by JC Ryan
“Hi, Sinclair. I thought I’d come over and see how you and the translation team are doing. I hope I’m not bothering you?” Sarah smiled.
“Sarah you will never bother me. For a beautiful young lady like you, there is always time, and it will always be a pleasure.” Sinclair said with a twinkle.
“Sinclair, flattery will get you anywhere!” She laughed.
“We’re doing well. It’s still a slow process, but with the help of the translation software that Raj and his team built for us we’re gaining speed,” Sinclair explained.
“That’s good news. I believe, just like you, that there’s a lot we can learn and gain from this library. I have my doubts about the 8th Cycle library, though. I got the feeling there wasn’t much more we can learn from them,” Sarah replied.
“I don't think I would agree with that. Remember we still don’t exactly know how The Beast works. Neither do we know how the Skywalkers and Skinwalkers work. I suspect at some stage we’ll have to find out if we want to overcome the new regime. However, the problem we have there is that we still need the services of Navajo translators to help us,” Sinclair said.
“I never thought of it that way. It’s just that the 8th Cycle library has caused so much trouble that I’m half-scared to even touch it again. Still, I guess you’re right. We most probably have no choice,” Sarah replied. Sinclair nodded his head in agreement.
“Would you mind showing me how the translation software works?” Sarah inquired.
Sinclair’s face lit up; when it came to linguistics, he was like Raj and Roy about new technology; he liked to learn and talk about it. “Sure! I’d love to.”
He described how they started by building a dictionary of words and phrases, that is, those they’d already translated. With that, it became possible to start automating the lookup process by just comparing the extracts from the original texts with what they had in the dictionary. As they kept on feeding new translations and language rules into the system, the process became easier and quicker. This in turn led them to the point where they were able to start building their own 10th Cycle translation algorithms.
He explained how the software would break down complex and varying sentence structures; identifying parts of speech; resolving ambiguities, and blending the information into the components and structure of the English language.
The fact that Raj already had the English part of the software ready, which he'd copied from one of the Internet translation sites when they started developing this, made things easier.
He showed her on his screen. “See here? When I copy this text from the 10th Cycle source to this box here, the translation software will interpret the words and structure of the sentences in the 10th Cycle language. Then it will generate a translation, based on the rules of the English language, as you can see in this box here.”
“That’s amazing!” Sarah exclaimed. “I can still recall how difficult it was when we did those first translations. Now you’re doing it in seconds.”
Sinclair continued. “Yes, we've come a long way since those days. However, you must keep a few things in mind. First; the speed of translation you saw there was because we have thousands of words and pages of translations already. Those we’ve done over the years and loaded into the translation database. Second, a computer will always be gisting. In other words, it can only provide the central idea to enhance the reader’s understanding of the source text. It will never be able to translate as well as humans can.”
“That’s still real progress. Is it not?” Sarah wanted to know.
Sinclair replied, “Oh yes, what we have here is a giant leap forward and a big benefit to us. As we load more translated data and language rules into the translation database, the more ‘intelligent’ the software becomes, and the easier it is for laypeople to read and understand it.”
“I’ve seen and used translation programs before, but never knew how such a thing worked. Thanks for that demonstration, Sinclair. It was very informative and encouraging,” Sarah said. As a former Professor of Egyptology, she was excited about the possibilities of applying the same principles to the hieroglyphics and cuneiform writing of the ‘ancients’ of the 11th Cycle. What a head start that would provide to undergraduates who hadn’t yet learned to read them in their original form. Sadly, there might never be an opportunity for her to teach her specialty again, or for students to study it.
The Oval Office
By 10 o’clock, four SUVs pulled up outside the Harper’s residence. The vehicles would take them to Upper Cumberland airport, less than twenty-two miles from their farm. From there they were transported in a small jet to Washington where a thunderous crowd of people and media were waiting and following them every step of the way from the moment they landed. They were not told where the meeting would take place. It also didn't matter much to them. As far as they were concerned, it might as well have been in a toilet. That would most probably be the most appropriate venue in any event, given what they thought of the whole thing.
They just wanted out as quickly as possible.
As they walked down the airstairs at Reagan National airport in Arlington, James Gordon, the head of BOSS, surrounded by secret service agents, was waiting for them. The flashing cameras and cheering people were overwhelming. On the tarmac outside the plane, the Harpers saw many familiar faces amongst the officers, but none of them was prepared to look their former president and first lady in the eye.
Gordon was an overweight, stocky, red-faced, beer-bellied creature, with beady dark eyes like a shark’s. He had a big smile over false teeth as he shook hands with the Harpers, then held on to their hands while he turned in all directions so that all the cameras could get the shot. It was only later, when he had the chance to watch himself on the news broadcasts, that he saw neither of the Harpers was smiling.
Nigel knew that Gordon’s decision not to meet with them on the farm was because he knew it wouldn’t have the same impact as summoning him to Washington. It was all part of a message – a power play. It was a message he expected Gordon to send often and unequivocally. The message was plain and simple, “You don’t count anymore, I am your superior, and you will do as you are told.”
The Harpers were a bit surprised, but not overly so, when they were taken to the White House and escorted all the way to the Oval Office. It was a shock for them to see what had been done with the room. But then, what else could be expected from maniacs? There was not a single shred of Americana left in the Oval Office. It was heartbreaking.
Anastasia Oriov, the head of the Bureau of Information and Political Affairs, accompanied Gordon. Oriov was a grey-haired woman who looked like a former Olympic hammer throw champion. There was also another person, whom Nigel did not even bother or care to remember the name of. The Harpers were both relieved that Robert Wilson was not there – his presence would have created very difficult circumstances in which to stay calm.
“Mr. Harper let me start by apologizing for not addressing you as Mr. President as protocol and good manners during the former era dictated. As you know, we have entered a new era in human history, and it is the Supreme Council’s wish that all citizens be treated as equals, no matter their former or current positions.
Just another way to convey the same message, Nigel thought. But he said, “No problem with that. I never stood on protocol, and if you say this is the new protocol, so be it.”
“Mr. Harper I still have a lot more of these meetings coming up today and the next few days. Please accept my apologies for having to get right to the point.”
“My sentiments as well, Mr. Gordon. I like short and to the point meetings. I always believed that what can’t be said in ten minutes is not worth saying. ” Nigel said with a bit of sarcasm in his voice.
If Gordon was offended by that last remark, he did not show it and continued with a smile, “Good. We are in agreement then. The first point I would like to raise, Mr. and Mrs. Harper is that I have studied you and your presidency. As I u
nderstand it, you support the noble ideology of liberté, egalité, fraternité - freedom, equality and society.”
Nigel Harper’s blood was near the boiling point, he had to bite his tongue not to respond.
Gordon continued, “I am authorized by the Supreme Council to offer you a very prominent position if you were willing to use your influence and throw your support behind them.”
Nigel was finding it difficult to gather the willpower to restrain himself from leaping over the table and ripping Gordon’s throat out. “Please continue. I’m listening,” he managed to say in a voice so cold it resembled an arctic wind.
Gordon, who did not realize how close he came to meeting his maker a few seconds ago, answered, “Maybe it’s best if we finalize that point before we move on to the rest?”
“Very well, if that’s what you prefer,” Nigel said in a slow and measured tone, still far below freezing point. “I will be brief. I have always defended and fought for what I believed was right and for the sake of the people of my country. While I support the concept of liberté, egalité, fraternité, I am afraid you and your Supreme Council don’t have the slightest intention of implementing that. You also don’t have the slightest clue what it means. If you have indeed studied my presidency, and me, you would know better than to have the audacity to put such an offer in front of me. My answer to that is a categorical ‘no’.”
“Mrs. Harper, is that how you feel about it as well?” Gordon tried to turn the table in his favor. He knew if he could go back to Brussels with the signature of Nigel Harper on the pre-prepared statement in his briefcase, he was going to be a hero with a bright future.
Esther Harper slowly turned her eyes to Gordon, and he realized his mistake. She spoke in measured words, “Mr. Gordon, I had all the intentions in this world to stay calm and civilized during these proceedings. You have just crossed the line of decency. Your men turned up at our house and killed four innocent young men, the agents who were there to protect us, in front of our eyes. Liberté, egalité, fraternité? Those four boys who were prepared to give their lives to keep us safe were like children to us. They did nothing to you or your Supreme Council. You, Mr. Gordon, had them butchered in cold blood. Then you were still not satisfied. You went on and ordered that we be placed and kept under house arrest like criminals. That is your liberté, egalité, fraternité?
“Our house is infested with microphones and surveillance cameras. We have no privacy, not even in our bathroom. We cannot talk to anyone, write to anyone, or make a phone call to anyone, not even our family. Do you call that liberté, egalité, fraternité Mr. Gordon? How on God’s earth can you be as stupid as to believe either one of us can ever support you? I would rather be dead. You can take your liberté, egalité, fraternité and shove it up your ass.-”
Nigel, who was afraid he would be the one to lose his temper, all of a sudden had his hands full to calm his wife down. He took her shaking hands in his and said softly, “Esther, we gave them our answer, let’s not dwell on that anymore.
Let Mr. Gordon tell us what else he has to say and if we are still free after that, let’s get out of here and go home.”
Gordon, still showing no emotion whatsoever, continued, “I am very sorry to hear that is how both of you feel about it. I am left with no other option then. You will be taken back to your farm and return to the status quo. In other words, you will remain under our protection, and all the rules laid down by Robert Wilson remain. You will not be allowed to lecture, publish books, write articles or be in touch with anyone, unless the secret service has authorized it. You will be removed from all the positions you had on the boards and committees of all organizations on which you had been serving. For now, the state will continue to pay your pension, but we reserve the right to take that privilege under revision at any time.”
“I guess that payment will depend on how nicely I play along with the Supreme Council? I don’t care; I have been donating that income to charity every year in any event, so I guess that will only mean a few people would be worse off. My second guess is you don’t care about that, ” Nigel replied with dripping sarcasm.
Gordon still did not show any emotion as he continued, “My colleague, Anastasia Oriov, the head of the Bureau of Information and Political Affairs, has one more point to discuss with you.”
Anastasia spoke in a thick Russian accent while she tried to put on what could have been interpreted as a smile. “Mr. and Mrs. Harper, we don’t intend to keep you on the farm at all times. We have many public events scheduled, which we want you to attend. Please make sure to put those in your calendars. You will not be required to say or do anything during these events. To have you with us will be a great honor."
Nigel could not help himself. “Aha, I am beginning to see what the term photo-opportunity means these days.”
Nigel Harper was considering another option, and that was to say that they didn't accept that proposition to see if he could push Gordon far enough to either kill them or throw them in jail. That might just trigger a rebellion among the people that could overthrow this looming tyranny. It would not be the first time Americans would kick ass to gain their freedom. But then he decided with the control over the media these people had, it would be a stupid move. If the population of the United States ever needed a leader, it was now. For that reason he had to stay alive and out of jail as long as possible. He needed time to work out a plan.
“Mr. Gordon, it is exactly as you said. There is no other option. It would be much appreciated if we could now be excused and returned to our farm.” Nigel tried to bring an end to the very unpleasant meeting, before he or his wife said or did something that did land them in jail.
Gordon remained irritatingly polite, despite the insults and blatant hostility from the Harpers, “Mr., and Mrs. Harper, thank you for your time. I hope you have a safe journey home.”
Outside the Oval Office, Nigel mumbled to Esther, “You know, I am wondering if it wouldn’t be better if this whole place were burned down, like the British did in 1814. It would be less painful to see the White House in ruins than seeing these horses’ patoots in here.”
“Shhh, Nigel, you will get us in more trouble!” Esther whispered.
Sam had one last thing to say
The Lewises received the same treatment as the Harpers. They had secret service agents assigned to them, and their house was bugged with microphones and video cameras. Their phone line and Internet connection were cut off, and their mobile phones confiscated. All contact with other people, including family, had to be authorized.
Sam was devastated because of the danger he’d brought on his beloved Susan. What he had avoided for more than forty years, putting her in harm’s way, had now happened, just when he was sure there was no danger anymore. Susan kept telling him that he had to stop blaming himself for that. She didn’t see it that way, and it was not his fault.
From the news, they had gathered what was happening in the world. They experienced the same frustration as the Harpers as they had to stand by, helplessly watching the world descending into a bottomless pit of darkness.
When Sam got the message that he was summoned to Washington to meet with James Gordon, Susan insisted that she was going with him. He tried to reason with her, but she just said, “Last time when you went that way on your own, you stayed away for forty years, and that is not going to happen again.” Fortunately, her request to accompany him was authorized.
When the Harpers walked into the White House foyer after their meeting with Gordon, they were surprised to see many familiar faces of former officials among the many people waiting their turn to be interviewed. Nigel, knowing what all these people were suffering, felt sorry for them. As he looked around the room, that emotion was slowly replaced by disappointment and sadness. Many of the faces he would have expected to see were absent. Those missing faces were either dead, or their owners already supported the Supreme Council. What won't some people do for a bit of glamor, power or money?
Many of those who saw them came over to greet them and ask how they were doing. The secret service agents were crawling all over them, so they were more or less restricted to small talk for most of the time. Nigel felt someone plucking at his arm. He turned to see Sam Lewis standing next to him, with his arm around an elegant blond and beautiful woman.
“Sam, am I glad to see you again,” Nigel, said with a big smile on his face. He was relieved to see that Sam was alive. Here was a man he had the highest regard for, a man he could trust.
“Mr. President, it's wonderful to see you again. Please allow me to introduce my wife, Susan, to you and Mrs. Harper,” Sam said with pride as he presented the joy of his life to them. He still could not believe what a lucky man he was to have Susan at his side as his wife.
“Your wife, Sam? How come I only hear about that now? No wedding invite for Esther and me? Sam, my friend, I am hurt.”
"It’s a story with a forty-year history, Mr. President. I hope I can share it with you one day.” Sam laughed.
"Oh, incidentally, you are not allowed to call me Mr. President anymore. We are all equal now, you know,” Nigel said. His arched eyebrow said what he thought of that, even though he had always been a man of the people and cared little for formalities.
“I say screw them, Mr. President," Sam fired back immediately.
A few more people had gathered around them by now. In the process, the agents were forced to move back a few paces, which gave the two of them a bit more freedom to talk.
“Sam, I’m not taking this shit. I’ll play along for now by staying on my farm and out of jail, but I’m going to spend my time working out a way to get rid of these lunatics.” Nigel had not one moment’s doubt about where Sam Lewis would stand on the matter.