin has never needed confirmation, approval, or even the backing of these people. He has acted autonomously ever since forming this group almost four years ago. They have no real power. Of course, they maintain all the benefits, gratuities, and advantages from being members of the highest authority in the land, but at the end of the day, their only purpose is to serve at the pleasure of Austin Wentworth III. Period.

They were all so clueless. Puppets, who were so out of touch with reality, that he could have told them anything. The rumors, weren’t rumors at all. They all marveled at how he had formed alliances with so many countries, so quickly. Austin understood the art of the deal. He realized early in his career that agreements were made by making people believe that you were giving more and taking less. And if it meant the working class had to suffer to secure Austin’s lasting friendship with other countries, then so be it.

The woman sitting to the right of Austin’s empty chair nods sagely. Fingering her burnished red, upswept hairdo, she casts her intelligent eyes toward Austin. I’ve been getting feedback from my contact in Switzerland, she says in a cultured tone. I understand that this scientist, she lifts her slim databook from the table, refers to her notes then turns back to Austin. Sigurd Gulbrandsen has invented something that just might put an end to all of this, she says, with a wave of her delicate, well-manicured hand toward the expanse of windows.

Austin nods his large, sparsely covered head. Yes, I’ve heard the egghead has come up with some idea for a rocket, or something that will fly up into space and fix all of our atmospheric problems. His hands flutter in the air, like a small bird taking flight.

If you ask me, those rockets are the reason everything is so screwed up now. Maybe, if they hadn’t sent so many up there, the atmosphere would have been just fine, says the tall, rail thin Texan.

Yes, Conrad. And after we switched to clean energy, I’m sure your obsolete oil rigs that imploded in the oceans, and all of your rubber factories that mysteriously burned to the ground had nothing to do with any of the toxins in the air, the green-eyed woman states dryly.

Conrad leans forward, glaring down the table at her. So why don’t you tell us all where you disposed of all that obsolete jet fuel, Penelope. ‘Cus the way I see it, you’re just as much to blame for this as anyone else here. Just look at all that crap your planes spewed into the air, year after year, back in the day. Did you think that wouldn’t come back to bite you in the ass?

Penelope’s gaze never flickers in the irate oil man’s direction. Unfazed, her eyes remain on Austin. She doesn’t have to wait long before he jumps to her defense.

On cue, Austin’s voice booms across the room. Shut up, Conrad. Bickering amongst ourselves is foolish. We have to show a united front.

Austin takes his seat at the head of the table, his eyes lingering on Penelope.

I believe I should reach out to the institute in Switzerland and offer to send the best and brightest from our scientific community. she says.

Austin nods his head toward Penelope in affirmation.

Once I receive more intel, I’ll decide if it’s in our best interest to invest any more time or resources there. In the meantime, Penelope, keep up the good work you’ve been doing with our media campaign. Remember, less is best. Austin says.

Giving Penelope’s clasped hands a slow, awkward pat, as if to calm an hysterical pet rabbit, Austin returns his attention to the others. Penelope turns her head, throwing a catty glance in Conrad’s direction. You see, I am still the favorite. The glance says. Conrad scowls, mutters something crude, and then turns away in disgust.

Donald, I want you to find out what the security situation is in Switzerland. If there is a need, I want you to fill it. If not, send some of our people anyway. Austin’s eyes move across the long table.

Conrad, I want you to stay on top of things in Switzerland. And the rest of you, just keep doing what you’re doing, and remember, he says with a broad smile, let’s keep America great!

-2-

Monday, May 13, 2038

8:14 AM

American Environmental Research Organization

Boston, Massachusetts

Dr. Amy Green angrily swipes away the video projection from the wall opposite her desk. Nothing has changed. In fact, the situation has gotten worse. Sighing deeply, Amy flops down onto her chair and rolls it closer to her desk. Her eyes fall on the graph that she just swiped from her wall, which is still displayed across the entire length of her desk.

Much like a weather chart that sorts weather conditions by color, Amy’s graph categorizes monthly atmospheric contaminants in shades of red, clean air in shades of green. Glancing down at the chart, Amy notes that the various shades of green are practically nonexistent, whereas the red shaded areas are enough to make poppy fields blush. Soon, all fifty states will be in the red. It’s Amy’s job to stop this from happening, but so far, it’s been like trying to soak up Boston Harbor with a box of tampons.

Shit! she exclaims, swiping the image from view and pushing away from her desk. She swivels her chair around to face the bank of windows behind her. Retract blinds.

The horizontal blinds covering the windows slide open, with a muffled clapping sound, like an exuberant audience wearing mittens. The sky outside is the same dingy gray that reminds her of the color of dish water after the last dish has been set to dry. Gazing at the somber sky, Amy sighs. Gone are the summer skies of her youth, filled with thick, white fluffy cumulus clouds that seemed to stretch endlessly against their cerulean blue backdrop.

The gloomy view brings her mind back to the depressing graph she just received from Environmental Protection Services. But there is something else on her mind today. The deadline is this evening. She’ll have to either accept or decline by 10:00 pm. She knows she can’t put off the conversation any longer. In her mind, she is running through various scenarios that might take place later that evening with her husband. When the spinning motor inside the vibrating vidcom notifies her of an incoming call, Amy jumps in surprise.

She pushes her chair away from the window and swivels over to her desk to reach her buzzing, illuminated communication device. Seeing the orange hue radiating from her vidcom makes Amy smile. She’d programmed the device when she’d first received it as a gift from her husband because orange is his favorite color. Now, whenever she sees the color, Amy associates it with love. She grabs her device, marveling at how the mere thought of her husband always manages to summon him.

Holding the small device in the palm of one hand, she swipes the other hand over the screen. Instantly, the dark, handsome face of her husband floats above the device in her hand.

Hi handsome, she says to the disembodied head floating just above her palm.

Hi beautiful, Paul responds with a bashful grin.

Amy wonders how her handsome, confident, brilliant, doctor husband still manages to be shy with her after all these years. Soon after the birth of their first child, Amy abandoned all pretenses of timidity. Pushing a human out of your body with your husband standing nearby, and an array of doctors and nurses peering into the very core of you, can do that to a person.

She watches him now, nervously running a hand over his face before reaching up to smooth the hundreds of rough locks springing from his thick, black - with just a tiny bit of gray at the temples - hair. Her smile wavers. She knows her husband well. Something is bothering him. Her seafoam green eyes scan his symmetrical brown face searching for one of his telltale signs. A crease in his otherwise smooth forehead, a downward turn of his perfectly shaped lips, a single raised eyebrow. Then her eyes move upward until she locates the one defiant dread in her husband’s otherwise neat locks.

You missed one, she says.

Paul’s smile at their little joke reveals one of his best features, his perfectly straight white teeth, framed by full sexy lips. Only now, his smile seems forced. Amy remembers how Paul’s smile attracted her to him back when they met at university. His sweet, seductive smile still made her weak in the knees. Yes, their strong attraction was still there even after fifteen years of marriage, three kids, and a mortgage. How could she even consider leaving - leaving him, leaving her family, leaving her home - for a full year?

Is everything okay, babe? Paul asks, turning serious.

The look in his dark eyes tells her that everything is not okay. Does he know? Blinking rapidly, Amy shakes her head and swallows the guilty admission that’s pursed on her dry lips. She carefully places her vidcom on top of her desk, licks her lips and places an errant strand of red hair behind one ear. Rubbing her damp palms against her lab coat clad thighs, she reminds herself that this was not the time or the place to have this discussion. Meeting her husband’s intense gaze, she tries to forget about the letter resting in her top desk drawer. The letter that she must reply to with a yes or no answer by this evening. The letter that should have been taken home and discussed with him a week ago.

Amy knows she should have told him about the invitation, but instead she stuffed it into her desk and forgot all about it. Out of sight, out of mind, right? That is until this morning. Amy knows that her husband is the most understanding, supportive, and generous man she has ever met, which is why she fell in love with him in the first place. But understanding or not, an entire year being apart would be hard for anyone to take, even one as considerate as Paul.

Since the day they met, they had never spent more than two nights apart. Amy asks herself, if the situation was reversed, would she let him go? The answer comes instantly. Hell no!

Pushing those thoughts aside, Amy plasters a smile on her face. Lifting both hands to smooth the top and sides of her curly red locks, she tugs the unruly hair back and - expertly loosening a bright pink hair tie from her wrist - pulls it into a thick ponytail. he focuses on the image of her husband and hopes her smile is enough to assuage the look of consternation on his face.

Of course, she lies, Everything is fine.

Paul drops his head. She watches his broad shoulders sag beneath his white lab coat. When he looks up and meets Amy’s eyes, she sees profound sadness in his hooded gaze. He knows.

Really, Amy? Paul’s voice is soft and tremulous. Is this what we do now?

Before Amy can open her mouth to confess, Paul says, Apparently, Ellen is super excited about going to the Global Environmental Institute in Switzerland for a year. For some crazy reason Jeff thought I knew all about the invitation our wives received. Were you even going to tell me, Amy?"

Amy’s eyes roll away from Paul. If she wasn’t on vidcom she would have slapped her palm to her forehead and exclaimed D’OH! How had she forgotten to tell her best friend Ellen - whose husband, Jeff is best friends with her husband - that she hadn’t gotten around to sharing the invitation with Paul. Words catch in her throat and for a moment she thinks she might gag. She coughs, cupping a hand to her mouth, before swallowing the lump in her throat. She tries to think of a good defense but when she meets her husband’s distraught eyes all she can think to say is, Tonight … I was going to tell you tonight.

Well, it’s nice to know that you weren’t planning to shoot me a farewell text from the plane to Switzerland? Paul’s tone deepens, angrily.

His words trigger pinpricks of anger, and Amy’s spine stiffens. For more than one reason she wants to rage at her husband. First, for the hurt. It’s one thing to think she’s capable of planning to do something so asinine, but to actually say it out loud is another thing completely. And second, the assumption. What made him think she would even be on that plane to Switzerland? Paul’s words are spoken angrily, but Amy detects the underlying hurt.

She takes a deep calming breath. I wanted to wait for the right time.

She watches Paul run a hand back and forth over his dreads, in that way that lets her know when he is struggling to come to a decision. When he throws a cautious glance over his shoulder, she suspects he is not in his office. She knows that he is trying to decide whether to continue the conversation now or hold off until tonight, when they have more privacy. When he turns back to her, he leans in, speaking quietly. Well, why didn’t you talk to me a week ago, when you first got the invitation? he asks.

Good question. Valid question. Maybe after receiving that invitation a week ago, the idea of leaving my family for an entire year put me in such a state of shock that I am still suffering from the effects of the traumatization.

Amy toys with the idea of making the jovial comeback. But, realizing just how pissed off Paul must be to continue this line of questioning, sans the lack of privacy, she swallows hard, bites back the comment and tries to work up enough saliva to moisten her parched lips.

Usually, her extremely easy-going husband is famous for letting things go. Even things that Amy sometimes feels should not be shrugged off. Now, Paul demands answers? Not tonight. Now? Amy can’t really blame him. This conversation is a week overdue.

Amy leans back in her chair, crosses one slim leg over the other and tries to pretend that the offer to take part in one of the most important and prestigious events in history is no big deal. She casually tosses her head to one side and shrugs her shoulders.

"You do know it’s for an entire year," she says, putting as much emphasis as possible on the last word.

Without warning, Amy’s stomach roils. The acrid taste of bile touches the back of her throat. The vidcom image of her husband wavers slightly. Oh God, don’t let me be sick. Not now.

Amy inhales deeply through her nose, holding the air in her lungs for a long moment before releasing air through her pursed lips. She blinks several times until her vision is clear once more. The revolt in her stomach is most likely due to her forgoing a more substantial breakfast for a half a cup of coffee that morning. Lack of nourishment aside, just the thought of leaving her family for an entire year causes a weakness in her body, a wobble in her head and a shakiness in her vision.

That… and oh yeah…that whole lying to her husband for an entire week thing, was enough to send her into a self-induced coma. Although she tried to deny it, hiding that invitation, keeping it from Paul, had been eating away at her. Maybe she really was traumatized. Maybe she was suffering from PTSD. Or maybe she was just developing an ulcer. Either way, she was beginning to feel the need for hospitalization.

She and Paul never had any secrets between them. Since day one, Amy had enjoyed full access to all of Paul’s devices and passwords and he to hers. They had a preprandial ritual of discussing high points of their day with the kids around the kitchen table. Later, in bed, they would discuss things that they did not want the kids to be privy to. Secrets and lies were never a part of their life together, and yes, a lie of omission was still a lie in her book.

It is no small wonder that now, her insides are being shredded by how all of this is playing out. Amy curses herself for not bringing the letter home the day she received it.

"I understand, from Jeff, Paul says pointedly, that only four doctors from AERO were extended an invitation. Ellen is going. We both know where you go Ellen goes, and vice versa. Are your other two colleagues going?"

Yes, but…

…I don’t even know why I asked. Of course, they are, he says interrupting her. A small humorless smile tugs the corners of her husband’s mouth, and as his eyes briefly meet hers, Amy notices something behind them change.

His fleeting, indecipherable look is questioning, but also something more. Something much, much more. Amy forces down the bile rising in her throat, she drops her gaze to the clammy hands fidgeting in her lap. "Just because Ellen is going to Switzerland next month doesn’t mean I have to go."

The invitations to the GEI made her, and the three other researchers, the envy of every scientist who were not invited. Ellen was ecstatic and immediately began making plans with Amy to go. Where you go, I go, and vice versa. Paul and Jeff knew their wife’s history. Best friends didn’t even come close to describing their bond.

After meeting in grade school, Amy and Ellen became fast friends. It soon became obvious that their mutual interests and backgrounds were uncanny. It seemed that every other aspect of their lives was symbiotic as well. They became roommates in college, moving into an off-campus townhouse in their second year, and even met their ideal future husbands on the same night, while partying at a campus bar. Then, upon graduation, they both were offered positions at the AERO. The fact that they were both offered an invitation to Switzerland was just a continuation of the strange dynamic that forged their tight bond.

"But don’t you want to go? I thought Gulbrandsen is like your hero." Paul says derisively.

That was an understatement. Working alongside the genius environmental scientist, professor, inventor, and innovator, Dr. Sigurd Gulbrandsen would be the opportunity of a lifetime. It was her dream ever since attending one of his lectures in college. After the lecture, Amy talked nonstop about the renowned scientists PhD in engineering, his many patents and inventions, and his essays and dissertations on air pollution.

She understood why Paul grew tired of hearing about Dr. Gulbrandsen’s research, his knowledge of the environment, and his innovative genius in inventing technologies to remove harmful pollutants, eliminate poor air quality and draw off contaminates from water, and why he cocooned his fragile ego in the knowledge that as brilliant as the famous man is, he still can’t invent a machine that could reverse the damage done to the environment. Until now.

I don’t want to go, Paul. Amy blurts, eyes still on her clinched fists.

His silence is deafening. She wills him to speak. But Paul remains silent. Finally, she meets her husband’s deep brown eyes. The profound disappointment in that look stops her cold. Her breath catches in her throat.

Amy looks up at the sound of someone clearing their throat. Ellen’s mass of dark, loose curls frame her cheerful, café au lait face and almond shaped, hazel eyes. Her eyes flick toward Amy’s vidcom before she lightly taps her bare left wrist. Amy’s gaze shifts to the illuminated time on her desk. The morning meeting. Nodding, she holds up one finger. Oblivious to the tension, hanging like the stench of burnt popcorn in the air, Ellen smiles, floats a kiss in Paul’s general direction and retreats, the soft hiss of the door closing behind her.

Paul returns Ellen’s greeting with a wan smile and a small wave. He sighs, head dipping, eyes refusing to meet his wife’s gaze, he says, I just wish that you trusted me enough to talk to me about this. That’s really all I have to say. I know you have to get to your meeting so...

No, Paul that’s not it at all. You know I trust you … I … I … it was never that I didn’t trust you. I just …

The words won’t come. Remembering the look of disappointment in his eyes has her gut twisted like a pretzel and her tongue tied like red licorice. That look sent her advanced vocabulary so far back, she feared that if she opened her mouth again all that would come out now is goo goo ga ga.

She squeezes her eyes shut, and takes a deep breath, holds it in, then tries to arrange her thoughts. She opens her eyes. Paul has turned away from his vidcom. Through the phone’s speaker, she hears her husband’s name, loud and insistent, over the hospital’s intercom system. Behind him she watches as hospital workers rush past. Paul turns back to the vidcom.

I gotta go. We’ll talk more when you get home tonight. Paul says.

I love you, says Amy, putting as much heartfelt sentiment into those three words as can possibly fit.

I love you too, Paul responds quickly, before ending the communication.

The breath whooshes from her pursed lips as her body sags into her chair. She presses a hand against her aching chest. It felt as if Paul’s frosty gaze pierced her lungs, leaving shards of jagged ice lodged in her chest. She draws in one shaky, painful breath, forcing back tears. She is going to make this right.

Later as Amy sits beside Ellen in their morning meeting, she recalls her state of mind when she’d first received the invitation to the GEI. The envelope was placed in the center of her desk when she arrived at work that morning. She opened it. Read its contents - a glowing letter, extolling her achievements, and the value she would bring to the project, an official invitation signed by Dr. Sigurd Gulbrandsen, a detailed narrative of what Gulbrandsen’s Oasis Project was, its objective, expected outcome, what her contribution would mean - and felt completely overwhelmed. Then, without a moment’s hesitation, she stuffed the entire packet into her desk drawer.

Absently, Amy smiles at Ellen. She wishes she could discuss this with her, but even as close as they are, she’s not sure Ellen would understand. Amy has a husband and three growing boys to take into consideration, while Ellen’s only consideration is Jeff. She hated the thoughts trolling around in her head. She suddenly wanted to push away from the unnecessarily large conference room table, jump to her feet, and announce, I do not want to go to Switzerland!

Instead, she squeezes her eyes shut, remembering the night she got home after receiving the invitation. She helped Cameron, their youngest, with his homework while Paul worked with Christopher, their middle child. Their oldest, Charlie usually finished his assignments in study hall so that he could go to soccer practice after school. Once Charlie arrived home, they all sat down for dinner. Dinner time was always family reconnection time in their home. So, when it came time for Amy to relate highlights from her day, she hesitated, her eyes lingering on each precious face. And lied. She lied to her family.

Coming home to her guys, helping her sons with their homework, listening to music while cooking with Paul, sitting around the dinner table, later making love with her husband, those things were eudaemonia for her. Her family is the most vital part of her being, they are