The Null Prophecy

by Michael Guillen

  AA: “But strandings have been going on forever, Colin. More than two thousand years ago Aristotle wrote about beached whales and dolphins.”

  CB: “Yes, but not to the degree we see nowadays. Old-style passive sonar doesn’t work anymore. Our enemies have figured out a way around it. So the Navy is testing a new kind of sonar that’s more powerful and more penetrating. They call it active sonar. To dolphins and whales, the difference is like going from soft rock to heavy metal.

  “In its latest environmental impact statement the Navy admits its new active sonar exercises are harming up to six million whales and dolphins a year and permanently deafening more than three thousand a year. At Planet First we think that’s outrageous.”

  She looked into the camera.

  AA: “For the record, we asked the Navy for comment but they declined.”

  She turned back to Colin.

  AA: “Colin, here’s what I’m wondering: The strandings going on right now are not just confined to San Diego. Your theory doesn’t explain that.”

  CB: “Yes, it does. The Navy has allies all over the world who are doing the same kinds of sonar and bomb testing. The problem is global. That’s why we’re seeing strandings everywhere. We’re reaping the disaster the Navy has been sowing for years.”

  When the interview was over Eva came up to congratulate Colin. Then she subtly nodded to Allie.

  “Colin,” Allie said, “we’re hearing you guys are planning something huge, something secret for the G-20.”

  The young man shrugged and shook his head. “Not true.”

  “C’mon, Colin,” Eva said. “Be honest with us. We’re not the enemy.”

  He looked down at his feet, kicking the sand nervously. “Look, you guys have been good to us but I have to watch what I say, okay? This has gotten way bigger than just Planet First. A bunch of others are jumping on the bandwagon.”

  “Like who?” Allie said.

  “The Occupy people?” Eva ventured.

  “No. Well, yes, they’re involved I hear, but not with us. We don’t see eye to eye on too many things. As far as we’re concerned they’re anti-environmentalists.”

  Allie wanted to sound sympathetic. “Because they’re against green energy?”

  “That’s how it looks to us.”

  “But you were saying,” Eva interjected, “others are jumping aboard.”

  “Hello there!”

  The unexpected voice came from behind them. Spinning around, Allie saw Calder Sinclair rushing toward her. He looked upset.

  “Calder? What a surprise.”

  “I’m sorry to barge in,” he said, out of breath. “Do you guys have a moment?”

  CHAPTER 10

  THE CHOICE

  MONDAY, APRIL 24 (4:45 P.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME)

  SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA

  With the warm, yellow sunlight still reflecting brilliantly off the blue Pacific, Allie and the crew clambered back into the van and set out from Mission Beach to a nearby electronics store. They intended to pick up where they’d left off with the Kilroy story. The Quantum PC madness was sweeping San Diego as much as it was every major city in the world.

  “I still say you’ve blown your lid,” Eva said, scrutinizing her.

  Allie laughed. “Flipped your lid—and no, I haven’t.”

  Back at the beach Sinclair had pressed them to give Hero a second chance. At first she and Eva adamantly demurred. But then, surrounded by dying animals on the beach, a little bulb lit up in Allie’s head. An idea to give Sinclair what he wanted and create a gonzo news story that’d bring huge attention to her and her TV special.

  “Whatever you call it, you’re crazy.” Eva twirled a finger next to her ear. “Messugah!”

  Allie raised her hands in self-defense. “Okay, chica, okay. So I admit it’s either the most brilliant or the most hare-brained proposal I’ve ever come up with.”

  Her idea was to use Hero’s allegedly amazing speed and agility to try quashing the whale strandings around the world, to steer them away from the beaches. At first Sinclair had looked at her like she’d grown horns, but after some spirited back and forth he agreed.

  “It’s nothing but a stupid publicity stunt, Allie. And a dangerous one. He nearly killed you the first time out. It’s looney tunes. I forbid it.”

  Allie shot her a glaring, questioning stare.

  “As your friend, I mean,” Eva said with a twisted smile. “As someone who loves you and is committed to protecting you—especially from yourself.”

  They rode in tense silence for nearly a mile.

  “Look,” Allie said finally, “I don’t disagree with you about the danger, but you heard Sinclair: he’s fixed the problem with the collision avoidance system.”

  Eva said nothing, sinking into her seat, arms folded, staring straight ahead.

  “Look, chica, here’s how I see it: if I do this and it doesn’t save whales then I’ll only have wasted a few days.”

  Eva unlocked her arms and stared at her. “A few days? A few days?! How about the rest of your friggin life?!”

  “Language!”

  Eva let out a long, low, guttural snarl.

  “On the other hand,” Allie continued, “if we pull it off, think about it: it’ll be the most amazing story of my career and, yeah, you’re right, amazing publicity for our special. What’s wrong with that?”

  Eva threw up her hands. “Do you have the hots for this guy? You do, don’t you. I saw how you reacted when he showed up at the beach. You were all aflutter, like some stupid schoolgirl.”

  “Eva! Stop! I wasn’t all aflutter—whatever that means.”

  But Allie knew exactly what Eva was saying. She fell silent for several moments and stared out the window.

  Truth was, Calder Sinclair was the closest to a Phil Gutierrez she’d met yet. A scientist, smart, handsome, single; he’d mentioned to her he was a widower with a daughter off in college somewhere. And caring. He had to be, devoting his life to inventing something so intentionally noble—or apparently noble; it remained to be seen if he wasn’t secretly working for the military.

  “He’s a nice guy,” Allie said finally, “that’s all. It doesn’t mean I’d risk my life for him. Give me a break, for gosh sakes.”

  That’s never going to happen.

  Never. Trust me.

  Despite her attraction to Calder—her wanting to get to know him better—she was not optimistic it’d ever lead to anything serious. Lightning rarely struck twice; it was a scientific fact. According to one study she’d never forget, seventy-three percent of singles on the hunt for “true love,” after having let it slip through their fingers once before, never found it again.

  Eva’s eyes bored into her. “Listen to me, girlfriend, please don’t do it. He’s too—I don’t know, strange. Too fanatical about that Hero of his.”

  Allie answered with a confused look.

  “Don’t pretend you don’t understand. You need this gig like a hole in the arm. We’ve got the TV special; we don’t need this—this weird little Lifshitz.”

  Allie leaned forward in her seat. “Eva! Seriously? Whatever you think about him, the guy’s obviously some kind of brainiac.”

  “Yeah, like Dr. Strangelove. All testosterone and grey matter, no scruples.”

  Allie flung up her arms. “What are you talking about?! You spent exactly half a day with the man. How do you know he has no scruples?”

  “Because I recognize the type. Remember, babe, I’ve been covering science a long time—longer even than you. While you were cloistered away at Haaahvard I was out here in the trenches getting to know these guys.”

  “These guys?”

  “Yeah, the ones who do things just because they’re into it, not because they’ve thought through the consequences.” Eva sat up in her seat. “Look, why do you think I bought into your special? Put my heinie on the line for you when you were selling it to Stu?”

  “For the ratings?”

  Eva’s eyes exploded
. “No! I did it because I believe in the show’s premise, your so-called null prophecy. Science has noble intentions—it’s why I love this beat—but it’s making life really scary, not just better. H-bombs, chemical weapons, killer robots. I just read a press release about these scientists who are using artificial intelligence to program a robot policeman who’ll be fully autonomous. It’ll be able to make life-and-death decisions completely on its own. God!—as if self-driving cars weren’t terrifying enough. Is that creepy or what?

  Allie looked at her for a moment. “Yeah, it is, actually. We should use it in the special.” She fell back in her chair. “But what does all that have to do with Sinclair?”

  “It’s just a feeling I have about him. Like I said, I recognize his type. I don’t doubt he means well with this Hero of his, but the whole idea of tapping into something we don’t even understand . . .” Eva’s voice trailed off. Then she said, “He reminds me of Teller, Edward Teller. Ever meet him?”

  Allie nodded. Years before, as an undergrad at Stanford, she and a professor friend who knew Edward Teller dined at the famous scientist’s house. He was a gracious host, at one point treating them to a piano recital. But it was clear Teller still felt misunderstood and unappreciated by his liberal colleagues, who vilified him for his leading role in the invention of the H-bomb.

  “I’m sorry, chica,” she said, “Sinclair is not Teller: he’s not out to destroy. Yeah, Hero messed up and I was scared outta my mind. But we’re talking about a guy who’s quite possibly cracked the problem of finding a perfect energy source.”

  “That’s what they said about nuclear energy.” Eva paused. “Look, Allie, do what you want, but I’m against it. We have our hands full with the special and now with the whales and Kilroy—”

  “Here we are,” Pitsy called out.

  The store was easy to spot because of the line of people trailing out the door and the rent-a-cops helping to keep order. Pitsy managed to find a parking spot and they all scrambled out.

  Allie turned to Eva. “We’ve got to make a final decision by the end of today, okay? Sinclair says he wants to leave at first light tomorrow. So let’s focus. I’m thinking I should do it.”

  Eva ignored her and set about helping Pitsy unload the equipment.

  Allie stared at her. “Hola! Can I have some feedback here?”

  Eva didn’t stop what she was doing. “I’ve already told you how I feel. But if you decide to make the wrong choice”—she stopped and turned to give Allie a resigned look—“I’ll be there to back you up.”

  “Even if it takes me away for several days?”

  Eva went back to helping Pitsy offload the equipment. “I’ll be there.” And then, in a voice Allie was barely able to hear, she said, “Like I always am.”

  CHAPTER 11

  TRUE LOVE

  MONDAY, APRIL 24 (8:30 P.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME)

  SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA

  It was dark by the time Pitsy brought the van to a skidding halt opposite the entrance to the heliport. In the background was a high-pitched chorus of aircraft engines.

  Allie jumped up from her seat and began gathering her stuff.

  “So what do I tell Stu?” Eva called out from the rear of the van.

  She did not stop moving. “That I’m doing it.” Then she paused and looked over her shoulder at Eva. “Start thinking it out—how we can maximize coverage. I’ll be back in—I don’t know. Anyway, I’ll be back. Meet me at the hotel tonight. Don’t plan to sleep.”

  She sprinted into the terminal, cleared security, and climbed into the waiting chopper. This ride was on her own nickel. She didn’t have the time or desire to wrestle with Stu over the expense.

  An hour later the chopper set down gently on the rooftop landing pad of the hospital adjoining the Rio Hondo Nursing Center in Montebello, her mom’s new home. She told the pilot she wouldn’t be long and hopped out.

  It was well past the nursing center’s visiting hours but she’d called ahead and the supervisor had agreed to make an exception. It paid to be a well-known TV correspondent—and, more important in this case, a local girl who’d made good. Montebello was the next town over from East Los Angeles.

  Inside the quiet, dimly lit building she approached the reception desk. “Allie Armendariz to see Betty Armendariz.”

  “Yes, we’re expecting you,” the young African-American woman chirped. “I watch you on TV all the time. I love your reports.”

  A moment later the head nurse appeared and escorted Allie through the wide, vacant hallways.

  “Your father’s here, as always,” she said, approaching the door to the room. “We’ve all fallen in love with him.” She held the door open for Allie—whispering loudly to her father, “Reverend, she’s here”—then left.

  Her father, slumped in a cushioned chair at the head of the bed, lit up at the sight of her. Her mom, tucked inside neat bedclothes, appeared to be sleeping. She’d always been an early bird: first one to bed and first one to rise. The disease hadn’t changed that.

  “Apá,” she said, rushing to him, “I got here as fast as I could. You must be tired.”

  He rose and they hugged.

  “Carlos’ll be picking me up soon.” He looked around. “I’ll have the nurse bring another chair. I should’ve thought about it.”

  “No, no te preocupes, Papá. I’ll just sit on the bed.”

  She settled onto the mattress and leaned in for a close look at her mother: the peaceful, slumbering face framed by wavy cascades of medium-length, pale auburn hair; the skin, gently lined yet remarkably smooth and still alive with color. It was impossible for Allie to imagine this lovely woman’s mind was fading.

  Her mother was and always would be her hero. As a young person, her mamá defied the wishes of her Cuban-Catholic family by marrying a Mexican who they considered beneath her station—and he was an atheist to boot. Later on, she defied her new husband’s constant tirades against God by attending a nearby Pentecostal church. But despite all the defiance, following his conversion, she worked shoulder to shoulder with him to build a church that to this day faithfully served its mostly low-income congregation and Hispanic neighborhood.

  Allie reached out and gently swept aside a lock of hair on the sleeping woman’s forehead.

  Oh, Mom, please come back to us.

  Through the years Mamá had managed to be strong, yet tender. She fought convention, yet defended Latino culture’s most precious old-world traditions. Supported her husband’s sacred calling, yet achieved a high position of respect in her own right as the leader of Buen Samaritano’s vibrant women’s ministry.

  “How is she?” Allie whispered, still watching her mom’s serene countenance.

  “No change. The doctors are giving her some drugs to help her memory. But they say there’s no cure.”

  She looked at him. “Science doesn’t know everything, Papá.”

  “Sí, mija, whatever you say.” He gave her a tired smile.

  “Why are you smiling at me like that?”

  “Nothing—I didn’t even know I was smiling.”

  “You were. C’mon, what’s up?”

  Her father straightened up in the chair. “I was just thinking about how much I love you. That’s all.”

  She half stood and bent way over to kiss his forehead. “Thank you, Papá, but sometimes I’m not so sure I’m all that lovable.”

  “Mija, of course you are. It’s just that you’re young; you’re having to make some tough choices.”

  She settled back onto the bed. “Yeah, too tough.”

  He turned his world-weary eyes to her mom’s reposing figure. “Believe me, I was the same way. But your mother saved me, you know.”

  “From what—starvation?” She chuckled, hoping to lighten the mood. “There was no better cook than Mom, that’s for sure.”

  “No, from myself. When I was single, deep down I wasn’t a happy person. I drank all the time and—well, you know the story.” He stared blankly ahead. �
�Something was missing from my life and I sensed it; but I didn’t know what it was or how I could find it. Then your mother came along.” He grinned sadly. “Everyone needs someone like that, you know—to balance us out, to make us whole.”

  She shook her head. “People don’t think like that anymore, Pops. Women especially. They don’t like being told they need anyone to make them whole.”

  He looked at her. “How about you, Alejandra? Is that how you feel?”

  “Papá, please. I came here to visit Ma, not to talk about me. I get enough of me at work. I just want to be quiet for a few minutes.”

  For the next short while she sat with her mother, stroking her hair, her cheek, her hand. This was the woman who’d given birth to six children and reared them grandly and gladly on a poor minister’s income—meager not because of any stinginess from the churchgoers, but because of their own relative penury. In fact they’d been extravagantly generous with what little they had—and still were.

  “I can’t stop thinking about Lolo,” she said softly.

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve prayed about it, like you told me. And I’ve decided that after I get back from my next assignment I’m going to visit her, see how she’d feel about moving in with me. I’ll hire a full-time nurse; it’ll be fine. At least she’d be closer to all of us.”

  “You’re sure? It’s a lot of responsibility.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Okay, Alejandra, if you feel that strongly. We’ll all help out, of course.” He closed his eyes and after a few moments said, “That day I came home and saw all those men from your mother’s church praying over your brother. Oh, man.” He reopened his eyes. “I wanted to throw them all out! But something stopped me. Something bigger, stronger, more loving than myself made me just stand back and watch.”

  He teared up; he was recalling the moment he saw Carlos’s crippling polio suddenly, inexplicably healed.

  She edged nearer to him.