by David Berko
…
Fast forward two years and say hello to a post-America ravaged by the Second Civil War. Consequently, the U.S. was no longer united and Lincoln’s efforts at re-unification permanently failed. Damion’s little speech and good-willed intentions almost lay forgotten in a dusty corner--until now.
Enter 2041…a timeless struggle between the forces of good and evil. Two sides: Scorpion vs. FRN (Free Republic of North America). Who would be the savior in these grim times—the one tales would be written about and told as bedtime stories to toddlers and little tikes?
--
The Good Guys…
Honolulu, Hawaii, 2041
The glass door gave a little jingle. A few people on the bar stools rotated to face the entrance to see who walked in.
Steve Bard strode confidently towards the girl behind the counter who gave a shy smile at the pair. Sarah had indeed agreed to have lunch. The sandwich shop was one of Steve’s favorites.
The cashier didn’t know Steve on a first-name basis unlike the rest of the employees at the establishment, but that didn’t stop the IT nerd from feeling at home and living larger than life with the associates at Stacy’s.
The man sauntered up with his hands in his pockets, wearing an impish grin.
“What can I do ya for?” the lady with a fair complexion asked with a slight drawl.
“Oh, I’ll have the usual,” Steve replied nonchalantly, swiveling his head to ask Sarah what she wanted.
The employee came back with, “I’m afraid I don’t know what that is, hon.” She ignored Steve and turned her attention to the lovely woman who stood next to him. “Would you happen to know what you’d like today, miss?”
Sarah didn’t seem ready for the question, so she halted in her speech, thinking. “Um, a Reuben sandwich does sound good. Maybe with a side of soup?”
“We have a soup and salad bar over there sweetie,” the lady said gesturing as she leaned over the counter. She punched in the order for the young lady and then she was back to the old Mr. Smooth. “And for you, sir?”
Steve didn’t like how he was being talked to, but Sarah was with him and he didn’t feel like putting on a clinic in front of the woman he was deeply attracted to. “Well, Betsy,” he said, reading her name tag, “a sourdough and ham sandwich with a tangy bowl of bacon cheddar bisque would suit me well today.”
“Soups and salads are over there.” Her syllables were protracted and filled with indifference for the man she was talking to.
“Yeah, uh-huh, I heard you before. Just ring me up and gimme a ticket,” Steve said, his temper flashing slightly.
“Okie dokie, dumplin'.”
Steve snatched his receipt and glared at her for a moment. “Order’s coming right up,” she said paying no attention to the evil eyes he gave her.
Sarah didn’t seem to care much about the bad blood between Betsy and her coworker. Instead she took in the sandwich shop’s decor. It was filled with young people and other office workers on their lunch hour. Newspaper wallpaper with silly sayings on it caught her eye in particular.
“Steve,” she grabbed at his shirt sleeve.
“Aw, do you mind?” he mumbled. His Coca-Cola glass teetered dangerously.
She giggled before she read. “This one says, ‘A jealous woman does better research than the FBI.'”
Steve didn’t like how she singled that one out—what message was she trying to send? He chuckled nervously and grabbed her around the shoulders. “Let’s go find a table, shall we?”
“Why would we do that? The order is gonna be called out any minute.”
“Right,” Steve said quickly. He remained close-mouthed until he saw Betsy again by the microphone ready to call out the number.
“421, 421? Your order is ready.” “Pick a spot, Sarah, lemme get that.”
There was an empty booth in the corner with views and the salad bar within arm’s length. She quietly sat down and pulled out her cell. Her little sequin diamond case glinted in the sun. It vibrated once to let her know Hester from work had texted.
Hester: What did he order?
Sarah looked at the message and responded: “Why would you wanna know that? Unless he’s a seafood dude, I could care less what he orders…”
Hester: LOL! Hey, I happened to recall you were quite fond of those crab cakes at Macy’s baby shower the other day.
“Good point,” Sarah conceded, turning the phone over on the table and looking over at the approaching Steve Bard.
He raised his eyebrows and lowered the tray with the red deli baskets onto the checkered tabletop. “What’s up?”
“Nothing—have you seen the salad bar? So many choices!”
Steve smiled. “Yup! I wouldn’t come here just for the sandwiches.”
Betsy walked over with a dish rag in one hand to wipe a nearby table off.
This didn’t go unnoticed by the IT specialist. He nodded at her. She didn’t return the gesture.
“Friendly service here…” Sarah said, interrupting her lunch date’s preoccupation with Betsy.
Steve had been weakly sucking on his straw until the word friendly caused him to take in too much at one time. He coughed. “Yeah, very friendly,” he lied.
Sarah changed topics. She pressed her lips together and squinted. “You ready for your 2:15?” She was talking about the meeting Steve was holding over network security.
He sighed. “Not really.”
“No?” Sarah looked genuinely surprised.
“Haven’t slept much in recent times,” Steve lamented while feeling down his stiff spine with a masseur’s hand.
“I don’t think the whole office has. The attacks yesterday in Alaska? Donald has been sleeping at the office practically.”
“That guy impresses me,” Steve said into his napkin. “Real devoted.”
“M-hm,” Sarah agreed, a little disappointed Steve didn’t want to talk about yesterday’s events.
He read her look and decided to pursue the topic a little further after all. “How can we, you know, possibly expect to win against such a well-funded organization that we’re up against?” Steve wondered aloud.
“I believe in the president—”
“Oh, I want to, but what can one man do? Honestly…the odds aren’t in his favor.”
Sarah looked at her soup and dipped her spoon in, disturbing the surface. That’s how she felt: disturbed.
--
Building B, Area 51
The sandstone cliff grew closer and closer. Open Sesame, Desmond thought, hoping a door would open on the side of the rock face. The two security guards peeled off in opposite directions at the last second as Building B’s front door opened up to the visitors.
“We’re gonna make a scheduled stop soon, I promise, Desmond,” Howard said.
Desmond was relieved. As much as he liked the “jet tour” of the vast facility, he wanted to be on the ground again.
“What do you think of it so far?” the Old Man asked. “I’m speechless, sir. It’s impressive.”
“Yes it is.”
Commandos with high powered rifles stood sentry below. They were guarding the scientists who were scurrying about like rats with test tubes full of exotic compounds.
Desmond watched with fascination. “What is this project?” he asked.
“This is the nano technology sector of the base. Very important to our operations. We continue?”
“Yes,” Desmond answered. He gave one last glance and noticed a guard with a white scar around his left eye; the man watched Desmond with obvious scrutiny. Desmond lifted his guest pass up to his jaw and smiled at the man. The stranger in fatigues didn’t change position.
“Security personnel aren’t of the friendly sort,” Howard said. “That’s how we like 'em though.”
“I see,” Desmond said. He noticed they were now entering a tunnel with LED lights shedding their blue glow in parallel lines on either side of them. He craned his neck upwards and couldn’t quite estimate how
high the ceiling was; regardless, it too had a trail of the familiar blue lights.
“Central Command is coming up Desmond,” Howard sternly warned. “Be ready to show ID.”
“Thanks for the warning partner. Say, do I see a bend in the tunnel?”
“Yes, we will be taking the right. From there it’s only a short ways away.”
The programmer seemed satisfied with Howard’s most recent update. Soon he would be on solid ground and who knows? Maybe even be offered a cup of steaming coffee. That’s what he craved at the moment.
Titanium walls with black and yellow warning signs were up ahead. A security check, Desmond guessed.
Howard slowed to stall speed and fired an impulse at a panel on the wall that accepted his form of identification and granted him passage. The doors opened, but only for a short duration.
“Hurry, we only have a short time,” Howard warned. He knew of the ten seconds the doors waited for passersby to get through. The walls narrowed slightly and the lights were no longer emitting a blue hue, but an amber one.
“We’re in the Yellow Zone. The Red Zone is due up; where we’ll eventually wind up though is purple.”
“Why purple?”
“Don’t question. Besides, purple is the color of royalty.” “You really see yourselves in that light?”
Howard expected this kind of response. “Impudence won’t serve you well while you’re on my turf under my terms. Understood?”
Desmond realized he had spoken before thinking and regret struck him instantly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”
“At least you know your place now.” The Old Man slowed his pace then dropped from sight into a vacuum of darkness.
Desmond backed off instantly and began to worry what had happened to Howard. In the next few seconds fear and curiosity warred within him: turn around and go back or dare to know what lay just yonder? Strangely he found the ledge to the unknown closer than it had ever been before.
He was being pulled towards it by a powerful force; and then he was falling into the abyss.
--
Chapter 12
Westover Estate, California
It was good to be back from the hospital.
He still wore the bracelet they gave outpatients. He would keep it on a little longer to remind himself of the past twenty-four hours. What a scare it had been. Damion walked over to a hall mirror and noticed the dark circles below the eyes and fresh scratches that were all over his face. He had been through hell in his mind.
Suddenly he heard the echo of footfalls against his marble floors. A woman was approaching from the sound of it— definitely someone wearing heels. It didn’t alarm him. Damion did his best to put away his fatigue and hide it behind another one of his alter egos. “Whom have we here?” he called out, not yet seeing his visitor.
It was his mother.
She stepped into the room looking stunning for a fifty- two year old widow. She had on a silver suit with matching skirt and black velvet pumps. Her hair was done up into a bun with a black scrunchy contrasting nicely with her silver hair.
“You’ve given up calling?” Damion was first to speak. “I’d rather make unannounced visits. Leaves more of an impression, don’t you think?”
Damion’s countenance fell. His voice got deeper. “What brings you here?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I heard the news….”
The billionaire made a face. He was touched by her concern, but conflicted by seeing her again.
His mother hadn’t made the time for her kids over the years. She was very detached from them, even after she gained custody through an ugly divorce. Her career took her places that alienated her from the home. Being a model and all, she was always on call. Runways awaited her in all the fine cities of the world and photographers expected her to be in the latest editions of the magazines they shot for. She was a Cover Girl after all…well respected in the fashion industry for she aged gracefully.
“I know it’s never been easy for you or your sister,” his mother cooed. She was walking on eggshells. “Do you keep in touch with her?”
“Who?” Damion played dumb. “Amanda?”
He looked away. Not wanting to stare into her big brown eyes that were wet with emotion. He subconsciously gripped the chair railing on the wall behind himself. “Where were you for me?” His voice came out trembling…sounding stabbed.
Esmeralda fell silent. A lump formed in her throat and her lip quivered. “I wanted to, be there, but…”
“Ah, there always was a but,” Damion said rather coldly.
A tear flowed freely down her cheek. Then another. “You must understand. It wasn’t easy for me either.”
Damion looked at her and shook his head, feeling little empathy for the woman who had abandoned him. “Why now? After all these years. You think a little personal visit will endear me to you…just like that?”
“I didn’t think it would happen overnight. I just wanted to let you know I’m here. You can call me--anytime.” At that she got up and left a card on his table. She left him without another word.
He watched her silhouette disappear. Her body hunched over, leaving soft sobs. Damion knew he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything for the next day unless he cleared his head of his most recent encounter. It could be done, but some strenuous exercise would be needed.
When the ghost of his past left the vicinity he got on the intercom to inform his right hand man he would be at the gym. After that, he made an appearance to the walk-in closet. The lights turned on as he entered.
“Welcome back, Damion,” his home computer Iris greeted him.
“It’s good to be back?”
There was unmistakably a question in his voice. It bothered him that Iris chose to welcome him when he felt most vulnerable with his drawers down. The memory foam beneath his bottom felt good though.
In the middle of the room that would have served well as a guestroom let alone a place to change clothes, Damion sat on an island of cushioned comfort. All around him hung the collections and outfits he had curated over the years. In front of him was a locker with tennis shoes on a rack, sports shorts above, and many identical pairs of Under Armour hanging, ready for some action.
Damion didn’t need to go to the gym, he could have built one into his sprawling estate. But he was the kind of guy that looked for excuses to get out and of course, drive his Lambo that he dearly loved.
He mentally prepared for the workout. It was his routine. His snug, breathable top hugged every surface of his torso. He looked up and down and was even impressed with himself. On a little hook hung his sweatbands that he put on next. It was a tossup for the shoes, but ultimately the pair of white Nikes were selected.
“How do I look?” he said, sashaying over to the wall of mirrors. Damion struck a pose and held it. The only thing that alarmed him was his gut hanging out. He wasn’t quite hitting the panic button by what he saw, but it definitely was cause for concern.
All of a sudden Iris’s digital face appeared on one of the mirrors that doubled as a display.
“Hey there good-lookin’.”
“Ah!!!”
Damion swore. His form changed dramatically into one full of fright. “You scared the bejesus outta me,” Damion exclaimed.
Iris’s eyes scrunched with laughter. Her slender cheeks turned a rosy red. “I was only trying to brighten your mood.”
Damion wondered if circuits and lines of code could feel hurt and pain like a human--enough to sympathize. “That’s very nice of you,” he said facetiously. “But I don’t need any comfort.”
Iris accessed the holo emitter from the ceiling array. She beamed herself down in 3D form next to Damion.
Again, the homeowner was startled. He had not given Iris the code to unlock her person into an avatar body and use the house’s holograph system. “Where did you learn to do that?!” he cried.
“You act like you just saw a ghost.” She sat down. Her countenance sparkled: golden
curls flowed down her neck and back.
“You’re very--beautiful,” Damion admitted.
Iris blushed. Her green eyes grew thoughtful. “What about Kara? Is she beautiful?”
“Is this a game of favorites?”
“It’s a yes or no question…”
Damion was stymied. He was unfamiliar to catch 22's involving tricky virtual assistants. He got up to flee the room and retrieve his keys where he had believed to have last left them. Iris met him halfway.
“Wha--?”
“You’ll need these,” she dangled his keychain high above the floor over the settee it once sat on.
“Remarkable,” mouthed Damion.
Iris pretended not to notice but instead disappeared back into the matrix where she came from. Damion stared up at the drywall and wondered what other tricks his new assistant had up her sleeve. He noticed the little installation sticker on one of the holo emitters sticking out like a sore thumb. In his mind he did a query of the databases trying to recall who installed his house’s recent holographic system….No results found.
I’ve got to know, he thought.
Moving towards the hall, Damion looked around before he pulled a painting away from the wall to reveal a secret dumbwaiter system he used to quickly get down to the basement. The little cage hummed and delivered its cargo to a utility closet somewhere in the mansion’s sprawling basement.
It was pitch dark. His hands fumbled for the release latch for a good minute. When he had found it, the door still didn’t open right away. (There was some junk obstructing the door from opening up.)
"There!" Damion said in victory at last.
He relied upon his muscular legs to give it a good kick and the door had no choice but to comply. When he got to his feet he was immediately confronted with a mop head. “Hello there,” he whispered to the object he nearly ran into. Cautiously and as stealthily as possible, the billionaire inched the closet’s door open. There was a noise. The sound seemed to come from the opposite end of the room where all the computers were. Damion leaned against the door jam and dared to open the door a little more so he could see. It creaked. That’s when the noise he had heard earlier abruptly stopped. A surge of energy tripped the breakers of the home’s open circuit system; a couple lights and other electronics turned off at random spots.