It's a Dry Heat

 Chapter 1

Sierra de la Espuma Park

It was dark and foreboding. Of course it was middle of the night. The Sierra de la Espuma Park, part of the Sacred Peak Mountain that rose above the surrounding neighborhood districts, at approximately 5,000 ft at the highest point, loomed over the park. One of several ancient mountains that still dotted the flatland. It was odd to see them jutting up from all that flatness, but once upon a time the entire area was under an inland sea, and the mountains remnants of ancient volcanism. 

It was fenced off from the residential area that existed just south of it. It was part of the tourist places where people hiked, climbed, and went rock hunting for fossils, crystals, and gems. They could keep what they found or donate them to the small museum and store. No major digging, don’t chip away at the mountain. And remember that the wildlife and plants were there first. And finally, trash in trash out.

A few cacti grew on the mountain rocks, seeds and roots having established themselves with desert determination to grow. Deep ridges and furrows caught the blowing desert sand and monsoon storms, and allowed desert trees and bushes to root. The mountain wasn’t in a high elevation as others, so trees didn’t grow on it. It was too rocky for much growth.

There were hiking trails in and out of thorny desert trees and along the rocks on the mountain, with trails plainly posted. Those tough trees, mesquite and acacia, grew spines just like cacti. At the moment, the acacia trees were in bloom with bright orange blossoms shaped like tiny pom-poms. They gave off a heady scent that even people with allergies had no choice but to inhale and appreciate. 

Most people knew desert survival and avoided the mountains during summer heat. A few people, such as tourists or stupid locals, insisted they were hardy enough to survive 110 degrees and above on top of a mountain under the sun. Rescues and a few deaths would dot the summer.

The woman on the ground at the base of the mountain did not look as though she had fallen. The mesquite branches above her were not broken. And you'd have to be exceptionally stupid to be rock climbing in the middle of the night. Nothing about her looked as though she had been hiking in the middle of the night. 

“Gods, Michael,” he moaned to the lieutenant.

The entire area was lit up with solar light via batteries inside 9 foot tall light sticks around the crime scene. And crime scene it was, if the bruising on the young woman's face and arms were any indication. She looked as though someone had used her for a punching bag. 

Police and forensics circled the area inside the sectioned off perimeter. Although it was midnight, people were on the other side of the park fence who had been out enjoying the night, a couple of barbecues, and neighbors visiting. The sirens brought them to their fences, a few of them industrious enough to have hand-held telescopes to watch whatever was going on. The clear night skies of the desert were great for star gazing.

“Dottore Sebastián.” 

Jake took the outstretched hand from over the perimeter tape. “How's the wife and family?” 

“Healthy and fat with number four.” Lieutenant Miller patted his own extra padding. 

Jake could not help himself. “Where are you going to put a fourth child?” 

“That's what the addition is for.” 

“Blessings, Michael,” Jake told him with a pat on the shoulder. “Give Elena a kiss for me, and let me know if we can do anything for you.” 

“What's going on with her?” Jake jutted his chin toward the woman on the ground. She lay on her back in a natural sleep position. But she was not sleeping. Her face and other visible skin was a huge hematoma mass. She had been pummeled like a punching bag. Possible home dump. He looked around at the houses that were fenced off from the mountain park. 

“Has she been ID'd, yet?” he asked the lieutenant.

“Nope,” the lieutenant told Jake quietly. “You hear anything about missing women?”

“Nothing,” Jake said. “I have heard of two missing young girls, 11 and 12. You got anything for that?” 

“Shit,” Lt. Miller muttered. “Nothing, although we've heard about it. Not my case, so I haven't been keeping up on it. I'll look at it. But we have not seen any kids. I'd say two different cases.

“When forensics is done, before she gets taken by the coroner, could you do a quick look?” Miller asked him. He knew everyone needed to be out of the area for Jake to turn on his own special brand of empathy.

Jake put a hand on his arm. “I planned on it.”

Forensics were thorough, going through the area not only with a fine-tooth comb, but when they were done they swept up the entire roped off area into bags to take into the lab for a closer look. They would get everything under her after the coroner took her.

Miller held off the morgue van for a moment. He motioned Jake into the area, and cleared the space of everyone else including himself. All remaining personnel watched, some with curiosity, others with skepticism. 

Most people thought that to see energy or spirits, they needed to look directly at the site. That was not the case. To see things, eyes needed to look just barely beyond the horizon of the site. It was there shimmers could be seen indicating a little something extra was hovering. 

Jake refocused his eyes, softened them. He looked just beyond her form, the horizon of her skin. Most people will say they would see something out of the corner of their eye, swing around to take a look, and nothing was there. Those people could probably be trained to actually spot whatever it was that went by them. Not that it would be anything dangerous, more than likely just a piece of energy just like the kind that allows life to breathe. 

Looking at the still warm ground in a place like this, it was not easy to spot anything special. It was all special. The entire place was alive with plants, happy with their own life. The parks department would be happy to know that there was nothing detrimental to this area of the park; everything was growing just fine. 

An animal was on the mountain watching everything. From the size, Jake guessed it was a big cat. It probably was not happy to see its late night, unexpected free snack being taken away.

Unfortunately, Jake's talent was empathy, not plant-wise or animals. The plants couldn't tell him anything about the woman who lay in their midst. He held his hands out toward the female body, relaxed his vision, and just breathed. 

“Some latent energy,” he told Miller, “but her spirit is nowhere around. She probably did not die here. This is just a dump site. I'm sorry for her. If you find her kill site let me know, and I will come and take a look. If her spirit is still around, I will see if it can tell me anything. If not, I will dissipate her, and let her return to the Pool.”

The two hikers who found the woman were nearby talking with a counselor from the police department who was taking their statements. Both, one man and one woman, in their 30s, it looked to him, were shaky. The woman's eyes were red and she was sniffling. Both nodding their heads at something the counselor said. Jake went over to them. 

“I'm Jake Sebastian,” he introduced himself. “I'm an empath, can I help you steady yourself?” He looked down at the woman's belly, which looked to be approximately five months pregnant.

She rubbed her belly, sniffled, and held her hands out to him. “That would be nice, thank you. I'm Rita Molaro, and this is my husband, Kyle.”

Jake shook hands, and then took hers in both of his. She closed her eyes and bowed her head as he did. She was pale and shaking, her hands slightly moist. He felt the extra prickling on her skin and reached out for it, drawing it into his own hands. In a minute she was breathing normally and had stopped shaking.

Next, he turned and took Kyle's hands in his and repeated the exercise. Kyle also calmed. He turned to offer his service to the counselor, but the older woman smiled and shook her head in polite refusal. He squatted down and pressed his hands against the hard ground. He had no need for any of the extra energy, so he released it, letting it flow into the earth where it could be of service to the surrounding life. 

After the woman's body was taken away, Jake went over to the lieutenant who seemed green in the artificial light. He leaned over to Jake. 

“The coroner said he thinks every bone in her body is broken. Like she was run over by a steamroller or something. He’ll know more after the autopsy.”

Jake couldn't imagine it.

“You want me to call Jerry to come out and try to get a sketch?” 

Miller thought for a moment. “Isn't he an animal talker?”

“Yeah,” Jake said. “And there's an animal.”

Miller shined his flashlight around, even though the tall lights did a better job than the hand-held. 

“Where? What animal?” 

“The big cat sitting up on top of that low ridge. He probably has a den up there.”

Miller stumbled back and quickly looked up. 

“Shit. I don't see it. Where is it?”

Jake sent his feelers back up the mountain. “He's still there. Puma or bobcat, something like that. Too far for me. Jerry can come out, have a look around its brain, find out if there are any residual memories of whatever it saw tonight.”

“Yeah, do it. Tucker!” he shouted. The ranger came over. “Did you know there's a cat up there?”

“What cat?” the ranger asked. Jake repeated his observation. “Damn it,” the ranger swore and got out his radio. “Dispatch, make a note for the morning shift. That damn cat is out at Espuma, again.”

“The name of this mountain really needs to be changed," he bitched as he put the radio back on his belt.

“Don't forget the arts and crafts,” Jake was saying into his link. “South entrance, Ranger Tucker will meet you and bring you in.” He put his link back into his pocket, and looked at the ranger. “Sorry for volunteering you without asking.”

Tucker raised his hand. “No problem, gets me away from that damn cat. I'm willing to bet it's the same one we took out last time; I have got no idea how he keeps finding his way back when he's airlifted out to the nature preserve for the carnivores.” Yes, the wildlife was there first, but the people who lived nearby didn’t want to be eaten by the big cats.

Two officers remained with Jake and the lieutenant, each officer holding a rifle, guarding, in case the cat decided to jump down. Jake didn't think it would, it didn't feel desperate enough to attempt a human meal that was still moving. Even big cats needed to eat, but he wasn't ready to be its meal.

“Don't scare him off, guys,” Jake asked them. “We need our animal talker to talk to him.”

The ranger was back forty minutes later with Jake's animal talker. Jake and Miller spent time talking about the addition to Miller’s house. They were in an older neighborhood where no underground levels had been built, and there was not enough space between buildings to dig up the yard to build a lower level.

“Midnight? Seriously?” Jerry gripped. His thinning hair was rumpled, his clothes looked quickly pulled on, and a dark wooden case dangled from his left hand by a handle. It held his to-go art supplies.

“You think the cat is going to remember all this tomorrow, when rangers are chasing him all over the place to capture him and haul him off?”

“All right, all right,” Jerry said to Jake. “Where is he?” Jake pointed up. “I don't understand how animals don't get dizzy from heights.” Jake said nothing as he watched the shorter man unfold a miniature camp seat, sit down, and open his art kit. 

Jerry closed his eyes and gathered himself. He found the cat, took a look inside at the images in the cat's head, and started drawing. 

After twenty minutes, he held out his sketch pad. 

“What am I looking at?” Miller said. 

“The ground and the tops of the trees,” Jerry said. “From the point of view of the cat up top. First picture shows just the ground and the tree tops. Second, ground, tree tops, parts of legs, an arm, your hikers, whatever he saw through the foliage. Third, all you guys and the body parts. Fourth, just us. One of the neighbors will be calling in about a missing chihuahua.”

“But where are the people who put her there?” Miller asked in frustration.

“Wasn't any. First she wasn't there, then she was. No extra people.”

Miller swung the sketch pad back to him. “That isn't possible,” he snarled. “Someone had to put her there. There is no evidence that she was dropped from above, the tree limbs are intact, so someone had to put her there.”

“Uh.” Jake raised a couple fingers. “Did your people find any evidence that someone trampled through here before the hikers?”

Miller gnashed his teeth, shredding an unlit cigar. “No.” His wife wouldn’t let him smoke while she was pregnant, so he was reduced to gnawing on his cigars.

“I did not see any empathic notes prior to those hikers,” Jake was sorry to tell him. 

Miller looked back and forth at them. “What are you saying? That she just appeared out of nowhere?”

“Listen, Mike, we can only do so much. We see what we see. I don't know what to tell you.”

Mercy’s Arrival

From the plane as she came in, Mercy could see the brown of dirt and a few spots of green once she could see through the haze-covered valley below.[[ Mercy arrives in Gila.]] It was after sunset and the western sky was still shades of red, blue, and purple. Coming in from the east, the worst of the glints from the setting sun were making it easier to look out the window.

Sectioned farmland to the west of the city was big enough to be seen from on high. If she remembered correctly, the farms were watered by desalinated water from the gulf south of Gila. Maybe she could take a shuttle out and spend a day playing in the water. The weekend. There  were sure to be hotels. The ocean back home was very cold, so much further north than Mexica.

The Ninankin ziggurat stood slightly southwest of the city center. The rectangular pyramid was unmistakable even from the air. It was bigger than she thought. As the shuttle descended to the shuttle port, she could make out cars crowding the parking lot and the buses and sky trams that went in and out of a transit center. Mercy got out her PPC and turned on video; she’d go through it and pull stills from it later, if she couldn’t find good images already shot for publicity.

The City of Gila was approximately 400 square miles.[[ Gila is 400 sq miles.]] Not the largest city around, but it was popular during the northern winters for the snow birds to flock to warmer climes for a couple of months.

The only plants she could see were desert plants, spindly trees she had read were almost as thorny as the cacti. Because of the drought from weather changes, Parliament, in the Mexica capitol three states south, had issued a decree to the desert cities: get rid of all the plants imported from higher altitudes, including grass and trees that took a lot of water, and institute native desert plants. Get rid of the swimming pools, too. The developers protested loudly, and sometimes violently, and private citizens decried the filling in of their pools. But the aquifers and reservoirs were too low to sustain them.

Man-made lakes and more reservoirs were being planed to be filled with desalinated water. Once complete, people could swim and boat to their hearts’ content. How did they get the water to the city? The Gulf was hours away, surely too far to pump in water for the entire city.

To the north, as the altitude increased, flatness ended and mountains began. Coming from the northern half of the continent, she’d call them large hills, not mountains. They were still green with various types of pine, oak, and ash trees. The slowly greening land that led to the mountains were clearly sectioned into plots for cultivation just as the land to the west was.

Meat animals were raised further north in the higher altitudes, and the meat shipped down to the city. Real meat was expensive, she remembered. It took water and grain to feed them, so labs were growing slabs of meat from beef, chicken, lamb, and goat. Much of it was exported, and at first people turned up their noses, but there was nothing wrong with it. It was just the meat, not the entire animal that was being cloned. No methane was being produced from farm animals for this meat.

She made out the solar fields north-west of the city. Large collection arrays to capture what the sun gave freely. The arrays were fifty feet off the ground,[[ The solar arrays NW of the city.]] she remembered reading, so that vehicles and animals could travel under without a problem. A transport hub was just to the north of the buildings for people who shared ‘flutter-bys’ as the small shuttles[[ The small shuttles are called flutter-bys.]] were called. It was easier than driving distances.

According to the information Mercy read, everything was run on solar energy. One of the reasons she was there to learn more about.

Steps were being taken all over the world to try and mitigate the worst of the changes that were happening. From parts of Texas, west all the way to Arizona, southern California, Utah and Nevada, the northernmost states of Mexica, (Meh-SHE-ka, she reminded herself; the X was an SH sound), had been a desert long before the changes had started happening in New Amsterdam, her home country. Parts of the equator were becoming practically unlivable in the middle of summer.

The northern half of the Kanada Continent [[ The continent is called Kanada.]] was still trying to come to terms with the elements that battered at the coastlines, and the storms that battered the interior. Places that rarely saw a tornado were now getting them in the annual cycle. Almanacs from the past were now useless, storms having completely shifted weather patterns. 

When the City of Gila, the capital of Arizona a state in the country of Mexica[[ Gila is the capitol of Arizona.]], instituted 100% solar energy as a trial run to set an example for the other desert states, and it had started showing signs of working, Mercedes Andrews, freelance reporter for In-Depth News[[ Mercy  freelances for In-Depth News.]], had been sent by her publishing house out of the country of New Sweden’s capital city of Philadelphia to write[[ Philadelphia is the capitol of New Sweden, a state in northern Kanada continent.]] a story. The more research Mercy did before leaving, the more she realized this wasn't just an article. This was a book. 

So she got her publishing house to agree to a series of articles to tempt readers to buy the book. Who wanted to buy a book about solar power? But it wasn't just anyone who talked the city into trying to run on 100% solar: It had been the Temple of Ninankin at Gila. The Gila Temple, as she had seen it referred to: city name + Temple. Locally it was The Pleasure Dome, or just The Dome. It was rectangular, not a dome, so she wanted to know about the name. Whatever, it was a popular attraction, if the jammed parking lot was any indication.

Many of her interviews with city officials could be conducted remotely on the link. The few tours she had scheduled for the power plants and the desalination plant she would need to be present. They didn’t have time to take her on a tour remotely, but they could take time out of their schedule for a personal tour? Another note was made.

The mayor had been pleasant, and was pleased to tell her that it seemed the solar energy was working far better than the fossil fuels. When you're under a hot sun all year-round, why would you not use the sun as your fuel source? 

The mayor skirted around the issue of lobbyists for the fossil fuel companies. She could not pin him down. But that was the nature of politics and politicians; it seemed they did not understand the concept of yes and no and straight answers.

Even after researching what the temple and the city had to do with each other on the subject of energy, Mercy was still confused. So the publishers contacted the temple in Gila and arranged for a series of tours, interviews, and scientists to break down the information for the basic reader. The tours and interviews could be conducted remotely, but the publisher wanted in-person. They felt it rude to interview temple people remotely. 

She was also to find out what the Gila temple was doing differently than many of its other independent temples around the world. Many new things, socially, economically, and even architecturally, had been rapidly changing due to the temple working in concert with city officials. The numbers were climbing. Mercy hadn't wanted to deal with a religious sect; living where she did, she was surrounded by European gods, but her publishers left her no choice. She does both or neither, unless she wanted to pay her own way.

Since she was going to be there for a good month or two, she rented a furnished apartment. They provided an affidavit that the apartment was clean and bug free. It was nothing fancy, the publisher did not advance her that much money, but it was located in one of the small complexes where the first floor was actually underground, and what was usually the first floor to her, was the ground floor. Shouldn’t the floor that was actually in the ground be called the ground floor?

She did a virtual walk-through with the complex manager. Although there were no windows underground, monitor screens were put up on various walls in the apartment, which showed images of the surrounding area piped in from cameras on each side of the building, making the monitors look like windows. You could even enclose it in window panes and curtains to make it look more realistic, she was told.

The bed would have a new mattress by the time she arrived; she paid the extra money for it. The gods knew what was lurking in and on the used mattress. The rest of the furniture was basic: a couch, two stuffed chairs, a computer desk and rolling chair, two side tables, coffee table, kitchen table and four chairs, dresser and side table in the bedroom. If she wanted anything else, or to change out any of the furniture, she would have to buy it herself.

The point of the underground floor was to keep the living area cooler all year round than the top ground floors. It was all strange to her, but the manager assured her that all the newer buildings, and older buildings that could support it, came with furnished basements. Buildings close to the water didn’t necessarily have basements, though, due to the water table. To her, basements were a northern thing. A quick check on other locations confirmed what she had been told, so she took the apartment. It was fairly close to the temple.

When Mercy got off the plane she went through the process of registering as a non-national, found her rental car, and navigated to the apartment complex. She signed in, got her keys, her internet codes, and was shown to her apartment. Stairs took her down, although there was an elevator available. 

The halls were lined with rugs, which cut down on sound, as did the walls which were covered in a soundproofing material. New social manners said it was rude to run and yell in the hall unless there was an emergency. Parents were expected to teach children the new social rules. This particular complex had studios and 1-bedrooms, so there were very few families in residence.

Security cameras looked both ways in the halls, sending the images to the security desk at the main office. Security guards were on duty 24/7. Tenants in trouble were expected to hit the emergency switches that were stationed in each apartment, and at regular intervals in the halls. Vents were also in every apartment and throughout the halls to carry stale air up and bring fresh air back down. They were cleaned out monthly. Since the air in the hall didn’t smell bad, she had to assume the ducts were working properly.

A new mattress had been delivered and installed, she was told, along with kitchenware she might need, linens, towels, basics. When she signed in on the computer to her apartment account, she would find a map and a list of stores nearby for anything else she needed linked on the home page of the apartment complex. She could certainly do a search for other offerings, if she’d like. There were delivery services available, if she didn't want to go pick up things herself. 

Before the manager left her, she quickly asked about the odd schedule hours that she was given. Why was there nothing in the middle of the day? Even her plane landed after sundown.

Siesta, she was told. From Juno 1st to November 1st, the summer months, Siesta hours were instituted. That meant from 11 am until 4 pm a lot of places shut down for the hottest hours of the day. Businesses would reopen from 4 pm until approximately 1 am. Whatever the business wished to do. It was a tourist destination though, so many businesses nearer to the hotels were open. The tourists tended to ignore the advice of locals to take a nap during the middle of the day.

What was she supposed to do during siesta? Sleep, she was told. The heat was going to wipe her out, so nap, rest, sleep, whatever she wanted to do for that time. But her appointments would go late into the evening, so she would need to adjust her sleep schedule. Pretty much become nocturnal. 

The special light bulbs in the apartment would take care of her body's need for sunlight. A lot of people became depressed in constant darkness, as the countries in the far north and far south, nearer to the poles could attest, so the sun lamps would help. So would a daily supplement of vitamin D. Go outside in the early morning and late afternoon. 

When Mercy was ordering groceries to be delivered, she made sure to order a bottle of vitamin D and a heavy-duty UV sun blocker. Second and third degree sunburns were not something she wanted to deal with.

Faucets worked, toilet flushed, the shower was lukewarm and not a very hard stream. The water came from desalination tanks, and nobody wasted water. Take a long bath, if she wanted to soak. The tub itself was generous, with an odd seating arrangement around the inner edge. It reminded her of a small hot tub or spa. She hated the bath, always feeling as though when she stood up in the water all the dirty particles were clinging to her skin again. She would probably just put up with the meager shower.

Once she got unpacked and was waiting for her grocery delivery, she took out a small kettle from her bags, filled it halfway with water, dumped a packet of spices in it, and set it to simmer on the stove. While she was putting her clothes away, with small sachets of lavender, the smell of her homemade room cleanse began to permeate the apartment with cinnamon, nutmeg, and anise. She relaxed into the comforting smells of home.

She got her computer and PPC logged in. Most of the historical aspect of the city had already been written up in her notes. A brief overview of the background on climate change, and how the rising heat had hit the southern half of the northern continent, had also been written. 

She still did not understand what the temple had to do with city changes. The temple didn't run the city. She looked up all of the representatives of city and state, and less than one percent were temple members. And there didn't seem to be any push toward anything to do with the temple. So what did one have to do with the other?

She wasn't sure if she would need the history of Ninankin, but she copied what she could find already written, and would disseminate it later. 

Another thing that confused her was that none of the temples seem to have anything to do with the other, except the basic philosophical structure. Otherwise, they seemed to do different things. Some had a warrior mentality, others were socially minded. Some were dedicated to art, others to science. None of it, from what Mercy could find, was basic information about the religion. 

No, she corrected herself. According to the literature, it wasn't a religion; it was a philosophy. The tenants of the philosophy could be taken into any religion or practiced without religion. They were already part of most religions.

She hoped whoever the temple had scheduled to be her tour guide could explain it so that she could understand. Because as of that moment, she did not understand.

She felt like scratching her head. 

Her PPC beeped. 

“Ms Andrews, this is the front desk. You have a grocery delivery?”

“Yes,” she responded. “Do I need to come up and get it, or can you send them down?” Please send them down…

“I can bring everything down,” the guard said. 

She opened the door and he was kind enough to bring everything in and put it on the kitchen table. 

“I have a few other things I ordered, just household type stuff, I don't expect it until tomorrow.” He assured her it wouldn't be a problem. She put everything away quickly so she could get back to her computer.

Since she'd be meeting her tour guide in the morning at the ziggurat, she brought up the temple complex on her laptop. 

The complex referred to the main temple building and all of its surrounding satellites. The high priestess’ family home was located in the satellite section surrounding the ziggurat. The office was in the main building.

She expected to see buildings that had to do with religious trappings. Their eight-pointed star was prominent. What she saw were businesses. Restaurants, bakeries, carnicerias, which she discovered were butchers for fresh meat, both lab grown and the more expensive cuts from actual animals, an indoor farmers market, even clothing stores. It looked like a mall to her. 

The ziggurat itself was shaped sort of like a pyramid, but it was stepped. Apparently that's what ziggurats were: stepped pyramids. The sides were not smooth, they were layered, like a wedding cake, this one a bit more rectangular than square. The top wasn’t pointed, but had a box-like deal that was the main office. Shouldn’t a main office be on the ground floor?

The main ground floor contained the visitor center, a drugstore for those forgotten items that everyone misses when packing, rooms for classes for people to get hands-on experience and personal entertainment with art of various types, trying musical instruments, voice lessons, dance lessons, many types of classes. They could practice their dancing in any of the clubs that featured music, and try out their voice with karaoke and open mic night in other clubs. The building was smaller than she expected; she’d have to ask about that, too.

There was an actual temple on the main floor, in the back on the far west side. The high priestess would be there every Saturnsday[[ Saturnsday, not Saturday.]] morning to talk with guests and visitors and, instead of sermons, she and they would talk together in frank and open discussions about whatever they wanted to talk about. Mercy had never heard of a temple that didn't have sermons. She would need to attend at least one. A quick look at the temple website indicated a collection of videos from those talks. She would look at them later.

The check-in desk[[ Description of the Dome levels.]] was immediately through the front door where visitors staying at the complex hotel, containing 200 rooms -the prices were astronomical- which was the second level, could get their key-cards. The third level was a series of fifty private suites for family and personal guests, and meeting rooms that were rented out to large parties. Those prices were crazy, too.

The fourth level looked like a small box, on the map, but housed the administration office of the complex. The high priestess' office was located in that section of the building. Since that was where Mercy's first destination was, she made her notes on how to get there.

The underground level held more restaurants, dance clubs, two theaters, and an adult's only club called The Underground. She remembered reading about that on the temple's website; some kind of sex club, which surprised her considering the rest of the temple was family-oriented. It was located just below the temple room.

What did any of it have to do with a temple? It looked like a big mall. She hoped her tour guide would help her figure that out.

She would be meeting her guide in the main administration office where the high priestess did her daily business. When she wasn't in her office, the high priestess, Selestina Sebastian, was sure to schedule herself several times a week inside the temple itself within the ziggurat, so she could meet visitors, give a tour of the temple room, answer questions, and have private counseling sessions.

Mercy read that the lady's adult children would sometimes take turns greeting the visitors. There were several short videos on the website of the oldest son, Jake, explaining basics to visitors within the temple. Dusky skin, lean trim body, milk chocolate eyes, lashes women would kill for, and dark shaggy hair that didn't seem to have ever learned to stay flat, people listening to his smooth, upper baritone. Most of the women, and a few of the men, seemed completely lost in him. He was certainly handsome, but Mercy didn't trip over a pretty face.

The Pleasure Dome[[ Mercy’s first trip to the Dome and meeting Selestina.]]

In the morning, Mercy figured out the shower, which did not have a strong pressure but she didn’t like baths; she always felt as though she were sitting in dirty water which then stuck to her when she stood. What was the point of bathing in dirty water? Then she  dressed in her best suit, one she would wear for meeting a CEO.

Breakfast was a quick coffee and toast, and then she was out the door with her over-the-shoulder purse and her PPC. She left the laptop in her apartment, locked to her fingerprints and voice. She could keep notes and access her files via her PPC. Everything was automatically saved to a cloud, so nothing could be lost.

She looked around, the hall was deserted and she didn’t care about the security cameras -the guards could think what they’d like- and sketched a go-away in the air at the door.

Getting to The Pleasure Dome was fairly simple. It was just south of the center of the city where downtown held the local government offices, just like in every other city. Her link read out the directions as she drove.

The city looked like every other city, too; clean areas in the higher class districts, litter in the lower class areas. It was a bit of a surprise to see people with florescent orange jail vests picking up trash from the roadsides and fields. Guards with stun guns stood over them. These were probably prisoners from the general population of the low security prisons; she couldn’t imagine dangerous prisoners being let out to do such work.

Parking area around the complex was not crowded, yet, being only seven in the morning. Hotel guests would have their vehicles in the covered parking building to the southwest of the complex. The complex had a shuttle van to take them back and forth from parking to the front door. Visitors used public parking buildings on the outskirts of the complex, or simply left their vehicles at their homes, if they were local, and took the bus, tram, or their hotel’s service into the complex. 

Mercy left her car with a valet after they checked her appointment. They took her keys, and the receipt was zapped to her PPC. 

Inside, the main lobby of The Dome was pleasantly cool, compared to the growing heat outside. She checked in at the information desk, and was escorted to the elevators. The concierge used his card to unlock the elevator for the admin office at the very top of the building. 

“Guests,” the concierge told her, “have restricted access to the upper floors. Hotel guests have access to the hotel on level two, and only the family of the kin-priestess, their guests, and anyone who has rented a suite for a conference, have access to level three, and administration on level four is accessed by employees, maintenance, people with appointments, and of course the kin-priestess and her family. Unless your access card is programmed to take you to admin, you will check in with the concierge on duty to unlock the elevator and take you straight up.”

He was trying very hard to hide his curiosity behind professionalism, because he wanted so much to ask who she was, and why she had an appointment at the top level. Most people met with the high priestess in her temple office. He kept his face bland, yet friendly. 

She thanked him when he let her out, and she went to the front desk to give her name. She was escorted further into the office and presented to kin-Selestina's personal admin.

The air was cool and had a citrus fresh smell. It made her mouth water a bit, and think about a cold, refreshing glass of fruit juice.

She was offered a chair, but walked to a bank of windows first. “That's incredible,” she said, gazing out over the city and north to the mountains. People were hiking, riding bikes, a few horses, and dogs running joyously.

The admin assistant, Mariella, smiled knowingly. Visitors always had that reaction. “Try the other side,” she said, pointing across the room.

Mercy walked to the other bank of windows, and stared at water of a man-made lake sparkling in the morning sun, and the smooth sand where visitors were enjoying the early morning sun and water. She could see the stables, and two horses with riders splashing in the water. “Gorgeous. How far away is that?” she asked.

“Just under a mile, but I don't recommend walking it this time of year. There are trams after sundown, if you'd like to go dip your toes into the water. The sun glaring off the water can give you a nasty burn. If you ride, the stables are down there, and you can take a horse out for a walk on the beach. They enjoy playing in the water, too.”

A light on the desk blinked.

“Kin-Selestina will see you now. “

Mercy leaned over and whispered, “Is that how I should address her?” 

The admin, an older woman of about 70, with gray hair straight with its original dark brown, gathered in a neat bun at the base of her neck, gave her an understanding smile and nodded. 

“Thank you for asking,” she said, returning the whisper. “Don't leave off the honorific until you are invited to.” 

“Should I curtsy or something?” 

The admin chuckled and shook her head. “Just be yourself, offer your hand to shake, or whatever it is you do when you meet someone.” 

She was meeting The High Priestess of a mega church, what did she know about meeting such people? Although the office did surprise her, she expected something along the lines of a small palace. The entire ziggurat temple complex was huge and shiny, reminding her of big tourist attractions for families. She didn't understand how this could be a religious temple. But she was not a practitioner of any particular path, so what did she know? Right.. not a religion, and this wasn't a mega church…

The high priestess’ office was not much bigger than the reception area. And although there was the expected eight pointed star of their Temple on the wall behind the desk, many of the pictures on the rest of the walls were clearly family portraits and candid shots. The photo ops with dignitaries and local celebrities were on the wall outside the office. Mercy supposed they needed to be seen to make nice with the politics. 

The woman, about mid-50s, dark brown hair with streaks of gray cut short, stood behind her desk and then came forward with her hand out-stretched. Her pale, light cotton pant-suit hung elegantly off her trim frame.

“Ms Andrews, so nice to meet you. How was your trip?”[[ Mercy meets Selestina]]

“Kin-Selestina, thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice. My trip was uneventful, which was a good thing as it allowed me to continue reading up on your philosophies and Temple.”

“Excellent,” Selestina said as she gestured toward the seats surrounding a coffee table. “Can I get you something to drink? In this heat, everyone is encouraged to stay hydrated. Have you been to the desert before?”

“No, I haven't,” Mercy said. “I knew it was going to be hot, but not this hot.” One hundred degrees and it was still early morning.

The lady gave a light laugh. “This is just the beginning of summer, and it's still morning,” she said. “Give it another couple of months and you'll think you were in a 500 degree oven. Please make sure you pay attention to the visitors guide that you should have received at the airport. It's online, and downstairs at the information desk. It can literally save your life. “

Mercy promised to read the information carefully, and asked for water. She expected her to click a comm open to her admin to have something sent in. Instead, the older lady opened a cabinet in the far corner that turned out to be hiding a small fridge. She poured two glasses of iced water and brought them over to the table and set them on coasters. Mercy made note of that; when visiting another country one should do as the locals did. 

“Our public relations department said you were interested in writing a series of articles about our temple?”

“Informational pieces not only about the temple itself, but also your outreach programs, and changes that are happening in the city. I have already spoken with several city officials about the programs and how they see the changes. But the more I read, and the more people I talk to, I hear how much the temple was behind many of the changes. 

“I have read through your website, and just about everything else I can find, but there are still a lot of things that I don't understand. I'm hoping that talking with you, and your representatives, will help me with that understanding. The literature does a lot toward helping people understand, but there are gaps.”

“Such as?” the lady asked, unfazed at Mercy's lack of delicacy.

Did she say that wrong? No, she didn't think so.

“Well, the word temple itself. Your site says you are not a religion, you're a philosophy, but ‘temple’ implies religion. Why use that word, if Ninankin is not a religion?”

The lady was nodding her head. “Yes, that is a frequent question. Our main tenant is passion. Passion in all its forms. Within the bounds of legality, of course. Passion comes from within, and we practice finding our passion and practicing our passions. The temple is ourselves, not the building. What other word would you use?”

Mercy thought about it. “I guess I don't know,” she admitted. “That's a good point.”

“But I'm sure my son Jake will be able to tell you so much more. He has a talent for breaking down concepts. I have paired you with him as your guide. What little he does not know, he will know who to ask." She seemed pleased with herself. Maybe she liked Mercy's directness.

That was another surprise for Mercy; if anybody was going to lead her around, she expected to be a talking head from the PR department.

There was a knock at the door, and a head stuck in. “Mother, ready for me?”

“And there he is,” Selestina said with a smile, turning her head to him. “Come in, darling, you're right on time.”

Mercy looked at the man and had to appreciate his beauty. She had looked at the family pictures on the website, and noted that only Jake and his youngest sister, Pallis, looked like their mother except for their dusky, olive skin. The other four siblings, only one of them male, were all fair, completely opposite of Jake and the youngest. 

The other brother was Ian, and the website said he was 24, had something called Mackinaw Syndrome, that kept him from growing more than a 12 to 14 year old boy would. She had a note to look it up, since she had never heard of it before.

“Darling, this is Mercedes Andrews. [[ Mercy meets Jake]]She will be asking you lots of questions to help her write a series of articles about the city, the temple, our programs, and whatever else she wants to ask. I hope this won't be too hard on your schedule.”

He came forward, kissed his mother's cheek, and shook Mercy’s hand.

“Not at all,” he said. “This sounds like an interesting outing. Will she be staying at the hotel?” He smiled at Mercy as he asked the question. He had the slightly clipped accent of the region which sounded a bit furry. His mother had a slight clip, too, although not as strong as his.

“I don't think so.” She looked at Mercy. “Are you staying here, Ms Andrews?”

“Just Mercy, please, and no, I'm freelance and there was no way the publisher was going to pay for me to stay here. No offense intended. I rented a month to month at a small apartment complex called The Omni. I don't mind, it looks to be a cute little place. I have an apartment underground.”

“Oh, that does sound pleasant,” Selestina said agreeably. “Underground levels are much cooler than ground level. But if you do need anything, please let us know. Now you go with Jake, and he will get you situated and started.”

With that dismissal, Mercy accepted Jake's hand up to her feet. He was an easy six feet, putting her head at shoulder height.

“I really hope I'm not interrupting too much of your time,” she said as they left the office.

He smiled, teeth white against his olive skin. His height said European stock, though she was fairly sure his genetics contained more than that. If he had any Mexica tribal blood, it wasn’t noticeable; the tribal peoples tended to be much shorter. Not that it made a difference, but she wondered if someone was adopted; genetics could be so interesting.

“Really,” he assured her, “your project sounds interesting so I don't mind. Much of what I do can be done remotely, so it isn't a problem. Have you had lunch yet?” he asked. “An early lunch sits better, but if you’re not hungry, we can head out.”

“I had coffee and toast. I was going to go through a drive-thru.”

His dark eyes widened. “You can if you want to but I think you'll find our restaurants here serve food that is actually edible. We can relax, and you can tell me just what you're here to do so that I have an idea of what places to show you, and what information you need for your articles.”

Was that why she got the big guy? she asked herself. Was he here to make sure she didn't have ulterior motives? Was she going to be restricted in any way? Religions can be touchy, so it would not surprise her. 

When they reached the ground floor in the center of the complex, he showed her a schematic map on the wall next to double glass doors. It showed the complex, including tunnels below that made the underground look like a spoked wheel. Everything was in multiple languages, with SW and Spanish being the main tongues.

“House guests have access to the outer buildings through these tunnels,[[ Jake explains the Dome site map.]] if they'd like,” he told her. “There are electric carts, down there, that they use to get around. Visitors can use the ground transportation service, or they can park near the buildings they wish to see.”

“Is that the family home?” she asked, pointing to an outlying building. If she was remembering her study of the map in the apartment, it was his family home.

“Yes,” he said, trying not to blink at the leap. “That's where I and my siblings were raised.”

“Do you all have your own homes here at the complex?”

He shook his head as he led her through the hall. “No, we all have our own space. Did you get a visitor ID from the security desk?” 

“They took my information, and said it would be ready shortly and to pick it up at any security desk; any of the desks can print it out.” 

“I expected this building to be bigger,” she admitted. “This close to the big hotels, I figured on  more stores to accommodate the tourists.”

“Actually we don’t get as many tourists as you’d think,” he said. “To most people we are a religious place, no matter how often we tell them otherwise. But we’re happy with smaller crowds. Our employees become a family. We don’t have a high turnover.”

Jake stopped at the main desk, and asked the lady behind it to look for the ID and please print it out. Make sure it was keyed for A-level passage. It only took a few minutes, and they were walking again. She put the plastic ID with the lanyard around her neck, and followed him back to the elevators, and down one more level. The main level, the ground level, was marked with G, the lower level with a U.

“You are A-level clearance, which gives you all-access,” he told her. “The elevator will take you all the way up, or you can go down to the tunnels and take a cart out to any of the other buildings. If you drove a vehicle, you have access to covered valet parking.”

“Restaurants are down here,” he said, “if you couldn't tell by the smell. There are a few upstairs on the ground level, but they can be noisy with families. Down here caters to mainly the adult crowd; kids usually aren’t happy with the food choices.”

“The smell is definitely making me hungry,” she said, taking a deep breath. Food court? No. He took her to one of the restaurants where he greeted the hostess cheerfully; they clearly knew each other. A waiter immediately ushered them to a corner table with a reserved sign, which was removed as they sat. Water and juice immediately arrived at the table, along with glasses filled with ice. 

“Order whatever you'd like,” he told her. “Where are you from?”

“New Amsterdam,” she said. “The flight was about six hours.”

His eyes widened appreciatively. She had crossed seven countries and half the continent just to wander around hot, dusty Gila. 

“You're a long way from home, northerner. Have you experienced desert summers before? No? All right, so what I recommend are light foods. If you eat something heavy, the heat will make you sick a lot faster than if you go out after eating anything else. Of course it's up to you what you'd like to order.”

She chose the cold pasta salad, and they put in their orders. It was usually best to go with recommendations from a local. Except bugs. She had been to places where people ate bugs and brains and fish eyes; she swore to never go to such places again. Remote conferences would have to be good enough.

“When I went into the office, I could see you had my mother going about something,” he said. He had his mother's hair and eye coloring, and face. Did he take after his father in other aspects?

“I was asking her why this was called a temple if it wasn't religious. Her response was about passion and finding it and practicing it. That we are the temple, not the building. But there is a room in this building called a temple. What is it used for?”

“The temple room is on the opposite side of the building from the main door. Just around the corner from here. My mother, being the high priestess, holds discussion time every Saturday morning in the temple room. 

“Because of its popularity, and the lack of space, it's for hotel guests only who wish to participate in person. It is broadcast live, however, for everyone else. People are welcome to wander in and out the rest of the time. There’s always someone nearby too answer questions. 

“My mother spends a lot of time there the rest of the week doing things like weddings, funerals, blessing rituals or whatever people ask of her. Unless the party has requested it to remain private, people are allowed to watch. Those events are not broadcast, but people record them and upload them to VidTube or whatever site.”

“Are there other priests? If she's the high priestess, that implies other priests.”

“It's just a traditional title,” he said. “There used to be under-priests in the older temples, but since this isn't a religion as other cultures have, they were considered redundant. They became assistants and, you might find surprising, PR people.” 

“That is surprising. Public relations people?” she questioned, her mind blank in trying to find a reason. “Why?” 

“They answer questions, talk with people about what our philosophies mean, and make corrections to whatever mistakes the public has. If my mother can't make an appointment, it's frequently someone from PR who takes the appointment.”

“Well, I have an appointment with her at the end of the week for her to show me around the temple. What I saw online sounded like a round table discussion.”

He nodded. “She helps people,” he said. “Too many people don't know what they want, they don't have the words for it. So it's a group discussion. Sometimes someone else will say something that will bring to mind what another person was trying to say. She does take private counseling appointments, in person or remotely, which fills up much of her schedule. 

“The discussions often seem to revolve around one or more of the Ninankin tenants. It can sound like a sermon, to some, but what she is doing is explaining the meaning of those particular tenants, and she helps people to understand them better by using every day scenarios. It often brings up more discussion.”

“Do you have holidays?”

Questions, but not those bridges. He readjusted his thinking. And he didn't see a recording device.

“Did you read through the website?” he asked. 

“I did,” she said. “I also read through everything else I could find. The website was helpful, but there's still a lot of confusion and a lot of clarifying that needs to be done. I don't mean to be your website's new editor-in-chief, but for the purposes of my book there does need to be clarification to a few things.”

“Alright, I can work with that,” he said. He agreed with Mercy about the website; he had talked with his mother, her council, and the site editor about information being so basic that it left things unanswered. The council and the editor told him they expected those people who questioned to contact the PR department for a more in-depth discussion. He hated bait tactics.

“To answer your question, we have don’t have holidays per se; local traditions have ancient holidays that occur on the solstice and equinox, midnight to midnight for the summer solstice, which is in two weeks, and then sunrise to sunrise for the other three. The festivals take place outside down by the stables and lake beach. We have the bonfire on the beach; access to unlimited water just in case a spark goes where it shouldn't.

“I think there are videos online of the festivals. A lot of people record them.”

“I saw some,” she said. “I liked the drumming; I think they were the solstice festivals.” People walking around sometimes in costumes of some sort, picnics, large grills and small, people selling homemade stuff, jewelry and clothing, all under canopies.

He nodded. “They are popular. Some people try to sneak in drugs, the ones that you swallow and the ones you smoke, and we do our best to catch them and kick them out. I don't know what it is about drumming that makes people think they need drugs to get into an altered state of mind. If they can't do it without the drugs, then they're doing it the wrong way.”

He offered her a bread stick to go with her pasta salad.

“But what do the festivals represent?” Altered state? That sounded like a discussion that needed more time.

The cold pasta salad with fresh pesto was good, and she was glad he told her about how to eat for the summer. She could not imagine a hamburger or steak in this heat. Looking around at other tables, it seemed juice was automatically delivered along with the water.

“They are solar festivals,” he said. “They are an acknowledgment of the shortest and longest days of the year, at the solstices, and the equinoxes are when night and day have equal time. The equinoxes are New Year's, on the ancient local calendars, because they start and end the two biggest seasons: winter and summer. We don't really doesn't have fall and spring anymore.” He could see her mind soaking up information. Maybe she didn't need a recording device outside of the one in her head. He softened his eyes and saw more colors flowing from her head than most people he had seen. Don’t underestimate her, he told himself.

“They used to have big religious meanings, and they still do for religious, tribal sects.”

“I've started reading the beginners guide that is on your website,” she commented. “That was one of the things I was feeling confused about. Being from New Amsterdam, to me religion is about the worship of deity. That area of the country is largely Roman and Scandinavian, and other northern European cultures, and there are temples to lots of different European gods everywhere. What I'm reading on your website sounds a lot different.”

He opened his mouth to say something just as his link beeped. “I'm sorry, excuse me a moment.” 

He listened, muttered a few things, and then put his link back in his pocket. “I'm sorry, this is rude of me, but it's important that I go attend this. I can leave you here to wander, I can have concierge get you a guide, or you are welcome to get out into the city with me. There's a problem I've been helping with, and they have something that can't wait.”

She was pretty much done, so she said, “If I won't be in the way I'd like to go with you; I am here to see the city and everything that's going on. I won't get in your way, and your personal business stays yours,” she promised. 

Wherever they were headed, a hospital was not Mercy's first guess. He parked under covered parking, and rooted around in his glove compartment where he brought out a handful of tags that allowed him to park at various places. He found one that said Bonaventure Hospital, and stuck it under the window. She followed him out and into the emergency entrance. 

“Number 5, Doc,” one of the ladies at the desk called out to him, her hand over the speaker of her headset. All around people were waiting their turn, holding towels and cold packs to scalp lacerations, bins for stomach upsets, and crying children with runny noses. Two police officers were dragging out a struggling man who was yelling obscenities to someone named Chucky.

He was a doctor? Mercy did not remember seeing that on his profile on the temple's website. She was taking him away from medical duties? While he went to deal with the patient, she sat down and brought up the website once more on her PPC. 

She heard a young lady yelling in what sounded like Spanish, the common language of Mexica, swiftly becoming the second language as Standard Western was quickly becoming the main language, and Jake's voice responding. 

She went to the family's profiles, and read through Jake's once more. Not that there was much to read. Thirty-two, single, no mention of partners or children. It definitely did not say anything about him being a doctor. All it said was that he was part of Outreach Services. 

She thought a moment, and then went to the VidNews site. If you wanted to find out anything about anyone, go to the top gossip site. 

The first video she came to showed Jake Sebastian wearing only an almost non-existent loin cloth, swinging around a pole. Alrighty then, she said to herself. The man should never be allowed to wear clothing. And no tan lines.

She went to a general web search. Doctorate. She clicked on that link. Doctor of Psychology. He specialized in… oh my. Sex therapy. That can't be right. Stupid site. 

She left the site and went to the national medical registry for Mexica. And there he was, Doctor of Psychology. And he was not only registered as a sex therapist, but he also trained people in how to use empathy gifts. Well that kind of made sense, she thought. The psych gifts came from the brain, why not a psychologist to train them? How does one train someone to use their gifts? She put that on her list to ask. That could be interesting. 

Mercy heard a young lady spouting angrily, coming closer and closer. She looked up to see a girl of about fourteen, her face bruised, and her right arm in what looked to be a new cast. Jake said something to her, and then turned to the tall, blond lady doctor on his other side. Having just looked through the family profiles, she recognized his sister, Carrly Sebastian, the oldest of the four girls. Once more, Mercy found herself contemplating someone being adopted. The fair siblings looked nothing like their mother. Were they step siblings? 

“No,” Jake told his sister. “Just get her through one more year, and we will be able to relocate her. It's pointless calling them again; every time they take her out, the court puts her back. We can't do anything until she's legal. I will take her to her grandmother's, try to talk her into allowing  Juana to be enrolled at Saguaro; maybe this time she’ll see the danger in keeping her at home.” 

Mercy jumped up and followed him out the door. His hand was on the young lady's upper arm, the one without the cast. Whatever he was telling her sounded as though he was trying to calm her down. The girl was talking so fast she sounded like a spitting cat. 

The website said he spoke three languages, including Standard Western. She supposed she could add Spanish to the list. What was the third? 

“Sorry, Mercy, just a little detour to drop this young lady at home. Then we will be back on schedule.” 

“If you need to deal with things, I can take a tram back to my hotel and take a couple hours of this siesta thing.” 

Between the young lady grumbling in the backseat and him responding to her as he buckled her in, he answered Mercy. “Actually, siesta is a good idea. I was going to suggest it. Most offices will be closing down by eleven, and then not opening again until four so not much could be done midday anyway, unless it's remote. 

“Why don't I drop you at your apartment, and then I'll pick you up again at 4:00? We will go grab dinner, and then wherever it is you'd like to go. After siesta, most businesses will stay open until around 10 or 11, if not later. If there was a list of things you wanted to do, today, keep your list handy and we will look at logistics when I pick you up.”

That sounded good to her, so he swung through to drop her off, and then left to deal with the angry young lady. If someone had hit her in the face and broke her arm, she'd be angry too, Mercy thought.

………..

Juana’s neighborhood was in one of the barrios on the south side. Sidewalks were cracked, potholes in the road, litter piled up from being blown around by the occasional breeze. Houses were mostly single level boxes, painted in traditional desert colors of  terracotta reds, cactus greens, and cowhide browns, with bright blues, oranges, and yellows. 

Gang colors clashed on empty buildings; no one bothered to get rid of the signs since they’d be back in a day or two.

Unemployment was rampant, people of employment age hanging out, laughing, shouting insults, loud music, A few grannies sat in their yards, fanning themselves with whatever they could turn into a fan. Some colorful with traditional designs, others woven with palm fronds.

Jake turned into a small turnabout that connected six houses, Someone had tried to cover the dirt with concrete, it was a good try, but it wasn’t kept up. People complained about cracks in the pavement, but all the upkeep in the world wouldn’t stop the heat from expanding the concrete, causing it to crack when it shrank in the cooler nighttime temperatures. Nature tried to take over those cracks by sending weeds to take advantage of those cracks.

He helped Juana out of the SUV and she stomped into her house. A well-used broom  leaned against the side of one of the homes where three elderly ladies were rocking on the porch with their fans. He approached and took off his hat and sunglasses in respect.

“Buenos dias,” he said with an inclination of his head to the ladies. “Senora Vargas, Juana has a broken arm. It isn’t bad, it should heal well. Dr Carrly sent along a week’s worth of pain killers, if she needs them.” He took the small bottle out of his pocket, wondering how long it would take before they were sold on the street. Juana hadn’t yet been strong-armed into street drugs, but the money would buy a few groceries. He could only hope Juana’s grandmother would keep a strong hand on them.

“Senora, this time could have been a lot worse,” he said. “She’s old enough and developed enough to attract the worse type of attention. Por favor, Senora, she would be safe from those attentions if you would allow her to be enrolled at Saguaro. She would live there, in her own private room, attend classes with instructors who will help her if she needs it. She’d get three meals a day, snacks between meals, and there’s an urgent care on property. Everything she needs will be on property, and you can call her any time.”

The two friends of the lady spoke low to her, urging her to accept the offer. Jake had pitched the private school at least five times in the past, and she had always refused. Jake could see she was afraid to let her granddaughter be under the care of anyone except her. 

“How much?” Senora Vargas asked, daring him to name a prohibitive price. 

“The temple will cover her tuition,” he promised. “All you need to do is sign the papers.”

“If you’d like, I can set up a tour of the school, see the classrooms, talk with the teachers, and see an example of the room she should be staying in, her own room, no sharing, Each room has it’s own bathroom, she wouldn’t need to share an open shower room.”

He could see her struggling, but the urgent whispers of her friends seemed to be having an effect on her inner debate.

“You are welcome to bring these ladies with you, if you’d like. We can have lunch there, and do the introductory tour. No strings attached.”

“How safe?” one of Senora Vargas’ friends asked. It was unspoken knowledge that two young girls were missing.

“There are security guards at each door, no one gets into student areas without authorization. All the kids are from dangerous home or school situations, abused, or bullied to the point where even ten year olds contemplate suicide. All from low income and poverty. 

“There are two guards on each floor where the private rooms are. Male and female guards, at all times day and night. You can meet with their commander and ask him questions.”

“Nana.”

Juana stepped out onto the porch. Her right forearm in an air cast, the clear skin allowing the arm to be visually examined for healing. The arm rested in a sling.

“I’d like to see it, Nana, please,” she said. “I see how the boys are starting to look at me, and I don’t want to be…” A tear ran down her cheek. She knelt and put her head on her nana’s lap.

The lady stroked the girl’s dark hair.

“We will do the tour,” she said.

……….

When Jake knocked on her apartment door at 4:00, Mercy was ready. Once on the ground floor, she stepped outside from the stairwell. She couldn't catch her breath. 

“Oh my gods,” she finally said. “I can actually feel the radiation pushing me.”

To her surprise Jake put a wide brimmed hat on top of her head. A Mexica flag, green, yellow, and red stripes with traditional Mexica designs hung off the back, covering her ears and the back of her neck. He then handed her a pair of wrap-around sunglasses. 

“Did you put sunblock on?” he asked. Yes, she did. He looked at her shorts and short sleeve shirt, and shook his head. “Do you have long sleeve, light cotton shirts, and light cotton slacks?” She did not. “Okay,” he said. “A clothing store. Even with sunblock, just like that you are going to get burned. And keep those sunglasses on until the sun goes down.”

“Why is there a handkerchief on the back of the hat?” she asked as he led her to his SUV. His hat had a handkerchief on it, too. His was black. On him, it looked exotic.

“To keep the sun off the back of your neck and your ears,” he said. “You really don't want those places to burn. It might look stupid to you now, but you'll get used to it and thank me later.”

She buckled up. “I don't understand how people can wear long sleeves and pants in this kind of heat.” He was wearing pale cream slacks and a long-sleeved tan dress shirt, with its short collar barely noticeable.

“The smart ones are wearing loose cotton,” he said. “Take a lesson from the desert dwellers of the Middle East and North Africa, and parts south of here that are in the desert,” he told her. She looked at the people on the sidewalks, noticing very few people were dressed to his way of thinking, although she did see hats of various types and umbrellas. 

“They're all covered up in those robes. You know why? Because the fabric soaks up the sweat, and the slightest breeze turns those robes into swamp coolers, keeping their bodies cooler during the heat. Not what we would call frosty cool, but cooler. It's why a lot of people use swamp coolers, out here. They moisten the air in the home, which moistens skin, and even though it's not as cool as air conditioning, it's better for the environment. They act as humidifiers.”

“The heat will be cut considerably when the sun starts to go down," he told her as he drove through traffic. Being her tour guide for her first trip south, he went into educational-mode and explained things he thought a northerner might not know about desert living. She didn’t seem impatient with his chatting, so he continued.

“I thought we would go to one of my favorite dives to sit around and figure out the kinds of things you want to see, questions to ask, and the logistics of getting things done while you are on assignment. Unless there was something specific you wanted to do now.”

She shook her head and lifted her hands to adjust the thing on her hat. She wished she could burn calories like he did. The cold pasta salad was good and didn’t last long. 

“You're the expert, I'm in your hands. There was nothing specific I had planned, except seeing  the solar plant. I'm really interested in how those are working out here compared to using fossil fuels. I took a remote tour with the manager of the desalination plant before I left home, but I'd still like to see the different plants in person to get a better idea of what I was seeing and being told. At some point, I’d like to go down to see the desalination plant, too.” If she planned it right, she could spend a couple of days on the gulf beach.

He nodded. “Excellent things to discuss,” he said. “I can give you basics, but yes you need to go to the plant to talk to the engineers in person.”

“Will they be open later?” 

“Yes. When the sun sets they can light up the plants and anywhere else that needs work done, and not get killed by the heat. The unions frown greatly on their members working in the sun this time of year unless there is a big emergency.” 

The parking lot he pulled into had not been paved with the blue, solar pavement that was everywhere. In fact, it was a dirt parking lot. And it had not been graded in a long time. 

The building sitting on it looked to be, indeed, a dive. It was a cheap cinder block, square building that hadn't seen a paintbrush in years. The name hand painted on the outside said Anáhuac.[[ Jake’s dive, and Pallis is introduced.]]

“Don't let the looks of the place fool you, it's probably the best food you will ever have. When I was working on my final dissertation, I practically lived here.”

“What does the name mean?”

“Land between two waters.”

Inside were three men sitting at a bar and one man behind it, watching a soccer game on an old screen. 

“Jorge!” Jake called out with a hand raised in greeting. The man behind the bar called back, clearly happy to see Jake. Jake called out drinks, and led Mercy to a table. 

She took the plastic menu from the clip in the center of the table, and looked at it. Nothing was in Standard Western. She leaned across the table and whispered, “I don't understand any of this. Do they have, like, tacos and stuff?” Shoot, she scolded herself. “Was that racist? If so, I didn't mean it that way.” 

Jake chuckled and shook his head. “You're fine,” he said. Her brain streamed thoughts out loud; it was better than keeping him guessing. He had too many people who practically forced him to pull the slightest information out of them. 

“They have a sort of taco, but they are the authentic type, probably not what you're used to. Unless you have food allergies or intense dislikes, I can order for you. If you will trust me.”

She snapped her mouth shut, glanced at him, and said, “All right I'll trust you. No allergies, but hot spices don't sit well with me.” 

The man, Jorge, round moon face and white teeth in a big smile, set water and juice on the table, with glasses of ice. Jake spoke to him, indicating Mercy. The man gave a nod and returned to his kitchen.

“What languages do you speak?” she asked. 

“Standard Western is my birth language, I learned Spanish and a touch of various tribal words from just living in this area. You tend to pick it up whether you want to or not, and I speak Standard Arabic.”

“That's impressive,” she said. The olive skin was possibly explained. “I'm lucky if I can get through a day without tripping over my SW. Is water and juice served automatically everywhere?”

He gave a nod, amused. Her aura didn't show that she was nervous, which sometimes made people chatty, just highly curious. 

“Pretty much,” he said. “The water for the hydration, and the juice for the electrolytes. You could use sports drinks and stuff for the electrolytes, though personally I think they're disgusting. Juice is better for you. It's actually illegal, here, to deny anyone water.”

Another round of drinks was placed on the table. This one looked like an off-colored milk. 

“This is horchata,” Jake said. “Have you had it before?” She shook her head. “It's a rice drink, popular, and quite tasty. It's made of rice, sugar, milk, cinnamon, and vanilla. It comes in chocolate and strawberry, too”

She took a sip. “Mmmm, and sweet.” 

“You can add water to dilute it. If it's too sweet, don't drink it. You're not going to offend anyone. A lot of people serve it as a dessert. It's great poured over cooked rice. Set it aside for after the food, if you'd like.”

Jorge came back with a tray laden with small dishes of food. Jake got up, pulled another table over, and moved the drinks so the food dishes could be spread around the table. 

Jorge opened one of the lids and said something about the small rounds of corn tortillas. He pointed out different dishes and asked a question. Jake responded, and Jorge went to the bar and got a small red bottle of hot sauce. Jake thanked him. 

“All right,” Jake said to Mercy. “He said all the hot spices were left off, and he substituted mild ones, the ones they use for small children. The bottle of hot sauce is for me, as are those two dishes of peppers. You can certainly have them, but they are extremely spicy. 

“His wife makes the corn tortillas fresh everyday, and if we need more to let him know and he'll bring more over. Use them to scoop up various items, and pop them in. Figure out which flavors you think go together, and you can mix and match.” He opened the lid, took a warm corn tortilla, and demonstrated. He handed her silverware, in case she needed it. 

Just as a second piece of laden tortilla was heading to his mouth, a body shot through the room, took over his lap, and redirected the tortilla. 

“Need money.” 

It was a teenage girl who looked very much like him, except with longer hair, and still carried a little roundness in her cheeks that spoke of her being not quite an adult, yet. Her sunglasses had been pushed up to the top of her head. She took a gulp of his horchata. “My friends and I want to go to the food court, they're broke, so I need money please. Are you on a date?”

Jake sighed. “No, this is not a date, it's work. And why are you broke? Where is your allowance?”

She swung a foot up, which was clearly shod in a brand new sparkly sneaker. 

“Really?” Jake asked, exasperated. “How many pairs of sneakers does this make? I think you were nearing 80, the last time someone counted.” He used a knee to bump her off his lap. “No one needs 80 pairs of sneakers. How did you know I was here?”

“We were passing by and I saw your Soov.”

“Mercy, this rude child is my baby sister, Pallis. She is 15, for another month, and has been spoiled by her five older siblings and her mother.”

“Yeah yeah,” Pallis said, grabbing a tortilla and filling it. “Hi. Please, money, we are starving.”

Jake took his link out, pressed screen buttons, and returned it to his pocket. “You've got fifty,” he told her. “Now go away. You do have automatic credit at the Dome, in case you have forgotten.”

“Oh, right,” she said, clearly egging him on. She turned to Mercy. “He cries at romantic movies, and peanuts make him fart.” She picked up his horchata and then skipped across the room with it, shouted a greeting at Jorge, and left the building. The other men laughed. Jake had his hands over his face.

Jorge called out to Jake, who lifted his hands in a Who, me? gesture. 

“Spoiled?” Mercy asked, amused. “Nope, I don't believe it.” Jake laughed and nodded. 

“So,” she said. “What kind of psychologist are you?” she teased.

“Not a child psychologist,” he admitted. 

“You and she look so much alike, do you ever get mistaken for her father?”

He smiled and nodded. “Sometimes,” he said. “She is half my age, though, so unless I was a precocious teenager, it couldn't happen.” He looked up at the ceiling, thinking. “Well, actually I was a bit precocious, but as far as I'm aware, I have not fathered any children. We all watched mom grow bigger with her, and willing or not, we were all tossed into Pre-Natal Obstetrics 101. We learned about birth control very young.”

Mercy, wide-eyed, slowly chewed. “She didn't have you all in to watch the birth, did she?”

“No, thank the gods,” he said fervently. “Although Carrly went in with dad to hold her hand, and now Carrly's a doctor. She was only thirteen when Pallis was born. At least Dad got her for two years.”

Much to her surprise, they ate everything. Jorge came over and cleared the dishes. 

“You became a doctor, too,” she told him. “After I heard a couple of people call you Doc in the ER, I looked you up. I didn't see it on the temple site.”

“Oh gods,” he said with a smile and shook his head. “All right, let's have it.”

“A sex therapist?? Really?! How do you even test for such a thing in school? Is it, like, a classroom orgy or something?”

He laughed out loud, having heard that and more from his family and friends.

Jorge came over and put a few more dishes in front of him as he said something to Jake. Jake thanked him profusely. 

“He said this is on the house because of the pretty lady.” Mercy reddened and thanked Jorge. 

The caramel covered flan and the bowl of fried bread and honey were the only things she recognized from their meal. But Jake had been right, the food was just about the best she had ever had. 

“So,” Jake said, dipping a warm piece of bread into the honey. “Do you know what The Underground is at The Pleasure Dome?” 

“Yes,” she said. “I read about it on the website. It's like a sex club.”

He smiled. “Basically,” he said. “Well, I started training to work there as soon as I became legal. Since I was going to work there, and believe me the pay is outstanding, I was trained in just about everything. There were a few things that I absolutely refused to do, and the rule of my body, my choice, applies even to the workers. But as a newly legal adult, flooded with teenage boy hormones, believe me I wanted to learn everything.

“So I did. I became good enough that I was frequently requested, which meant I didn't need to spend hours hanging out at the club waiting. And it turned out that all that work experience allowed me to jump hurdles through college. 

“We went to public school, with tutors at home, so I had a really good education. I tested out on quite a few things for the first couple years of college.

“I had to write a lot of reports, talk to a lot of professionals, and frequently to the college board, to explain my unusual education. Since I made it a point to study anatomy on my own, which seemed reasonable to me if I were going to learn how the human body worked, that helped me a great deal when talking to people. 

“It also helped that I happen to be empathic. I can help people, singles or couples, whatever, find their happy place by not only listening, but reading them, and helping them to verbalize what they are feeling. 

“And no, I don't have sex with my patients. I can pull an assistant from The Underground when needed. I need to be on the sidelines watching and reading through my empathy. It's an extremely useful tool.” 

“Hmm,” she said. “I hadn't thought about it like that. And speaking of empathy, I also read that you help people learn how to use their talents?”

“Yes. My empathy is strong, so I can watch what they are doing, where they are going wrong, and correct their course.” It was odd that her aura wasn't going through wild fluctuations of colors that usually happened when trying to explain his background to someone. Especially to women.

She sat back and pushed the rest of her flan away. “I'm stuffed,” she said. 

Jake smiled and took the rest of her flan. “I'm still a growing boy.”

“I have never heard those things explained that way before,” she said. “That makes so much more sense than ignorant salaciousness. I don't suppose you have all that written down somewhere?” 

“I do,” he said. “But it's in manuscript format for a book. If you'd like I can trim down a few pages and shoot it your way. Just the bits we have talked about, not the whole manuscript. The university is publishing it, and they would tear me to pieces for sharing it. And I don’t believe my personal history needs to be made public.” Why had he said all that, he wondered? Something about her made him want to talk.

She lifted a hand and swore it was off the record.

He looked at his watch. “The water and solar stations should be back open,” he said. “Let's go knock on some doors.”

Once in the SUV, she said, “Not that I'm completely unappreciative, but that is the second meal you have paid for me. I'll get the next one.”

“If it will make you feel better,” he said. “But do you see that humongous flat-topped pyramid several miles southwest of us? Between that and all the money I put aside from working in The Underground, and I do still work for the temple itself, I'm fine paying for a few meals. It is really not a problem. And I think I'm going to enjoy dragging you around, since I can play tour guide with someone who has never been here.” 

“What about your schedule? I don't want to interrupt any of that.” 

He shook his head as he pulled out onto the street. “I am my own boss,” he said, “and I make my own schedule. I cleared a week for you. I don't mind, things are a bit slow at the moment, and since you want to learn about how our city works in conjunction with the temple, I don't mind showing you around. I do have one request, though.”

“Yes?” 

“I believe our attorneys told your publisher's attorneys that we get to read the manuscript before it goes to the publisher. I'm not talking about parts concerning the city, just Temple and that what you write is accurate, not your personal interpretation or feelings. I can tell you that there was a lot of back and forth about this; there's a lot of fear that what you write about the temple will not be in a good light, and will misconstrue facts.” 

Mercy nodded soberly. “I had a very long conversation with the publishers and the attorneys,” she said. “I have read so much bullshit that has been published about other paths, that it makes me sick; so much time, money, and paper was wasted on it. I am not that kind of writer.”

“I know,” Jake assured her. “There is a very large file in various offices containing just about everything you have written. We've had a lot of people ask to come in and write about us, and they've all been refused. You are one of the few outsiders that we have accepted. Others we tried did a half-assed job, and those from the inside were accused of being one-sided. Please don't disappoint me.”

“I promise. And I promise I'm going to ask you so many questions, and it's because I want to make sure I have all the information to make a coherent book. There will be a few articles put together for news publications, sort of once a week features. Your people get first crack at them before I send them in.” 

Her colors said she was telling him the truth. 

“Why is your temple a pyramid? None of the others I've seen are shaped like that. There doesn't seem to be a standard shape.”

“It's a traditional shape for the area,” he explained, smiling at her jump. “If you go further south, toward the isthmus that links the two western continents, there are ziggurats in the jungles that were left by the ancients, down there.”

They crossed over the elevated freeway, heading toward the edge of town where industrial buildings lay scattered on the desert. It was typical for any city to put the less beautiful pieces where as few people as possible could see them. Wouldn’t want the tourists to see that the city actually works at things not so glamorous. 

A group of about twenty people in bright orange vests were watched over by men holding stun rifles as the group picked up wind-blown trash. A sign warning drivers not to stop and talk to them blinked brightly at the on-coming traffic.

“Are those people prisoners?” she asked as they passed the group.

He nodded. “Low-level work crews from the county jail. The dangerous prisoners aren’t allowed out. The crews work off their time and earn a little money that is kept in trust for them until their release.”

He pulled into the parking lot for the administration office for the solar plants. He saw Mercy take her PPC from her bag, and guessed she would be using the recorder for this; the information would probably be a little more technical, and she would want to make sure to get it right. At least he would.

Inside, they were directed to the assistant plant manager, Rudy Salazar.[[ Tour of the solar plant.]] Instead of standing and walking outside in the heat, for the first part, he brought up a live image on the wall-mounted screen. He sent up a drone to buzz around the indicated equipment.

Jake wondered if the man had ever given tours to civilians, because he was a bit abrupt to be giving this particular tour. Mercy had her PPC out. The man didn't give her much room to jump in with questions.

Two square miles of open plains were filled with solar arrays that tracked the sun as it moved across the daytime sky. The arrays were fifty feet off the ground, giving animals the freedom to walk without interference. 

“When the sun shines onto a solar panel, energy from the sunlight is absorbed by the PV cells in the panel. This energy creates electrical charges that move in response to an internal electrical field in the cell, causing electricity to flow.

“The electricity is gathered in the large storage tanks underground, where it is distributed to the city through cables. Anything the city doesn't use is stored or sold to other cities and states where it is converted to whatever form of electricity they use.

“Monsoon storms come up at the beginning of each summer, so the tanks are being kept full in preparation for short sun days. The storms come up at the end of the day, just before sundown, so people tend to turn their lights on early.”

Mercy remembered reading about the rain storms, and had seen videos of a few where the dark clouds were incredibly huge, covering entire cities as they blew by. She looked nervously at the sky. It was getting dark, and wispy clouds were scattered.

“They aren’t due quite yet,” Jake told her. Salazar gave a grunt of agreement.

“Each array is monitored at the substation where any changes in its processes will be noted. At night, repairs and cleaning take place. The storms are more than likely to knock out at least several arrays during each night the winds blow.”

“Why not use regular electricity during those times?” She managed to jump in.

“The problem with the electricity you’re referring to is that most electricity is produced using conventional sources such as natural gas, oil, coal, and nuclear. Solar energy is clean. It creates no carbon emissions or other heat-trapping “greenhouse” gases. We're trying to cool the place down, not heat it up even more than it already is. We can put up with a few damaged solar cells for about six weeks out of the year. It’s what the storage cells are for.

“The majority of the vehicles here are now run on solar batteries. There are still carbon emitting vehicles, but we are working hard to try to get them phased out. Unfortunately, the fossil fuel lobbyists are holding on with the tips of their fingers. 

“Vehicles run on solar, have solar cells embedded in the roof. That energy gets transmitted to the battery in the engine. When the vehicle is parked for the evening, it gets plugged in to recharge the battery from the storage tanks. Every place you go will have a recharge station. We even have a mandate in place that requires the city and state to either convert vehicles to solar, or provide a solar vehicle at minimum cost with a trade-in.”

“Are the trams and shuttles on solar?”

“Not yet,” he shook his head. “They have solar cells on them for collection, but there’s been some problem trying to adapt or come up with the engines for them. They run on liquid oxygen and liquid hydrogen in what’s called cryogenic propulsion.” A shuttle passed overhead, at that moment, and all three people looked up to watch it as it headed east.

“That size carries up to two hundred people,” Salazar told them. “From the direction, I’d say it’s heading for Central Mexica with tourists and commuters. It’s too big for the local flutter-bys. They do a round trip three times a day.”

“You should take the trip, while you’re here,” Jake encouraged Mercy. “Do the tourist thing, go see the capitol and the palace. You can’t work all the time.”

“Watch me,” she said, not quite a joke. Her publishers told her more than once she was like a dog with a bone: she doesn’t let go. And something about Gila was starting to ring her bells.

“What about lines buried to carry that energy? What if those lines get cut?” 

Their guide shrugged. “Lines get cut by accident all the time no matter what type of energy is being used. It's monitored, and a repair team is sent out. I'm sure you know what a red stick is?”

Mercy nodded. “Before digging, you need to call the city to get a red stick team out to locate any underground power cables so they don't get cut.”

“Same for us,” the guy nodded.

They moved out to the parking area and used Jake's SUV to show her what the engine looked like. “Like solar-powered homes, solar cars harness energy from the sun by converting it into electricity. This electricity fuels the car's electric motor.

“The engine will switch itself from active solar over to the battery such as at night or cloudy days. It still should be plugged in when not in use, so that it will have a full charge from the power station while it rests.” 

“So instead of pulling into a gas station,” she said, “you can plug it in. Do all homes and parking garages have charging stations?” 

“Mostly,” he said. “There are still areas that are being converted. The charging cord is underneath.” He reached under the front of the SUV to pull out a cord with tines on the end.  “The cord stretches 20 ft. Some charging stations are for multiple users, so there won't be one in front of every parking spot.”

“This model of SUV is a good one, it has a good-size battery for storage, and unless Jake is going to be driving around the entire city at night, he should be able to get around easily without plugging in until he's down for the evening. Or siesta, as the case may be, this time of year.”

Mercy turned to Jake. “What would you do if you drove out of state to some place where they didn't have charging stations?”

“Before leaving, I would buy a converter cable. It plugs into the old-fashioned outlets. Or I would rent a vehicle suitable for that area. People go on vacations and rent vehicles all the time.”

Mercy thought about it and looked at their guide. She had a solar car and had a quick tutorial on how to use the power outlets from the woman at the rental place, and how to read the dashboard to make sure she didn’t run too low.

“So why are the fossil fuel lobbyists still fighting this?” 

Money was the answer. “Oil has run the world for a long time now, and men have become billionaires because of it. They don't care what it's doing to the environment, just take a look around us, they only care about the dollar signs. They have no way of putting privatization signs on the sun, so they argue against it.”

“How did you convince the city to go along with this?”

“We voted in a majority that either agreed with it or could be convinced. Other desert cities are watching us as a test case.”

She thanked him for his help and the tour, and asked that he proofread the article before she sent it in. If she came up with more questions, she would get in touch. 

He'd be happy to read it. And said, as an afterthought, “If you don't mind me saying so, you're going to blister in those clothes.”

“So I've heard,” she sighed. Jake didn't say anything.

“How can you live like this?” Mercy asked when they were back on the road. Even with the sunglasses and the tinted windshield, she was squinting at the setting sun. Thankfully they’d be heading east as they road back into the city. 

He shrugged. “It isn't all year, and I guess I'm just used to it. I was raised here. It's a way of life, just like every place else. I don't know how you deal with snow. I mean, I've been skiing up in the mountains a couple times, or tried to, but I wouldn't want to live in it. Here, a storm lasts about a couple hours at the most; in your neck of the woods, a snowstorm can last all night or even several days. I don't know that I could be locked in for several days.”

She shrugged. “It's a way of life.” And smiled.