With These Eyes

by Horst Steiner

  "Pull!" shouted Isabelle on top of her lungs.

  Ryan's hands were clutching the traction strip at the end of the platform. Ryan proved himself to be a lot stronger than he appeared with his nerdy approach to social issues. He did, however, enjoy a daily regiment on computerized exercise machines. To Isabelle's surprise, Ryan's flexing, muscular arms were bulging through his shirt as he pulled them both onto the surface of the ramp. Isabelle grabbed onto a handle at the side with her right hand. Her other hand reached for the carabineer that was connecting their harnesses to the tether. Quickly, Isabelle disconnected the metal latch. That same second, a deafening noise filled the air. Isabelle looked up at the cabin ceiling.

  "Ryan!" she yelled as loud as she could. Busy untangling himself from the webbing, he looked at Isabelle and followed the direction of her eyes to the plane's ceiling. The massive hydraulics mechanism and its base were coming directly at him as the arm flew off the craft. Ryan rolled to the side, barely dodging doom. He lost his grip on the platform just as Fuji raised the gate and finally, its angle was such that both of them fell into the cargo area. Fuji closed the hatch completely and collapsed. Isabelle's eyes caught the icon that marked the first-aid kit on the wall. She quickly stood herself up on the cabin floor as the spaceplane continued its automated climb. Ryan was struggling like a fly caught in a spider web until he had untangled himself. Isabelle pulled the medical kit out of its place and rushed to Fuji's aid. In just a few moments' time, she had bandaged the deep wound left by the still embedded shrapnel.

  "Sorry, I have to leave the shard in your shoulder till we can properly take care of you."

  Fuji looked at her in pain. He understood that removing the sharp, triangular piece of chrome and steal would likely cause him to bleed to death.

  "You're so amazing for coming here to rescue us, I can't thank you enough."

  Isabelle and Fuji had great appreciation for each other, and they both knew Isabelle would have done no less for him. A happy growl from Tonati interrupted their exchange. Isabelle's puma had waited patiently to be reunited with his counterpart. She jumped up from Fuji and went to give her fuzzy companion a hug. His restraints made it difficult for the two to embrace, but Isabelle could feel a rush of happiness flood her body as cat and woman shared their energy.

  "We're not out of here yet," said Fuji.

  His words pulled Isabelle's attention back into the moment and to the threat of the fighters swarming around them.

  "See you in a bit," were her only words before Isabelle made her way to the cockpit with an injured Fuji.

  Another unlikely threat rang out over the radio. "You are violating European Union airspace. Reduce your speed and altitude immediately or be shot down."

  Isabelle’s faithful friend had difficulty taking his seat next to her at the yoke. Fuji's face mirrored the pain of his deep injury. He gave the ship's voice-interface the command to climb to 75,000 feet and pushed the throttle forward. The radar screen showed the Luftwaffe jets follow suit.

  Fuji looked at Isabelle. "Don't worry, they'll break off in a moment.

  The altimeter showed them passing 45,000 feet. The fighters had reached their effective service ceiling and fell behind. The sound of rushing air was fading away as the craft entered near space in the world's ionosphere.

  The fighter jets' blips on the radar screen were turning back to a safe altitude.

  36 GENE, MICHAEL AND THE TRACKING CHIP

  At the Apophis media center in Los Angeles, Michael Leese was minutes before the taping of his flagship show Pin the Ponytail. A line with members of the general public snaked around two blocks, all fans in the hopes to be selected for the audience. Most took little interest in the activities of their government because of the seriousness of the subject matter. Instead, the people standing on the sidewalk, like much of the country, chose to focus their attention on Michael's colorful and entertaining show. The general sentiment was to leave politics to those in office. After all, Pin the Ponytail provided opinions that didn't require well-developed cognitive skills or critical thinking. Those who considered themselves fortunate because Katie the Ponytail-Page had selected them, were assembled in the studio's holding area. Michael did not care to associate with the public off camera. All were eagerly awaiting being herded into the studio and hoped their friends in the mid-west would see them sitting on Michael's bleachers in tinsel-town. To even be in the same room as their darling host would give many enough to talk about in the 50 weeks that would follow spent in cubicles and at assembly lines.

  A redheaded prop-comedian was winding up his slapstick performance that had warmed up the audience. Katie was walking them to their seats. Among Michael's guests for the show was an elderly lady known by the audience for her cat-hair sweaters. She proudly spoke of being able to track all her furry friends on her Internet phone after she had each of them implanted with a chip. Another guest had outfitted her children with the device and could barely wait to share her excitement. She had programmed her phone to sound alarms whenever one of her offsprings would approach a youth she had deemed bad influence.

  Always clambering for high ratings, Michael was concerned about the popularity of his attempt to convince the audience to all be implanted with chips. He felt the need to discuss the matter with his employer, who had little interest in the opinion of a puppet. The popular television host was standing backstage, talking to Gene on a video phone.

  "I have my doubts about the ratings on this campaign. Implanted tracking chips instead of driver's licenses? The public will never agree."

  Gene didn't care much for having to explain himself. His patience was getting stretched thin by Michael's call, but he needed his marionette to do his bidding. The man with the long hair was the perfect candidate for telling the cattle to wear a bell. "Given the status quo, that might be right, but I wouldn't get my ponytail in a ruffle. People will beg to be implanted in a few days' time."

  The video link disconnected. The floor manager approached Michael. "Thirty seconds, Mr. Leese."

  The opening music echoed through the studio's speakers. The star of Pin the Ponytail reluctantly took his mark in front of the cameras to do as he was told.

  A Radio Frequency Identification Chip (RFID) implanted into every person’s right elbow would make the population trackable. The proliferation of wireless devices and shoplifting sensors provided the needed infrastructure. Michael’s ponytail was what drew Gene to him. “Genius,” thought Gene. Aside from the trendy, Michael appealed to those who found little trust in the political and economic systems. To many, short hair represented the norm brought upon them by the establishment. In their need to rebel, many failed to consider that they actually felt more attractive with short hair. This initial act of reducing one’s highest potential would often lead to a marathon of baby-steps into the easy-chair lifestyle. From the perceived comfort of their lazy-guy appliance, the fallen angels would find it difficult to rise while Michael was distracting them. They found an ally in Michael because he kept his long hair.

  Ponytail - He’s Stickin’ it to the Man!

  That was the name of an ad campaign that launched Michael into the cheese-pumping hearts of those who looked at themselves as rebels. Gene knew from history, a rebel was cut from different wood. The rebels of the world who had brought great change shared a common trait of which Michael’s audience was devoid. From Martin Luther to Martin Luther-King, there was a shared sense of pride and selflessness that characterized them as rebels. Each of these individuals had discovered the power and beauty that laid beyond anger and selfishness in a world of love and compassion. These divine individuals have laid aside their personal desires and devoted their essence in body and spirit to raising the fallen angels by their side. Like the goose, who stays with her fallen, they have dedicated their lives to rescue humanity from its state of fear. The goose is a bird as mighty as the eagle. She will stay by her fallen until they are ready to continue their great journey, whether in this lifetime o
r the next. It was only appropriate Gene named his plane the Goose.

  The self-proclaimed leader saw the pain in his children’s eyes, and he could only think of one way to stop the crying.

  37 BIRDS OF PREY, BIRDS OF PEACE

  Frustration and anger defined Tasha's emotions as she watched her prey fly away, once again. What had started out as a routine pursuit had turned into a threat to Gene's plans and with that to Tasha's existence. Her Troopers had returned to their vehicles and joined the command post in a convoy on the streets of Berlin. Tasha was in her seat in the rescue truck's covert surveillance room. On the main viewer was satellite-based intelligence on Isabelle's suborbital route. A smaller screen plotted Tasha's cross-town course to an abandoned cold-war airstrip in the outskirts of what was once East-Berlin. To her right, the platoon's pilot was maneuvering the troop carrier towards their destination. The digital cockpit before him displayed a point of view from the plane's nose camera and radar as the supersonic jet raced across the night sky, devoid of crew and cargo. Tasha turned her head towards the pilot. As if he had heard her pose a question, he reported, "E.T.A. touchdown is 23 minutes."

  Traffic was thickening and Tasha did not have a single moment to spare. It was time to speed up her travel to meet the jet.

  "Gimme a clear shot."

  A brief "copy, ma'am," acknowledged his compliance. The Trooper accessed the Berlin police department's computer, an Apophis Information Systems network. He brought up a list of emergency calls and complaints varying from car accidents to unruly conduct across the Germanic nation's capital. After a few keystrokes by the Trooper, a new high-priority call appeared on top of the list. The message announced a violent bank heist involving hostages in Wannsee, the city's most affluent neighborhood. A few traffic lights ahead of Tasha's convoy, a patrol war was tucked out sight, waiting for offenders of the speed limit when the false request to respond to the robbery appeared on their computer.

  The patrolman in the passenger seat was the first to read the order and shouted, "Heinz, let's go."

  The other policeman turned on blue turret lights and the two-tone emergency horn. The engine of the green and white micro-bus whined as its revolutions entered the red. Heinz and his colleague sped off to the far end of town along with the rest of Berlin's police not already on calls. This action cleared any patrols that may have posed an obstacle to Tasha's journey. A few more keystrokes and the Trooper had accessed the city's traffic management system. The platoon's proprietary software had been developed to Tasha's specifications when she designed Apophis' global standard for surveillance vehicles. The Trooper manipulated the touch-sensitive display with his right hand. He dragged the map with the convoy's course over the traffic system map. Without further ado, the command post's computer-system set traffic lights green in a rolling pattern six intersections ahead. Traffic on nearby streets was kept off Tasha's trail by red signals. Tasha had developed this method to allow her to speed through any world-city undetected. To make this possible, Apophis had sold their digital traffic management centers to city planners around the globe by grossly underbidding their competitors. This gave carte-blanche for their operations and Gene was able to bankrupt his competition, who was left without a market.

  Tasha heard the Trooper report, "Fuel and vehicle transport en route."

  Moments later, a tractor-trailer fuel tanker turned onto the convoy's path from a cross street. Lead by Tasha's blue fire engine, the intimidating cluster of vehicles forged across Berlin on empty roads towards a forest on the outskirts of town. During the decades of the cold war, Soviet and East German forces used the hidden airstrip to launch spy planes undetected by the west. The area's topography and luscious tree-growth provided such an ideal cover that even the citizens of socialist East Berlin had little knowledge of its existence. A few of the town’s residents had noticed the occasional low-flying plane. Most, however, where so busy standing in line with strangers for necessities like bread or clothing, there was little time to safely gather with friends to discuss secret government operations. After the wall fell, there had been little interest in demolishing an airfield of whose existence few had an awareness. The facility provided a perfect opportunity for Tasha and her dark army to slip out undetected. Her convoy was joined by two car carriers just before entering the forest.

  "Pterodactyl on final approach!"

  The announcement from the platoon's pilot was welcome news for a flustered commander. No one in Tasha’s militaristic history had managed to evade her attacks like Isabelle. Tasha's anger towards her was once again competing with admiration for Isabelle's skills as a warrior. A worthy adversary was what earned Tasha's respect more than any other quality someone may have had. It was too bad, Tasha thought, that she had to eliminate someone so full of skill and beauty. She saw no other way, though. Isabelle had not only evaded her successfully, but she was posing an ever-increasing threat to Tasha's very existence. The pilot followed the night vision and radar overlays on his digital heads-up display. Before him, the nose-cone perspective of the stealth jet's approach into the greater Berlin basin. Moments later, the secret air field came into view. The pilot extended flaps and landing gear. The roar of the plane's enormous jet engine was heard by little more than the woodland creatures in the secluded forest surrounding the airstrip. Invisible to German air-defense radar and flying without marker lights, Tasha's cloaked Pterodactyl touched down on Berlin soil. The pilot at the digital cockpit remotely taxied the craft towards the end of the runway. Tasha had arrived and her army of night crawlers swarmed the airfield. She didn't have a moment to waste. Her orders were short and concise.

  "Prep for immediate dust-off!"

  The Troopers in the spy room replied in unison. "Yes, ma'am."

  Once again, Tasha's skillfully rehearsed orchestra of darkness performed their sinister symphony of vehicle transfer. Each covert car drove to a prearranged position on the tarmac. The pilot shut down the thundering jet-engine and lowered the plane's hatch to the main cabin. The tractor-trailer fuel truck stopped next to the right wing. Workers who had traveled in the cab began pumping enough fuel into the plane's tanks to heat a metropolis. Troopers transferred disguises, weapons and surveillance equipment from their vehicles into the belly of their bird of prey. As each automobile was emptied of personnel and gear, the four men who had arrived with the car carriers loaded them onto their trucks. The pilot took his place in the cockpit and immediately worked through his pre-flight checklist. Made for quick take-off procedures in war-time action, Tasha's troop transport was ready for main-engine start. Although its output was somewhat muffled to prevent detection, the thunderous noise from the powerful motor echoed through the secluded forest. Tasha had taken her seat behind the surveillance console. The vibrations of the revving engine welcomed her body like a warm hug from the technology she loved so much. A smile found its way across Tasha's angry face. The sights and senses of the kill were all around her. Tasha wiped her lips. Besides thrust for travel, the running engine provided the plane with something else she was awaiting: power for the surveillance console. A wall of spy-screens lit up before her. On the main viewer, Apophis' satellite tracking network plotted Isabelle and Fuji's path. After a short analysis, one of the two Troopers who flanked Tasha brought some more unwelcome news for her.

  "Ma'am, the package is on a direct intercept with the Madagascar facility."

  Tasha felt her throat tightening just as the plane's cargo door closed with the last Trooper boarding. Outside, the vehicles were loaded onto the car carriers and the fueler's hoses were stowed back on the truck. The platoon's ground support drove off the roll field as the troop carrier taxied to its take-off position. The pilot lined up the craft's forward direction with the runway before him. With the dark thunderbird's flaps fully extended and his left hand on the yoke, the pilot's right hand pushed the throttle forward to its maximum position. The Trooper's right hand grabbed the other side of the yoke and his index finger depressed the switch that activ
ated the afterburner. Instantly, high-velocity fuel pumps fed kerosene to a ring of spray nozzles near the engine's outlet. The atomized volume of the combustible fossil liquid ignited into a blue-yellow flame in the superheated stream of air. Like slung from a catapult, the supersonic jet shot forward and quickly went into rotation, the moment when the nose gear rises off the ground from the lift provided by the wings. A trail of charred runway marked the travel of the flame that continued to shoot from the aft as Tasha's winged rocket lifted into the night sky. The deafening thunder from the wasteful engine sent the forest's furry and feathered population scattering for their dear lives.

  Tasha had, once again, taken pursuit of her prey.

  Part 3 - Light and Shadow

  38 A NEW BEGINNING

  Fuji's craft was traveling in absolute silence. Drag from the thin layer of the ionosphere created a brilliant glow that surrounded the ship like a halo. Ryan was keeping Tonati company in the main cabin. The computer genius was busy analyzing the contents of the thumb-drive Dr. Kenshin had given him.