The Matriarch Matrix

by Maxime Trencavel

  He watches the MoxMedia World News broadcast to divert his anxious mind. Sahir, dressed in a conservative light grey pinstripe blazer with open-necked white shirt, annotates scenes of a meeting between the military ministers of Russia and Georgia, where the former has asked for permission to base armed forces in Georgia. Shots of the Georgian parliament in highly heated discussion are shown. The MoxMedia analysts predict a near-term Russian invasion of Georgia if an accord is not reached. And to what end? In preparation for a land invasion of Anatolia, eastern Turkey?

  Peter slumps in his chair, remembering the earlier headlines asking if we are at the edge of World War Three. Will the US president break the previous administration’s accord with Russia and come to NATO’s defense?

  Crack. Peter holds his breath as the bedroom door slowly opens. Out comes Mei with her hair tied back in a ponytail, dressed in, well, a loose-fitting black sweatshirt with elegant mauve trim and a mauve MoxWorld logo, matching black yoga pants with mauve trim at the ankles, and matching silk slippers. Mei says, “And you were expecting… what?”

  She sits down right next to him, points to her silver earrings and asks if he likes them. In awe, Peter says, “They’re banana slugs! Where did you get banana slug earrings? I never saw those in the college bookstore.”

  Mei gives him another one of her smiles and replies, “I had them made at my jeweler, while my tailors were making your clothes. They are in honor of your Sammy the Slug, Mr. Gollinger.”

  She folds her legs up onto the divan with her knees touching Peter’s legs. She pokes her glasses so they ride up the bridge of her nose better, then she does the same to his.

  “And who are you, Peter Gollinger?” she asks again. “Isn’t that where we started?”

  “I’m a simple man, just like all the men in my family. A simple man trying to solve the mystery of the oral tradition you heard me recite earlier today,” Peter meekly and humbly states.

  She simply smiles, but the type of smile that is suppressing a laugh. “You know what I think, Mr. Banana Slug? You’re a sweet man who plays down those stereotypical Western male hero attributes. You’re convinced you cannot be a hero, what you think women want in a man. But you still try in your own sublime ways to be one. No matter what the consequences to your own self, psychological or physical. When you say your motivation is solely to find what your grandfather and his ancestors seek, it is only a means for you to express your sublime desires for the heroic.”

  To his continued surprise, she puts her index finger on his lips. “But what is it that you truly want, Mr. Peter? You will only succeed working for Alexander if you truly know. Because if you do not, you may get hurt, abused, maybe worse. And worse, maybe ones you love will be hurt.”

  His mind is afire, not from the hormones he has successfully thus far suppressed, but at how close to home this woman has come to his inner self. What is not true of what she has just espoused? He squirms ever so slightly. All his family’s talk about the right good woman. That is all he can think about in this moment. How embarrassing would it be if he let that slip? How inappropriate if he said that? And quite frankly, she’s the one, isn’t she? How will he know?

  Resting back on the divan, she says, “Okay. Cat got your tongue? Tell me who you think I was before I worked for Alexander, and I’ll show you me. And then it will be your turn.”

  He looks at those big-rimmed round glasses, her Cheshire cat grin, her intuitive, inquisitive eyes. “You were a teacher. A professor. Not a boring one. But a really inspired one, looking for a way to make a difference in the world.”

  Mouth wide open, Mei has turned from a vamp into a gapping goldfish. “How? How did you know? You cheated, didn’t you? You looked at your MoxWrap while I was changing, didn’t you?”

  He shakes his head with his mouth open at her response and peers at her with those innocent eyes of his.

  Nodding, she touches her MoxWrap, and images appear on the screens around her. “This is me. Assistant Professor of Medical Genetics on cross appointment between the Medical and History departments at Shanghai University.”

  Fuzzier hair, big black plastic glasses, clodhopper shoes, goofy smile. Peter’s eyes are ablaze again. “But how?”

  She slaps him. Lightly. “I’m not that ugly. Different, maybe.” She runs her finger along his upper thigh very lightly. “Don’t I just turn off your testosterone production?” And she smiles.

  Peter refocuses directly into her eyes behind those glasses and says, “I mean not how you look, but how you got from there to where you are now. And what does medical genetics have to do with your job now, and me?”

  “Like you, he recruited me through a MoxWrap message after he had read my PhD thesis. During my interview, he explained about the dreams, the restless nights, the oral traditions, and the fog that clouds the minds of men like you two. He explained that for some reason, a woman’s touch, the right touch, in the right way, helps settle whatever is unsettling you. I voluntarily undertook this mission to find you and bring you on board.”

  “And who is now saying her goal is to go and touch afflicted men in the right way. There’s more to the story than that.”

  And that sublime smile returns to her MoxFashion-correct visage. Her hands caress his face, right where that adorable dimple shines through as he grins. “You got me. You know, only one other man has ever challenged me on who I really am.”

  “Your father?” Peter posits, treading on dangerous territory if she asks him back about his.

  She shakes her head, thinking. “No. Not my baba. A Jesuit priest. Well, he says former priest. You’ll meet him when we land. A couple of years ago, Alexander found and hired a Jesuit priest who had independently stumbled upon the oral traditions. He had already been combing the Vatican Archives for clues to these traditions for a number of years. This priest had also reached out and contacted those he could find who had lineage connected with these traditions.

  “Prior to meeting Alexander, in his interviews with women, he found they were not symptomatic like the men were. It was unclear to him whether or not they were affected, or were simply carriers.”

  She puts her palm to his chest and slowly rubs. “But he did put together a full pattern of what they did to help their spouses or mates deal with this affliction.”

  Mei puts her fingers to his forehead and rubs there as well. He closes his eyes. Only his mother has evoked what he senses as she rubs there. Oh, what did Dr. Beverly say again about Oedipus? And Mei isn’t even blonde. She has to be the one.

  “Like what he did with you and me, Alexander sent a message to this priest, asking him to interview. He made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Alexander showed him the power of combining their efforts and sources, which would hasten their ability to decipher the traditions, find the object, and understand what it means.”

  “Do his records have more of the tradition than what I’ve been taught?” Peter interrupts. “Is there more?”

  “Volumes more. Volumes in every language known across the globe and in many extinct languages. But much is indecipherable, maybe due to mistranslations over the millennia. And maybe we simply do not have enough analyzed to truly know what it means. And maybe, we were never meant to truly understand.”

  Peter looks at her in a much different way than he did only hours ago, only minutes ago. “I understand now how you were a professor, a highly accomplished one. Very much like a doctor I edit papers and books for. But she dresses differently from you.”

  “Does she smell like I do?” Mei asks as she pulls his head into her hair.

  “Oh my,” Peter cries, feeling like he’s the fly caught in the spider’s web. He pulls back. “Please, please. I’m having a hard enough time taming the hormones.”

  She laughs. “And is that really only a hormonal response bursting about in you?” She pulls his head back into her hair and feels around the back of his head. “I think not. There’s more to what you are feeling that temporal chemicals. There’s somethin
g more ancient, more genetic.”

  Back to sitting lotus style, she continues, “Alexander recognized the ancient importance of the five-sense algorithm Jean-Paul amalgamated from his interviews with afflicted couples and the historical texts he found. The female partners used this algorithm throughout the millennia to help their afflicted men not only cope with, but come to understand the messages their minds were struggling to process.”

  Peter slumps back into the divan as deep realization begins to unveil itself. He blurts out, “The interview. The hours of tests. You. How you were made to appear to me. Your actions. Your use of my senses. These were all merely ways for Alexander to screen people for the ‘affliction.’ One massive worldwide screening tool that only a company the size of MoxWorld Holdings could implement.” A mist of eeriness descends and envelops him. Very hauntingly eerie.

  “Good. You will need to have complete trust in me once we get to Luxembourg,” Mei says. “As Jean-Paul and Alexander kept interviewing potentially afflicted people, they found they needed someone who would have complete mastery of the five-sense algorithm. Jean-Paul’s tests found me to be, in his vernacular, a strong level-ten sensate. I have the highest tested level of senses, the highest levels of compassion and empathy, needed to read the candidate’s dispositions, their inner workings, and their senses, through all five senses.”

  “And your fragrance, the one I felt entering me, that was your use of that sense?”

  “Yes, it was designed by Jean-Paul and me with a nasal receptor psychopharmacologist,” she says, tossing her ponytail in front of her chest and stroking her hair.

  “But there is more,” she says. “Fifteen years ago, a geneticist from the National Cancer Institute proposed the God Gene. In test subjects, they found a correlation between an index of spirituality and higher levels of a gene that modified brain neurotransmitter transport. Although the idea initially met with skepticism from scientists and religious organizations, recent studies have shown a much greater cluster of genes that are associated with many newly developed indexes of religious belief and spirituality. This idea leads to an anthropological hypothesis that proposes a change in mankind’s DNA structure occurred, possibly as early as the last ice age, which led our pre-Neolithic ancestors to be more susceptible to notions of mysticism, spiritual concepts, the belief in supreme beings.”

  She takes his hand and places it behind her head on a specific spot. “Right here lies the brainstem, at the juncture of the brain and the spinal cord, where five years ago, a team of Harvard neurologists discovered our consciousness is located. A joint team between Harvard and my team at Shanghai University recently discovered that spiritual consciousness arises near this same area and that higher concentrations of the God Gene complexes are expressed here as well. All funded by Alexander.”

  Pulling his head again into her hair, she touches his neck. “Right here. In fact, you have the same interesting bump at the exact right spot.”

  A chill runs down Peter’s spine again as she continues to rub his neck. His eyes start rolling back into his head as he utters, “Please, Mei. Please. I don’t want to be one of those monstrous men who attack women. I’m going to lose control if you keep rubbing me everywhere like this.”

  Peering into his eyes, she grabs his cheeks and those dimples. “You are perfect. Just what my research suggested. You will be the proof that my hypothesis is correct.”

  Peter leans back in great relief and straightens out his pants, crouching over a bit. “So, we both have a funny bump. I’m an atheist—well, at least according to my mother, who is very Catholic. Well, I’m not completely atheist. God is merely a creation of the aliens who have influenced the development of mankind, and maybe all life on Earth. Maybe on other planets. I believe in them.”

  “You are a funny man, Mr. Banana Slug. I didn’t say those with the God Gene complex believe in God, but you are more open to belief because of a genetic predisposition. You as a person have to cover the rest of the ground to actually believe in God. Or your alien friends.”

  Peter rubs the back of his neck. “But how does this relate to our finding the object?”

  “The dissertation I wrote, which attracted Alexander’s attention, posited a genetic history of the God Gene complex that dates back to 9000 to 10,000 BCE. To the same places that our Jesuit priest colleague traces back your oral tradition, as he will explain tomorrow.

  “Enough getting acquainted.” Mei touches her MoxWrap, and slides appear. “Here’s what we need to cover tonight. Ground you on all things Alexander—who he is, how he got there, your conduct around him, and most importantly, why your utter obedience is your best strategy. Then you’ll need to get some sleep to be fresh for a taxing and demanding orientation tomorrow. We’ll start the meeting with him first thing after we land.

  “Alexander Murometz. Western-educated. Very well versed in politics, diplomacy, and hardball negotiations. Very smart. Hyper-smart is what Jean-Paul has labeled him. He suffers from the dreams, like you. But he appears to have harnessed them to some degree.”

  She studies Peter’s eyes and continues. “Never underestimate him. Never read too little into what he asks or says. No word is idle. Nothing is a coincidence. If in doubt, ask and clarify when you are in front of him. Never assume. It may be much deeper than you think. Ask for clarification in the moment. He has little tolerance for those who do not use his time wisely. Do not mislead him, and do not hide things from him. He seems to know before you know, and he knows if what you’re passing to him isn’t quite right. Are we good on this?”

  Still feeling that bump, Peter nods.

  Her voice deepens as she continues. “Pay attention, Peter. Focus. Alexander made his initial fortune expanding upon his father’s successes in the oil and banking industries, where a number of Russian billionaires also made their fortunes in the late eighties. But unlike some of his peers, he diversified out of Russia in the nineties. Incredibly astute, he avoided Putin’s dispersal of the oligarchs, and his banking operation became totally global before the Russian financial crisis in ninety-eight. Likewise, he diversified out of oil before 2010’s oil price plunge. He appears to be one, two, and at times three steps ahead of everyone, no matter how great or smart they may be.”

  “My mother called him a Russian crook,” Peter remarks. “Clearly, I don’t agree, as I’m here. Everything you’ve told me simply confirms my supposition that I can learn from his greatness.”

  Mei just smiles at Peter’s naiveté, but crosses her fingers nevertheless. “When you work for Alexander, you must be wary of the jealousy others have of his success. Many have accused him of illegitimate, illegal, ill-gotten practices. When someone or some organization is so successful so fast, critics always come up with these stories, these myths of some conspiracy. His holdings are truly global, knowing no borders. He has fostered connections in all places, financial, industrial, governmental. Governments have tried to curb him, but somehow, they ultimately become his friends. His reach and influence might very well be unparalleled in human history.”

  Peter smiles. “Somebody said something like jealousy is the root of something. Something bad. But how did his corporate empire expand so quickly?”

  “Your country’s immigration and economic policies and the British exit from the European Union created a financial catastrophe and political turmoil perfect for his meteoric rise in the past four years. His MoxWorld Holdings is only one of many diversified financial institutions and instruments he owns. Leveraging the capital that he had secured in other holding companies, he made bold moves with his MoxWorld organization.

  “First, he introduced new consumer technology that quickly altered the status quo in the non-Western world. He gave away MoxPads and MoxPhones for free to gain instant market share. He was able to provide low-cost data to these users through his revolution in microsatellite communications. People suddenly became truly global, with no dependency on cell towers and networks, sacrificing only some bandwidth. You coul
d be sitting at the South Pole and playing chess on a satellite conference line with someone on Mount Everest for the equivalent of five of your dollars per month.”

  Peter rolls his MoxWrap around his wrist. “This thing has changed my life and become an integral part of the lives of everyone I know who has one.”

  He pauses in a moment of clarity, a realization about how abruptly Sarah changed after he gave her one. His mind makes the connection how his mother began badgering him even more about grandchildren after she got hers. And his ability to remember a small fraction of his dreams, this only started after that upgraded MoxWrap arrived, unsolicited by him. Now very unnerved, he blurts, “But I wonder, given how invasive this device has become, how secure is our personal information?”

  With her professorial look, Mei replies, “Not an issue for you, or more importantly government customers. The encryption defies the term state-of-the-art. Neither governments, nor other companies, nor hackers can break or replicate MoxWorld’s encryption methods, which are multimodal, in part through his proprietary satellites, his networks, and his billions of processors. Some people speculate that the special favors he gets from others in power comes from his affording them special access to the data his systems track. Because Alexander will share important defense security data with nations who work with him, the Mox devices have nearly universal usage in these governments. Ironically, the main holdouts still using the old smartphone technology are criminal and terrorist organizations.”

  Monologue finished, Mei stretches her legs and then folds them up on the divan again, but this time rubbing her feet.

  “When you work for Alexander, you do what you need to do to succeed in your mission. There can be no doubt about this priority, or you will not be working for him long, as you will soon find out. As we will discuss on the plane, there are many things you should know and do while in his employ, and the first lesson is to follow his instructions to the letter and do not deviate.”

  Mei grimaces for but a fraction of a second, then gives Peter another one of her delightful smiles as she bemoans, “My custom-made sling-backs are about as comfortable as high-heeled shoes get, but even if you were wearing running shoes, a woman’s feet can only take so much.”