Virtual Heaven, Redux

by Taylor Kole

  “Those are questions I’m not sure I can answer,” Alex said. He then exhaled, and leaned back. Who could know the truth for certain? It was like debating the genesis of life. The big bang sounded plausible, but every theory ran up against the beginning. Humans lack the ability to comprehend something with no start. Prior-to-time contemplation was reserved for gods. Having a theory he liked, he decided to share it.

  “But I have an analogy in my head,” Alex said.

  “Please share,” Jodi said.

  “If you were to take a photograph of a man standing on the sidewalk,” Alex said, “and tear it in half at the waist, half of the data that makes that man would reside in one section of the photo, and the second half in the other. So each half of the information would be needed to create the full picture. That’s logical reality. Now, let’s say you took that same image of a man standing and displayed it using hologram technology. A hologram is nothing but a three-dimensional photograph manufactured with the help of a laser. Starting with the same image of a man on the sidewalk. If you tear this image in half, or in ten pieces, or into millions of tiny shreds, and shine a laser through any shard, the full image would reanimate, using that morsel of information. That’s reality also, just totally illogical. The same system seems to apply to a person’s consciousness. If you tear it into a thousand pieces and spread it to a thousand sites, every section of code that delineates that person possesses all of their data. Making them everywhere at once, as if there’s a genetic memory of self, stored in every atom.

  “You have to understand, in an electronically molecular world, every byte of knowledge interpenetrates everything else, to where space is nothing but a wholly connected grid of energy.”

  Alex didn’t fully comprehend the theory he’d pieced together after surfing Seventh Plane blogs and programmer chatrooms, but its grand understanding sometimes felt one thought away from comprehension, and each time he shared it, he detected this greater truth beneath the logic.

  “That’s a way to look at it,” Agent Martineau said with hesitation, as if digesting all he heard.

  Agent Andrews said, “I think for most of us, this answers one of the oldest questions in history, as to whether the soul is a separate entity from the body. If so, that would be the proof scientists need to accept God into their lives and back into our society. The Lobby separates the body and soul, proving this long-debated hypothesis, yet propaganda denies that fact to the masses.”

  Alex had considered that, and it held plausibility.

  “All of this is very intriguing,” Willis said. “No matter your belief, this energy could be named the soul. I’m agnostic, so to me the soul defies mortal concepts, but no doubt this has underpinnings.”

  “Basically,” Agent Martineau began, “if you are you, and you are put in any situation with the exact same feelings and knowledge, you will always make the same choice. Meaning even a trillion a’ you being separate would always be doing the same thing simultaneously. In a nutshell, as long as one macroserver exists, the Lobby sustains its entire population.”

  Before Alex could nod or maybe shrug, Andrews interjected.

  “The travesty here is by being trapped in this machine. These people are being denied entrance to the real heaven.”

  “Gentlemen,” Jodi Reister said as she extended her hands to calm the table. “We are way off topic. Let’s get back to how we stop the world we do understand from falling into complete disarray.”

  The sound of Martineau pouring water from the carafe into a glass filled the next few seconds.

  Alex rocked in his seat. He knew the pirated access points represented imminent importance, but he wanted to talk this thing out like the rest of the world: ignore the implications and postulate, share in the common charge of energy that comes from a group of individuals discussing a profound notion. He didn’t want to deal with the world’s problems. He wanted to be back in his one-bedroom shack in Chicago, texting Sean about the insanity of it all, reading nutty blogs, trolling the esoteric chatrooms.

  After a minute of controlled breathing, he accepted that duty ruled desire, and continued. “Well, as I was saying, whoever uses these pirated access points will need at least four hours to mirror the Lobby. With the proper software and equipment, we can create a system that will alert us when anyone attempts to jack in. Once identified, we’ll have their GPS coordinates. From there, we send in the police, commandos, whoever. You foil their plans and make an example out of them.” Alex permitted the room a minute to visualize this scenario before hitting them with the bad news. “For this to work, we’ll need to build monitoring stations across the globe, leaving no zones unaccounted for.”

  The room remained silent. Monitoring stations covering every four-hour block of the planet presented a colossal feat.

  “And you can design this software?” Willis said.

  “With the right team I can.”

  “Great,” Andrews said. “I will have no problem assembling that team.”

  Even though Alex preferred this controlled Andrews to the former one, working with him was out of the question. “I need my own people, my team from Eridu.” He slid a list of names to Willis. “All of these people. Immediate passports. Easy travel. Give me a week with my team, and we’ll program the software. Then ship us to different parts of the world, give us the authority to train a certain type of software engineer in its application, and we can have the pirated access points under control by month’s end.”

  “My team could be helpful,” Andrews said.

  “We appreciate that, Agent,” Willis said, reading Alex’s body language. “But I think Mr. Cutler would rather use his own people. I’m not sure you’ll be needed beyond today.”

  Alex exhaled.

  “I think this teaming up is a great idea,” Jodi said. “We give Agent Andrews and Mr. Cutler shared control, pairing a government employee and a private citizen—something you’re suggesting with this monitoring system, if I’m reading you right.” She stared Alex down.

  Despite his wishes, he nodded. She read that part correctly. However, working with Andrews would jeopardize his sanity and destroy the full scope of his plans. Yet how could he refuse people who, with a word, could have him in fetters?

  “Mr. Cutler,” Willis said, “there is a logic to that. We will need the government and private sector to coordinate on a scale never before seen. You two could lead the field.”

  “It’s really the only way it will work,” Agent Andrews said. “We’re both professionals. It’ll be a friendly competition.”

  “Wonderful,” Jodi ended the discussion with a brisk nod. “You guys give us the software and establish a training method. We supply funding, smooth global travel, and remove possible regulations.”

  Alex couldn’t agree, but he couldn’t go to prison either. He was too famous, too weak.

  “Please keep in mind, things around the globe are changing at a rapid pace,” Jodi said. “It would be nice to get in front of something for a change. And without control of Lobby access, chaos will reign.”

  “I’d rather be sent to prison,” Alex blurted, stopping the room. He would. Besides, with Andrews over his shoulder, he couldn’t accomplish all he needed for this to work.”.

  “Excuse me,” Jodi Reister said. “Prison?”

  “I cannot work with Agent Andrews, with anyone other than the people on my list.” Alex stiffened his spine. “Jason Johnson is in London, Carl Wright is in Dallas; several others are here in California.”

  Willis snickered, looked at his peers. “No need to get dramatic, Mr. Cutler. If you feel that strongly about it, we’re in no position to refuse.”

  “I want all of my things returned to my house as well,” Alex said, as a surge of clarity coursed through him. He made the choices in his life, and he dictated his future. “Today.”

  “We haven’t fully inventoried the seized items,” Andrews said, “let alone inspected them.”

  Locking eyes with Jodi Reister, Alex
said, “I just want my team, my things, and control of my life.”

  “I think we can accommodate that,” Jodi said in a cautious tone.

  “Send everybody on that list straight to my address,” Alex said.

  “You’ll have your things this afternoon, Mr. Cutler,” Willis said as he stood. “Good luck to you. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get my calls in before the special edition of Inside Today begins.”

  Alex nodded. Tonight’s episode no longer intrigued him. When he executed his plan, he’d make historic news of his own.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Inside the Lord’s Thorn command post, an aisle split rows with six chairs on each side. Lieutenants, majors, and captains headed the room. Judging from the number of sergeants, Tim estimated sixteen hundred fighters occupied this ranch. That amount staggered him. Especially since vehicles continued to trickle in.

  Sitting near the back, in the front of the sergeant’s row, Tim waited for the meeting to commence. The men around him speculated on the possible missions, the origin of their funding, and the immensity of what two-thousand similar-minded soldiers could accomplish.

  Tim knew at his age, he should listen. Intellect arrived through genetics (expanded with study), wisdom through observations (compounded by reflection), and commitment—something overflowing in him—increased with vigilance to immediate duty.

  Until the day arrived when he’d lead men, he exercised mind, body, and soul, and obeyed orders. He adhered to a version of Aristotle’s dictum that stated, “To become a great leader, you must first be the best follower.”

  A hush fell over the room as the thud of boots on compact earth sounded. Tim fought the urge to glance behind him and glimpse their new leader. An active one-star brigadier general had assumed command of their crusade. A crusade intent on establishing a forward base. What lay beyond that vague promise, no one knew. Tim believed the Lord’s Thorn would adopt the mission of eradicating every Atrium on the planet.

  Confidence struck Tim as the general passed. Tim didn’t get into all that hippie nonsense about auras, but who would deny that certain people carried a presence? The general’s started with wide shoulders, a gray buzzcut, and bronze skin. His arms swayed in precise arcs, striking the same spot on the upthrust as the backswing. Tim hoped to walk like that someday.

  When the general executed his about-face, it surprised Tim to see the boyish features of a Vietnamese man. He had expected burns or at least one horrible scar. His letdown instantly changed to respect: the man knew how to avoid harm.

  “Gentlemen, my name is General Trieu. It’s an honor to be here.” He took a position in front of a white marker board. “Some of you know me.” He nodded to one of the lieutenant colonels in the front row. “Others have heard rumors, but I’ll set them all straight. I’ve resigned my Air Force post for a promotion to general of the most important outfit in American history: the Lord’s Thorn.”

  A few men barked their support.

  He paced lightly and increased the volume. “That is exactly what we will be, gentlemen. We will be the thorn in Satan’s backside. Now, if you don’t believe in the everlasting benevolence of our Creator, or the evils of His nemesis, God help you. If you can’t read the signs of impending doom around the world, I’d prefer you left this pavilion.”

  No one stirred.

  “This is a fight for our very future. You must understand, and your men must know, that our efforts will be constitutionally illegal. If we fail, we will be branded terrorists. If caught, many in this room will receive death sentences.

  “If you’re unwilling to pay that price, I won’t consider you less of a man for excusing yourself, but do it now. There is no shame in wanting to preserve your life. It’s a God-given instinct, same as bravery, foresight, and conviction.”

  Tim didn’t bother to look around. These men, like him, were committed.

  “The second truth may be a little more jarring.” He flipped the white marker board, exposing the opposite side, which displayed a map of sorts. A large square at one end, numerous squares at the other, a single “road” splitting the connection. From the legend, the location appeared to have an airport, a hotel, and an Atrium.

  The complex was unfamiliar to Tim, but seeing an Atrium at one end instilled disgust.

  “They named this city ‘Eridu,’ a name chosen by inflated egos. Tomorrow, we storm this compound, with violence—learn whether brains or brawn win skirmishes. We bring death, gentlemen, to their side and ours. You must know this. Your men must know this.

  “Our intel puts forty-eight highly trained, extremely motivated men with state-of-the-art small arms on the compound. We have over fifteen hundred semi trained, fledgling mercenaries. Believe me when I tell you that forty-eight well-disciplined men can defeat a ragtag battalion. Normally, I’d request three months of intense training to prepare. We lack that luxury. Evil is blanketing the world. Many believe this man, Adisah Boomul, is not only the Devil incarnate, but also that he is untouchable, his palace impenetrable.

  “Tomorrow, we will test those claims.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  When a segment finished, and as the lights brightened, Rebecca Trevino liked to remain stationary and watch the newsroom’s tumult, before moving to the lavatory. The scene reminded her of feeder fish seconds after a net dipped into the tank.

  New York City represented efficient congestion. Inside Today’s studio mirrored that. Fifty-three employees intersecting across forty-two hundred square feet often made forging your way from one side to the other a game of red light/green light.

  The central bathroom always teemed with activity, and throughout the years, people had unconsciously slotted their daily usage times. A far bathroom offered execs and on-screen personalities privacy. Rebecca stood there now, a hand on each side of the porcelain sink, head down, focused on the clean, white gully.

  After tonight’s episode, she would be allotted a larger studio. A neutral reward. More room, but in her quaint studio, she appreciated the camera’s close proximity.

  Insisting on a neurotic makeup specialist, her face never revealed its natural flaws. When the lens panned out to include her surgically enhanced cleavage, her breasts looked firm enough to be enjoyed, yet soft enough to be natural.

  The sound of toilet paper spooling in a stall turned her around. What madness! The far bathroom was one hundred percent off-limits before taping or airing of her programs. Everyone knew that. The toilet flushed, and Rebecca turned back to the mirror, her scowl internalized.

  “Knock ’em dead,” a woman said as she rinsed her hands under the faucet two down from Rebecca.

  Keeping her grip on the sink, Rebecca stared at her own reflection, saying nothing. She couldn’t place the voice. This stunt earned whoever it was a transfer, possibly a termination. Thankfully, the interloper seemed to recognize her mistake and exited without drying her hands.

  The woman was probably an intern. The regulars granted her the needed privacy before each episode. This episode was going to be epic. In the last few weeks, she’d ended the battle for most-watched primetime program. She now danced as queen atop the mountain. And she’d soon make Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward’s Watergate reporting seem as relevant as junior-high gossip.

  Lifting herself on her toes, she moved her face close to the mirror, examined her skin, and then checked her teeth. It baffled her when people said the camera added ten pounds. Even if it did, it removed ten years, eradicated all blemishes, and caused people she was used to seeing on television to take on haggardly appearances when encountered in the real world. Particularly the makeup-less men.

  Feeling centered, she exited the wooden door and found two women patiently waiting. They smiled and wished her luck. Those women she knew. Daynah produced the show following hers, and Allisa managed miles of audio cables.

  As Rebecca made her way to the breakroom, everyone she passed nodded and shared encouragement, a way of ushering her to her throne.

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nbsp; The world had never experienced anything as compelling as the Lobby, and the discovery that the alternate-reality machine preserved life catapulted it into unimaginable levels of interest. The notion that millions of people longed to sign onto a machine and die gave her goosebumps, but she wasn’t one of those people. This world held the action. Here, each day brought incalculable surprises. For proof, one only needed to recap the emergence of computers over the previous half-century.

  They started as math aids, codebreakers. Small businesses soon utilized the technology, and eventually, computer nerds exploited them for simple games. Fast-forward a few decades, and we had more computers than homes to hold them. Cellphone applications existed that could monitor a person’s heart rate and ensure they properly brushed their teeth. Then came the Lobby, which dwarfed those amenities, and then exceeded its own greatness by offering an amendable afterlife.

  Nothing would ever surpass the awe of reality. Knowing a larger story loomed in the future allowed her to attack each day with an enthusiasm unknown to womankind.

  Entering the densely packed breakroom initiated a light applause. Everyone greeted her with congratulations, gratitude, and lit-up faces. She made sure to return them all. These people were like family. They were the blood that flowed through the body of Inside Today. They made it function, while she acted as its heart, and its soul.

  A eighty-inch OLED headed the room. Corner speakers bolstered the sound. She glanced at the clock. Three minutes until they aired.

  Jack Fleeman, a field reporter she’d worked with for the past four years, offered to fill a cup of coffee for her. She politely declined. Any added stimulant could burst her heart. Someone shut off the lights as she nestled into her proffered seat in the front row between Casy Marvin, a studio executive, and Ryan Lambert, her boyfriend of ten years. She smiled at each, hugged one, kissed the other, and realized a fact she’d never voice: she no longer needed either of them.