“It means that they’re beyond the threshold of perception of any stimulus.”
“Once more?” I ask, as if I were suddenly in the presence of a linguistics professor.
“You can’t see them, feel them, taste them, or smell them. In other words, you can’t detect them… period!”
Maya makes a face, as if she’s shocked by Bone’s grasp of technology, not to mention the English language.
“How do we know that these Arachnids won’t blow our cover?”
Bone smiles luridly. “Because they actually have brains. Both Arachnids have IQs of over two hundred!”
I glance at an assuming poster over Bone’s bed. It shows Bone with a peculiar smile on his face, creating a special drone. It says,
Drones aren’t you, and they aren’t me.
They’re smarter, man, because they can see everything you can’t see.
You want results? Don’t procrastinate … just pay my fee!
“Really? Damn!” I say, squeezing Maya’s hand even tighter. “Do you think our time traveler is going to find us?”
“Unless your time traveler is some sort of idiot savant TT, your drone will remain undetected.”
Bone’s fingers crawl across something he refers to as a biometric ID scan.
“What’s that?” I say curiously.
“Well, when Iris scans, facial recognition, fingernail recognition, fingerprints, and even subatomic materials don’t work, I can rely on this.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that if anything larger than the tip of your fingernail enters this cave, I’ll detect it. Humph … Guess what?” Bone winces. “Something or someone is already in here.”
“Like what?”
“Well, some sort of entity is coming closer to you guys, and it’s not a human being.”
“When you say ‘entity,’ what do you mean?”
“Something that is probably as small as our Arachnids.”
“How can you tell?”
“Well, believe it or not, whenever I come in contact with one of these crafty 007 time travelers, I have to be innovative.”
“And?” I say.
“And do you see that really tiny, unassuming arachnid over there?”
Maya and I nod our heads.
“That’s your friend.”
“That spider?” Maya asks incredulously.
“That’s no spider,” Bone says gruffly. “That’s your time traveler friend. And if you’ll notice, there’s a miniscule piece of paper that has some writing on it.”
“So he’s not coming into our web?”
“’fraid not. He’s way too smart for that. Our time traveler has been around the universe a few times. This isn’t is first tête-à-tête… entender?
“Bone, you’re a miracle worker!” Maya exclaims.
“We’ll see in a second,” Bone mutters.
We watch the miniscule fragment become more and more recognizable. Images became larger, as the diminutive, spooky arachnid moves slowly into view. Bone shakes his head. “Right now, it’s too small. I’m going to have to use a more powerful tool. Okay, this ought to work.”
We all squint our eyes as the words on the page enlarge: “We Shall Meet Again… Code word: GIZA”
Bone grins, wrapping his hands together in front of him, gloating.
“I never thought I’d say this, but Bone, you are a maestro—a real virtuoso.”
“Contact!” Bone utters, appearing just a little bit smug.
CHAPTER 12
July 5, 2378
1:13:01 p.m.
And when I daydream, we’re eating ice cream. It’s such a nice scene, but then I wake up crying. I know I’ve just been crying right here.
—Weezer (my favorite ancient band)
“Wow!” I say under my breath. I’ve finally made it to heaven. I’m looking up and up and up. I’m here with daddy, staring at the coolest pyramid in the world…Giza!
Guess what? My dad—good ole Ben Eisenstein, Dr. Destructo—has a date with destiny. Meaning? He’s going to Giza. There are some chemical compositions—properties, if you will—that good ole Ben needs for his WMD cocktail, otherwise known as a Bloody Ben.
If you really want to know the truth, I overheard a phone call between my dad and the president of the American Isles, Stephanie Cox. Apparently she feels she’s just a pawn in the overall scheme of things. She wants the ability to fight back against these ETs. A little late, don’t you think?
So it’s good ole Ben to the rescue. Yup, he’s a real modern-day Dr. Strangelove. By the way, I keep on referring to Dr. Strangelove. I hope this isn’t getting tedious. It’s just that Dr. Strangelove’s alter ego, Air Force General Jack Ripper, and my father actually look alike. Scary?
I’ll just state the obvious; the man I share my oatmeal with every morning is also the most dangerous man in the world. No wonder my mother prefers old tele shows, like Father Knows Best and Leave It to Beaver. Ward Cleaver may have been a doofus with a cardigan sweater, but at least, he wasn’t a mass assassin!
So what’s my father trying to do? Well, I can give you a direct quote: “Michael, if I mix isotopes and deuterium and tritium together with something, I can make the most powerful bomb in the history of the world!”
“Well, it started in this pyramid. You know the one—the great one—the one they call Giza,” says our tour guide, leading the pack of crazed scientists my dad hangs with. If you ask me, I think they’re all a bunch of psychos.
It’s large, it’s complex, and yes of course, it was built by aliens. Which ones? Let’s just say for right now that they’re from a long ways away. I mean like The Twilight Zone multiplied by Star Trek away! Yet they were here, and you can put that in the bank.
Anyway, back to business. So why am I here with Daddy? He’s taking me on a field trip—you know, like father–son date day! Anyway, we are inside this beautiful monstrosity called Giza. You know the one—that huge pile of rock, granite, and crystallized quartz that was built to repair spaceships and safely propel them back into space to wherever the hell they were going. Yes, that is common knowledge in 2378. Pyramids weren’t used to house the dead; they were massive power plants! How? Well, for starters, if you check out the location, such as degrees, minutes, and seconds of arc, you’ll find out that Giza’s latitudinal placement is ideal for drawing energy from Earth’s magnetic field and converting it into subatomic power extraordinaire. Translation? Well, my dad can blow up the world and everything in it—that is, if he wants to.
Do you think that fact interests my dad, Mr. Schizoid?
“Michael, I need to talk to a few people.” He glances around surreptitiously. “Do you mind just going off on your own?” he asks, pretending that he gives a damn where I go.
“Sure, Dad, I’ll stay out of you way.” Honestly, I’m getting really itchy. I mean, I’m looking around. It’s hot—darn hot! And’ I’m tired of listening to these pinheads. I mean, if the Egyptian king Khuru were right here, he’d probably say, “nifisi!” which is Egyptian for “I’d like to… let’s get going!”
“Good luck, Dad; change the world!” I say, trying not to sound snarky.
My dad studies me, nodding his head carelessly. Honestly, my dad wouldn’t notice me if I had an elongated head with pointy ears.
Ben shuffles his feet, anxiously glancing at his awaiting cronies.
“Listen, son, I’m here with some very important people, so,”
“That’s all right, Dad. I can take care of myself.”
Ben winks at me before scuttling over to talk to his impatient associates.
It worked! Just ask Ferris Bueller. Just bat your eyes and make like you give a shit—you know what I’m talking about. Hey, I’m casing out some of the tunnels right now. I’d love to go on my own little expedition. Dad is re
ally preoccupied. Anyway, Benjamin is looking for a vehicle to harness energy for destruction. I asked him once if a bagel with super schmear would work. He just laughed, exclaiming, “No, son, I’m looking for properties inside crystalline stones! That may be the key!”
Ben and the boys walk the other way. I see my dad pointing to some of the walls. His peeps are all studying them. I look around. Is anyone actually paying attention to me?
I take a deep breath, glaring at the musty tunnels right in front of me. I’ve been told that these tunnels go deep into the pyramid, even under the Sphinx!
Have you ever smelled sweaters packed away for a long time? They kind of smell like a moist dead cat. I’m trying hard not to open up my nostrils. I hate to admit this, but I can’t take smell overload. I have this strange condition called parosmia.
Anyway, I’m off! This place is huge. It’s made up of over two million blocks of something called limestone. There are tunnels, amazing winding catacombs, and even secret pathways.
“Frigid!” I say out loud.
I walk down a captivating, winding, tunnel. Does my dad know? What do you think? You know dads, don’t you? Good ole Benjamin is thinking about finding some sort of sound technology right now. I’m the last thing on his mind.
Am I thinking about Maya? Of course, but I think she’d approve of my journey into the bowels of Giza. Man, the stink is really getting to me. I’ve been walking for about seven minutes, and so far no one is looking for me. I mean, where is the king’s tomb? Where is the queen’s tomb? I mean, what does a guy have to do to find the mummies? Think about it—the ancients’ dehydrated bodies, drained all their blood, taping these emotive ancient beings like wrapped bananas!
Where did they go? Where are they now?
“C’mon man, I’m an Eisenstein! I need to know!” I mumble.
I run my fingers along the striking jagged stones encasing the pyramid. Whoever built this certainly knew his stuff!
I look right at a swivel door. Do I enter? Are you kidding? That reminds me of a joke: Why do mummies not tell secrets? Because they keep everything under wraps!
Of course I’m going in.
Scary? Well, I mean, Napoleon turned into an albino monk after he tried it. I hear some creepy unearthly sounds as I’m walking slowly.
“Damn, it’s dark down here! Boy, this place reeks!” I start coughing. I hope the smell of this place wears off me before I see Maya. I think maybe it’s coming from those crystalline structures. Then I see something.
“What is it? Who is it?”
I turn on an electromagnetic flashlight. “No! Are those eyes? Who are you? What do you want from me? No!”
All is black.
SECTION II
(THROUGH A PORTAL IN TIME)
CHAPTER 13
July 5, 2378
1:13:23
My head throbs. I feel like a jumbled, tangled mess. My head throbs, feeling like it’s been opened up, and filled with mayhem, chaos, and trumptis. Trumptis is a condition in our society that leaves one dazed and confused.
The heavens appear to open up. I can feel my body swirls through what appears to be a vortex. Impossible! Surreal ripples of color! Glimpses of universes! Strange sounds and scintillating vibrations surrounding me.
My body catapults forward into the midst of an insane swirling maelstrom. Waterfalls stand all around me, jetting out water that disappears in midair! Energy particles swirl counterclockwise like frenzied bees, buzzing all around me. It is a dizzying, swirling, liquid mass. Please, save me!
Everything is eddying, as if I am swimming inside a mad, whirlpool of air. Yet it isn’t air. It’s thicker and more colorful.
I hear muffled voices. Maybe I’ll hear my father conversing with his friends.
Extraordinary! It almost feels as if I am inside the mouth of a hurricane. Yet I am somehow protected by an invisible shield. I don’t think it’s a dream, because I know I’m conscious.
What the hell?
I’m moving upward. I feel my body elevates within some blanket of cover. “C’mon!” Even my thoughts are clouded in a surreal world—a world without signposts, gravity, walls, and signals. It is just a state of being.
A light? Sounds? At least I prefer to think those are sounds.
I see the pyramid from above. I see my father! He looks unconcerned. He’s staring at the enigmatic crystal-laden walls of the pyramid. Why can’t he look up and see me? I’m attached to nothing; I feel like I am nothing. That’s it! I must be inside of a void—perhaps a black void!
I pinch my arms just to see if I’m real. I’m just the air—a part of nature’s tapestry. Murmurs of sound? More voices! Am I entering a new dimension? Consciousness? Still there?
“Michael! Michael! Michael!”
I try to open my eyes but can’t. How come I can see?
I ascend vertically into an open-air room. The sun is on one side, and darkness on the other. Duality? Confusion? Can I just go home? No, it seems too wonderful!
I observe planets mixed with darting shooting stars. Tapestry! Evening sky! Is that my heart beating like a mad drummer? Throbbing? The heartbeat of Mother Earth? I hear a rhythmic thumping, as if I am on some island with an indigenous population.
I think I’m alive!
Brilliant reds, yellows, and pinkish hues cast shadowy images.
Okay, who or what is in front of me? A long table is seemingly suspended from nothing. Men and women, some with elongated heads, are all staring at me. What the hell do they want? I check for nerves. Surprise! No bodily reactions. I’m acutely aware of being alone. I feel naked, totally exposed—but to whom?
I wait. What did I do in Giza? Did I open up a portal that should have remained locked? A time portal?
I observe a glasslike floating desk surrounded by men, women, hybrids of animals and men, and angelic-looking entities with wings. On second thought, this can’t be real. Yes, I’m dreaming. Yet it’s a lucid dream.
They stand up. They are the weirdest collection of people. I think they’re people, anyhow. Maybe they’re ghosts? Creatures? Abstractions? No, this is real!
“Welcome to the World Order!” I hear. But there is no sound. The contact is just in my head. I feel vibrations bouncing around like a trampolinist on steroids. My eyes dart around. Who said that? Where did it come from? I perceive a light coming toward me—a beautiful white light vibrating outward like a celestial flashlight that appears to contain an image. The similitude evolves slowly before my eyes. I can’t take my eyes off her. Maya’s face shoots into my consciousness. But this is not Maya.
A beautiful woman steps out of this ethereal bubble. She walks right up to me. Her blue eyes and red hair remind me of my own mother. The relentless drubbing of my heart ceases. She reaches out, touching my hand.
“It’s going to be all right,” she says softly. Then her physical form dissolves slowly. I try to reach out and touch her, but she’s gone. A trick? I don’t think so… a symbolic gesture? Possibly. Yet I’m still not even sure if I am physically present. I consider perhaps I am just a shadow, a representation, or maybe even a ghost.
Is it possible that I’m dead? I whisper my name as a reassurance that I am still alive. Spontaneously, I witness a reemergence of my physical body. But I see stages of me—infant, teenager… I see images of every age. There’s one aberration I don’t understand; I see a Michael that is burned—scorched beyond comprehension. I shudder. Certainly that can’t be real.
Damn! This is eerie! I swallow. Never has the sensation of saliva moving down my throat felt so good.
A man smiles reassuringly as he walks toward me. “My name is Vincent,” he says. “Don’t be afraid; you’re among friends. I’m an artist. We’ve chosen you for a reason.” Suddenly a brush and a palette appear. Vincent places his brush to the canvas; as he paints, I see a copy of his work in the sky. A beautiful ra
inbow forms around the sun as he brushes the canvas. Grass appears, and gorgeous flowers emerge. I witness surrealistic hues and odd formations before my eyes. Vincent’s artistry feels like it may be the work of G_d or another omnipotent force.
Vincent draws a brush from out of the air, and as he swirls his hands about, beautiful images form from out of nothingness.
I gasp. A lifelike picture of my mother forms in the palette of sky. I sense moisture slowly, and then more quickly, forming into gentle tears that meander down my face. I want to reach up and brush the tears away, but the woman smiles at me gently.
This is real! What is going on?
I remember my father speaking to me about different dimensions many times. Yes! I muse. Have I somehow crossed over?
A statuesque man rises. His hair is a brilliant gray, with a luminous, radiant silvery sheen. I sense something different about him. I discern it immediately—he is kind. I know he won’t hurt me, and strangely I feel as if I know him already. There are no memories—just feelings.
There is an energy flowing surrealistically from his eyes, dynamically stimulating my brain like a laser. More than that, his thoughts, feelings, love, and strength all surround me, enveloping my soul. Yes, he is sending his power and life into me, and my mind and body are simply absorbing him. Who is he?
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispers softly. “My name is Ezekial… I will be taking you on a tour, my friend. “Don’t worry; I will take good care of you. We are going to become great friends.”
Ezekial points to a blue planet that is seemingly beneath us. “We have work to do, Michael.”
Somehow my subconscious sends me a flurry of images; I think they’re from the past. A surge of unwelcome adrenaline shoots through my body.
“I don’t understand,” I say.
“Yes you do.” Again he imposes his will upon me. My will is like floating Jell-O. I have no choice but to succumb to this man’s every wish.
July 5, 2378
1:13:27
Ezekial’s hands are steady, guiding our metaphysical spaceship through the dark expanses of the sky. I am still numb from my previous experience with the World Order, although once inside Ezekial’s spacecraft, I am like a child in a candy store. Translation? There is some really cool shit! We’re going on an adventure, but not of the ordinary type.
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