The digital narrator processed the script: “Illegal entrance onto federal land put this Sector M8-50E man in harm’s way.”
In the next scene, medical staff load a subdued cowboy into a white van with blue and green markings.
Zedd chuckled once before being silenced by an old man’s sharp stare. “I’ve been saying for thirty years Google would take over the world,” said Pete vindicated.
“Didn’t your grandfather tell you not to believe everything you see?” asked Truby.
“My grandfather told me not to tell lies. Big difference. If I were you . . .” Pete turned to give Truby an earful, but the space behind the bar was empty.
She was gone.
“That woman is as unreliable as another one I know.”
CHAPTER 9
Truby gingerly crept in as closely as she dared in the ubiquitous light of day. She hoped for once she could outsmart the ghost of a man at his own game. His unearthly nature hadn’t escaped her. She’d tried to capture it with her camera on many occasions without success. An enigma, Pete kept his personal history to himself. He spoke freely about the grandfather he venerated, but little else. But, she had enough life experience to know no one Pete’s age escaped heartache.
Truby’s own personal losses left her desolate in the middle of sleepless nights despite the façade she presented to the world. She was sure there was more to their stories as well. Young, talented people don’t choose a life of solitude. But for now, she chose to ignore her growing sense there were things she could no longer overlook.
Seeing the cowboy again and how PNN had used the video to send a subliminal message of dominance and control made Truby angry. Seeking to relieve the guilt and self-condemnation she charged herself with daily, she and her new recruits had been working on a secret project she hoped would earn her some karmic credits, such as not falling into one of the park’s astringent pools of acid.
Did the four other residents know what else she did for a “living?” She certainly hoped not. Truby had gone to great lengths to keep it hidden. Worse was the feeling she was complicit in something far more bedeviled waiting to be set free like a weapon of mass destruction.
The ground felt firm beneath her feet, yet she carefully chose her steps. She crept in for a closer look.
Cloaked in a plastic poncho, rain boots, and goggles, Pete stood directly in front of Old Faithful. He could reach out and touch it though he would never dare. How many times had he warned visitors over the years to stay on the boardwalks? Inevitably, some fool would fall into one of the park’s many acrid boiling springs. Yet, here he was. Interestingly, there was no record of a Native American ever being injured or dying from hot springs. Not that it couldn’t happen, but Pete decided nature was on his side of things. And if he did die here today, in his mind, it was nature’s call to return to waiting relatives in the afterlife.
Even in her slumber, she was a beauty. A rising white cone on top of a mound filled with promise. Nary the gentlest wisp of moisture, Old Faithful appeared lifeless. But Pete knew better. He began to sing to his beloved as if cajoling a lover. The sacred song eased into measured chanting and a foot dance that seemed to say, “I believe in you, my love. My resolve is steadfast.”
Truby knew of such things. Lying on the warm ground nearby, she rolled video. Pete was mystically engaged in one of his many private rituals with a geyser that had gone silent prompting the closure of the Inn. Pete’s affirmation of life and the ones Truby kept in the most secret places of her own heart were what kept her putting one foot in front of the other each day.
Pete waved his hand in disgust without turning around, “Truby, allow me to entreat you in the ancient art of conversation.”
Truby sighed hoping she hadn’t ruined Pete’s ceremony, as if she could have gotten away with it. Avoiding eye contact, she kept rolling. “Shoot. I’m ready, Pete.”
“I’ve had my heart broken many times over. In every case by a woman. But this female,” Pete nodded his head deferentially, “never has my heart bled as much.”
“She’s female? How do you know?”
“Truby, turn that damned thing off.”
Truby braced herself, for Pete had a way of taking her places she never wanted to go without leaving the property. The bodies of a pair of solar-powered surveillance gliders momentarily cast shadows on the ground nearly directly below as they flew past between the Inn and Old Faithful. Truby abruptly shut off the camera, sitting up to hide it underneath her sweater.
“I hate all these gizmos that pollute our skies nowadays. No reason to leave the park. Everything is delivered!”
Truby was about to explain the difference between delivery and surveillance drones when Pete leaned his goggled eyes in to peer at Truby as if she were an oddity at the circus.
“Even you,” he leaned back a moment waiting for her to take the bait. When she didn’t, he went on, “How you came to be here, you won’t say. You’re young enough. Surely there’s someone who would love to know you’re alive. Go find him, or her.”
The surveillance drones long gone, Truby pulled out her video camera, fiddling with the lens. “Pete... life’s complicated.”
“Only for those who stumble around in the dark.”
The ground gave a sharp cracking jolt in affirmation. Pete and Truby looked at one another before turning toward Old Faithful.
CHAPTER 10
Americas Sector M9-48B :: New Las Vegas
Waterlogged, a family of four screamed in unison as they spilled over a lush tropical waterfall for the fourth time, shrink-wrap strapped inside a translucent, permeable bubble at the DupliCity Family Fun Amusement Complex. One moment the family was upright, the next all four were stuck on their heads until the weighted ball righted itself. Technology allowed the family to choose the level of their experience, custom liquid 3D printing the breathable ball around the size of the group in a matter of moments.
On a transparent skywalk high above, a twenty-six-year-old bedhead wistfully watched below as the giggling family floated toward the next set of rapids, vertical lifts, and the final fifty-foot plunge at the end of the ride. He imagined the greater the lack of control the more thrilling the ride, though the aphorism hadn’t held true for him in his life.
He looked at his open palm. The fingers of his left hand traced the beveled edges of a pocket-size pewter Ganesha elephant, its unique artisan detail worn down by time, just like the blast that had stolen his life and dulled his ability to remember. He put the elephant back in his pocket and ran his hand through non-regulation length auburn hair. Dean wondered what he would be like today if he had a family like the one in the bubble.
“You Dean?”
Dean’s thoughts were interrupted by a handsome silver-haired man impeccably dressed in an Indian Jodhpuri suit on the sidewalk below. A satin-sheened beige jacket with fancy side buttons, blue contrasting piping and stand-up collar matched coordinating navy trousers. Dean smiled. He’d once been to India. The suit was traditionally worn for a party or more formal wear than business daywear, even in his line of work.
The jaunty silver and gold man’s expression told Dean he felt quite confident in his newly tailored costume and that he already knew the answer to his rhetorical question. He’d used it to get Dean’s attention. He should be self-possessed. Loren Studebaker was a charismatic, internationally-known veteran newsman, one famous for bringing the party with him wherever he went.
“Showtime!”
___
On a step leading to a large platform before a wall of glass overlooking New Las Vegas in DupliCity Headquarters’ Sky Tower, Mayor Heather Kingston turned to bark last-minute orders to nervously skittering staff. It was the first time she’d ever hosted such important dignitaries in her town. Even as the dual Family Fun Amusement Complex and Global Security Council clean water and energy project was underway, they’d only video conferenced leading up to the event-packed next couple of days. She wasn’t going to blow an opportunity to imp
ress a few of the world’s global elite.
On the dais, a few steps above Kingston, a middle-aged Secretary-General to the Global Security Council, Punam Arya, received a final touch-up from stylists as she rehearsed a speech she would deliver to a global audience.
Kingston ignored Arya, smiling and nodding at U.S. President Gerald Cane who was small talking with GSC General Stenberg. So many important people in such a small space. In 2036, at least in this part of the world, women still lagged behind their male counterparts. The
West had willingly dealt a major blow to equality with the Great Decline as it began its fall from global power and influence.
Other countries began to surpass the most powerful nation in the world toward the end of
the 20th century. The United States had prioritized maintaining global economic dominance through the use of military force under the facade of freedom and democracy over other governments’ more peaceful social engineering programs. Some even finally had had enough of U.S. dollar hegemony, creating alternative payment systems using blockchain technologies and cryptocurrencies.
The balance of power still inequitable, Kingston looked forward to tipping the scales in her sex’s favor, sooner rather than later. She began to cross the room to join the power huddle when she was body checked by fast-travelling U.S. General Goddard Frohm.
“Terrance!”
Lieutenant General Young mentally cringed at his approaching obtuse superior. The old man called him by his first name to publicly belittle him. He quickly handed off his coffee to an annoyed media engineer knowing full well it could end up down the front of his uniform in one of Frohm’s fits of flamboyancy. General Frohm was not nuanced in the Art of War as Young was by observing unlikely teachers Ike and Tina Turner. Frohm favored and emulated his idol, General George Patton. Young wondered why Frohm chose to ignore Patton’s disregard of public opinion which contributed to his downfall. Perhaps because it had worked for him thus far. Young’s tight smile greeted the man.
To his credit, Frohm dialed it back a bit, even looking around to see if anyone was within earshot. “Status report.”
“Sir, Crittercam is on, but the gazelle’s not at the watering hole.”
Frohm held out his hand, waiting like a child for Young to bring out an early 20th-century Russian Fabergé Imperial jeweled silver cigarette case. It was Frohm’s, but Young was charged with carrying and refilling it with green tea breath mints.
“Delay until the package arrives.” Frohm’s voice began to rise, “And you tell that hack if he wants out he’d better deliver!”
“She, sir. He’s the she. I mean a woman.”
“Roast some chestnuts, Terrance! And check
on that requisition of green tea mints!”
CHAPTER 11
Truby held her breath. She’d have smashed the injection pen if someone, or rather a machine, in a remote location wasn’t alerted via satellite that she had failed to inject the perennial time-released hormones into her body.
Truby’s glassy eyes settled on the floating hologram of the happy little girl in her baseball uniform. For a hologram to function, there must be darkness proportionate to light. Darkness is an inherent quality within the world of form—even humanity. What primitive servants of these constructive and destructive forces called God and Satan had been scientifically proven to be the nature of relativity itself—not external to it, but as its very underpinning.
If enlightened with this knowledge, one can consciously avoid great personal suffering and causing heartache for others by aligning with Natural Law to be of service to the world. If one has not yet awakened to the laws of third-dimensional living, one is a fearful slave to and in a world filled with paradox. But what of the one who uses darkness in service of the light?
This paradox was one Truby couldn’t reconcile in her mind. Exiled, she’d had three torturous years to reflect upon the world’s contradictory nature. She knew one thing. Humanity’s existential crisis would never be resolved by and through technology. In fact, Truby had found technology serves to exacerbate polarity, which once again, could be perceived as a positive or a negative. Far greater thinkers such as Lao Tzu, Shakespeare, Plato, and Thoreau had dedicated their lives to such inquiries and more, appreciating both the simplicity and complexity found in the dilemma.
Truby wondered and even secretly worried how much darkness had penetrated her own heart. As she put the small medical device to her tender inner thigh, her eyes settled upon the sex between her legs. At one time, pride in what she was had meant everything to her. Now it only served to confuse her.
Making her choice, Truby felt the nanites move more deeply into her flesh as her vision grew blurry. It didn’t hurt, it was just . . . weird. Nanotechnology was going take over the world, not Google. Nanotechnology combined with artificial intelligence and not even God will be able to help humanity.
She was almost sure there was more in the injection than the packaging detailed, but she was semi-powerless. As long as she had control of her will, and she did, she’d take whatever they gave her.
There was only one way she knew for sure it was her will and not theirs. “This is all for you, Hemmy.”
An unwelcome intruder violated the baseball uniform's team name on Truby’s computer.
“Want out? Send the package.”
Truby threw the injection pen through the hologram where it fractured into small pieces against the wall behind it like her will.
___
Behind the wooden bar in the Old Faithful Inn, Truby was still seething at that morning’s hack into her private world.
On high alert, Truby now eyed Zedd and Hector suspiciously. The previous day’s rancor seemed to be gone. She then inspected Cadence for any signs of strain. Cadence wore her heart on her sleeve. If something were up, Truby would be able to sense it. Or would she? Between the three of them, all was quiet and cooperative.
Paranoia. How fitting.
In smart glasses, everyone was engaged with their computer tablet, setting up for the biggest day in Truby’s life since— She wouldn’t think of that today. It was also the biggest day in Cadence, Zedd, and Hector’s young lives, only they might not know it.
Paranoia as dangerous as over-confidence, Truby quickly shut the thought down. She had to do what was demanded of her regardless, so just do it.
“I’m here for my yoga lesson.” Pete stood in the rear of the dining area with his walking stick and a pink yoga matte tucked under his arm. His park ranger uniform was as crisp today as it was the day before.
“Pete? Um, I wouldn’t have scheduled you for today,” Cadence looked at Truby.
Truby knew Pete hadn’t innocently mixed up his days of the week or appointments. Pete was nothing if not meticulous. It was why he had been promoted and held the position of senior district park ranger all these years. A big smile plastered across his face, Pete was not-so-innocently on a fishing expedition. Not invited to the party, he was inviting himself.
“Morning, Pete! Join us. I’m sure Cadence has the perfect pose for you. Maybe Shavasana?”
Cadence’s eyes lit up like sparklers, “Sure, Pete. No problem. I’ve been saving this one for just the right moment.”
Cadence unrolled Pete’s mat as she explained corpse pose to him. He objected at first until she instructed that he was not to go to sleep under any circumstance. The restful pose was to allow his mind, body, and spirit to come into alignment in preparation for the next more difficult pose. Pete understood as soon as Cadence mentioned mind, body, spirit. And Truby understood Pete.
“Hector,” Truby put on her best poker face. “We’ve got a problem. I may be compromised. Let’s use the I.P. address I just sent you instead.”
“That’s bad buki, man.” Zedd coughed an expletive into his hand meant for Hector who replied with one of his own.
A little tension between the boys.
“That’s not possible,” Hector cried indignantly. “I know I locked it down!” Hec
tor kicked at the chair next to his like a sulking five-year-old. “Do you want me to close out the old protocol?”
By aiming a barb at the male ego, Truby could usually detect and pick at any weak spots. His response seemed genuine enough.
“Nah, not yet.” She turned her attention toward the back, “Earth to Cadence.”
Cadence tiptoed back to her waiting computer sitting on a dining table. Annoyed, “Somebody’s tight this morning. Give me a minute to go dark.”
She was uptight, more than Cadence would ever know. It was all she could do not to blurt out there was a fox in the henhouse. Except who was the fox? She had carefully constructed many moving parts to come to this day. The risk Truby was about to take was going to change everything, perhaps even make life worth living again.
Over time, what had started out as a game had turned into a full-blown mission statement. Truby hoped Zedd, Hector, and Cadence had enough life experience behind them to be fully aware of what they were doing.
Failure?
Truby wouldn’t even consider it.
CHAPTER 12
Truby unscrewed the saltshaker’s buffalo head dropping the special delivery into her palm rolling it around like a worry stone with sharp edges. Stepping from behind the bar, she circled her crew, checking on Pete to make sure his soft snore held true. She took a few deep breaths of her own to steady her nerves. She’d take a few deep swigs from the stock behind the bar if the others wouldn’t find it unusual.
She began carefully, gauging her words, “It’s the collective story we tell that ultimately writes history, but it all begins with a single spark. Today that’s us. It’s our job to ensure that the spark of truth is not lost or distorted in all the noise.” Truby spun around on her heel, “Zedd, what is significant about the year 2021?”
“Uh, 2021, a very bad year. No girlfriend.”
Truby’s eyes narrowed into slits, “Weren’t you still sucking your thumb?”
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