Land of Nod, The Artifact

by Gary Hoover

  Artimus hit a button and took his hands off the controls. “Auto-pilot,” he explained. “All mobiles are required to use it within the city limits. It looks like a mess, but all the mobiles can communicate with one-another, so there’s no chance of contact.”

  Jeff was mesmerized by the computer controlled and choreographed dance of the flying cars. There were streams of cars criss-crossing above and below them. Occasionally a car would leave one stream and join another.

  Artimus car veered out of their stream and took a line away from everybody else. Jeff grabbed his armrests as he saw they were headed directly toward a building. He opened his mouth to shout a warning, but before he could form any words, a door opened in front of them and they settled into a small garage.

  The vehicle doors opened and Artimus hopped out of the car and stretched.

  Jeff felt a little shaky and sat for a few moments, trying to collect himself, before getting out. When he was ready, he exited slowly. The garage door was still open behind them and Jeff went to check out the view.

  They were about 20 stories up and Jeff had a nice overview of the streets below. The general sights and activities were similar to what Jeff would expect in any city, but it looked . . . and smelled much cleaner than the cities with which Jeff was familiar.

  It was a spectacular sight.

  Artimus, after collecting a few things from the car, joined Jeff and stood silently beside him, patiently giving him all the time he wanted to take in the sights. When Jeff was done, Artimus led him to a door that led into a large office. It was elaborately decorated, lavishly furnished and it had an enormous window that looked out over the city. Jeff walked to the window and, again, admired the view.

  Artimus looked through some things on his desk, and then said: “Codi?”

  “Good morning Father Winfred.” A voice said.

  “Good morning.”

  Jeff found it odd that he would say good morning to, what Jeff assumed was a computer.

  “Would you please contact Alvina and Goldwin and ask them if they could stop by before session?”

  “Certainly father.”

  Artimus walked over next to Jeff and looked out the window. They both stood there silently for several minutes before Artimus finally spoke.

  “You know, I don’t do this often enough . . . just observe. There’s so much to see, isn’t there? So much going on that just blends into the background after a while.”

  They stood in silence for several more minutes.

  “You sometimes forget,” Artimus said, “all those people . . . they have thoughts and dreams and lives and families. . . if you sat down with any one of them, they’d have so many stories to tell . . . things they’ve done . . . things they wished they had done . . . things they’re looking forward to.”

  Jeff turned to look at him. He saw character in Artimus’ face that he had never really noticed before. There was a strength and dignity . . . yet slight hints of weakness and uncertainty. For a brief moment, Jeff thought he recognized all of humanity in that one face.

  Artimus turned to face Jeff. “Tell me about your father,” he said with a smile.

  “Uhhh, well . . .”

  Back home, it seemed that everyone already knew Jeff’s father. He realized at that moment that he had never even tried to describe or explain him to anybody who had no idea who he was.

  “He’s a very smart man . . . VERY smart. He’s probably one of the smartest people in the world . . .”

  As soon as Jeff said that, he began to blush.

  “And I’m not just saying that like every kid thinks his father is the smartest guy in the world . . . I’ve actually heard other people describe him that way. He’s a great physicist . . . one of the best. He’s a professor at one of the most prestigious Universities in my country . . . in fact one person who is viewed by many people as THE smartest person . . . ever . . . worked at that same university 70 years ago.”

  “Is he a good man, a thoughtful man, a kind man?” Artimus asked.

  “Yes. I’d say so.” Jeff blushed again. “Of course I’m probably prejudiced, but I’ve always found him to be giving . . . patient . . . sometimes I feel a little . . .”

  “What?” Artimus asked and turned to look at him.

  “I guess sometimes I feel like I’ll never be as good as him.”

  “Well . . . I think everyone . . . at some time or another . . . wonders if they’ll ever be able to do the things they see other people doing . . . and then one day . . . they realize they’re simply doing them.”

  “Father,” The computer’s voice spoke again, but then Jeff realized it was an actual person, and she had entered the room.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had someone in here,” the young woman said.

  “No, please, come in. I have someone I’d like you to meet. Jeff this is my assistant Codi. Codi, this is Jeff. He’s a very special young man.”

  She shook Jeff‘s hand, then turned to Artimus. “I just wanted to tell you that Councilwoman Royer is here.”

  “Please send her in.”

  A well groomed woman in her fifties entered and smiled at Artimus. Following closely behind her was a man about Artimus’ age who also had a very professional look about him.

  “Alvina . . . and Goldwin, good, you’re both here.” Artimus walked over, shook both their hands and kissed Alvina on the cheek. Then he stretched his arm out behind them and swept them around, directing them toward Jeff. “There’s someone I want you to meet. This is Jeff. He’s a very special young man.

  “Jeff, this is councilwoman Royer.”

  Jeff shook her hand.

  “. . . And councilman Bellows.”

  Jeff shook his hand.

  “If neither of you mind, I’d like Jeff to sit in with us. I can’t really explain everything right now, but I think Jeff may be able to offer us some help.”

  Jeff was getting uncomfortable with the idea that Artimus seemed to think he could ‘help’. Jeff realized that he may have a unique perspective from living in a different society, but he wasn’t a great student of history or people. He wasn’t sure how living somewhere else gave him any special qualification to help with governmental matters of the highest importance - matters of war.

  Jeff was hoping that Artimus didn’t expect him to directly participate, and, while Artimus told him he didn’t expect that, Artimus did seem to be hoping Jeff could offer some special insight.

  Artimus directed them to a large, semi-circular couch, and the four of them sat.

  “So,” Artimus began. “How is the vote looking, Goldwin?”

  Goldwin Bellows shook his head. “We’ve made some gains, up to about 33 solid votes supporting action, 8 leaning our way and 5 completely undecided . . . but even if we get all of those 13 votes, that only brings us to 46 . . . and I can’t think of any scenarios that would get us the votes we need. There are at least 50 people who are firmly on the anti-war side . . . so firmly I’m afraid we can’t get over that hump. We’d have to have Duanan and I think that’s very unlikely”

  Artimus knit his brows. He had his hands clasped, and he brought his index fingers up to his mouth and bounced them against his lips. He seemed to be deep in thought.

  There was a long, uncomfortable silence before Artimus spoke. “Well . . . I guess that’s why we give these speeches. We must believe we have some hope of swaying people, don’t we? I mean it’s not like everyone there is so obsessed with their own speech and how they look that they don’t actually listen to anything anyone else is saying.”

  His expression made it clear that he didn’t actually believe that for a second. “Maybe we’ve got a real shot here.”

  It seemed like Artimus was trying to sell himself as much as anything. “I guess that’s why we call it ‘work’. I guess that’s why we don’t say to our families: ‘I’ll be back in 9 hours, I’m headed to easy.”

  The others laughed uncomfortably.

  Artimus turned his attention to Je
ff. “Any thoughts coming to mind, Jeff?”

  Jeff was at a complete loss and feeling very uncomfortable. What does he expect from me? “Uh . . . no” He shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t have any suggestions.” He felt like he was letting Artimus down in some way, but he had no idea what Artimus even wanted.

  Artimus put his hand on Jeff’s shoulder and smiled. “Okay. Just try to keep your mind open, and if anything comes to you, please let me know.”

  Chapter 25:

  The council chamber was a grand room.

  Jeff squinted at the intricate details on the vaulted ceiling and nearly stumbled. Artimus caught him by the elbow and steadied him.

  “Sorry,” Jeff mumbled.

  Artimus led him down to the very front row and gestured for him to sit. Each council person had a box with 2 seats. Each box was separated by several feet.

  Jeff looked around the chamber at the other legislators sitting properly in their individual boxes.

  Look at all these people - He mused - all together in the same room, but still each one alone.

  “There are 100 council people,” Artimus explained, “each with one vote. Governor Duanan,” Artimus pointed to a man seated at the center of a long table at the front of the chamber. There were chairs behind the table arranged so they faced the rest of the chamber. The table was on a platform above and behind a lectern that was also oriented so that the speaker faced the rest of the chamber. “Heads the council and has 21 votes. He’s a good guy, but he and I are on opposite sides of this issue.

  “There are 30 speeches scheduled today. I’ll be speaking 29th and Duanan will be speaking 30th. Now, unfortunately, as a member of the Armed Conflict Committee, I’m going to have to sit at the table up there with Duanan, so you’ll be stuck here by yourself. There are bathrooms, drinks and light snacks out in the lobby where we came in. If you need to take a break, try to go in between speakers.”

  Jeff nodded.

  “Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck,” Jeff said.

  By the fifth speech, Jeff was getting restless. Like in Washington, these speakers seemed to have particular gifts for using a lot of words while saying very little.

  “The preponderance of information, while being substantial and weighty - by nearly any reasonable measure we might apply - must also be considered with an eye toward the things we don’t know . . . or might know but don’t recognize exactly what it is we know . . . or understand . . . or perceive as that which truly matters in times such as these . . .”

  Jeff’s brain was clawing madly at his skull for some sort of escape.

  Thankfully the speeches seemed relatively brief. Jeff guessed that there was some sort of time limit because the speakers didn’t seem like the types to relinquish the lectern easily.

  As the speaker seemed to be wrapping up, Jeff shifted his weight toward the front of his seat. He planned to take this opportunity to make an escape for some munchies.

  “ . . . So in closing, let me once more state just how important it is for ALL information to be considered with the utmost care and purposefulness . . . for without perspective, we can’t begin to establish a point at which we can TRULY understand exactly where this information leads us or places us at this point in time relative to everything else that is, or isn’t, known regarding the things we believe, or hope to believe, based on things we may not fully understand, or acknowledge, in a context of a greater scheme . . . or environment. . . that doesn’t completely justify the beliefs that we hope to engender, or amplify within ourselves, or within the hearts and minds of others. . .”

  Jeff’s brain began taking a pick-axe to his skull. He . . . said . . . he . . . was . . . CLOSING.

  After several more minutes of incomprehensible blather, the speaker gathered his notes and stepped away from the lectern.

  Jeff took the opportunity to quickly but quietly make his way toward the lobby. He had the uncomfortable feeling that curious eyes were scanning him as he walked the upward-sloping walkway between boxes.

  He felt a brief moment of relief as he passed through the doors into the freedom of the lobby . . . but soon realized there were just as many curious onlookers there.

  Jeff avoided eye contact as he picked up a small plate and loaded it with assorted hors d'oeuvres.

  He made his way through the people who were milling about and headed toward a corner that seemed relatively empty. While he kept his eyes down, he could still sense people looking, some gesturing subtly toward him and whispering.

  He soon found himself longing for the boring . . . but safely secluded environment of the council chamber.

  After a few minutes of peace, he saw two council members making their way toward him. Jeff focused on his food, but they wouldn’t be deterred.

  “Hello, I’m Councilman Hendricks and this is Councilman Jackson,” the taller one said as he extended a hand.

  Jeff quickly and awkwardly wiped his hand on his pants and then shook each of the councilmen’s hands. He tried to hide his cringe when he received a limp, dead-fish handshake from Hendricks.

  “Jeff Browning.”

  “Good to meet you Jeff,” Hendricks said. “Are you here with someone . . . I guess that’s a silly question unless they lowered the minimum age and no-one told me.”

  Hendricks laughed lightly at his ‘joke’ and Jackson joined in politely. Jeff considered faking a laugh but realized, by the time he had thought it through, it was too late to seem natural.

  Jeff was having trouble taking his eyes off several strands of hair that seemed to be glued to Jackson’s forehead in a strange pattern. “I’m here with Artimus Winfred,” he said.

  “Ahhhh, Winfred,” Jackson said, “good man, good man.”

  He smiled broadly and Jeff noticed a green, leafy vegetable in his teeth.

  “Very brave man, Artimus,” Jackson continued. “I’m afraid he’s going to have trouble with this vote though.” He frowned and shook his head. “Too bad, too bad.”

  The voice in the back of Jeff’s head was telling him Jackson was full of it. He wanted the vote to go against Artimus, and Jeff even sensed that Jackson would get some personal satisfaction in seeing Artimus lose. It went beyond just wanting the vote to go one way or the other.

  Jackson didn’t like Artimus.

  He was smiling again and the green spot on his tooth was driving Jeff crazy.

  “Excuse me. I should be getting back.” Jeff moved toward the chamber door.

  Both Hendricks and Jackson made subtle sour expressions, and Jeff could tell they weren’t happy about being brushed off. He could tell – and he wasn’t sure how much of this was the strange ‘sense’ he was experiencing and how much was simple body language – that both of them considered themselves too important to be taken so lightly by a . . . boy . . . like Jeff.

  Jeff didn’t give a damn.

  He pushed past them, dropped his plate in a pile of dirty dishes and made his way to a small line that had formed outside the chamber doors waiting for the current speech to end.

  When the doors opened, Jeff made his way back to Artimus’ box and dozed through the remaining speeches.

  When Artimus finally stepped up, Jeff perked up. He was very curious about what Artimus would say.

  Artimus stepped up to the microphone, and, with little fanfare, began.

  “Esteemed councilmen and councilwomen, twenty-five years ago, I fought to free us from the tyranny of Doclotnuryian rule. I watched friends and family die at their hands.

  “. . . and many of their’s died at these hands” He paused and looked down at his hands which he was holding out and away from his body, palms facing upward.

  “Those wounds are deep, and they take a long time to heal, and when they heal, the flesh may never be the same again.”

  He paused for several moments, and when he spoke again, he did so with a force and conviction that shook Jeff.

  “BUT THESE WOUNDS MUST HEAL.”

  Again he paused, and when
next he spoke, his voice had taken on a much softer and more conciliatory tone.

  “Our brothers . . . our forebears . . . need . . . our help. They face desperate times.”

  Pause.

  “When you strip away the conflict . . . the petty differences . . . they . . . are . . . US.” Artimus pointed at himself with his hands.

  “Who among us has not had moments of anger . . . moments of FURY with family members? Yet we will always be family. That doesn’t end just because we’ve had hard times.

  “And when someone . . . an outsider tries to hurt that loved one, we band together . . . even if the last words we’ve spoken to that loved one were in anger“.

  “Ladies and Gentleman, if this cause isn’t worth fighting for, I don’t believe we will ever find a cause worth fighting for.

  “Thank you for your time.”

  Artimus’ speech was the shortest of the day. Jeff assumed that this whole session was something of a ‘summary’ and much more had been discussed and debated in previous sessions.

  Artimus went back to his seat, and Governor Duanan got up to give the final speech. Jeff got his first good look at Duanan. He was a large, pudgy man with white hair. He didn’t look well - not overtly sick, but not well either. He looked like the sort of person who, if he had to climb a flight of steps, would end up red faced, sweaty and needing rest.

  Jeff got the sort of feeling that he was noticing in certain situations. A sense for the nature of the person and this one wasn’t good. He had a strong feeling that this was a person he shouldn’t trust.

  . . . Though Artimus said he was a good man, so Jeff decided to try to keep an open mind.

  . . . After all, he was a politician, so even if he tortured puppies in his spare time, that might not make him a bad guy . . . compared to other politicians.

  Duanan stepped to the lectern and paused. He seemed to be holding back a smile . . . as if he took some pleasure in being the center of attention . . . but didn’t want to be too obvious about it.