by J. J. Lorden
“I know them well. Some I may even sit down and break bread with from time to time. So, I can tell you from personal experience, that these seemingly powerful and brilliant individuals are broken at a deep level. I have worked to try and convince them to do better. It’s now a running joke for some of them.
“They call it my crusade and laugh about working to create a sustainable economic system that doesn’t poison us all. They laugh because they don’t see the point.
“They laugh when I talk about our Texier predictive models. More disturbingly, they laugh when I explain to them that without these changes, we see an eighty-percent chance that one-half of all humans will die in the next eighty years. They do not fear the rising tide of our collapse because they don’t value human life.”
Bendik was noticeably saddened by the statement, but it seemed only to add to his fire. “It is clear to me that the old adage is true: you cannot help people that do not want to be helped.” He paused and turned a bit, looking off to the side in contemplation, then he continued with calm intensity.
“I can see the root of it now, and it is deeply personal for each of them. Corporate and government leaders alike are all wounded humans who have not confronted and healed their brokenness.
“This brokenness is covered up by a manic drive for approval and a lust to accumulate more. This drive has them choose badly, risk unwisely, and solve problems by unsustainable means that just lead to greater problems. All this while they silently build personal financial and physical bunkers against the coming tsunami.”
His face tensed with venom. “They are two-face. They are the saboteur. They are an underground river of sewage eroding the pillars of human survival.”
He began to slowly pace the stage, looking intermittently down and then out into riveted faces. “This is the root of it. We cannot trust these leaders to be wise, and we cannot trust them to lead us out of the very deep mess we are in.
“There are some few who are well-intentioned and do try. In private, these handful are even willing to admit the truth of it. But their weak intentions are a waste of my time. They are all failing us miserably, and time runs short.
“Their decayed condition as leaders has corrupted our faith in the future. Now, we as a people do not trust; we have become apathetic, cynical, and over-medicated because we feel powerless.
“And we need power. We must have the power these weak-willed men and women steal from us. We need it to confront and accept the truth.
“Truth versus confidence is their game. They obscure the truth while they work to prop up confidence in the status quo. Knowing, even as they do, that their stories are a stinking pile of horse shit!” He spat the words while maintaining an aura of calm composure.
“This fixation with obfuscating reality has real consequences they refuse to see. Instead, they cling desperately to self-imposed blinders. Through this willful ignorance, they are slowly pounding the nails home on billions of coffins.
“It is the power of truth that is needed. The lack of truth magnifies our desperate inner need, while the realization and acceptance of truth is the fuel and focus of our inspiration–inspiration from which will arise better questions. Real questions.
“These genuine questions will in turn inspire others. They will energize, and arouse the courage of silent leaders. The courage to emerge from hiding to help lead us. Better questions will pull back the veil of ambivalence that shrouds their hearts.
“You are some of these leaders. Your truth–my truth–includes the need to serve and find purpose beyond ourselves.
“This part of humanity is currently cast aside and derided by a system riddled with narcissists. But we need it. We need ourselves.
“We need this purpose to help us carve a path forward out of the darkness. And, do not fool yourselves my friends. We are all in darkness. Choose to look there and, if you have not already, you will see the truth of my words.”
Bendik stopped talking, although his face remained severe. His cold challenge held his audience frozen. Even the press members were motionless, pens hanging over blank digital pads and notebooks.
Apparently, being witness to a verifiable genius and modern-day Galileo calling out power-players the world over had that effect on even the most grizzled AP writer.
“I challenge you to tell yourself the most painful truth: we may be the witness to the last generation of humans.
“Only by accepting this truth will you free yourself to face reality. Only by facing reality will you see that hope exists in this present moment. There is no power in dwelling on our silent desperation. Down that path there is only more darkness.”
He paused, considering the room, pacing deliberately, then continued. “There is no separation, my friends. The human connections and bonds you build are your greatest wealth. Accumulation, hoarding, self-deception, and judgment are a dead paradigm. If you are to find true wealth, you must pursue the truth.”
Bendik stopped and faced them all, gauging them while he collected his inner fire. The people looked back unflinching; many faces were pained, some wore determination, but more importantly, all were engaged. His message was reaching them. When Bendik spoke again, it was in a voice akin to a drill sergeant on a parade field.
“YOU MUST DARE!” The words blasted the listening thousand, then hung heavy.
Some few people shrank away, though many leaned into the energy. Those that did not shrink were hungry for the message. They could feel the void of fear he spoke of, and it was a great relief to have it validated. His acknowledgment of their unseen pain opened a well of energy.
“Face the darkness! Know yourself. See the truth of others. Learn what it means to let the lies you tell yourself die.
“Realize you’re not immortal. Every day until your last day matters. Living afraid of that dark place inside is living half a life, and our task doesn’t need half people.
He paused, head rotating slowly, inspecting the room. After spending a long moment taking in every corner, Bendik continued. “This is us sitting here, in this room, in the Northeastern corner of a country called the United States, on a planet we call Earth, that’s sailing through an infinite universe. This is our home, and we love it.
“Most days, probably almost all of them, that never crosses our minds. We take no time to remember the grand mystery of it, because we can’t. There’s no place in our daily grind for that kind of thing.
“It’s worth daring the darkness for. Only through that which threatens to crush you is a more profound truth available. And only so armed can you find a course that will always lead you true, no matter what comes.
“I cannot tell you exactly how to do this. I stand here saying these things in pursuit of my truth. This is my path, part of daring to see my darkness.
“I do not say these things to you because I want to. I say them because it is a betrayal of my soul not to.” He stopped, turned, and squatted on his heels, then held out a hand as if to connect with the audience. They all drew subtly closer to him, leaning forward in seats, breathing silently, and on edge.
When he continued, his words were slow and earnest. “Learn to hold yourself dearly. Honor yourself with honesty. See the urgency of your life. Illuminate the darkness, forgive everything you can, and accept everything else.
“Do that, and you will untether your strength. Then, with true strength, start asking better questions and act. Start taking massive, unthinkable actions… your existence is worth it.”
The energy in the auditorium pulsed with silent intensity. It warmed Bendik like a bonfire on a cold night. In that moment, his choice to give this speech, to start what he hoped to accomplish, was validated. This message was needed, and many of these people hungered for this challenge.
Bendik withdrew the black, pen-sized cylinder from his jacket pocket, gripping it discretely. After standing back up and moving to center stage, he held the small black rod out in the palm of his right hand.
For long seconds, he
just regarded it. A thousand pairs of hungry eyes stared at it with him.
Backstage, the implacable Jim Johnson sat in a metal folding chair. He held his face in his hands, unmoving as stone, crying. He had thought himself ready for this to begin.
He’d been wrong.
In the eerie silence, his soft sobs reached Bendik’s sensitive ears. He understood. Jim had a terrifying responsibility.
After this, both of their lives would be in genuine danger. But Jim was the one who would be the public face and mouthpiece for this message. He would be out front, leading the company to give Bendik the time and freedom needed to focus on the work.
Being the point man was always more dangerous than being the general. Although in truth, Bendik’s revelations would probably enrage the powerful to the point where the flames of their retribution would be difficult for either of them to avoid.
Bendik had embraced it, but Jim apparently had not–at least not entirely.
Bendik Texier finally looked up. He spun the black rod about his thumb with a flip and gripped it like a conductor’s baton. “I cannot save you. Do not think that I can. Our company can only do what we do best. We can push the boundaries of our understanding and leverage that knowledge to create new technologies with the potential to help.”
Bendik took a step forward. “Texier Quantum Labs is quite profitable and will continue to be so. However, beginning now, every single part of our company will be redesigned around the understanding that we are the vanguard of a rescue mission.
“We will embrace the truth of our probable imminent destruction and find hope in our pursuit of the question: how? How can we avert disaster? How can we leave some legacy other than one of waste and destruction?”
He held aloft the slender baton, a conductor without a symphony, and it taunted them–begging action the way he held it. A thousand pairs of eyes stared, but he refused to address the black sliver. The room’s tension wound a click higher with each word.
“A century ago, our forefathers called themselves a great generation because they held strong to their beliefs and fought and won hard wars against a vicious enemy. Their challenge pales in the face of this.
“We must make ourselves into a generation of humans that is fundamentally different. We must evolve. Our war is for the collective mind of humanity, and our fight is owning our darkness–embracing the monster within–becoming integrated humans.
“We must do this because humanity as a life form is on the line.”
The room fell quiet again and Bendik found and met the eyes of many, searching for and finding resolute acknowledgement.
Then, finally, he moved the rod. He stretched it forward, eyes fixing on it for a brief second, before returning to the room. “Texier Quantum Labs has succeeded in developing nanotech capable of molecular manipulation.
“Specifically, this new technology gives us the ability to make and unmake the bonds between carbon atoms. A capacity that completely changes what is possible for humanity. It is gateway technology.
“With this breakthrough, our quantum-core computers have become stable, reliable, and operable at close to room temperatures. With these Qcore processors, our capacity to model the real world, to experiment, fail, and learn completely within a virtual environment has been improved a million-fold.
“Soon, we will be able to build defensive systems capable of guarding against any known type of weaponry. We have begun work on tech that, when deployed, will be capable of stopping a planet-killing asteroid or warding the Earth against solar flares like the one that devastated Eastern Indonesia, Papua New Guinea, and Northeastern Australia back in 2033.
“Those affected areas were essentially cast back in time to the living conditions of three hundred years ago, with the added problems of deadlier disease, depleted soils, toxic fisheries, and lacking the basic know-how needed to live in those conditions.
“Tens of millions died. Seven years later, those areas have still not recovered. They may not for another fifty years. And, it is by sheer luck that disaster did not strike us here in the US.
“No human living will ever forget the horrific images of that catastrophe. It provided no small amount of the motivation for us to create this technology as a first step toward developing a way to guard against future solar radiation events.”
Bendik glanced sidelong at Jim backstage, and Jim nodded discretely in response.
Bendik continued, “On your devices, you are now receiving the results of a seven-year study done by Texier Labs on the increasing solar flare activity of our sun.”
Heads bowed to check devices as the file was sent to all of them. “International governments worldwide insist that the event was unexpected. They also say another event is highly unlikely.”
His face turned grim. “This is a lie.”
The statement landed hard, and every person in the room caught their breath. “It is a lie designed to keep you in the dark because they are afraid of confronting the truth. A truth that every independent government study done to date has confirmed.
“You are receiving unredacted copies of similar studies done by France, Germany, and China now.” Heads all about looked again as files were uploaded to their devices.
“The data in all of these is clear: this event is only the first of many yet to come. Our sun is cycling through a period of massively increased solar activity. There will be many more of these events, and it is almost certain they’ll be worse.
“Any one solar event could be the first domino. Today, without preventative action, an X32 or greater class flare has a thirty-eight-percent chance of doing just that. Like the Richter scale measures earthquakes on an exponential scale of 10, so are flares measured.
“The south Pacific event was an X29 class event. An X32 class event would be a thousand times more powerful than that. And we’ve been tracking flares between X32 and X41 every six to nine months.
“Should one of these align with our orbit, the swath of devastation would cover a third of the globe. In the affected area, every car on the road would suddenly be scrap. Every power line would be overloaded and set on fire. Power plants would be wrecked. Every refrigerator, TV, and computer plugged in would be ruined.
“Satellites would be destroyed, and every cell phone would be turned into a paperweight.” He paused, holding their attention briefly, then continued, “Depending upon the severity, electronically held funds could potentially be lost–permanently.
“It could take out overseas shipping and overland trucking fleets, which would cause the global supply chain to grind to a halt, leaving grocery stores with only enough food for a few days.
“This condition of no food in grocery stores could persist for a month, a year, or longer. How will people survive if there are no more grocery stores? In truth, most will not.” The audience listened like statues, frozen, as dread and fear crept through them.
“Any of these things would be a catastrophe. Together... well, together they could create a world akin to your worst apocalyptic nightmares. We would most likely revert to tribal warring over scarce resources. The modern illusion of safety would disappear almost instantly.”
Bendik paused and took a breath, exhaling slowly. When he spoke again it was colder. “In the face of this, the powers that be have done next-to-nothing to harden our infrastructure and protect it. It is, in all honesty, negligent, criminal, and quite sad.” His last words held a quiet remorse, and he bowed his head for a moment.
“I know you can all recall the images of the fallout from the South Pacific event.”
They did remember, and those memories of many millions of dead souls came back. The fearful mood of the room grew mournful. They’d all seen the images. Aerial videos of barbaric bands of humans hunting other less-well-equipped groups. Villages of blue tarp lean-tos and corrugated steel dwellings. Portions of small towns walled off and patrolled by the few lucky survivors.
Some of the worst videos were of raggedly clothed nomadic groups
who gathered around cook fires roasting spitted human body parts.
The government had tried to contain these images of cannibalism, as they were deemed too disturbing for the general public. But those efforts failed. Social media was unstoppable.
Then there were the death fields. Vast fields of blackened, bloated bodies thick with swarming clouds of flies. Products of mass flight on foot from major cities turned toxic. All the cities had eventually caught fire, and they’d burned for months.
The death fields had been napalmed and burned by the US Navy using midrange bomber aircraft. It’d been done to prevent the spread of infectious disease since the number dead was too great for proper burial.
The pictures had silenced the world. Now, the unwelcome images piled back in. Nearly every eye in the place teared up and ran freely. Some wiped tears away while others let them run, and light blue, grey, and white cotton shirts were marked with small dark spots.
The few tough, tearless people shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
Bendik did not let them wallow in that pain. He’d mourned that loss long ago, and although he too found his eyes wet, it did not take him over.
It was fuel for him now.
Turning away from the auditorium, he made a hand motion, and an empty rectangle began to rise quietly from the back corner of the stage. The frame was a couple inches thick and six feet high by three feet across.
He walked up to the rectangle and put the small black rod into the side, then activated the device with another hand gesture.
From backstage, a red-faced Jim Johnson appeared and walked to Bendik. His powder-blue herringbone shirt was wetter than most.
But Bendik knew Jim Johnson was a courageous man. He would not run from the truth, and it showed as he walked upright and with confidence. In his left hand, he carried a ribbed, matte-black case.
The frame began to fill in. Starting in the corners, a tinted sheet began growing toward the center, like ice across the surface of a pond.
Bendik turned away from the expanding grey sheet as Jim walked up and shook his hand. “You okay, Jim?” Bendik already knew he was, but every man benefitted from a bit of support.