by S. A. Beck
“Don’t underestimate Edward. It’s easy, but don’t do it,” Yuhle said. “Now for some ground rules. You have that small trailer over there for your own use. You’ll find sheets, toiletries, everything you need. I’ll go into town later and buy you some clothes. I figure you probably don’t want to go around in your prison uniform for the rest of your life. No leaving the compound. No making calls, not that you have a phone anyway. We have satellite Internet, but that’s monitored by Edward, so you’ll have to get his say-so to use it. No emails.”
“Sounds like I’m still in prison,” Otto said.
“Except you won’t get victimized by axe murderers,” Yuhle said. “Plus you get to fight for freedom. Feel free to make a break for it if you want. Assuming you can outrun the Four Rottweilers of the Apocalypse and make it through a hundred miles of America’s worst desert, all you’ll find at the other end is a wanted poster with your face on it. But don’t worry, you won’t be bored here. Grunt and Vivian are starting your training tomorrow.”
“Training?”
Vivian smiled. “Explosives, firearms, camouflage—you’ll like it.”
Otto shook his head. “I don’t understand any of this.”
“You will, honey,” Vivian said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “It’s a lot to absorb. The first thing to understand is that the world isn’t like you think it is. All those conspiracy theories and legends you’ve read about or seen on TV? Half of them are true, and the other half are just propaganda put there to make you blind to the truth. Edward can explain it better than me though. Let me take you to see him.”
“I got to stow the ordnance,” Grunt said.
“I’ll help you,” Yuhle replied, walking beside the mercenary and trying to imitate his swagger.
As the two men walked off, Vivian led Otto to the larger of the two mobile homes. Otto noticed an oversized satellite dish and several antennae on the roof.
Vivian opened the door and ushered Otto into the dark interior. The windows were all covered with black cloth, and the only light came from a host of computer screens that nearly surrounded a dark figure hunched over one of several keyboards. The stale, musty odor of unwashed bodies and old socks assailed his nostrils. In the background, Otto heard a man speaking in Spanish over the radio, faint and barely audible over the static. He sounded scared, earnest, as if he only had a few minutes to say the most important thing in the world.
An office chair creaked as it turned. In the glow of the computer screens, Otto saw the disheveled figure of a man in his twenties. His clothes were wrinkled and a size too big, even for his overweight body. His T-shirt was on inside out. Bloodshot eyes studied Otto from above several days’ growth of beard.
“Hey, pyro!” the man said in a friendly manner.
“Why does everyone call me that?” Otto griped.
“Because that’s what you are. You can call me Nerdy Computer Guy if you want, or you can call me Edward.”
“How about I call you Edward and you call me Otto?”
“Sure enough, pyro—I mean, Otto.”
“Behave, Edward,” Vivian said then turned to Otto. “You’ll have to forgive him, honey. He’s not very well socialized. He knows more about this stuff than anyone though.”
“Knows more about what?” Otto asked.
Edward looked eager. “About what’s really going on! What they don’t tell us in the newspapers. What even most government officials don’t know.”
“Like what?”
“Like everything! Who’s really in charge. Humanity’s real history. What’s been suppressed and twisted so we’d be a flock of sheep doing whatever they want.”
“Ah… right.” Was this guy a nut or something? And why were a pair of mercenaries and some gun-toting scientist hanging out with him? Otto looked past Edward’s shoulder at the computer screens. One showed a mass of text. Another had a video of what looked like a protest in the Middle East. The third had a blueprint of some building.
Edward pointed at Otto. “I see you don’t believe me. A common reaction from the sheeple.”
“Sheeple?”
“Sheep people. It’s what they want us to be.” Edward spun around on his office chair, went too far and banged his knee against the table, cursed under his breath, and righted his chair. “Look at this.”
He clicked away at his keyboard. Some images came up on a large screen in front of him. He spread out his hands to two other keyboards flanking the first and typed on both at the same time. Otto raised his eyebrow in appreciation.
A flurry of images came up on the three screens. Otto saw fuzzy images of disc- and cigar-shaped UFOs. Most looked as if they were high in the atmosphere. In a couple of shots, they buzzed over what looked like military bases.
“You believe in these things?” Otto asked.
“The government does,” Edward said, bringing up more images.
Otto leaned in and studied the images. They didn’t look all that impressive. “Photoshop.” He shrugged.
Edward waggled a finger. “Ah, that’s the usual reaction, and in many cases you’d be right. The Internet is filled with faked photos of everything from celebrity boob jobs to the Abominable Snowman. But these are real.”
“How can you tell?”
“I’m a computer genius, in case my fashion sense didn’t clue you in, and why would the government fake UFO photos in top-secret documents?”
Otto snorted. “These are secret government files?”
“Hacked them myself.”
Otto turned to Vivian, who nodded.
“He’s one of the best computer hackers in the country, honey—”
“The world!” Edward corrected.
“And he’s gotten into files of government agencies you and your congressman have never heard of.”
Otto cocked his head. “Wait, no way. So UFOs are real?” He read the text around the images and saw all sorts of government jargon, along with mathematical formulae he couldn’t even begin to understand.
“That’s not the only thing that’s real, pyro—I mean, Otto,” Edward said. “Ever hear of the Roswell UFO crash? Real. CIA conspiracy to kill JFK? Real. The Soviet Union developing a weather machine? Real. Loch Ness Monster? Bunch of drunken Scotsmen seeing things and hoping to cash in on the tourist industry. Moon landings? Faked.”
“The moon landings weren’t faked,” Otto objected. “My science teacher taught us how all those conspiracy websites are wrong. Like they say the flag wouldn’t be waving because there’s no air to move it. My teacher said that because there’s no air, there’s no friction, so when the astronauts planted the flag and straightened it out, it kept moving for a while because of inertia.”
Edward laughed. “Those conspiracy websites are fronts for the government. They deliberately make bad arguments so smart people will debunk them. That way only really stupid people believe in the conspiracy, while anyone with brains thinks we really did go to the moon. If the government is going to fake a moon landing, don’t you think they’re going to do a proper job?”
“So we didn’t go to the moon in 1969?”
“No, we went to the moon in 1957, or ’58. That’s a matter of debate.”
“So we did go to the moon?”
“Yeah, using reverse-engineered technology from the crashed UFO at Roswell. But if the government had admitted it then, the Soviets would have known we’d gotten our hands on alien technology. No way we could have gotten to the moon so early otherwise. So we waited until 1969, made a big show of a space race, forced the Soviets to throw heaps of money at their own space program, and faked the landings.”
“Why not just go back?” Was this guy for real?
Edward shrugged. “Why spend the money? There’s nothing up there except a few archaeological sites, but that’s another story. Besides, the real moon lander looked too alien. We needed a fake lander that looked like something made by a government committee.”
Otto sighed and rubbed his temples. At least he did
n’t have to share a trailer with this guy.
The Spanish voice on the radio increased in pitch. He sounded panicked and spoke quickly, as if he didn’t have much time. Edward turned and stared at the large shortwave transmitter and receiver on the next table.
There was a crash in the background on the radio. The voice screamed, cut short by a burst of noise that sounded like gunshots. Then silence. After a moment, the transmission cut off, leaving only dead air.
Edward bowed his head. “Another freedom fighter gone.” He sighed.
“Did you… know him?” Otto asked.
For a moment, Edward didn’t answer. At last he looked up with tears in his eyes. “Know him? No. Just another champion of the truth. He’s been broadcasting on and off for a couple of years now. I triangulated his position a few times and found he was in El Salvador. He kept moving around, but it looks like they finally caught up with him.”
“Who?”
Edward shrugged. “CIA, KGB, Mossad, who knows? Probably not our enemies though. He never spoke about Atlantis.”
“Yuhle mentioned Atlantis. You’re not going to tell me that Atlantis was real too, are you?”
Edward gave the shortwave radio a final mournful look before swiveling his chair to face Otto. “We’re still trying to figure out if there was actually a continent that sank in ancient times. The Atlanteans are real though.”
“More of your aliens?”
“No, they’re human. Beyond human, in a way. They have special powers, like super strength and speed and individual powers like, oh, I don’t know, making plants grow unusually fast.”
Otto stepped back. “How do you know about that?”
“It’s our business to know. And of course we’re not the only ones. We need to get your Atlantean girlfriend out of their clutches before she ends up like that guy on the radio.”
Otto hurried out of the building, almost tripping over Vivian’s legs. He needed some air. His stomach felt shaky, and he was sure he would puke soon.
He was greeted by a magnificent sunset. The entire western sky looked as if it were on fire. Low, stripy clouds had been painted a deep red that blended well with the rosy glow of the sky. He stopped and gaped. He remembered a vacation to Arizona he had taken with his parents when he was a kid, and how those desert sunsets had entranced him. They entranced him even more now. Yeah, the whole sky was one fire. Imagine that…
A low growl made him jump.
“Easy, Famine,” Grunt’s voice said.
Otto looked around and saw the mercenary standing a few yards away, smoking a cigarette. The red glow at the cigarette’s end as he inhaled caught Otto’s attention. Grunt had an automatic pistol and a Bowie knife strapped to his belt. Otto suspected he never went anywhere without them. One of his Rottweilers lay at his feet.
“Come on over. She won’t bite as long as I’m around.”
Otto walked over to him.
“Hell of a sunset, eh?” Grunt said.
“Yeah,” Otto whispered, looking at the horizon again.
“Looks like one big fire, doesn’t it?”
Otto nodded. It was exactly what he’d been thinking.
Grunt finished his cigarette, dropped it on the ground, and crushed it with the heel of his boot. Then he fished out another from his pack and lit it with a Zippo lighter. The flame shot up a full six inches. Apparently Grunt was one of those people who put his lighter at maximum to look cool. Probably used it as a weapon too.
Otto glanced at the bright flame dancing in the evening breeze.
Grunt raised the lighter. Otto’s eyes followed. Grunt passed the Zippo back and forth in front of Otto’s face.
“Pretty, isn’t it?”
Otto didn’t know what to say, but he had to agree. So pretty.
Grunt snapped the Zippo shut, making Otto start.
“You’re weak,” Grunt said. “Man up, kid. Weak people get killed in missions like this.” With that, the mercenary turned on his heel and stalked away, his dog trotting behind him.
Chapter 9
JUNE 6, 2016, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
6:30 AM
It was way, way too early. The Grants had woken Jaxon at five thirty. After some yoga stretches with Isadore, Stephen had made them a breakfast of muesli, homemade yogurt, and fruit. This was way different than Jaxon’s usual pattern of stumbling out of bed as late as she could get away with and wolfing down some muffins and chocolate cereal. That wouldn’t happen in this house.
“A healthy body for a healthy mind,” Stephen had said. Whatever that meant.
Now she was sitting on a yoga mat in the exercise room, right by the rear window. Morning sunlight streamed in on the face of Juliette, her yoga and meditation teacher. She ran a studio that Isadore attended, and she had been hired by her foster mother to come give Jaxon private lessons. Stephen and Isadore were sparing no expense on what they thought Jaxon’s education should be. Jaxon would have preferred if they saved their money and let her sleep in a bit. It was a school day, after all. Didn’t she have enough to contend with?
Juliette was a thin woman in her forties with deep smile lines on her freckled face. Her straw-colored hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore a leotard like Jaxon. She sat facing Jaxon in something called the lotus position, her legs crossed and the top of each foot resting on her opposite thigh. Juliette said it helped with stability and breathing, but Jaxon thought it made her look like a pretzel. Jaxon just sat with her legs crossed the normal way, wondering how her teacher could be at all comfortable.
“Now, Jaxon, we’re going to start with some basic breathing exercises and guided meditation. This will help you relieve stress and control anger. Your foster mother says you’ve been through a lot, and meditation will help you get through it more easily.”
Jaxon resisted the urge to roll her eyes. If Juliette wanted to help, she could find out who was after her and why. Then Juliette could find Jaxon’s birth parents, make the kids at school stop bothering her, and about a million other things that needed fixing.
Breathing wasn’t going to fix any of those things.
“First, sit up straight. Yes, I know you’ve heard that a lot. For meditation, it actually helps. Good posture helps with attitude too. It makes you feel optimistic. When you’re walking, don’t look down all the time—look straight ahead. A depressed posture encourages a depressed mind. Everything is connected, so working on one aspect of your being will help the others. Ignoring any aspect of your being will hurt the rest.”
Like trying to ignore that I’m not like anyone else in the world?
Juliette continued. “Now close your eyes. To deal with the inner self, at first it’s best to cut out the external world. I bet that’s tempting for you sometimes. Closing your eyes cuts off one of the senses immediately. Sitting in a quiet place with no interruptions helps too. Now about what I was saying about each aspect of your character, plus the mind/body connection—we can’t be whole persons if we don’t accept our whole selves. There’s a quote I read in the Gnostic Gospels that really resonated with me. ‘If you let what is inside of you out of you, what is inside of you will save you. If you don’t let what is inside of you out of you, what is inside of you will kill you.’”
Jaxon shuddered. That hit a bit too close to home.
Juliette’s calm voice flowed on. “Now try breathing slowly and deeply from your diaphragm, in through your nose and out through your mouth. Steadily. Calmly. Deeply. Try to empty your mind.”
Jaxon did as she was told, except for the emptying her mind part. She was still thinking of that quote Juliette had mentioned. Hiding her true nature had eaten her up all Jaxon’s life. Maybe it wasn’t so much that other people treated her as different; maybe her thinking of herself as different caused people to follow her lead. Why should she expect people to accept her when she didn’t accept herself?
But what was the alternative? Embrace the fact that she had superhuman powers? Accept that she was all alone in the w
orld with no family and no heritage? How the hell could that help? Being different was dangerous. Those guys in the greenhouse had proved that. It was easy to say you had to let your true nature shine through, but what if your true nature made everyone scared of you?
Jaxon had enough rejection in her life as it was. There were enough people looking down on her. Even so, there was no need for her to be one of them.
Juliette was still talking. Her words ran over Jaxon’s tumultuous mind without registering. Her soft tone and calm manner worked on Jaxon’s mood, however, like massaging fingers easing her inner tension. Slowly, without her fully realizing it, her muscles relaxed and her thoughts moved more slowly. Yes, she did need to accept herself, and yes, that would be a long, hard fight. It could happen though. She just needed to accept her situation. Maybe there was some peace for her out there somewhere. No, that was the wrong way to put it. There was peace for her, and it was inside herself.
Finding it was the tricky part. She’d been criticizing herself as harshly as any of the endless series of bullies in her life. And unlike the bullies, she couldn’t avoid herself.
Jaxon breathed more deeply, her mind emptying as Juliette’s voice whispered in her ears. She didn’t even focus on the words, just the soothing tone. Was she going to get this every morning? She hoped so.
Isadore’s voice cut through the soft blanket of calm that enveloped her. “Jaxon! Time to get ready for school!”
So much for the relaxation. Jaxon sighed, thanked Juliette, and hurried to her room.
Isadore drove her, as usual. Stephen was usually in the greenhouse by the time she was ready for school. Jaxon was beginning to get curious about the greenhouse. As much as he talked about it, she still hadn’t gotten in there.
“So how do you like Juliette?” her foster mother asked.
“She’s cool.”
“Could you elaborate?”
“Huh?”