by Frank Giovinavvi

The curved glass wall refracted the sun's brilliance as it rose across the Texas plains. The Architect increased the graduated tint on the 360 degree barrier from a control underneath his desktop. He had personally designed the glass tower, to demonstrate his hands-on approach to the Camp Industry project. He thought it was a fitting symbol of the mission they were embarked on. His staff had nicknamed his penthouse suite the Crystal Cathedral, partly because of its unique construction, but mostly as a jibe against its occupant.

He was taking advantage of the early hour to place and return calls to both coasts. It was still early enough back East to catch people before they got sucked into the whirlwind of the day; out West, it was so early that he was actually able to talk to some of entertainment industry pals before they got trapped inside their hermetic cocoons of assistants, meetings and minor crises. And they loved to hear from him, because his calls were the perfect mix of investment news and social balm. After years of doing the book-signing, seminar and lecture circuit, he'd actually come up the ranks, so to speak, with some of the people who were now the top names in Hollywood. As soon as he signed on with Walker, a small dinner party was held, and a select list of 30 people quickly placed over $100 million into the exciting new experiment in social welfare and private enterprise.

"Steve, how are you today? Thanks for taking my call." The Architect visibly brightened when he got an audience with one of his rich and powerful friends whose attention he craved. He listened intently, to glean a fleck of wisdom or acknowledgment.

"Oh great, the project is going even better than expected. We're just about to graduate our fourth class, bringing the total to just under 3,000. An army of rehabilitated, productive citizens." He paused, hoping for a word of praise. He got just a murmur of interest. "And we've got 20 more facilities coming on line in the next quarter. How about that new high, last Wednesday? Ninety-Six and a Quarter." He stretched it out for effect. "If I were you, I'd load up for another round, because the stock'll probably split again on the heels of two major events like that." He leaned back in his chair, proud of what he had achieved. It wasn't an empire of the sort that his friends had built. Not yet, anyway.

What he heard next was beyond his wildest dreams. "A movie version? Of my story? Of course I'd be interested. Yes, I'll call your producer." He wrote the woman's information down. "Oh, TV, sure that's great." He tried hard to conceal his disappointment. "Maybe an original cable flick? Well, that's great, Steve." Sensing the conversation was at an end, he tried to regain his composure, "Well, let me get back to work here and make sure the ending turns out the way we expect. Okay, bye."

He was so engrossed in playing the supplicant he hadn't seen the light on his desk panel indicate a visitor was headed toward his inner sanctum. The Architect had an official open door policy, but he liked to minimize awkward situations. The Assistant Director was standing at the top of the spiral staircase waiting for his boss to finish with his phone call. A flash of naked awareness passed between the two, before the Architect reasserted his position and his authority.

"Thank you for coming, A.D." He motioned him to approach his desk. The Architect saw him as little more than an efficient ideological dimwit. He had to be careful to cultivate the particular illusions his kind needed to stay committed. There was no other chair in the transparent crow's nest except for the Architect's. On most occasions he would force the A.D. to stand in front of his desk and carry on the conversation from an inferior posture. Today, he decided to walk around and use a paternal gesture to assuage any doubts the loyal idiot might have. He reduced the tint on the glass wall and took his manager by the arm to look out over the facility.

"Look at it, son. Isn't it glorious? From apparent chaos and the glimmer of a dream, we've built the first institution that truly fulfills the highest mandate of every major religion. Compassion for the weak and righteousness in the face of temptation. Doesn't it fill you with pride to be at the helm of such an enterprise?"

"Yes, sir, it does." The A.D. was disheartened from the scene he had witnessed, but the Architect knew how to conjure the winds of inspiration.

"It takes an incredible breadth of skills to keep our institution headed in the direction of its destiny. From up here, you can truly grasp the scope of the difficulties involved. The matter of understanding life can really be reduced to one word, son. Perspective. That's why I'm glad you're down there in the trenches, bringing the vision to life, one day, one individual at a time. Because I know you've got what it takes to get the job done where it counts, in the nitty gritty. I hope it's not too hard on you, Jim." The Architect never called him by his first name, intentionally using the impersonal title, to maintain discipline, and to manipulate him when the time was right. The Architect put his arm around the A.D., clinching the retrieval of his loyalty. "I remember when I was your age, first getting started along the path of my own destiny. Some days, when I was feeling overwhelmed, it was hard to see the larger mosaic. I hope when that happens to you, that you'll feel comfortable enough to come up here and take a look from my perspective, you know, to sort of recharge your spiritual batteries." He removed his arm.

"Yes sir! I appreciate that sir!" The spark of purpose was rekindled in the eyes of the dim functionary as he looked at the Architect with reverence.

"Now then, speaking of challenges, what we should do about the team member who refers to himself as Zarathustra?" The Architect walked back around to his desk and called up the file on the recessed computer screen. He read in silence.

"Son, you know what's good about this problem?"

"What's that sir?"

"We've isolated a profile of a person that in the future we'll reject for our program."

"Really?" The A.D. rarely heard the Architect admit a mistake, even obliquely.

"Yes." He typed his comments into the file. "But we've already made a commitment, so let's see if we can salvage this. Bring him to me, son." The Architect picked up his headset and dismissed the A.D. with a silent hand.

The A.D. had the usual bear of a time convincing Zarathustra to cooperate. It was tough running Camp Industry on democratic terms. He knew the team member toyed with him; it always made him feel queasy, like when he pledged his fraternity in college. They were all supposed to be friends, and brothers, but the cruelty of hazing always bit too deep. The A.D. tried to fill the silence with his own version of the inspiring Camp Industry mission.

"Aren't these spiral escalators marvelous? They make me feel good about America just riding them. I feel like we're all going somewhere together."

Z responded in his blithe manner. "Where does the belt go once we're at the top?"

"Oh, that's the beauty of it, Zarathustra. The belt we're moving on is a newly invented micro-aluminum chain link that is super flexible, so it literally flips over and runs back down the underside of the spiral." He looked out the huge building's wide windows onto the hemp fields of the camp. "That's what's so exciting about being part of this project, Z. So many things have been invented, practically exploding into existence as a result of the Call. In just two short years we've created a new type of organization, the first true marriage between government and business, we've created new construction technology, new materials, new ideas for the organization of society. Do you know that already several companies have sprung up out of the advances we've made, plus all the research money that's being poured into the uses of hemp? This program is already starting to benefit others. It's what it must have been like to be part of the space program in the sixties, but maybe...maybe even better. All the great minds, the energy of the nation have come together to solve a problem, responding to a new national mission, just like back then, when we were racing the Russian to the moon. But this time, we're on a quest, not to beat an enemy, but a quest for evolution." He paused to gaze at Zarathustra but the effect was as if he was looking right through him. "This time the goal is within us, within our society." He placed his hand over his heart, looked out over the fields and let go a small sigh. "By addressing the neglected core, we can rebuild America into a great nation once again."

"The underside of the spiral? Interesting." Z was looking out the windows as well, but beyond the hemp fields, toward freedom. "Do you know why the Architect wants to see me, Jim?" The escalator left them at the foot of the private staircase leading to the Crystal Cathedral. "C'mon, Z. You know why." It was the first time the A.D. objected to being treated like a moron. Maybe there was hope for him yet. Zarathustra mounted the old fashioned wrought iron spiral staircase, looking forward to the confrontation.

The Architect was standing, looking out over the facility with his back to the staircase when the team member entered the room. "Good morning, Zarathustra." He spoke to him with his back still turned, and pronounced his assumed name with a hint of derision.

Z responded in kind. "Good morning, Architect." The Architect turned to face his guest. "Let's get right down to it shall we?"

Z nodded his assent."We need to come to an understanding. You're not cooperating with the process here, and it's causing a ripple of dissent in the facility."

"Glad to be of service."

"Why? Why can't you simply go through the program as it's set up?"

"Because I didn't choose it, I was placed here against my own free will."

"From what I've read of your Kibbutz experiment, there are more similarities between us than you care to admit."

"Except for the most important one."

"Why do you have to insist on tearing down society, why can't you rebuild from within?"

"Salvation is impossible without the Fall. Adam was placed in the Garden arbitrarily; he didn't receive an invitation. The entire history of mankind can be seen as the road back to the god we shunned. We didn't choose this society, we had no say in its formation, we were simply born into it. By rejecting it, and going back into the wilderness, we are working toward the thing we once had."

"What's the difference?"

"The striving. The attempt, the joy and the sorrow." Z was inflamed with his own brand of inspiration now. He closed in to make his point, face to face. "You don't need me to tear down the society, Architect. Rome is burning, sinking of its own excess. Your experiment in social engineering is doomed because you insist on building amidst the smoldering ruins. You talk about hope? The only hope this nation has is going to the frontier of possibility. Not in a cage."