Not far from the flu shot booth, several men filled an arrangement of benches, doing little but guard their wives' shopping bags. The group appeared a bit removed from their environment. Each of them was wearing ear phones attached to their respective digital assistants. Digital music and a soccer game broadcast from far away provided an escape from their stasis. It was a busier day than usual, many shoppers were there to take advantage of Apophis' global sale in commemoration of the big merger. Inside the Kosen-Rufu Clothing Company, a very popular shop on the ground level, shopping was about to be interrupted. A pudgy woman was working with all her might to close the zipper on a dress she wanted to buy. The garment was obviously a couple of sizes too small, but she was determined to fit into her high-school size. Standing in front of a three-way mirror, she decided to cinch the dress with a leopard-print belt that the saleslady had handed to her. A tug on the belt and she fastened it around her bulbous waist, dividing her mass like sausage links.
"Are you sure this is an eight?" she asked, upset the dress didn't fit any better.
Before the clerk could answer, the reflection of the human sausage shattered into thousands of shards. The hovercraft broke through the wall behind the mirror like a wrecking ball. Both women were knocked to the ground by the craft's bow before it blazed over them and across the store. The massive ship leveled clothes racks and shoppers like a lawnmower going through a flowerbed. In a trail of utter destruction, it forged through the storefront's window and into the mall's main plaza. The husbands waiting on the benches outside were oblivious to their impending doom. Two of them suddenly jumped up and threw their hands in the air and exclaimed, "Goal! Goal!"
At that moment, the craft entered their field of view. Their minds, trying to escape their meek existences, were still on the soccer game. Like a couple of deer caught in the headlights of a bus, both men stood frozen, almost longing for release. After a split-second, their lives were over. Benches, shopping bags and bodies were sent flying everywhere. Many of them died the way they lived: unaware.
The Sea Captain and his crew catapulted across the bridge, windows shattering all around them. The roller coaster train had just completed its first drop from the top level. With the giant chicken in the front seat, it shot back up the track with enormous momentum. Shoppers were running in all directions to escape the carnage taking place in the courtyard. The hydrofoil's powerful rotors continued to push forward at full force towards the multistory amusement ride that towered in the central plaza. Like a twig, it snapped one of the coaster's heavy steel supports. A section of the track sagged with a heavy groan, muffled only by screams of the injured. Another support beam snapped, the hovercraft buried itself deep in the structure of the thrill-ride. The impact took out the girders that supported the down-section of track onto which the train was about to turn. More and more of the structure collapsed, catching the hovercraft in a web of twisted steel. The remaining section carried the speeding train towards the missing downwards turn. With no track to guide it back down, the train and its yellow-feathered passenger continued their assent. In a barrage of shards, the giant chicken took flight through the mall's glass dome. For a brief moment, he saw with the eyes of the mighty eagle. This reminded him of a time long ago when his life was majestic and proud. The man in the chicken-suit saw flashes of his childhood dreams of Hollywood.
“Look for me on the screen.”
Those were his parting words to friends and family many years ago. His aspirations of hearing “we’re ready for your close-up” had soon produced another emotion - fear of failure. This was the very moment, the chicken became aware of the gravity of his situation. He visualized his imminent doom with no chance of relief. Quickly, his mind threw up walls to protect itself from the realization of what laid at the end of this rapid path of descent. Like the lemming, the yellow-feathered artist in the train of doom chose to live a life of self-delusion. In his need to be perceived as a success, he compromised his pride and departed from the path his dreams had paved for him in gold. The only gold he saw in his fear, was that of a grotesque mutation of his dreams. It had never occurred to him that chicken weren’t yellow. Darkness had plaid a devilish trick on his mind.
The pursuit of a brilliant life in Hollywood had been a prevalent thought in the man’s mind all his life. Pursuit implies that one will never reach the goal. The misguided artist had laid out a world for himself in which success was always a step in the future. He failed to see that his life took place in the present. He saw the shimmer of gold in the feathers of a costume and the lights of a stage whose sole purpose of existence were to create an illusion. His compassion and higher consciousness would have warned him in an instant that he was pursuing a path of false idols. The once mighty protector of the sky had chosen the ways of a yard-bird, pecking away at his dreams.
The man in the chicken suit was the fallen eagle.
Outside, Tasha was still chasing Ralf's train. She spotted Isabelle on the access road riding just to the side of the freight train. In the rear-view mirror, her eyes caught a set of three headlights approaching. The high-speed passenger train had emerged from the tunnel and was closing in. Tasha realized it was time to get off the track. She jerked her steering wheel to the left in the hopes of continuing her pursuit of Isabelle. The rail-support wheels threw sparks but withstood the force of her attempt. Tasha punched the control knob with her fist and the four metal guide wheels retracted. Again, she steered to the left. The truck's tires moved off the rail, but driving on the ties made the vehicle bounce so violently that its work arm broke loose and swung about uncontrolled. Tasha was driving entirely too fast to remain in control of her vehicle. She so was preoccupied with her desire to destroy Isabelle that she failed to properly judge the truck's responsiveness to the extreme conditions she had created. The stress from the unsecured work arm became too much for the hydraulic cylinder that provided its only support. A hydraulics line burst, leaving the man-lift free to flap around. A bounce of the rail ties and the bucket at the end of the arm swung into the overhead power line. The basket flipped over the power line like a hook. Tasha was tethered to the cable and speeding towards a power pole. She was quickly coming eye to eye with the steel girder's solid concrete foundation. Tasha drew from countless hours of training on the obstacle course. She briefly depressed her brake pedal and steered sharp to the right. She was in command of the truck and it made a clean turn back onto the track. With only a hand's width space in between, Tasha triumphantly saw the pole's foundation whiz past her window. She had failed to consider the work arm, however. The power pole's large ceramic insulator instantly snagged the cherry-picker basket.
The force of Tasha's speeding truck tore the braided steel and carbon-fiber cable like a blade of grass. A corner of her rear-view mirror provided a look at the panicked face of the bullet-train's driver behind her. He had activated his emergency brake system. Sand was spilling from tanks in the cars onto the metal rails under the train. A cloud rose from the wheels as energy from the speeding train sublimated much of the sand. Where the sand vapors cooled, the matter deposited a layer of vitrified quartz. The train’s undercarriage was sparkling in a layer of fresh glass. The gap between Tasha and the locomotive's aerodynamic nose was widening.
Like a dog that had sprinted to the end of her chain, the tightening power line yanked Tasha's truck back and stopped her dead. 15,000 Volts were looking for a place to go and that was going to be the ground. Tasha’s truck provided the perfect vehicle. The cab was engulfed in a sea of sparks and arcing electricity. Fortunately for her, the inside of her cab provided the safety of a faraday cage. The principle behind this phenomenon is that current travels on the outside of a sphere, leaving the inside neutral. She had become a prisoner in a cage of electricity. The deafening sound of scraping metal filled the air when the train came to a stop just inches behind her.
Ralf's train had just cleared the mayhem at the shopping center and coasted to a stop. An angry Tasha was pushing the dep
loyed airbag out of her sight. She reached for a knife holstered on her calf and swiftly cut herself out of the locked-up seat belt. The buzzard was trapped in a cage of energy. Her helplessness added to Tasha's rage about Isabelle's escape. A few of her Troopers came staggering out of the cloud of dust and rubble that emanated from the chaos at the mall. A few members of her platoon had come within earshot. She shouted over the noise from the arcing electricity. "Notify public relations to put out a cover story for this. Make sure they send out a picture of the package and call it the latest attack in her spree of terrorism. Why hasn't anyone cut the power yet?"
With every second she was trapped, Tasha grew more angry. A Trooper came running with a digital pad under his arm with an answer Tasha had not expected. "I tried, but they put me through to him." He held up the electronic tablet so Tasha could see the screen. Gene's face filled its entirety. He was onboard the Goose, on his way to Berlin to celebrate his coronation away from the eyes of the public. The grand ball held in his honor was to take place at opulent Schloss Sanssouci, the palace of a former feudalistic Prussian monarch. Gene's mode of travel was unique. His private jet was a converted heavy-transport plane. Two lavishly decorated levels and added fuel tanks left little available payload. With his six enormous jet engines always at full throttle, Gene's trail was marked by thick, black smoke. Like an army of flying monkeys, a fleet of jumbo-jets swarmed behind him, carrying his support staff and luggage. Gene was in his favorite part of the Goose, the temple-deck. It occupied both levels of the plane and its gilded walls were clad in priceless jewels. Sacred, ancient artifacts truly gave it the appearance of a temple. On one side, a golden throne atop a platform carved out of emerald was occupied by an impatient Gene. The throne looked like it had been used by rulers of a lost civilization and was one of his many relics plundered from temples and ruins. At his feet was the holographic projection of trapped Tasha.
"I find your lack of success most unsettling, Commander." Gene's voice was full of anger as it reverberated from the tablet's speakers before Tasha.
Like Gene, Tasha was not used to such failure. Her anger reflected her frustration. "She got lucky."
"Your incompetence is forcing me to break off my plans to attend tonight's festivities."
Tasha was aware of the significance of the secret coronation ceremony. She felt the problem could have been solved much swifter. "Then let me deal with her in my own way."
"I'm surprised she hasn't already become one of your accidental death stories. Kill the entire city if you have to - I don't care, but put an end to her." Gene waived his hand and the power that kept Tasha trapped was cut. Tasha's hologram disappeared.
Gene’s company had a stake in most of the world’s museums and archeological digs, which left him at a very privileged position. Texts from every ancient civilization told of a different way of life. During the golden age, man and woman lived in harmony with nature. From this harmony came divine abilities that were so powerful, only an enlightened society would be able to sustain itself.
Gene knew mankind had fallen from grace and was suffering in fear. Gene had harnessed the power of the diamond that laid within all. He once felt like he could move mountains with his mind. The anger over mankind’s selfishness returned him to a life guided by survival reflexes and his own pain. Gene was longing for the days when he was a divine being. He wanted all of man to experience the splendor of abundance without envy.
In the year prior, Gene ran a “love and happiness” campaign intended to snap the population out of their rather tragic lifestyle, guided by anger and fear in place of compassion. The reaction his customers brought towards Gene when he tried to help, was enough for him to lose hope. Customers flooded in droves to the products of the Tefis corporation, who continued to sell toys, clothes and weapons ambulating around the concept of killing all that offends. This principle followed one of the ancient societies in the practice of Pax Romano. The idea was that every land conquered by the Roman Empire was peaceful because there was no one left alive to raise trouble.
Gene knew full well that the human spirit could not be suppressed for eternity. A person’s spirit naturally seeks a state of happiness. Survival mode and reflexes of anger and aggression can only maintain humanity for a limited time. That moment had long gone past. Gene’s heartfelt effort to offer humanity a world of peace and understanding was only met with lost sales. Gene’s effort prompted a wave of ridicule for what had been perceived by the angry world as weakness and a lack of connection with reality. That was to be his reward for attempting to better the lives of nature’s children. A world that chose to poison and neglect their bodies and minds, and even bring misfortune to those who sacrifice their own means to contribute to the greater good. Gene had given countless nights and days on business trips and meetings for a greater cause. His family was the world.
What does he see when he finally comes home from work for dinner? An ungrateful world population who chose to use the technological advances he had brought them as a means to turn into abominations of the human mind and spirit. Many would spend their spare time eating cheese-dip or complaining instead of bettering themselves with the innovations Gene worked so hard to attain for them.
There was even technology that would allow everyone to have free energy. Gene ran a few television specials on quantum energy, which prompted two extreme sets of opinions. What had then been Gene’s flagship program lost most of its viewers and advertisers when one of the camps saw him as a U.F.O. fanatic. The other, extreme opposite of the divided field of viewers fell into a stooper of paranoia. Alien abduction stories became rampant. The mob turned to web sites that reaffirmed their fears by promoting the ill concept that they were imprisoned by their own planet. Once fear had taken hold of the masses, reassurances of an impending doomsday had become easier to accept than the premise of peace. The absurd had become reality: The people feared peace. Someone who promised peace was perceived as a bringer of death.
Broad use of antidepressants surfaced their homicidal side-effects. A girl whose mind had been numbed by a daily doses of such pills had felt compelled to commit a gruesome act. Although her brain had been chemically removed from its environment, she was tried in court as a responsible adult. She was incarcerated for the rest of her life, unaware of the true cause of her violent deed. This defied all logic. Gene’s anger and frustration grew. He decided it had come time for action. Gene saw only one way out, and it had to be soon before anger destroyed the whole world. When he promised a world of freedom, people were so afraid to make important decisions on their own, they were accusing governments, industry, and a variety of real and imaginary secret societies of plotting against them. Gene lost customers and support for his firm. He saw humanity at its worst; fearful and unable to follow logic enough to make their own decisions. There was no more reasoning with his selfish children. It had come time for a beating.
Still over the Atlantic, the Goose and entourage turned south towards Africa.
28 JOURNEY TO BERLIN
Freezing wind whipped under Isabelle's full face helmet as she raced on Ralf’s bright yellow motorcycle along the Hamburg-Berlin Autobahn. A short ride across the southern part of Denmark and a ferry ride had taken her to Germany. The Winterdienst road service had done a nice job keeping six lanes of highway dry and free of snow. A moderate amount of cars and trucks zoomed along the high-speed roadway in both directions. Traffic cleared out of the fast lane to let Isabelle speed by on a picturesque journey through snow-covered forests and fields. All along her way, she noticed a large number of woodland creatures who lined the roadway. She rode past families of deer, saw bunnies on the snow by the side of the road and it seemed every tree in her view was populated with squirrels and birds. Nature was keeping a watch on one of her own.
During the time that had passed, Tasha and her Troopers had recovered from their setback and regrouped for a continued attack. A new set of undercover vehicles complete with rolling command post had arrived in a
parking lot near the mall. In the background, a constant stream of rescue vehicles and helicopters was busily taking casualties from the mall disaster to medical centers in Copenhagen and elsewhere in Denmark. Heavy-equipment cranes along with hundreds of search and rescue workers were freeing injured shoppers from the pile of twisted metal and rubble that filled the inside of the virtually gutted building.
A delivery team was driving the platoon's new vehicles off two car carriers. All were high-end German cars, made for the swift speeds of the Autobahn. The command post was a disguised heavy-rescue vehicle that resembled a blue fire engine. Its doors sported the sun-logo, a secret door in the back of the crew cab provided access to the surveillance room, which occupied the rear section. A turbo-charged engine and emergency lights would allow speedy travel when the action called for it. Tasha was dressed in a purple leather motorcycle combo that showed off her muscular body. A layer of thermal fabric underneath shielded her from the frosty temperatures of the German winter. Before Tasha stood her latest mode of transportation: a prototype super-bike. Its mere appearance left no doubt that it could outrun Isabelle's motorcycle. Tasha straddled the hunk of metal, rubber and plastic, and turned the key in the ignition to operate. Her right thumb depressed the start button adjacent to the accelerator. The powerful engine between her legs created a spine-tingling vibration that spread throughout her body. For a brief moment, Tasha could not distinguish where her body ended and where the machine began. She was in total ecstasy.
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