by Al Macy
Maybe Guccio was right. Maybe this was a sexual thing after all. That thought, that he and Cronkite were having some kind of weird alien intercourse, was Jake’s last.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Alex kept the om-ray controller on and pointed directly at Jake and Cronkite. The two combatants lay in a relaxed heap, locked in their meditation trances. All our work paid off! He looked over at Charli and winked.
She was chewing on a fingernail. “Keep it on them, Alex. Don’t move it an inch.”
“Don’t worry, Martin’s got another one trained on them. And check it out.” Alex pointed down at the basket holding eight spare om-ray guns. The creature responsible for the world’s suffering, and the loss of Rebecca, was now in his power.
Charli stepped over to Alex, stood on her tiptoes, and gave him a long kiss on his cheek. They both blushed.
“Is he still breathing, Gordon?” Charli grasped Guccio’s arm. The group stood at the twenty-yard line where the dome met the ground. Spectators stood watching from the stands and helicopters flew overhead.
Guccio peered through binoculars. “Definitely. Good job, guys. You have saved the planet.” He tousled Alex’s aquamarine hair.
Charli put her hands against the dome and turned to Alex. “I thought the om-ray device let you push away the effect if you wanted.”
“Yeah, it did. That’s the part we modified.” Alex gave a little happy dance but kept the om-ray steady. “But we were just lucky it works through the dome. And we couldn’t be sure it would work on Cronkite.”
“Now what?” Guccio rapped the bubble with his knuckles.
“Now,” McGraw said, “we figure out how to get through this dome. We have three to five days before Jake dies from lack of water.”
They all looked out at the two interlocked, meditating creatures on the fifty-yard line.
* * *
June 17, 2019
Charli and the other advisers maintained a vigil outside the dome. She’d walked around it several times. There had to be a way to get rid of this bubble. Once again she asked the doctors how long Jake could survive without food and water. They never gave her a clear answer. He’d already survived three days. At least two om-ray guns were trained on the motionless meditators at all times.
In the Iran earthquake of 2004, a ninety-seven-year-old woman survived for eight days trapped in the rubble of her house. In 2003 a woman survived for twelve days in a collapsed building and even had the energy to call out to rescue workers. Jake was motionless. Perhaps that would work in his favor.
No one knew how long Cronkite could survive. No one cared.
The military had tried gunfire, grenades, and lasers. Nothing came close to penetrating, or even damaging, the dome. They tried holding the quantum garbage can against it, but because they couldn’t get enough of the dome into the device’s hole, it had no effect. Tunneling beneath the field revealed that the dome was actually a full sphere.
Martin came up with the idea of using the great-balls-of-fire heat gun. The technicians set up a heat-resistant tripod to hold it eighteen feet from the dome. The twins had devised a wirelessly controlled solenoid that let them turn it on or off from a distance.
They pointed it at a spot on the bubble and flipped the switch. As the heat rose, they kept an eye on the grass just inside the dome. It was unharmed—the heat wasn’t getting through. That was good news for Jake. Charli paced at the top of the stands. Is it really cool inside? Is there enough oxygen?
They left it on, and the temperature soared. Charli had to move back. The two men holding the om-ray guns were in air-conditioned moon suits. A great wind picked up as the heated air rose, but the grass on the inside remained green and moist-looking.
There was no effect on the dome for forty minutes, but then it started glowing. First red and then white. The grass inside: still green.
Finally, it happened. The bubble popped. It sounded like the opening of a champagne bottle but a thousand times louder. A whooshing sound followed, as the normal air inside equilibrated with the superheated outside air.
Ambulances, military vehicles, and soldiers rushed onto the field. Alex walked over with an om-ray device. Up close, he could point it at Cronkite alone and the EMTs dragged Jake free. He was unconscious. Charli ran onto the field. Come on, Jake. Get up!
The military set up a cordon around the sphere in case Cronkite recovered and tried to get to it.
They loaded Jake into the ambulance and Charli jumped in with him. Fifteen minutes to Walter Reed Medical Center. No one stopped her from taking his hand. I’m here, Jake. Not until a tear fell onto the gurney did she realize she was crying. So much pent-up hope and frustration. A sudden rush of hope. Her hand tightened around his, as if by holding on she could ensure he didn't leave her.
She looked out the back. Soldiers chained and shackled Cronkite with custom-designed restraints.
* * *
June 20, 2019
Three days later, Charli stood by Jake in Walter Reed’s ICU, rubbing the rails of his hospital bed. Nurses bustled around the main room, casting glances at the celebrity whenever they walked past his alcove. Trees of electronic devices and IV bag hangers surrounded him. Come on, Jake. Don’t leave me.
The doctors had warned her to prepare herself for a bad outcome. Brain damage or worse. They had kept Jake in a medically induced coma to help his body recover. Now, as Charli watched, they brought him back to the world of the living.
“Get off! Get off me!” He pushed his arms out like a mime in an invisible box.
“Jake, it’s okay. It’s all over. You’re in the hospital.” Charli kissed him on the forehead.
After several minutes, Jake seemed to have recovered his wits. A neurologist checked him over and gave Charli a thumbs up.
Jake slapped his cheeks a few times, blinked his eyes, and frowned at Charli. “Do I know you?”
She gasped and stepped back. Her hand flew to her mouth.
“Just kidding, just kidding! I’m sorry!”
She had flipped from relief and tenderness to horror to anger in three seconds, and the tears flowed down her face. “Oh, Jake. What is wrong with you?” She leaned in over the wires and hugged him, knocking the pulse oximeter off his finger.
“I’m sorry. I promise I’ll stop with the jokes.” He kissed her on her ear. “That wasn’t funny. I’m such a jerk. I promise you I will never do something like that again. And I’ve spoiled the moment.”
But they both chuckled and Charli punched him on the arm. “I’m not laughing,” she said.
“So, it’s all over?” He rubbed his arm.
She nodded while blowing her nose.
“The om-ray worked?” he raised his eyebrows.
“Like a charm,” Charli said.
“How long was I gone?”
“You spent three days with your face in Cronkite’s butt and then three days here in a coma.”
Jake shook his head and sipped water from a cup that Charli held for him.
Charli asked, “Jake, why didn’t you share that idea? The om-ray idea?”
“I’m sorry I ignored you when you asked me whether I had an idea. I had to ignore you. It was my best idea, and I didn’t want to take any chances on Cronkite intercepting it. I got paranoid. What if he had a way of monitoring our meetings? I did no more than whisper it to the twins. It was never discussed at any meeting, never spoken above a whisper. Need to know. Where’s Cronkite?”
“He’s at a new supermax prison just outside DC. He’s guarded by ten elite men, twenty-four-seven.”
“Good, that’s probably overkill, but until we know more … What about the sphere?”
“It’s right where he left it. On Fedex field. It’s under guard. The plan is to move it at some point”
“Door still open?”
“Last I saw, yes. Do you think you could drive it?” Charli asked.
“Well, I did before, but Cronkite explicitly handed control over to me. It may be locked for
his hands only. But unlock it, and anyone could drive it. Where’s DJ1?”
“Why do you ask?” Charli squinted at Jake. “You guessed, huh?”
He nodded. “Just a wild guess.”
“DJ1 moved right up close to Earth soon after Cronkite was disabled. How did you know?”
“I figured it didn’t want to interfere with our interaction with Cronkite. It’s been politely sitting out there in Jupiter’s orbit. We should know more soon. Too bad Offenbacher is in charge.” Jake looked off into the distance.
“He’s not.”
Jake knitted his eyebrows and tilted his head. “Offenbacher isn’t in charge?”
Charli said, “He’s dead. Stanley Mann shot him and then shot himself.”
Jake whistled. “Wow. The president was shot by the head of the secret service. I guess Stanley took a bullet for the country.”
“I’m sure Offenbacher would have been impeached for treason anyway, but this way was faster. Mann left a note explaining his actions. He felt responsible for Hallstrom’s death and wanted to make amends. The guy’s a real hero in my book.”
“So the president now is …”
“Maddix Young.”
“What? Our Maddix Young?” Jake frowned.
“No, Einstein, the other Maddix Young. Of course, ours. Offenbacher appointed him VP because he needed someone who knew how to run things. Offenbacher knew Young would have left otherwise. It was the only way to keep him on board.”
“Phew.” Jake shook his head. “I missed a lot in six days.”
“Did you miss me?”
Jake looked at her and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “When I had my head in Cronkite’s butt, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“Oh, shut up.” Charli leaned over and gave him a long kiss.
* * *
July 2, 2019
“It’s showtime.” Jake had a cast on his shoulder, and some kind of medical boot on his foot but felt pretty good as he sat in the situation room with the others. Nothing like three days of meditation to improve one’s mood. He looked around. They’d spent many hours in this dark, serious chamber, but now the atmosphere was festive, as if it were the last day of elementary school. Three bouquets of flowers livened up the conference table. Even Hallstrom’s empty chair didn’t dampen the mood.
DJ1 had sent signals requesting permission to broadcast an announcement. The message was repeated in Earth’s eight most common languages: Mandarin, Spanish, English, Hindi, Arabic, Portuguese, Bengali, and Russian.
The broadcast began.
“The following is an announcement from a loosely associated collection of civilizations within the Milky Way galaxy.
“We extend our greetings to all human beings on the planet Earth.” The words were spoken over a backdrop of images and videos of beautiful views from other planets. A double sunset. A wide waterfall next to artichoke-like trees. The voice was smooth and relaxing, like that of a hypnotist.
“Before we begin, we’d like to apologize for the incident that occurred on May 22, 2018. Let us explain.” The screen showed an image of DJ1. “This probe, which you refer to as DJ1, is an autonomous, unmanned space probe that travels to different star systems seeking out intelligent life. It has been doing this for forty-two million years.
“To accomplish this, it projects a ray onto every object in the star system above a particular size. The energy from the ray bounces back only from self-aware creatures. Unfortunately, that ray often has unforeseeable side-effects. In the case of humans, it turns out that it causes a sneeze reaction.
“In the same way, a second ray, which determines more information about the beings, caused a side effect of pain. DJ1 automatically moderates this side effect for individuals involved in complex tasks. This is complicated, but for now, be aware that we are deeply sorry that we caused this discomfort and even loss of life in a few cases. We hope to make this up to you somehow.
“Next, here is some information about the individual known to you as Cronkite. Cronkite escaped from a low-security mental institution six million years ago. He stole the sphere which now sits on Fedex Field. That sphere is a general-purpose agricultural spacecraft. He stole it from someone who was visiting another inmate at the facility.
“Its accessories were intended only for farm-planet use, but Cronkite deployed them against you. The electronics-disruptor, for example, is designed to eliminate macrobot infestations.
“Cronkite set the craft to follow DJ1 and spent much of his time in suspended animation. Whenever DJ1 signaled a discovery of intelligent creatures, Cronkite would awaken and attempt to take over the newly discovered world. He has done this three times in the past, and in all instances, he destroyed the worlds as a result of his mismanagement. He used the electronics-disruptor in every instance.”
Charli squeezed Jake’s hand without looking at him.
The broadcast continued. “Why didn’t we intervene? We have a strict rule about interfering in the affairs of civilizations that have not yet joined our collection. There has been much debate over making exceptions, but the rule has stood unchanged. We are happy that you have been able to resolve this problem on your own. Congratulations.
“Why didn’t we capture Cronkite and return him to the mental facility? That process has been underway for seventy-thousand years. We recommend that you keep him under heavy guard. We will supply you with more information on his care and feeding. For now, know that when not in a dormant state, he requires a daily supply of vinegar, baking soda, and adenosine. If you wish to turn him over to us, you may do so, but be aware that the process of collecting him would take 242 thousand years. If you choose to learn his language, beware of his guile.
“We will provide you with information on operating his sphere, including instructions for disabling the craft’s more dangerous capabilities. Please wait for these prior to interacting with it.
“But enough about you. Let’s talk about us. Sorry for that bit of humor. We realize that you may be sensitive to bizarre communications from alien species right now, but we want you to realize that we are not without a sense of humor. We are generally nice and extremely considerate. Think of us like Canadians but without the hockey thing. Sorry, sorry! Just making a joke.”
Jake wondered whether they had a different joke for other cultures.
“There are violent races in the galaxy, but most of those have been isolated. If you choose to join our collection, there is minimal paperwork and there are few rules. Once you join, your internet will include links to a limited version of our information system. Trust us that there are some things you do not want to know at this point.
“You are about to enter a period of rapid enlightenment which will dwarf all similar periods in your past.”
“So please, take as long as you like to decide whether you want to join our group. It seems like a no-brainer, win-win situation to us, but what do we know? Sorry, sorry! Just being funny.”
What followed was a description, with photographs, of many of the member systems in the collection.
EPILOGUE
December 10, 2019
Jake finished a jazz version of “I’ll be Home for Christmas” with his new group, The DJ1 Jazz Trio. By performing at his own reception, he was able to cut down on the amount of schmoozing required. He walked to the head table where Sophia was feeding wedding cake to Boondoggle.
Charli was talking with Nana-Marie and her date, Sheriff Nobb. Charli’s Dad, Sam, had received his final dialysis treatments in France. He was still in the Loire valley helping out at a winery.
Jake looked over at the bartender and frowned. She stood unmoving, staring off into space. Then Jake nodded and chuckled. Alex had the om-ray gun trained on her while young Martin poured a few glasses of champagne.
Jake tapped his wine glass with a knife. Speech time. He picked up the microphone and stood, waiting for the talking to die down.
“Again, thank you all for coming. We’ve had a lot
of long speeches today, isn’t that right, Mr. President?” He looked over at Young, sitting with Guccio, McGraw and the twins. “And a few short ones, right Stephanie?”
Jake’s club manager, for the “best man” speech, had simply stood up and given the couple her best wishes.
“But my speech now is about a promise I’m making to Charli and Sophia.”
“And Boondoggle,” Sophia yelled out.
“Yes, to Boondoggle, too.” He put his hand on Charli’s shoulder. “I promised them that I would keep control of my, ah … hermit tendencies. So I have here …” Jake switched the mic to his other hand and pulled a card out of his pocket. “I have here my Introverts Anonymous membership card.”
Jake held the card at arm’s length and squinted. “I’ll read it to you.”
Charli stood up partway, pulled the microphone down and spoke into it. “Looks like someone needs reading glasses.”
That got a good laugh from the semi-drunk crowd. Jake leaned down and kissed her and then said, into the mic, “I guess marrying a young bride won’t make my eyes any younger.”
“It might work for some other parts, though!” Guccio yelled out, getting the best laugh of the night.
Jake laughed along. “As I was saying, I’ll read it to you—and to my blushing bride. It says ‘Introverts Unite.’ and on the other side … ‘Separately. In your own homes.’” Jake’s drummer played a rim-shot.
“So today, I am tearing up my Introverts Anonymous card.” Jake held out the card and tore it in two, handing the pieces to Charli. “I promise that I will get out and socialize now and then, and that Charli may schedule up to one dinner party per year, as long as the invitees are aware that they are free to stay home and read a book if they wish.