by J. K. Scott
Also by J. K. Scott
Tracking Terra
Book 2 of the Trilogy
Shades of Truth
Book 1 of the Trilogy
Invisible Forces
J. K. SCOTT
Invisible Forces
Copyright © 2018 J. K. Scott.
Author Photo taken by: Keith Pitts
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ISBN: 978-1-5320-3295-0 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-5320-3296-7 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-5320-3301-8 (e)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2017916570
iUniverse rev. date: 04/26/2018
Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Scottsdale, Arizona
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Inner Being in Stellar Space
(IBISS)
In Memory Always
Dr. Ruth McKinley Hover
A Story to Behold
Ruthie Conrad Marks
Cherished Friendship
Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived to be understood.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson
Acknowledgments
I’m deeply grateful to whistle-blowers and for those undercover who hold the highest standards for truth and transparency in our world. With the utmost respect, I applaud the scientific community, whose conscious insights, knowledge, and wisdom provide us with facts and awareness about our environment, climate, planet, sun, and solar system in the known universe that provides for our existence. I am indebted to organizations that further the development of consciousness and the magnitude of the eternal human spirit. I am beholden to the Monroe Institute (TMI) for their pioneering research and development.
My heartfelt thank-you to my family and friends who shared their namesakes: Cade Anthony Ronzone, Austin Lee Ronzone, Elan Ashley Imlay, Thomas Ruberto (the renowned character Turbero from Tracking Terra and Invisible Forces), Mary Bulovic (really a fashionista), Sonya Guertin, Tony Agnello and Barbara Siewert’s beloved Big Bear, and Adam Keemon from Sarasota, Florida. I am grateful for my family and friends who are pillars in my life.
My gratitude to the publisher and editors who provided clarity that enhanced this story. Thank you.
Prologue
The known universe came to be by virtue of invisible forces. The greatest creation of these forces is human consciousness. These invisible forces govern matter that advances the development of science, faith, and culture. All these dominions are dependent upon those invisible forces, which leads to a creative evolution that develops beyond the boundaries of knowledge and the realm of wisdom.
This is my story that guided me to understand and respect the invisible forces that defined my unique journey.
Scottsdale, Arizona
The year 2035 arrived during unsettling times. Contingent upon worldviews, either change was forthcoming or the end times were near. The political and financial milieu had transformed into three parties: Militants, Capitalists, and Progressives. People lived in fear of global nuclear wars, terrorism, financial disasters, and the latest developments that popularized radio frequency identification (RFID) sensors. This technology developed into a double-edged sword for those who chose implants for security reasons and those forcibly implanted because of serious violations. The pervasiveness of sensors caused the government to be in a state of flux in protecting human rights, though everyone agreed we lived in a world deprived of privacy with the widespread network.
Massive cyber assaults on the global network generated more private, corporate, and commercial networks that regulated their users and traffic. Security could not be guaranteed. The fluctuating economy either soared or suffered, depending on the status of conflicts, productivity, and perceived attitudes.
Monumental discoveries in science and technology expanded worldviews regarding the human race challenging religious statutes. Salient information on human extinction levels, the complexity of the multiverse, and the reality of cosmic intelligence soared among those who preferred to know.
International travel declined because of wars and terrorism. However, domestic travel by plane, bus, train, driverless vehicle, and monorail increased because of tighter Homeland Security regulations. Driverless vehicles had multiplied, but powerful states controlled the thoroughfares and speed limits. More electronic signs hovered over the roads. This popular transport led to the creation of more tiny vehicles, but jeeps, trucks, and vans were still the kings of the road, at a high price.
Continual maintenance on the grid to solve intermittent interruptions became paramount; many became technologically independent, while others depended on the government and corporations to provide for them. Human behavior and wisdom trailed behind technological developments that could annihilate humankind and the planet. Disclosure about our universe was fortified by progress or constrained by beliefs of those in power.
1
FOR THREE LONG days, I’d been analyzing images that blurred my vision and challenged my competency. My mind was exhausted. On the fourth day, a few minutes after midnight, I found myself questioning my sanity.
On Tuesday, three days earlier, I’d biked three miles to my job at Cascade Ltd., expecting to finish a grueling two-week project. After arriving at the four-story undisclosed offi
ce, I turned on the graphic computer, and a red flashing message notified me to call Kelvin, my manager in the graphics analysis department. He told me I had been assigned to a new project that Cascade had received two hours earlier. The chief laboratory technician had been called in the middle of the night to stabilize the images from an antiquated weathered digital memory card—SD card—found in a desert wash in Arizona.
As Cascade’s youngest senior graphics operative with the highest clearance level as a contractor, I was routinely assigned to the most sensitive projects. Deciphering aged camera images was an unusual assignment for me, and this task would be particularly difficult since the SD card had been exposed to high temperatures. After I called Kelvin, he forwarded the digitized images to my encrypted computer. I opened the file, which displayed the data on an eight-foot mounted screen across from my wood desk. I stared at the pixels within the photo frame. Diligently, I worked on analyzing the images into the late evening.
On Wednesday morning, I received an internal briefing from Cascade about the discovery of the images. An unnamed twenty-six-year-old male hiker had found scattered bones in a desert wash. The next day, after work, he’d taken his findings to the police. The hiker had reported that he’d found an SD camera card in the metal clasp on the handcuff that dangled from a sun-bleached wrist bone. The day after, the hiker had led the forensic team to the discovery site. The forensic team uncovered more skeletal remains, as well as a weathered leather briefcase with nothing inside. Intrigued by the report, I steadily worked late into the evening once more.
On Thursday, during a short lunch break, I read an internet news bulletin reporting that the remains of an unidentified male with cranial contusions and a fractured radius bone had been found on a hiking trail west of State Highway 87 in the Tonto National Forest. The police requested aid in identifying the deceased male, who had been dead for many years. The report contained no references to the metal handcuff, the camera card, or the exact location of the remains. The news bulletin seemed likely to spur widespread curiosity and speculation.
Later that afternoon, I read an internal Cascade memo about the status of the priority project. I suspected the memo had been sent to me unintentionally. The paragraph read,
The Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) claimed the Maricopa County forensic laboratory had insufficient instrumentation to process the images from an outdated, weathered SD card. The police claim they had authority to investigate the camera card before releasing it to the FBI. During arbitration between the police and the FBI, the local police assigned the project to Cascade, who possessed technical expertise and clearances to examine the camera card. The FBI argued the case was under their jurisdiction and would dispute the assignment to Cascade.
The memo stopped there. It only emphasized how politically significant the images must have been to someone.
After three long days studying the fractured digital visuals, I had identified only two blurred images. In the first, within a light background appeared a round dark object with contrasting pixel-sized dots within or inside. The second image showed what looked like a spongy chocolate doughnut with nodules in the inner hole. I couldn’t decide if the images had been contaminated or if my visual acuity was distorted. Frustrated, I questioned what I had overlooked or what I couldn’t see. The project disturbed me. I surmised the images had to be incomplete.
Without coming to a final conclusion as to the nature of the images, I thought about asking Brandon, an older senior operative, to offer some speculations. Younger operatives might have had more visual acuity, but he possessed more seasoned insights. Even though Cascade required employees to get approval before passing work on to another operative, I decided to send one file frame to Brandon. I left the office with a headache and a sense of dread, feeling I had overlooked something.
Leaving rather late Thursday evening meant security had already locked the front doors. From his front desk, Mike, the security manager, observed me stepping from the elevator. “Dak, another late evening?”
“Yeah, a real tough day,” I replied, comforted by Mike’s concern. He’d dropped protocol to call me Dak, a nickname short for Daren Alec Kyle.
Big Bear, an extraordinary, intelligent white-and-gray German shepherd, trotted over to me. I scratched his white furry coat under his neck. Big Bear panted in approval and followed me as I retrieved my racing bike from the lobby’s storage closet. I rolled the bike toward the twelve-foot high-tech glass doors installed with wide-angle cameras that covered the building’s entrance. I leaned over to scratch Big Bear one more time as I waited for Mike to open the electronic doors.
The doors slowly opened, and I rolled the bike into the hot summer’s evening breeze under a cloud-covered sky. Big Bear stood at the door, watching me, before retreating to Mike’s side. Mary, my bodyguard, stood at her post across the street. I had notified her twenty minutes earlier when I would be leaving Cascade. She followed me at a secure distance, wheeling her bicycle with a small front pack strapped to her waist. I wondered what electronic weapons she carried. It troubled me that she risked her safety for my security. Without a word, we biked two miles to the front gate of the four-story group town houses where I lived while employed by Cascade.
Relieved to be home, I waved to Mary after activating the patio entrance gate in front of the four town houses. I carried the bike up the stairs to the third level, cursing Cascade for banning me from the first-floor garage and elevator for security reasons. In front of my private entry, I looked over the stucco railing to see Mary’s red taillight turn the corner in the distance. I wondered if she had to live in a company place too, but even courtesy conversation was discouraged, so I didn’t ask.
I rolled the bike into the entry closet and hung up my baseball cap. I combed my fingers through my curly brown hair, which was matted to my head with sweat. I looked at the green-lit screen on the entry wall, which monitored the thermodynamic sensors installed in the town house. Anyone entering without being approved would set off an alarm. My Beyond Black Border’s (BBB) clearance included the cosmos and beyond, which required me to have high levels of security. Even riding a bike to work required a bodyguard. I refused to be driven to work in a security van and needed the exercise.
Cascade’s electronic surveillance had overtaken my life. Over the past decade, the invasion of human implants had skyrocketed in popularity because of perceived and real fears. Even Cascade’s hefty income and bargaining power couldn’t convince me to agree to an implant, but they required me to be monitored in Cascade’s living quarters. I missed my rustic cabin thirty miles away, which I covertly protected.
Contrary to my personal preferences, the decorators had furnished the great room with two black leather couches, a cream lounge chair, a glass coffee table, and a metallic dining room table. The only color in the room was a towering electronic red lamp that recorded voices and played soothing music. I approved of the large-screened entertainment center, but the metallic spiral staircase that led to a helicopter pad on the roof made me uneasy. The white-walled kitchen’s austere black granite counters and stainless steel cabinets weren’t my taste either.
I headed to the more agreeable bedroom for a hot-and-cold shower to relieve my headache and mounting tension. Afterward, I put on khaki shorts and went to the kitchen to raid the refrigerator. I poured a glass of cabernet, devoured leftover lasagna and chunks of french bread, and then settled in front of the big screen. I searched the local news for updates on the identity of the dead courier in the desert. How could a courier be dead for years without a missing person’s report? Who had killed him? Why would the killer leave the briefcase and camera card at the crime scene? And why couldn’t I decipher the images?
I retired to the bedroom, exhausted and requiring sleep. I stretched my nude body over the cool white fitted sheet. The temperature-controlled room provided optimized sleeping conditions. As the lights dimmed, Melanie entered my mind. Ev
en though she’d dumped me months ago, I still couldn’t forget her.
After drifting into a light sleep, I awakened to a slight stirring in the room. Overly tired, I ignored it until it occurred again. I thought, How could anyone be in the bedroom? Two open windows armed with motion detectors allowed a slight breeze. Entering through the windows would trigger a severe electric shock. Straining to see, I saw a shadowy movement by my reading chair, and my muscles tensed. Lying on my side, I rolled my eyes toward the fitness clock, which signaled four minutes after midnight. Blinking to clear my eyes, I noticed the presence seemingly stir again, and the shadowy form became denser. It had to be someone in the room who’d been thermally vetted by Cascade.
Thoughts froze me. Could this be a betrayal or a warning for my delay in resolving the images? Searching for answers, I watched the shadowy form slowly pulsate. Facing the inevitable, I wondered if the presence in the chair awaited my response. Dependent upon sensor technology that seemingly had failed me, I only had the calendar clock as a weapon. I knew my muscular 170-pound body couldn’t stop a lethal weapon or a strange pulsating shadow.
The sweat on my skin felt like slithering snake oil, and the stench of raw fear seeped from my pores. Not moving a muscle, I fixed my eyes on the shadowy form. My voice cracked as I yelled, “Hey! Who are you?”
In a strange, whispery voice, the figure replied, “I’m here to see you.”
I couldn’t comprehend if I’d physically heard the voice or received the message mentally.
My heart sank. “Who are you?” I voiced sternly.
“I am you.”
My heart pounded and then erratically skipped beats. An overwhelming fear overcame me.
The words “I am you” reverberated in my mind. My heart muscles constricted. My heart felt like a two-ton truck rolling through a tunnel, slowly pumping its brakes to avoid a collision. Short breaths rattled my lungs as a wave of nausea lingered. I wanted to heave, but instead, I collapsed like a deflated balloon. Lying limply across the bed, I gasped, “What do you mean ‘I am you’?”