Eugenic

By Horace P. Guerra, IV

A once humble shy medical doctor named Dr.Wilcoxen is forced into an audacious challenge to search for the cause of the death of a Catholic cardinal.  While investigating, she faces near death attempts on her life and discovers the astonishing inner workings of a subversive human cloning empire named HELIX. No one is prepared to grasp the daunting reality that humans have been cloned and that the identity of mankind has been changed forever. 

This novel explores how the fashioning of a perfect race of humans can potentially impact civilization and possibly hasten the extinction of naturally-derived humans to make way for a race of mankind; more fit, intelligent, and resilient.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Horace P. Guerra, IV
• Release date: Dec 20, 2024
• ISBN: 9798230190448

Horace P. Guerra, IV

Horace is an avid fan of underdogs, those who by accident of Devine Fate, build themselves to HERO status. Almost never does one who is dubbed HERO by peers, family, media, and the public at large, wake up one day planning their route of arriving to such distinguished recognition.    No barrier, physical or imaginary, can thwart one's journey to be someone worthy of the status of HEROIC, one who goes beyond just influencing on social media. This HERO is one of us, forged by the tongues of fire, raw material flaws and all, into a weapon of justice, a tool of respect, a defender of truth.      No one possesses the perfect package. Riddled with flaws, the brave amongst us whether they be firefighters, first responders, police, military, or just ordinary civilians, emerge from the barrels of raw Earth with no thoughts of celebrity status, monetary rewards, influencer appeal, or comfortable retirement. Each one of us is a candidate.   Horace asks that you stay tuned to his next blockbuster novel, part of a series that promises to change how one views mankind forever.         

Book preview

Chapter 1

Isolated among the weather-carved pillars of time, Cardinal Barney John Walters gazed into a cloudless evening sky dotted with its familiar emerging stars.  The vanishing orange of the soaring sandstone giants interrupted the deepening moonless sky that gradually blackened, revealing its expanses.  His weathered, but nonetheless resilient 62-year-old stature somehow continued to put up with excursions that would commence when most people were still comfortably resting on their mattresses.  The arduous hikes would continue well into dusk, many times without so much as a quick stop for food and water.  Most half his age could only imagine taking on the elements that seemingly came natural to this highly decorated Catholic cardinal.  After all, this was his way of meditating, praying, strategizing, and just being alone.  He enjoyed this more than he would ever admit.  The solitude of mountain ranges and other hardy topography fortified his body and soul.  His relatively short eight miles of wearisome navigating through the latticed Bryce Canyon ended with prayer and a dictation of his thoughts onto his voice recognition Atlantis laptop.

The computer screen glowed in the deep abyss of night, blinding him to the serrated world around.  He sat with the gritty cold stone at his back and his humming laptop resting upon his tattered pants.  He sipped the stale water from his plastic water bottle and spit the grit from his mouth that accumulated from his dusty walk.  A wild dog howled in the distance as the cardinal sat and imagined a society free of genetic bigotry, an opposite distinction to the diverging society of those genetically perfect and those with the misfortune of having less than perfect genes.

He supposed he had no choice but to think this way.  After all, he was a Roman Catholic Cardinal, and Roman Catholic priests were supposed to think this way.  He was schooled with a weighted moral compass, endured abundant hours of theological ingrain, took vows of celibacy and obedience that few would ever elect to take, and lectured about the preciousness and meaning of life to millions who chose to listen.  He couldn’t help the way he thought.  It was something he chose at a very young age.  He could not disappear from many years of incessantly going over the same logical run of observing, orienting, deciding and responding that yielded a set of physical and mental habit patterns.  Many loved him for his brilliance, wisdom, and beliefs.  Yet, there were just as many that loathed him.  He was aware of this as he reminisced about a time when he spoke at a college in Kansas about the cloning of man.  The subject drew many friends and foes alike.  He plainly recalled a riot erupting among the thousands, with numerous arrests, injuries, and a handful of deaths.  He was so horrified that he ceased speaking at the podium, and prematurely halted his lecture circuit due to this surprise.  The event mortified him for weeks, and some sought to condemn him for the injuries and deaths that resulted.  Perhaps this was the reason he ever more chose seclusion amongst the austerity of nature, even in the harshest of surroundings, to refocus.

Cardinal Walters brushed the sand from his forehead as he closed his laptop and glanced back into the universe above.  A luminous meteorite brightened the abyss with an eerie green blaze, intense enough to cause his eyes to lose their dark adjustment.  He closed his tired eyes for a couple of minutes as he dark-adapted, flipped open his laptop, and fixated his gaze back on the screen.  His slowly enunciated words flashed on screen as he prepared for his upcoming speech, Hope for a Forgotten Generation.  His deadline of 8th of July 2035 at the Omegaplex Hotel in Salt Lake City was swiftly approaching, and he knew he had to vehemently get his gifted intellect in high gear.  This was highly unusual for a man of such brilliance, with the ability to fashion a speech in no time at all.  Why the pressure now?  Even though he didn’t know for sure.  Perhaps apathy was getting to his core and disrupting his creativity, much like a fungus rot melting away a lush lawn.  He knew he had to get to work, but it still surprised him how much effort it took to get going on with a speech these days.  This used to be a snap.  Why now the struggle to create?

The white words appeared in the azure screen as his central vision transfixed on the words he expressed.  He forced himself into envisioning the thousands of students, scholars, media, critics, politicians, and ordinary citizenry that would be present to listen to his increasing significant view of genetic manipulation, cosmetic alteration, human cloning, and the likes of inferior genetic disposal.

Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests, Ujeens and dysgenics, I want to thank you for the opportunity to speak to you tonight about a subject that has consumed my very existence, a subject that has about as many opinions as it does people in America, 370 million strong.  How can I begin to address a gathering of this scale about a subject that has divided this country into a society of genetically privileged with elitist status and one of genetically undesirables, living in an environment consumed with chaos, poverty, and hopelessness?  A divergent civilization of genetically ‘have and have-not’ has become full-blown truth.  We can determine the potential of 950 diseases by looking at someone’s genetic sequence and give them a label of EUGENIC or DYSGENIC before they are born.  Cosmogenics, also known as cosmetic alteration,  had become as big a reality as the Grand Canyon, and we can now give certain ‘designer genes’ to potential offspring regarding hair color, height, body build, athletic ability, intelligence, etc.  And human cloning may be alive and well despite constant denial from government and other private entities.  We...

"Ah!  I just don’t like it!  Why can’t I think?  Why do I feel like I just don’t care?  Why do I feel like what I say just isn’t going to make any kind of a difference?  Maybe bettering we artificially is what’s best.

Ah!  I don’t want to think anymore!

Cardinal Walters was beside himself.  He wasn’t thinking like his natural intellect would allow.  Annoyed and disappointed with himself, he slapped his laptop shut, which echoed through the convoluted canyon.  He quickly checked his laptop, fearing he might have damaged it.  After reassuring himself that it was functioning well, he was back to feeling sorry for himself.  He felt so used and knew he was taxing away.  His bushed mind was out of sync with his astonishing physical being.  He couldn’t understand it, although he pounded away at the deepest crevices of his mind trying to give his internal impasse some point of view.

Cardinal Walters yawned as a trail of vapor from his mouth dissipated into the unseasonably cold air.  His eyelids became weighted as he shut off his laptop that proceeded to auto save his dictated speech.  His now dark-adjusted eyes, now free of the burden of wearing bottle-thick lenses thanks to modern Vortex Laser Eye surgery, peered into the black sky filled with the memorable constellations and the gleaming outline of the Milky Way.  The immensity of the heavens reminded him of man’s virtual triviality in the grand scheme of the universe.  Contrastingly, man was facing one of the most gravid of dilemmas, so he assumed.  It was hard to imagine how something as small as a DNA molecule could have such an exorbitant impact on the fate of all humanity.

The cardinal felt like he was but one minuscule pixel in the vast portrait of life.  Never had the cardinal felt so tiny, so insignificant.  His younger days were ones filled with invincibility, total poise in what he said and did.  He couldn’t remove the idea that something had changed within.  He detested it, even though he couldn’t readily reason the source.

The cardinal managed to persuade himself it was time to retire for the night into his rented log cabin.  But something else perplexed him, something that of recent weeks was a source of rumination.  It was a worker by the name of Ernest Washington, one who began working for the office of the Diocese of St. Louis ten months ago.  Like the sudden intrusion of a poorly kept clinger, he consumed the cardinal’s mind.  Call it a premonition, but Ernest, who worked as a fiscal administrator and computer connoisseur for the diocese, seemed out of sorts these days.  He reported late to the last executive meeting with unfinished and perplexing fiscal figures, something highly irregular for this single gentleman from New York who was hired for his reliability and business mindedness.  The cardinal intended to make inquiries after his arrival in St. Louis tomorrow.  He would make sure of that.  But he once again became preoccupied with his ever more onerous Hope speech.  It reminded his of his school days in the convent where nuns would constantly remind him of his homework due.  Creating a speech like this was supposed to be an enjoyment, not a chore.  What once gave him happiness was now misery.

His aching back rasped along the rippled sandstone as he stood up with his thin laptop at his right hand.  He dusted off his pants reddened with the grit that settled on his leggings.  He slowly walked to his private cabin barely visible on the black canyon shelf.  He entered through the weather-beaten front door and hit the switch.  His eyes ached as the glare of the cabin’s light filled the small room.  He walked into the closet-sized bathroom and looked into the chipped mirror.  After splashing warm water on his face, he noticed his deeply etched features with sharp age lines around his eyes and forehead.  His nearly bald head also bore the fissures of an ancient monk, but the rest of his body resembled that of a 30-year-old small-framed body builder.  He stood just shy of six feet and had the intuition of a Special Forces warrior.  The facial and body dichotomy couldn’t have been more obvious for this hiking and exercise enthusiast whose only physical defects included a right hearing loss with an implanted Delta Tone Hearing aid, a keyhole chest surgical scar for an implanted Omega Spacelabs Aortic Heart Valve II (OSAVE II), and Vortex Laser Eye Surgery for his severe nearsightedness and astigmatism.

Despite his implausible athletic features for a man his age, the cardinal was feeling all his six decades.  The eight-mile taxing hike that he embarked on his own left his leg bones and joints feeling like they had lead weights attached.  His muscles bore the agony of a beaten fighter, but he did manage to gather enough initiative to flip open his wireless laptop again, dial up his Aurora server, and begin transmitting Sister Mary Olive Young e-mail.  As fate would have it, Sister Young was also online and queried him from her convent room adjacent to the colossal St. Francis of the Universe Cathedral in St. Louis.

The cardinal’s thin laptop chimed, and words appeared on screen.  "Hello Cardinal.  How was the hike and meditation?"

Tiring, but fulfilling, he replied.

Don’t worry about the financial state of the Diocese.  Ernest just completed the balance sheets and came up with a proposal to get us out of the red and floating in a sea of black ink.  I’ll explain when you arrive.

Speaking of Ernest, what’s going on with him?  He was late for our last executive meeting and his figures were less than complete.  For a young vibrant single man, I expect more from this recent acquisition of ours!  ANY THOUGHTS SISTER!

Are you upset?  Hopefully not with me.

Switch to video camera voice (VCV) mode.  I’m tired looking at a screen of words.

Give me a minute sir.

Cardinal Walters switched on the video camera of his laptop and, seconds later, the crisp image of Sister Young minus her habit, appeared full screen.

Hello again, sir.

I didn’t mean to sound upset, but what’s up with Ernest?  This isn’t the first time he’s done...

I know.  I spoke to Ernest today about his lapses of recent days and...

Recent days?  How about weeks?  We have a busy schedule, and I need exact financial figures and solutions since I cannot keep up with the books myself.  I’m busy trying to prepare a speech coming up in Salt Lake and with my visit with Governor Michaels next week. Can you understand my pinch for time and my...

I’m sorry to interrupt sir, but Ernest has completed the balance sheets, and our finances look good...

Yeah!  I’ll believe it when I see it!  Sister Mary Olive Young!  You proceeded to start this online conversation with me at this time of night when I’m tired and ready for much needed sleep. Ernest is yours and Father Lorenzo’s responsibility!  Either he straightens up, or he will have to go.  And please hear me out before interrupting me again!

Sorry sir.  I’ll have Drew, excuse me, Father Lorenzo talk to him since he is Ernest’s direct supervisor, Sister Young said in a solemn voice.

Oh, and one more thing.  Make sure my meeting with the governor is set for next week. The regional networks are scheduled to air our meeting, since it is a preview of my meeting with the president later this year.  Anything else, sister?

No sir.  Just glad to talk to you again and see that you’re still in good health.  Good night and rest well.

Cardinal Walters sighed and rubbed his eyes.  His voice mellowed.  Good night sister.  And forgive me for my abruptness.

Understood sir.

Cardinal Walters switched off his video cam and checked his regular e-mail, e-voice, and video messaging.  He received eighty-one new messages over the course of the last three days, mainly inter and intraoffice messages.  He opened a never-before-seen message from [e-mail].

Friends may come and go, but enemies tend to accumulate. Watch yourself.  Signed An observer.

The cardinal initially thought little of this snippet of information but saved it.  He proceeded to log off and close down his laptop, when curiosity instantly overcame him.  He quickly flipped open his laptop again, reread and checked the properties of the peculiar e-mail. As best as he could tell, the message was written three days ago, but the origin was nameless.  Confused and feeling nervy now, he proceeded to log off and shut down his laptop.  He was to catch a plane to St. Louis tomorrow, and he knew sleep was at a premium.  But, the thoughts of the day and electronic events of the evening kept him alert and unable to doze.  His tired body now contained a more vexed mind that would fail to grant him rest till 4:00 AM, three hours before he was scheduled to wake up for his flight home.

Chapter 2

Cardinal Walters had his work cut out.  It seemed he had too much to prepare for his approaching Hope speech and get ready for his visits with the governor, mayor, and the president.  His mind was in overdrive because he was expected to say something at each engagement.  It was too much, which was bizarre for a man who used to be comfortable whipping up a talk in no time.  And the fact that his suspicions for Ernest grew with each passing day only added to the mental logjam.  Initially, he was overjoyed by this recent acquisition, Ernest, a computer scholar with incredible business savvy.  In a culture that was deeply divided along genetic lines, Ernest was truly heaven’s gift.  Most intellects were supposedly Ujeens, and tended to take on jobs with high-rise corporations, the government, and universities.  Obtaining a man of Ernest’s distinction for a humble diocesan job was out of sorts.  Still, Cardinal Walters was once recharged with the idea of having a man of Ernest’s credentials on his team.

However, Ernest’s recent blunders with the diocesan financials frustrated him, who believed the diocese to be further in the black than Ernest reported.  His recent tardiness to meetings was also suspect.  And, he was aware of Ernest’s alleged affair with a former altar server and lecturer despite the fact that these allegations were never proven.

True, all this made Cardinal Walters wary, but he was disturbed by something else much deeper.  He was unable to locate it at this time.  There was something about Ernest’s conduct, something about his appealing personality that drove the opposite sex crazy.  And there was something about the way he dressed.  Also suspect was his lack of family in the area, his lack of a spouse, and eye-catching holes in his otherwise glowing resume.  The cardinal knew of his prior ornamented military past with the Army Special Forces, his schooling at New York University, and the computer and business classes for the Army’s highly select he took while he was enlisted.  He knew of his current inactive reserve status and his work with highly confidential assignments and projects.

But how Ernest Washington came to St. Louis and why he took an interest in working with a diocese of chiefly dysgenic people, in a job that paid notably less than a corporate job for a man of his credentials, made the cardinal wonder, and wonder.

Why this job?  I don’t understand it.

Cardinal Walters thought about Ernest and his attention-getting statuesque features.  He was thirty-six years old, six foot two, muscular, fit, with a full head of hair and a handsome face.  Many of the females in the diocese were spellbound by his looks, and he had a way with females that made many of the male parishioners of the diocese green-eyed.  Ernest had never been married or even engaged.  He had a thick northeastern accent and wore a black derby.  His taste of clothing was something the average dysgenic man could never have the funds for, something that included wool and wool blend clothing, Italian-styled suits, fine leather shoes, gold jewelry, and a thin-bodied classic Rolex.  The sweet cologne he wore accented his presence.  The cardinal could only presume he was a Ujeen, something that churned any clarity of all this.

Ernest was almost all Cardinal Walters could think of lately.  Aside from speeches, meetings, preparing church services, and liturgical studies, he was engrossed; preoccupied with a man he knew so much of, yet so little about.  Like the lasting scent of skunk odor, the thought of Ernest continued to linger.  The cardinal was ashamed of how he could become gripped with the thought of someone.  Why, he even preached this type of precarious obsession to his worshippers.  How could he be so two-faced?  He was a man of the cloth, and a Roman Catholic Cardinal at that.  It wasn’t like he was perturbed at Ernest.  He didn’t harbor ill will.  He didn’t really dislike the man at all.  He just couldn’t help but be curious about this one, one who professed to own the world with his genius level IQ.  Ernest was just plain pompous, which reddened the cardinal’s curiosity even more.

Just when Cardinal Walters thought he couldn’t become more vested with Ernest, his mind shifted to another mind scene.  He found himself becoming inhibited.  At first, it made little sense to the cardinal.  But as his mental faculties became more oriented, his scenery came into sharp focus.  He saw himself suspended over the world he envisioned, upon a plate of glass.  He stood over a sea of mankind as it started to cleave into the two classes familiar by most outlets.  As the people on both sides of the split walked away from the division, they took their places on the side they were forced to be a part of.

He saw the pervasive employment of before birth genetic screening, premarital genetic testing compatibility (PREMARAGEN), the dawn of selecting one offspring’s physical characteristics through the science of cosmogenics, prevalent massacre of offspring less than genetically suitable, the outbreak of wrongful life lawsuits, and the rejection of insurance coverage for dysgenics.  What he was seeing was not far from real.  This historical revolution of American and European society had created two distinct classes of people, the eugenics (Ujeens) and the dysgenics, also known as The Leftovers.  It was a baffling creation of those who were genetically honored and those who were genetically unfortunate.  The dysgenics came to occupy what many in the trendy press and Ujeen circles called Purgatory or Backwards America.

The eugenics had life made.  They really had it all.  They were able to afford new millennium housing, high tech automobiles and gadgets, fine food, cosmetic surgery, state-of-the-art medical care, higher education, and the latest fashion trends.  These decidedly envied people were reportedly better athletes, smarter, more resistant to acute and chronic diseases, and physically more attractive at any age.  They had the pick of top schools, military academies, private, white-collared sector jobs, career advancement, and wide access to privately funded human disposal services should their potential offspring not agree with their concept of perfection.  While not illegal, eugenics were very much discouraged from mingling with dysgenics, marrying them, owning businesses with them.  They enjoyed the benefits of full insurance coverage, a potentially wealthy future, worldwide travel, and fame.  They were to be the prime harvest for future astronauts, medical researchers and doctors, lawyers, military leaders, intelligence officers, secret agents, famous athletes, scientists, architects, city planners, and business executives.  This class of elitists gravitated to suburbia and lived almost exclusively in pristine neighborhoods of classy homes, clean streets, spacious parks, modern schools, highly equipped medical centers, luxurious restaurants and shopping malls, and gargantuan movie theaters.  The other side of humanity would begrudge their statistics.  These data were incessantly published in magazines, news clippings, electronic media, and mainstream press.  Society couldn’t get enough of Ujeen accomplishment.  Since the selection of individuals with the perfect genes, and the assurance that Ujeens mated only with Ujeens, records of all sorts were set.  The 2032 Summer Olympics held in Orlando showcased a world record sprint of 18.93 seconds in the 200-meter dash, a perfect score of ten in four of the six male gymnastic feats by a single gymnast, the first sub four-minute mile by a female, and a shot put throw of ninety-four feet.  Ujeens shattered all records.

Sports wasn’t the only arena of Ujeen might.  A Ujeen from California unveiled her design of the first 3,900-foot skyscraper of solid functional design.  It would be built into a structure known as The Rock, soaring over the Kansas City skyline.  Another became the world’s first trillionaire, owning and operating the computer super giant Saturn Technologies.  Yet another became the first to pilot the first hypersonic commercial liner to the edge of space, while dysgenics could only stare in awe wondering if their day of glory could even be lived.

By all accounts, Backwards America was a strikingly sharp opposite.  Comprised of mainly blue-collar workers, unemployed, and economically strapped individuals, Backwards America was virtually everything Ujeen society wasn’t.  It was a seemingly hopeless trap.  In the fairly distant past, it was possible to rise above an impoverished status and become a person of wealth and notoriety.  But the Social Security DNA Databank, a contemporary and very complete genetic repository of all legal citizens of America, made this a thing of the past.  All individuals of all ages were required to carry on their person at all times, a new technology Social Security card that contained a grid of electronic data, including genetic status, medical history, allergies, police and FBI records, employment and educational background, marital standing, insurance coverage, and a disease susceptibility profile.  All information on this card was easily verifiable with the new Saturn Technologies supercomputers used by the government, police and law enforcement units, the military, and private corporations.  What’s more, genetics was also verifiable using mouth swabs, something police, medical, legal, insurance, and other officials were educated to use.  The wrong DNA meant disease susceptibility, inferior intelligence, less strength and resilience, and almost certain denial of all types of insurance.  Human aberrancy disposal centers, formally known as abortion centers, were prolific among the dysgenics, rumored as an underground operation called Project Noah.  While it was not illegal to produce dysgenic children, dysgenics were discouraged from having children by many venues.  The unspoken objective was to significantly erode the dysgenic burden of American society over the period of decades, perhaps generations.

There was a colossal proliferation of wrongful life suits.  Wealthy attorneys and doctors made a lucrative business of suing medical entities that allowed the birth of dysgenic babies, if the genetic status of an unborn person was not determined and revealed to prospective parents.  Many charity and religious based hospitals went bankrupt.  Fewer doctors were receiving training in traditional internal medicine and surgery aimed at traditional treatments and cures for chronic illnesses.  The medical school curricula underwent a parallel transformation to meet the needs predominantly of the new Ujeen generation; medical students trained in genetic counseling, cosmogenics, plastic surgery, PREMARGEN, trauma stabilization, xerograph medicine, sports medicine and performance enhancement, and intelligence.  Yes, this also included human cloning research, even though the government deemed it to be unlawful still.

The reluctance and less importance of traditional medicine meant medical centers and emergency rooms were stifled with desperately ill people, many who eventually succumbed.  Modern medical centers, hospitals, and multispecialty clinics were under little obligation to care for this class of people, especially since insurance companies were practically outlawed from underwriting policies for them.  Other European countries, wealthy Oriental nations, and Australia mimicked this trend.  Dysgenics ran for cover under church organizations, to other countries, and out in the remote landscape of America to collect their own sustenance and fashion their own way of life.

Eastern St. Louis, home to the Diocese of St. Louis and Cardinal Barney Walters, was located within a principally poor area, known by many as St. Louis’ Own Purgatory.  Within the diocesan compound was the diocese administrative building, St. Frances of the Universe Cathedral, St. Frances Convent, and the rectory apartments, home to priests and some brothers.  This complex was the diocese’s pride and joy.  The diocese was sponsor to Mercy Hospital of St. Louis, East St. Louis Hope Clinic for destitute indigents, overseas medical missions, and medical manning assistance to some Western Hemisphere Indian reservations.

More melancholy broke over the cardinal as he thought.  He had plenty on his mind and on his agenda, no doubt about it.  But the thought of Ernest and all he represented soon returned like nausea at the beginning of an intestinal illness.  Either way, the cardinal would choose misery.  All he had to do was choose his poison.  He could anguish his mind with his view of societal ills, or he could anguish it still with Ernest.  It was his choice to make, but the result was still misery.  And he would do this as he continued through life with dwindling confidence in himself.  He just couldn’t bring his mind to think pleasant thoughts and dream cheery dreams.  It burrowed in his head like a migraine that wouldn’t go away, a seizure that wouldn’t cease, a heartache that would forever loiter.

Ernest was just an evil Ujeen, so the cardinal thought.  But he wasn’t wholly sure, and this no doubt bewildered him.  He was exasperated by the idea that he was silently complaining to himself about this man.  After all, he should have been happy at what he authorized Father Lorenzo to hire almost one year ago, a man who would assist in getting the diocese out of the red and into the black.

After days of almost nonstop rumination, Cardinal Walters could resist no longer.  He asked Betty Tidwell, his personal secretary, to summon Father Lorenzo and Sister Young.  While the father was Ernest’s immediate supervisor, both oversaw writing his performance appraisal report.  Both would arrive, prim and proper, at the cardinal’s office, minutes after he requested their presence.  Please have a seat, both of you.  I guess you wonder why I called you both in.

All were dressed in their flat black vocational attire, Sister Young with her habit covering all her hair, ears, neck, and shoulders.  The cardinal stood and raised the heavily repainted window frame to permit the cool afternoon breeze to enter.  With his well-proportioned back to them, he began speaking.

I may be the only one with a suspicion such as this.  But I must ask if you two have noticed anything unusual about Ernest.  Sister, I realize I already spoke to you about Ernest, but I must ask again.

Sir, Father Andrew Lorenzo abruptly said.

Yes, father.

I spoke with Sister Young about Mr. Washington’s recent lapses in reliability and accurate monetary figures.  But I’m not aware of any other departures...

After effortlessly shoving the heavy window and locking it into place, Cardinal Walters turned around and faced them with an intimidating look.

Neither am I, Sister said.

Sister Young.  Let Father Lorenzo finish.

Sorry, sir, Sister Young said with her usual mellow voice.

Look sir.  On paper, Ernest looks good.  He’s got tight credentials and killer talent.

Watch your choice of words, father!  Somehow the words ‘killer talent’ stirs me!

Sorry, sir.  But he does.  I spoke to him about his recent lapses, and he has taken steps to correct...

Taken steps or successfully corrected them?  It’s easy for me, or anyone for that matter, to decide to decide.  Has he successfully corrected his misconduct, or has he merely taken steps to do so?

Successfully corrected them.

"And what’s this about looking good on paper?  Anyone can look good on paper.  Why there are companies out there that do nothing but make sure anyone with the money can look good on paper.  Hardly anyone has a bad resume or track record out there.

"I don’t have the time to keep track of him.  And what precious little time I have is consumed with making sure that the people who have managed to hang on to what faith they have left, have a place to come and pray.

I haven’t been too impressed with what I’ve learned about him lately.  He’s been tardy!  Rumors about his... his affairs and some other really horrible rumors have been flying around here, the cardinal complained as he shoved the chair away from his desk and sat.

The room fell quiet.

Cardinal Walters, feeling guilty with his outburst of frustration, calmed and apologetically spoke.  I’m sorry, both of you.  I should just be thankful we have someone who is doing what he can to get our dioceses in good financial standing.  The cathedral really raked our surplus dry, and now we are paying for it.

Father Lorenzo scratched his five o’clock shadow and sat back wondering.  Sir, you sound almost apologetic for building the cathedral.  Sir, if I may ask, and with all due respect...

Skip the formalities, father.  I’m not feeling particularly worthy right now.

Sorry, but if I may ask...

Ask, father.  You have my permission.

Yes.  What is it about Ernie, I mean Mr. Washington that has you worried?

I thought I told you.  He’s been late!  He botched up some financial figures!  How much more specific can I get?

Sister Young spoke.  Sir, let me ask, if I may.  Are you suspicious of Mr. Washington for something you are not comfortable sharing with us?  I know about the scandals with the former altar server and his alleged affair with a lecturer.  But they were just rumor.

Yeah.  What about his hanging out at strip bars and swinger clubs?  Is that just rumor, Sister?

Sister Young went speechless as her eyes widened with surprise.

I wasn’t aware of his being at such places.  But, even if he showed up at such places, I know of nothing horrible that he’s done.  Sir.  What is it about Ernie, I mean...

Is that how you refer to him, Ernie?

I am his direct supervisor, and we do communicate quite a bit.

Sorry I interrupted, Cardinal Walters said as he scratched his etched forehead and sat back once again.

Sir.  What is it about Mr. Washington that makes you uncomfortable besides his recent lapses and rumors swirling around him that were nothing more than just rumors?  Why do I get this feeling he... he intimidates you, Father Lorenzo persisted.

Intimidates me?  Right.  Who do you suppose is in charge here?

Father Lorenzo cautiously spoke again.  Does he scare you?  What do...

Look you two.  I’m making too much out of this.  If you say he’s straightened out, I’ll take your word for it.

Father Lorenzo continued, Sir.  Is there something you feel, suspect, or know about Mr. Washington that we don’t?  He seems to spook you.

Look.  I’ve really jumped the gun, the cardinal said raising his hands and shaking his head.  I want to thank you both for coming to my office.

Cardinal Walters stood, signaling to his guests that his conversation with them was about over.

Sir, if I may ask.

I hope this is your last question father, because...

"Yes, it is sir.  Do you want me to talk