“Okay. And you did it without harming him.”
“Lanfen, I came within a hair’s breadth of stopping Alexis’s heart yesterday.”
“No, you didn’t,” she said. “Because you wouldn’t. Chuck Brenton, you are probably the most decent human being I know.”
“Lanfen, I thought about it. I considered it.”
“Really. For how long?”
“Long enough. Too long.”
Lanfen took his hands in her own and looked him in the eyes. She spoke to him in a voice that was like water over rock, like music, like wind in the cedars. “You thought I was injured. You thought Mini was in danger. You were panicked. Breathe. Tonight, every member of our team will do what we do best. No one will be in danger. You won’t be panicked. Breathe. You’ll be calm . . . cool . . . collected. Dr. Charles Brenton, neuroscientist. You’ll have a goal, a mission. You’ll breathe. You’ll be focused. You’ll know what you’re doing, because you know how the human brain works probably better than anyone in the country.
“Breathe.”
He smiled—and breathed. What are you doing to me?
Is it working?
Yes.
Then, why do you care what I’m doing?
Chuck laughed aloud. “You know, I thought you were Catwoman. Now I realize you’re Obi-Wan Kenobi or maybe even Yoda.”
“Yes, use the Force you must. Now, breathe . . . and listen.”
He did both. She took him on a tour of his own head then, walking him through all of his thoughts on safely disabling the guards—or at least disabling their ability to tell reality from dream. It was a strange sensation, as if they were literally strolling hand in hand through his mental landscape, sifting through his stores of knowledge for an ideal state in which to leave the MPs’ minds.
The realization no doubt came to Lanfen first, but Chuck experienced it as if it had come to them both simultaneously.
Meditation.
Neither of them spoke the word aloud.
Of course. Delta state.
“Can you do that?” Lanfen asked. “Can you initiate a delta state?”
Chuck considered it. “I think so. Yes. But it’s potentially a more fragile state than sleep.” He imagined something startling an MP out of his meditative state, foiling their escape.
“We’ll just have to make sure we’re especially sneaky tonight so it won’t happen,” said Lanfen.
“What won’t happen?” Eugene had gotten up from the table and was standing in front of the sofa, staring at them.
Chuck came fully back into the present. “Startled guards.”
“Okay, you two are officially weirding me out. Do you have any idea how hard it is to follow a zeta conversation?”
Chuck did have some idea. He realized that, more and more, communication between the Zetas was happening at the subvocal level. That was amazing. And it was unsettling. It meant the Zetas were going somewhere that non-Zetas like Eugene could not go—were communicating on a level he could not experience. Chuck marked that in his mind as a goal for another time—figuring out how to spark Eugene’s brain into producing zeta waves.
Right now, he needed to know if he could induce a meditative state in a normal human brain. “Euge, are you up for a little science experiment?”
Chapter 25
Going to Ground
Midnight.
The camp was quiet now, though there had been a flurry of purposeful activity until well after sunset aimed at being ready to break camp with morning’s light. Dice, Joey, and Mike first told the cameras what they would see: guards at their posts, moonlight gleaming off every metallic surface, interior lights extinguished except in Admiral Hand’s personal trailer.
There were a quartet of guards in the portion of Spiderweb that Team Chuck occupied. One was stationed in front of the men’s quarters; the second, only yards away in front of the women’s quarters. The third and fourth stood watch in front of the common room. There were others elsewhere in the compound, but none within sight of the vehicles or the path they’d have to take to reach them.
Chuck dropped the first MP into a delta state without even leaving their trailer. The man went into the meditative state every bit as easily as Eugene had done earlier. Chuck exited the trailer alone then, mentally biting his nails, and circled behind it to the women’s trailer on its left. That guard went into delta easily, too. Chuck slipped back the way he’d come, bypassing the men’s quarters to reach the common area.
The first guard there went silently into delta, but the second resisted, his brain rousing itself from meditation as soon as Chuck had initiated the state.
He tried again, a gentle push. The soldier visibly shook himself free, rotating his shoulders and shifting his weight. Chuck tried a third time with the same result. This time the MP stamped his feet as if to keep them from falling asleep.
“Hey, Garfield,” the MP finally said to his partner, “I’m going to walk the perimeter. Getting sleepy. Need to move around.”
Chuck, peering at the men from between the commons and men’s cabin, felt panic leap to his throat. It leapt almost to the tip of his tongue when his target frowned and glanced at the silently meditating Garfield.
“Hey, Gar, I said—”
Chuck reached into the MP’s head and shoved him down into delta, at the same time flipping the neurotransmitters at the base of his brain off. The guy’s face went slack, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he sagged back against the building he was guarding, sliding down the wall until he sat hunched over his rifle, looking for all the world as if he were taking a nap.
Horrified, Chuck came out of hiding, his eyes on the already prone Garfield, praying that nothing would jar the man out of his meditative state. He reached the downed soldier and knelt beside him to check his breathing and pulse. A strange humming sound from Garfield made him freeze. He looked up at the other MP and gave his brain waves a tiny bit more of a nudge. Garfield fell silent.
Chuck shifted his attention back to the sleeping soldier, checking his breathing and his pulse. Both were steady and strong.
“Sorry,” Chuck murmured, and rose as Lanfen and Brenda reached him.
What happened?
The thought was Lanfen’s. “He was resistant,” Chuck said quietly. “I put him to sleep.”
“I thought you didn’t want to do that,” whispered Bren.
“Didn’t. Couldn’t be helped. Let’s go.”
They turned and made their way behind the commons cabin to where their SUVs waited. The rest of the team had already gathered there and were quietly arranging themselves in the vehicles. The tailgate of one of the SUVs was open and it looked as if someone in a shiny metal suit was just curling up inside. It took Chuck a moment to realize that it was Bilbo.
Mike threw a sleeping bag over the robot and turned to face Chuck. “Thought he might come in handy.”
“Good thought,” Chuck said, and Lanfen gave the construction engineer a kiss on the cheek.
“Thanks, Mike.”
“Least I could do.”
Dice came back to the rear of the SUV. “I just had a thought. If we start the engines here, it might wake up the whole camp—including your sleepers.”
Chuck stared at him. None of them had thought of that. It reminded him again how ill-suited they were for this sort of subterfuge.
“Not a problem,” said Mike. “I’m sure that between Lanfen and me we should be able to roll these babies out to the road before we need to turn the engines over.”
“Good grief,” murmured Chuck. “Of course, you can. Okay. Mount up.”
They’d planned their route in advance. They’d drive through the night to get as far from Olympus and Spiderweb as they could. Then Mike would take one of the SUVs and head north to return Anton to Ontario while the rest of the team headed straight back to the Center . . . unless Mini’s sprite dictated otherwise.
The two vehicles rolled silently through the woods toward the firebreak road by moonlig
ht, their lights off, the only sounds of their passage tires crushing dirt and forest debris. The wind in the treetops and the rush of a nearby stream were just as loud. When they were about half a mile from Spiderweb, they met the firebreak. Dice and Mike started their engines, turned on parking lights, and picked up speed.
Half an hour later, they came out onto an empty country road and moved yet faster. An hour after that, they met a major freeway and melted into the sparse flow of traffic. It was near dawn when they pulled into a truck stop for bathrooms, gas, food, and coffee. The air was chill and the parking lot lit by LEDs that faked sunlight poorly. There was a single large building that housed a restaurant, a convenience store, and a gas station.
Dice handled the gas pumps, electronically fooling them into thinking that transactions had been initiated with credit cards. Then they went into the restaurant/convenience store to liberate some cash from the ATMs. Again, Dice performed his particular magic, transferring money from his own bank account, while carefully erasing its electron trail. The debit would appear in his account, if anyone was watching—which they certainly would be—but it would be anonymous, and placeless.
“There were transponders on both vehicles, you know,” Lanfen said conversationally when Chuck came out of the men’s bathroom to find her looking out the window of the convenience store into the parking lot.
Chuck stared at her. “You disabled them, right?”
She nodded. “And then I moved them.” She pointed at a semi with Mississippi plates that was idling at a diesel pump, then at a pickup with Wisconsin tags that was just pulling out of the parking lot. She smiled. “And then I turned them back on.”
“I love you,” Chuck told her.
She cocked her head to one side. “I know. Now prove it.”
He blushed. “In front of everyone—”
“Feed me, Romeo.”
They both laughed.
As their transponder trails disappeared in two different directions, they enjoyed a panic-free moment of relaxation before getting back on the road. Mike promised he’d rejoin them as soon as possible and headed north with Anton; the second SUV with its seven passengers—six humans and a robot—headed due west.
Joey was driving, Eugene riding shotgun with Mini’s sprite on the dashboard, where he could watch her. Chuck shared the second row of seats with Lanfen and Brenda, while Dice dozed on the rear seat. Chuck was getting dozy himself, his head resting on Lanfen’s shoulder, when Eugene said, “Oh God,” in a voice that chilled Chuck to the soul.
He sat up on an ice-cold current of adrenaline and opened his eyes. “What? What’s wrong?”
He saw what was wrong before the words had quite left his mouth. On the dashboard, Eugene’s pixie had awakened. Her body was still and rigid, but her eyes were wide open. The expression in them was one of abject terror.
Eugene turned his head and met Chuck’s gaze. “What are they doing to her?”
“I don’t know,” Chuck whispered. What he did know was that Mini was still due west of them, buried deep in Lorstad’s subterranean fortress, and that she needed them. “We’ll get to her, Euge. I promise you.”
He left unsaid that getting to Mini was the easy part of their mission.
The fact that he had no idea how they were going to get her out was the hard part.
Epilogue
The video was titled “The Truth About Michaux State Preserve.” Any and every Web search regarding the recent and unusual events in Pennsylvania found this clip perched at the top of the results. It began simply enough, a winding amalgam of symphonic colors and bright sounds. Then a tortuous digital glob morphed and warped into pieces of neuroanatomy. The display halted at a three-dimensional representation of a rotating neocortex.
“I won’t bore you with the threadbare trope that we only use ten percent of our brains.” The modulated voice pitched and yawed from guttural to elflike.
“I will say with certainty that our minds are capable of much more than we realize or have sufficiently explored.”
The graphics gave way to a stock photo of Pine Ridge.
“Those of you who have looked hard enough have no doubt stumbled upon some very disquieting rumblings. Rumors leaked here and there about psychic telekinetic terrorists who seized Pine Ridge and were bent on world domination. Those of you who have stumbled upon this video by chance, stick around. I have a lot to say.”
The screen popped black and a slow, undulating tone rippled forth.
“Listen very closely now. The outrageous, absurd, and flagrantly impossible claims concerning the Pennsylvania Triad are unequivocally and patently . . . true.”
White circles appeared merging and linking into one another, growing as the perspective shifted outward to accommodate the enlargement. The wavy tone tightened.
“I’m glad that you are still here. What comes next is far from easy, but I have come to realize that its dissemination is necessary—crucial even.”
The large circular lattice condensed into a single sphere.
“This is the first of many videos I will publish across the Web. Don’t worry, no one on earth has the capability to erase or block my work. As long as the Internet is functioning these videos will be available to all.”
The orb multiplied and the gumball shapes adhered together, spheres within a sphere.
“A small warning, once your thoughts and beliefs are tilted to the ideas I’m going to share with you, you will very likely experience some subtle and profound changes. Once we reach the end of our journey it is my desire and belief that you will be fundamentally transformed. Radically altered in ways that as of now you would neither believe nor comprehend. In my experience these changes are irreversible. Again this is fair warning.”
The perspective pulled outward to reveal rotating electrons and a full model of an atom.
“It is important that you understand the origins of all this. I come to you as a scientist; I am not a guru or a theologian, at least not by education. This is not a self-help promotion. I am not promising a pot of gold at your doorstep. What I am attempting is nothing less than aiding and abetting the next stair step in our collective evolution. Before I delve into practical matters, first I am going to touch on the history and science of all of this so we can begin our time together with facts.”
The video cut to the Forward Kinetics logo.
“It began with a neuroscientist, a man by the name of Charles—we call him Chuck—Brenton. He formed a company with mathematician Matt Streegman called Forward Kinetics . . .”
Acknowledgments
The understatement of the century is to say that I am grateful for all the encouragement and support I have received. First, any author, artist, or serial dreamer could accomplish nothing without the support of their spouse. To my wife, a thousand pardons and a thousand thanks; this would not be possible without you by my side. To my agent, Emma Parry, thanks for going the distance for my work and giving me a path to attempt the same. David Pomerico, my intrepid editor, your ardor for The God Wave has been a source of inspiration for me, thank you. Scott Steindorff and Dylan Russel of Stone Village Productions, I’m honored by your interest and investment in The God Wave. I am eager and excited to take my novel into a new medium with you. Maria Silva and the public relations staff at HarperCollins, thank you for all your hard work. You’ve made my books more visible—I’m grateful. To Kim Yau and Dana Spector, a little serendipity can go a long way—I’m glad we met.
I’d also like to acknowledge that unseen factor: the mental current that causes ideas to seep into one’s consciousness from the ether. This mother of stories cannot be defined as just imagination; there is purpose and dare I say a will behind its machinations. I know different people call this force many things; I have not coined a term for it. I simply acknowledge its presence and give due gratitude. If my work makes this dynamic more familiar even by one iota then I believe I have done some good.
About the Author
PATRICK HEMST
REET is a novelist, neuroengineer, entrepreneur, special-warfare-trained navy medic, stand-up comic, and actor. He lives in Houston, Texas, with his wife and sons.
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Also by Patrick Hemstreet
The God Wave
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
the god peak. Copyright © 2017 by Patrick Hemstreet. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Cover design by Owen Corrigan
Cover photograph © marcoisler/Getty Images
first edition
Digital Edition AUGUST 2017 ISBN: 978-0-06-241958-3
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-241956-9
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The God Peak Page 35