“These are real numbers, Michael. They are the mathematical code for deep rational thoughts.”
“I see.”
“Your father is thinking about you, Michael. His thoughts reflect remorse. He feels like he is a failure.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He’s telling the men that he’s on board with whatever President Cox decides. He is telling them that we must do what we must do.”
I stop petting Terby.
“I don’t understand.”
“Switch your frequency back to the Oval Office, Michael,” Terby demands.
The White House Oval Office
11:18:13
Stephanie Cox stares at a seven-foot hologram of a man called Horace. His face is stern and unemotional. His appearance is ominous, and his manner is pompous and smug—everything her father would have hated.
“President Cox, we have no choice, and neither do you.”
Stephanie takes a deep breath, staring out into the darkness. She’s fully aware that Horace is in complete control. Yet she worries that she’s gradually losing her soul. Here she is, standing in what some people think is the most powerful place in the world, in the most powerful country in the world. Yet she is being given an ultimatum. No one is allowing her to exert an opinion, a theory, or even an idealistic hope for the future. It is clearly and undeniably an ultimatum.
She stares out at the mountains, looking for a sign—perhaps a sign from her deceased father, who at one point in his career faced a similar dilemma. What would he do? What could anyone do?
She turns around and nods to the seven-foot mass, length, and time (MLT) hologram in her office. “Okay, I’ll do it,” she whispers in a voice that is so low it’s hardly decipherable.
Stephanie takes out her QR 6400, leaving a message. She presses in the coordinates to Benjamin Eisenstein’s own device.
“It’s done,” she says softly.
Michael’s bedroom
11:39:33
“Terby, are they still there? Are the men in black still in our kitchen?”
“No, they are leaving. Your father is in the kitchen with his head down; would you like to see the image on your screen?”
I shake my head. “No, that’s all right, Terby; I think I’ll go to bed.”
I throw my OOPS hat onto my quasar 2x star energy sensor clothes rack, closing my eyes.
I remotely charge Terby and then pet her under his belly. She likes that. I wonder what in the world my dad has agreed to. Why is he so concerned about me and my future? Is it possible that I have misjudged him? Is there more to him than meets the eye? Why do things have to be so complicated? I’m never going to get to sleep! I open my eyes. I observe a green light flicking on in Terby’s eyes. Her eyes are lighting up again.
“What the hell!”
I forgot that I checked “switch on,” meaning that whenever an emergency broadcast occurs, the tele screen comes on.
There’s a blast. I see a submarine blowing up. It’s an enormous explosion. Fragments of the sub are everywhere. “Dear God, it’s an actual starfish prime event. I’ll bet it’s a 1.4 megaton bomb,” I say solemnly. It had to be detonated about three hundred miles above the planet. I feel sick.
“A surprise attack has hit the American Isles coastline. Admiral McCann, the man at the helm of the John F. Kennedy submarine, has been hit! At this point, we’re not sure who exactly is responsible. ET terrorism is suspected. It is alleged that the entire crew of three hundred forty-seven men are dead. Admiral McCann had been serving the American Isles Navy, an officer for over three decades. It is reported that the biosphere dome’s evacuation a few weeks ago is probably the motivation for this cowardly act. Admiral McCann was fifty-seven years old. He was only weeks from retirement.”
I get out of bed, placing my hat over my bedhead, staring at the screen.
“What happened, Terby? What just happened?”
“Turn on your QCR… You need to see what’s happening at the White House,” Terby says.
I inhale deeply. “I’m not cut out for this,” I say softly. I see recorded images being downloaded straight from the cloud right in front of me. iMovie images relay thoughts interpreted from mathematical formulas. I quickly go to the bathroom and take my antianxiety pills. Then I blow chunks all over the bathroom floor. I return sheepishly to my air QCR screen. Terby looks on.
The White House Oval Office
11:42:14
Stephanie Cox stares out into the darkness. She can’t get the image of the snakelike flames and smoke surging into the air out of her mind. She thinks about Admiral McCann. She doesn’t want to cry, but she can’t stop the inundation of tears seething from her frantic eyes. After all, he was a man that she knew well. She thought about his family. She met them once, when she placed a medal of honor on his shoulders, just months ago. Sean McCann had a wife, Bridget, three children, and eleven grandchildren. Now he, along with his crew, had sunk to the bottom of the ocean.
She collapses onto her chair, sprawling her arms onto her large oak desk. Her head sinks to the depths of her trembling hands. Her fingers are quivering spasmodically. Would Stephanie’s father be proud of her as she wallowed despondently? The president takes a deep breath, knowing the answer to that question.
She did what she had to do. Wasn’t that the rationalization she had to live with? She didn’t have a choice. Or did she?
Michael’s Bedroom
11:45:22
I nod my head in agreement. Yet President Cox would never know that I was watching her from hundreds of miles away as an interloper—a technological stalker, one might say. I’m learning fast about the world that exists between the wind and the rain.
I switch off my QCR. My head is pounding. I’m beginning to feel sad again, and when I get sad, I become depressed.
Why me? Why do I need to get involved in all this?
I turn off my light and stealthily crawl back into bed, turning off all electronic spyware. I don’t want any more information. I can’t take any more bad news. A tiny beam of light flashes into my room. I can feel my father’s eyes upon me. I know he thinks I’m innocent—a complete virgin in the world of espionage. He’s just checking up on me. After all, he knows I’ve tried to commit suicide before. He’s trying to be a good dad. “What do you think?” I whisper under the covers.
I hear the soft bumping sound of my door closing again. I’m alone in the darkness, and in the darkness I will stay.
CHAPTER 9
June 29, 2378
12:13:11 p.m.
Blank faces with tumultuous, convulsing hearts enter the open-air arena. Only relatives and friends of the victims cleared by surveillance are allowed to attend the memorial. Everyone has to stop and be inspected by quantum eyes, robotic security guards, and robotic watchdogs named Barko. Additionally, the arena is equipped with an invisible magnetic quark dome. After all, it was extraterrestrials that executed the mass-murder attack.
My mother squeezes my hand tightly. “This place is tighter than Elvis’s pants,” she quips. That was the good thing about my mom; after all, she was secretly a rebel, and her true voice came out even in the weirdest moments. As we stroll on, we come to a different security station. This one is simply marked “cloud droppings.” Both mom and I walk through a device called Dark Network. Actually, I’m not sure exactly what this station did, but I know that anything connected to the cloud is used by the government to monitor everyone’s thoughts. If anyone exhibits dark or violent tendencies, they’ll be scooped up like a mouse attending a feral cat party.
“I saw an extraterrestrial spaceship hovering over our house this morning,” Mom says in a voice that’s so low it doesn’t even constitute a whisper.
“They’re probably checkin’ on Dad,” I whisper back, glancing around, hoping that apperceives (highly effective sensors) are
n’t picking up whispering patterns.
“Dad’s here, Michael. He’ll be on the stage along with the president.”
I stop. “Excuse me? Are you kidding me?”
“Oh, I guess you don’t know. Stephanie Cox called last night. She said that she wanted your father at her side. She needs emotional support.”
“Dear God,” I softly murmur. “Ironic.” Then I remember not to think any perverse thoughts. I don’t want to join Elvis. You know… Elvis has left the building. I smile. Too funny, I think. Better keep my thoughts to myself. Oh no, I can’t, can I?
“Check it out, Mom,” I say as we pass a series of very high skyscrapers.
Monica shakes her head. “What did you say, Michael?”
“There are robotic snipers on top of those buildings. Actually, they’re in the windows. I’ll bet they’re in those roving Supracopters up there as well.”
“Stop it, Michael; you’re making me nervous.”
I hear Monica starting to hum. “Not a good idea, Monica,” I say.
“Since when have you started calling me Monica?” she asks, squeezing my hand even tighter.
We walk to another station. A robotic usher hands us each a pill. “This will make you feel much better.”
“What is it?” Monica asks.
“It’s Mind Music, Mom; it’s all right. Take it.”
Monica complies; however, I hold the pill under my tongue. The last thing I need is to be brainwashed by these robotic simpletons. Besides, my father and his boss—yes, the president of the American Isles—are responsible for this whole thing. I’ll be damned if they’re going to brainwash me. After all, I may be the only one in this place who knows the truth.
“Where are we going now?” Monica peskily asks.
“I think there’s another station,” I say. We walk on to a spot called Join the Cloud. As we enter the electronic surveillance machine, we are required to do one more thing.
“It’s called a neutrino shower,” I say to my mother. “It’s just a final checkpoint; don’t worry.”
Actually, Monica is already zonked out of her mind from the Mind Music pill that she just swallowed. As we pass a garbage can, I spit mine out. Brainwashing isn’t my thing. Besides, if I take it, I may be too drowsy and confused to disguise what I know.
As we approach the stage, I see everyone’s faces up close.
“Darn it,” I say under my breath, “we’re in the front row.”
“Look, Michael; there’s your father.”
I nod. “Yippee,” I utter under my breath.
“There’s Reverend Michaels and Rabbi Klein.”
“Don’t forget the president; she’s right next to dad,” I say unhappily.
“Ah, she looks like she’s been crying.”
I nod, disguising the thought Nice try.
An usher comes up to us and straps us into a subatomic seat belt.
“It’s for your protection,” the robotic usher proclaims, snapping me in.
Monica squirms. “I don’t like this.”
I take a deep breath. “That’s because this is where they ensure the capture of all of our thoughts.”
I pat my mother on the back, but she’s gone. Mind Music has taken her away; Monica’s in la-la land.
Me? I’m fully aware that the cloud is going to discover what I know about the president and my father at any moment.
Thousands of people are in this open-air arena, and I’m going to be discovered at any moment. What the hell am I going to do? There’s no way I can sit here with that damned seat belt on. It’s going to take all my thoughts of electronic eavesdropping and deliver them directly to the mind cops. Who are the mind cops? They’re special agents hired by the government for keeping security at its tightest.
I’ve got to get out of here!
Seal Pup Beach
June 29, 1:03
“That’s an amazing story! So you just ran out of there?”
“Had to,” I say. Maya’s eyes twinkle like a little puppy dog’s.
“Yeah, I had to; the mind police would have locked me up,” I say.
Maya and I take our shoes off and begin walking barefoot on the sandy beach. Maya grabs my hand, squeezing it tightly.
“So you just said you were sick?”
“I did,” I responded. “I told them that, for whatever reason, the Mind Music wasn’t working and that the whole experience was too much for me.”
“And the cyborgs bought it?”
I laugh. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure they did. They’re programmed to not listen to bullshit.”
“So how’d you get out of there?” Maya urged.
We were sort of skipping at that moment. Maya’s hair was rustling in the wind. I inhaled deeply. Honestly, the moment was too much for me. I mean, have you ever been in love? That’s it—love. That’s what it felt like.
I smile. We stop holding hands for a second, as I just have to gesture a little bit. The whole day was making me nervous.
“Maya, I think I was saved by an actual human being. An usher came over and settled me down and told me that he would personally take me out of the arena.
“Really?” Maya ejaculated. “He actually believed you!”
“Yes!” I quip excitedly. “Not only that, but I started to run toward a bathroom. And the dude followed me.”
“You’re kidding!” Maya shouts excitedly. “Then what?”
I run into the stalls and start making these really horrendous noises, as if I’m throwing up. I stay in there a long time, faking coughs and hurling like a son of a bitch.”
“He bought it?”
I shake my head. We both start laughing hysterically. Then we start running like two crazed hyenas, laughing, shouting, and waving our arms until we collapse on the sand.
“That’s so choice!” Maya screams. “You are too much, Michael Eisenstein!”
And then it gets quiet. We stare at each other as we listen to the peaceful sound of the waves gently landing on the beach.
We keep walking, hand in hand. Once we reach the shoreline at a place called Seal Pup Beach, Maya saunters toward the water, pointing and fluttering her arms in the air. We see a bunch of seals bathing on flat rocks like girls in bikinis. A few of them seem to wave at us, signaling with their flippers in the air.
“C’mon, Michael; let’s go!” Maya screams excitedly.
She keeps running toward the water and dives in, waving her hands toward the seals, reaching out to them as if they are her brothers and sisters. Then she runs back to me and grabs my hand, and we dive in together.
I want to kiss her so badly, but I simply don’t have the nerve. We skip out of the water together, again hand in hand. As Maya and I embark on our journey down the coastline, I notice a few secret coves getting bombarded by monstrous, mountainous waves.
“Look over there!” Maya exclaims. She points toward the pristine tide pools sucking up the water like a sieve. “Magic!” she proclaims.
She grabs my hand as we run through the sand into a little area and wait. Suddenly, the water surges like a colossal mountain, reaching over our heads and drenching us in a rushing waterfall. Then Maya bounces up and down in the water so joyfully, so spiritually—so Maya!
I want to say something, but for a brief moment I am drawn into Maya’s world—a world of energy and vibrations, and strange prophesies of the future. Maya and I continue on our stroll. We walk for a while, holding hands, without saying a word. We can see a few black storm clouds off in the distance, yet we feel safe because we’re together.
As we approach Kyla’s Cove, which lies between two enormous, jagged rocks, we choose to sit for a moment. Maya takes off her shoes, and for the first time in a while our hands unclench. We watch the rip currents and rogue waves create a climbing wall that explodes into the wa
ter.
“We’re alone,” I say, gasping for breath.
“We’ll never be alone.” Maya’s eyes dance like fairies atop a moonbeam. After all, she is a sylph—a spirit in human form. At times, she didn’t seem real to me.
She grabs my hand, squeezing it tightly in her own.
Then we dance.
My heart begins beating wildly, creating a ritualistic drumbeat like a mystical vibration. “We’re doing the dance of conquest!” Maya says, her eyes expanding, burning holes into my soul.
“My ancestors would be proud of you. They say that you are now one of us!” Abruptly, our rapture comes to a quick stop.
I needed to just stop. Have you ever felt that you were feeling too much joy? I knew this moment couldn’t last. I was an Eisenstein, remember? Something would go wrong.
“Can we go somewhere else?” Maya asks, splashing some water on my face. I laugh, wiping my face with my hands. I stare at the ocean, watching the peaceful waves rest upon the shore. “Let’s go to Stone Mirror Cove.”
CHAPTER 10
June 29, 2378
3:36 p.m.
You are safe here in my arms
Never fear I’ll be beside you
Feel my love, touching your soul
Holding you close as I whisper to you
—Erik Santos
Maya peers out into the majestic Pacific surf. “So what’s this place called?”
“Stone Mirror Cove. The theory is that little people come out in the middle of the night and shave enough stones for lovers to find. “Like this one.”
Maya takes the rock in her hand, wondering if she can still see her reflection. “I don’t see myself. Do the little people hate me?”
“I don’t think so. You see, the little people are quite clever. They want us to prove that we’re worthy of seeing our reflections. I think they want us to acknowledge their existence. You think I’m kidding you, don’t you?”
“No, but how do we do that?” Maya does a mock ballet move.
I sigh. “Well, I think they just want us to see them for who they are.”
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