God's Plan

"You ever wish we were born different?" "What the fuck kinda question is that? Look at me, for God's sakes! What's the matter with you, Hen?" "Naw, Eli, I didn't mean it like that..." Henry winced for a moment, scolding himself for his lack of consideration. Of course he was one of the luckier ones in Haven; he had all the limbs, most of the organs. Still his mind fixated on that question.       "What I mean is... don't you wish we were all... born different-like, ya know? Like... I got legs, and you got a nose, we all got different parts... but surely someone's got to be born... perfect, right?" "Hen, I've been alive for... going on 20 years now... longer than most... and I ain't never, ever heard of anyone been born 'perfect'! That ain't the way of it. All of us got to be lackin' something." Henry 38 shifted himself forward to face Elijah 47, anticipating exactly what his old friend was about to say. So once again, as if they'd rehearsed this line a thousand times before, they both said in unison: "It's God's Plan."       Henry did see a certain kind of symmetry to this plan. Everyone in Haven relied on each other, not just to complete their individual chores, but sometimes literally as a matter of survival. Everyone had to share what they had plenty of with those who were born without: organs, hormones, sometimes just blood. For example, Henry 38 was born unable to produce enough Insulin for himself. Luckily Elijah 47 had plenty Insulin to spare, and asked for very little in return; just an able body to tend to his needs, wheel him around on occasion, and keep him company with pleasant conversation. To Henry, who's come to think of Elijah as a sort of mentor and good friend, that seemed like a bargain. And yet... as thankful as Henry was for what God gave him... his curious mind would often wander on about what might be...       The terse beeping of his wristwatch let Henry know his time for wonder was up. It was time to do his part for Haven, as it has been every day. It was business as usual. "Alright, I'll see you later, Francy!" "Alright, good luck to ya!!" "Thanks, pal!"       Henry 38 stood up off the rugs on the floor of Elijah 47's tent, pulled the door-flaps apart, and stepped outside into the hot, heavy air outdoors. The eager sun pierced his eyes such that he had to spend a good minute adjusting before he could squint one of them onto the screen of his wristwatch. A short retinal scan later, he had the details of his next mission laid out for him, glowing green on the black background. Shepherd: Henry 38. Mission: Bounty Support: 1 Angel Target: Lucas 40 Sin: Dereliction of Chores Location: Garden of Haven, Room 12-F. ETA: 40 minutes. ETC: 2 hours.       Henry smiled at his wristwatch. This was exactly the kind of mission he was hoping for: an easy bounty. Just a simple chore-dodger in need of a stern talking-to. To be fair, from what little time he's spent in the Garden, Henry could see how someone could get bored of Farming, but of all the chores in Haven, this was the most vital. Everyone needs to eat, even God. There is no excuse. Henry oriented himself quickly, and after a few minutes of side-stepping around all the other tents in the Village, eagerly made his way down one of the wide paved roads that would lead him straight to the Garden.       The afternoon sun soon made looking directly at the shining sand dunes of Haven unbearable, forcing Henry to quickly strap on his favorite tinted goggles; the ones he found once, many years ago, while scavenging through the wreckage of the Ruins of Babylon. He looked to his right, catching a glimpse of the Trust Tower in the midst of all that monstrously still rubble, and was reminded of how curious he used to be, as a young flock, to explore these metal and concrete ruins, with their silent promises of adventure and discovery of histories long past. As he continued on his way to the Garden, he reminisced on how he used to go spelunking up their uniform stairways, sweeping each of their multitudinous floors, knocking over desks, chairs, closets, and other more bizzare pieces of furniture, scanning each piece of paper he could find for any kind of code or text, any potential insights into the lives of the Babylonians. Sadly, all the pages were blank. If the Babylonians ever wrote anything on paper, it must have somehow gotten erased by the sands of time, or perhaps the literal sands pouring in from the desert.       Though Scouts and wanderers would occasionally find old Babylonian trinkets of some value, Henry had long ago abandoned the hope of finding any concrete information about the world of Babylon. All except the one surviving piece of text he'd ever seen, hanging on one of the walls of a small single-story house, standing inexplicably intact under the cover of the top half of a fallen monolith, on the intersection of two long-ago crumbled roads. He turned the corner, and there it was again, a faded landmark of remarkable mediocrity. As he passed it by, he glanced inside to spot them on that back wall: the three elegantly flowing words forged from a long-rusted metal, arranged in diagonal succession, cemented to the wall by a series of carefully hidden metal rods embedded in the concrete.       'Live. Laugh. Love.'       Henry's theory was that this was a mantra for the flock of Babylon. In other rooms of this house, he found the rusty remains of what looked like machines for preparing food and drink of some sort, which would make this either someone's home, or a public kitchen; hardly a fitting place for worship. And yet the flock of Babylon felt it important to enshrine these words onto the wall of this place, as if they'd forget them otherwise. Perhaps the lives of Babylon's flock were so fast-paced, worship was something they could only do in transit, while tending to their other chores.       What puzzled Henry even more were the three words themselves. Given the enormous effort that was taken to assemble and mount them, Henry could only assume them to be commands, but what flock would need to be reminded daily to 'Live'? On occasion a flock of Haven would insult the generosity of God and take their own life, but the flock of Babylon must have been suffering from extreme depression for this kind of reminder to be necessary. The next word, 'Laugh', was even more puzzling. Henry enjoyed a good joke as much as anyone, but at the end of the day, the chores had to be done. Then again, if the flock of Babylon were so depressed they needed to be reminded to live, perhaps commanding them to laugh was their God's way of trying to lighten their spirits. But the most confounding word on that wall was surely the last: 'Love'.       The way the text was worded, since the two previous words were commands, it would make sense that the third word was also a command, but to do what, Henry could never comprehend. What was even more puzzling was that the word 'Love' was the most elaborately smelted, as if given special precedence over the other two. If their descending order and the level of craftsmanship is to be perceived as a heirarchy of priorities, then 'Love' was the most important of the three. But what was this 'Love', and why was it so important to the flock of Babylon? Of all the unsolved mysteries Henry has given up pursuit for, he never quite could abandon his curiosity about this one odd word mounted on the wall of this tiny kitchen on the corner of an ancient, dusty, long-abandoned stretch of the Ruins of Babylon. His best guess was that the flock of Babylon were so depressed because they 'Loved' too much.       As he was pondering this mystery yet again, Henry realized that he was already standing in front of the Garden, itself an impressive testament to the former might of Babylon. The structure was shaped like a giant oval, it's tallest walls on the outside perimiter, with only a handful of tunnels leading inside. Usually one would find a couple folks kicking rocks just outside these entrances, but this time the one in the center slice of the oval was entirely devoid of life. Of course Henry wasn't surprised; There, just outside the entrance inward, standing motionless and firm, it's 'all-seeing' eye tilted slightly downward in an idle position, was an Angel.       The Angels were the primary enforcement mechanism of God's laws, and they certainly looked the part, even in their now dusty, scratched state. Though their stocky metal frame was intended to resemble the general shape of a human, the proportions were much too menacing: long and heavy hydraulic legs connected at the hip to a rigid spinal rod that housed the metal casing which contained the Angel's battery, motors, and processing center, reinforced by a thick layer of plated steel. A horizontal rod smelted to the top of the spine extended to either side of the Angel, forming the reinforced 'shoulders' to which the arm rods were attached; the end of each hosting a rotating barrel of weapons and tools designed for all manner of conflict resolution, lethal or otherwise. And at the very top, mounted on a neck the width of a shotgun barrel, was the eye; a black circular aperture mounted to a rotating platform offering 360 degrees of vision, scanning all surroundings with it's bright red beam. Though all Angels consisted of the same general parts in an identical configuration, the thinness of the chassis compared to the central casing, especially at the limbs, did make the Angels seem rather incomplete, like the flock of Haven. In their disproportionate thinness, they more resembled an overgrown skeleton than a fully-fledged human body. This thought was somehow a comfort to Henry.       As he approached this Angel, noticing a fresh gash in the part of the Angel's plate armor where it's clavicle would be, Henry recalled a story Elijah once told him, that he heard from another flock long-since gone, that long ago Angels used to do Shepherd work all by themselves. Apparently their eyes used to work better, but after years and years the lids got scratched up, and their bodies took one too many hits from years of use, so now they don't work like they used to. Though Henry was confident in his own skills as a Shepherd, he did occasionally worry about what would happen to Haven if the Angels were to suddenly stop working outright. Without the utility and intimidation power of Angels, Henry wasn't sure how he'd be able to enforce God's law in Haven.       He stepped in front of the Angel, pulled his goggles up onto his forehead, and looked up to present his eye towards it. It's pistons and gears churning against the dusty afternoon breeze, the Angel re-postured itself to look down, face Henry, and perform a retinal scan. After a sheet of laser-light ran over Henry's face, the familiar line of text appeared on the round eye-lid. "IDENTIFICATION FAILURE... RETRYING IDENTIFICATION." The Angel swept Henry's face once again with the laser light, and presented it's result. "IDENTIFICATION FAILURE...RETRYING IDENTIFICATION." Another wash of light, this time blinding Henry for a good second. "IDENTIFICATION FAILURE...RETRYING IDENTIFICATION." Henry was about to lean over to the Angel's chest to attempt a manual identification input, when he noticed the magic words appear on the eye-lid. "IDENTIFICATION SUCCESS. SHEPHERD HENRY 38. VOICE COMMANDS ACTIVE." "Finally." Henry sighed in relief. There was no time to waste, as discretion was of the utmost importance on Bounty missions. If the target would find out that a Shepherd is coming for him, they'd run, and then finding them would be a real challenge, even with everyone's names tattooed on their necks. "Follow me" Henry said to the Angel, and stepped inside the Garden, breathing a sigh of relief at the damp, coolness of this dark tunnel. Further along he could hear the sounds of scurrying footsteps and echoed murmurs, clearly eavesdroppers spreading the 'good news' to the rest of the Garden: a Shepherd is coming. It was regrettable, but Henry's gotten used to it a long time ago. Being a Shepherd is a thankless job: no one thinks they're guilty, everyone blames God for their own sins. 'But God grants us all the gift of life in Haven, and all it asks is for everyone to do their part to keep it running, so everyone can live together' Henry thought to himself. Those who refuse to help should be either reformed, or removed. That's the way it's always been.       The view from inside the Garden always took Henry aback, no matter how many times he'd seen it before; such a radically different color pallette from most of Haven, with it's rows and rows of green, it's multicolored canopies stretching all the way to the ends of this great diagonal valley. In front of him lay a wide, lush field, lined end to end with plants in neat rows. Potatoes, carrots, pumpkins, various things even he couldn't recognize, all in various states of harvest. Further along he could see what looked like trees bearing apples, oranges, and other fruit. And further still, built into the stair-like steps sloping upwards towards the outside walls of the garden, were the glass houses growing tomatoes, and scaffolds holding vines of grape. Many times Henry wished he could just pluck the grapes straight from their vines, and savour the true flavor right from the source... but taking the crop without permission was a terrible sin. Grapes, like most of the fresh fruit produced in the Garden, are only intended for God to consume, for God needs the strength they provide to guide Haven to salvation. On occasion Haven could afford to bless lower-level clergy with raisins, and even for them Henry was grateful. At any one time there'd be roughly twenty or so farmers tending to the crops: watering them, spraying them with protective fumes, pulling out weeds, fixing broken scaffolds, and today was no exception. It was business as usual for the Garden. Though Henry knew how to walk lightly, the screeching of the Angel's gears could never be masked, so the moment they stepped out into the Garden, all eyes immediately pointed onto the two of them; eyes of fear, judgement, maybe anger... probably all three. But soon everyone turned their heads back down to the task at hand. There was no use standing about when chores needed to be done. Henry couldn't ask anyone where Lucas 40 was, or else they could let Lucas know he was coming. He'd have to look for him by himself. He instructed the Angel to stand at the tunnel entrance, then proceeded to walk up the stairs to the outer walls of the Garden. One of the few priviledges the farmers got was to live inside the Garden itself: there were spacious rooms built into the upper levels of the Garden's walls. They even had large windows, and balconies overlooking the main farm-field, so the farmers could always keep an eye on their crops within the comfort of their own homes. Clearly the Babylonians had some good architectural design. After ascending the stairs, and stepping inside the upper hallway, Henry took a look at the numbers on the walls. He was standing next to Room 4-F, which meant 12-F would be just around the corner. Diligently checking that all of his gear was on his person, Henry began his long jog along this curved hallway, counting the numbers as he went. After a few minutes of walking, the door to Room 12-F appeared before him. A couple farmers were reclined on some boxes across from the door. Their conversation was immediately cut short when they both caught Henry's gaze. Though Shepherds were obviously feared, they didn't wear a distinct uniform that would give him away. What these farmers were frightened of was his ghoulish face.       For the most part the Henrys possessed the qualities of a handsome man: a strong jawline, pronounced cheekbones, piercing grey-green eyes, and a full head of voluminous wavy dark brown hair, usually cut short. Henry 38, however, could only grow the hair on his head in awkward patches, and was born without ear-flaps or cartilage in the nose. In his youth, in order to facilitate easier breathing, Henry 38 underwent a surgery to remove the fleshy skin covering his nostrils, and so came to look a lot like a bat, or a dead man walking. This actually gave Henry an advantage in certain missions as a Shepherd: targets would often be taken aback by his ugly visage, slowing down their reaction.       He put a single finger on his mouth with the universal sign to be quiet, and the two young men complied. However, as soon as Henry turned around to try to open the door, one of the young men screamed: "Lucas! Shepherd's here for you!" "Fuck..." Henry muttered to himself as he hurriedly turned the door knob, thankfully unlocked, and flung the door open, to see a Lucas, roughly his age, jumping out of bed and running towards the balcony, still in his shorts. Henry didn't bother announcing his intentions, they were obvious to everyone present. As Henry started running towards him, Lucas crouched down by the balcony and produced a rope from a corner. He threw the loop on one end of the rope up and over himself, securing it at his waist, and started climbing the balcony railing, ready to jump. Henry knew he only had precious seconds to spare. He pulled a small round metal badge from his left trouser pocket, and tossed it at the man mid-flight. The badge flew true, and just barely stuck to the fabric of the man's shorts as he was already on the steady freefall towards the grapevines below. Carried by his own momentum, Henry smacked his hips against the balcony railing and leaned down to see what became of Lucas.       For a moment he was worried the man might've tried to kill himself by snapping his own spine in half with the rope, but to his relief it seemed to be made of elastic, and the man had a knife in his hand. When the rope stretched the furthest it could go, and was about to bring Lucas back up, he cut it loose in one swift slice, and so landed on the steps by the grape scaffolds, making an impressive sprint for the exit tunnels below. With another sigh of relief, Henry yelled out as loud as he could: "ANGEL!!! LOCK TARGET AND TASE TO SUBDUE!!!" The Angel, which was previously standing motionless and being poked with a stick by a passerby farmer, suddenly reared into motion, and aimed it's dusty eye at the man frantically running down. It lifted it's right arm up, the barrel rotating between the different weapon types, until the Taser slot lined up with the firing mechanism, and without hesitation the twin-coil of the taser head was propelled at blinding speed across the Garden steps, landing perfectly onto Lucas' chest, clamping down softly, then sending a torrent of electric energy through the conduit into his body. The man collapsed almost instantly after a brief jolt, and a moment later, all was once again still in the Garden.       Business as usual.