by J. M. Barber
“We hope to get it into space and survive hopefully twenty to thirty years.”
“How many people do you hope to be able to take with you?”
“If everything works out, about ninety-seven.”
“That’s the year this ship seems best for,” Danny said, and chuckled. “Ninety-Seven.”
Bell furrowed her brow and let out a humorless chuckle. She took another drag of her cigarette, despite what Alan had said, looked over her shoulder at the construction and the body of water beyond it.
“What are you using for fuel,” Alan asked. “How much do you have?”
“Well…” she said, scratching the back of her head. “This is a trial and error kind of process. We’re using gas though. We—”
“Shit. Not even nuclear?”
“We don’t have access. We—”
“Listen,” Alan said. “If you even made it into space with whatever you hope this thing will be, the life that you guys would live when you made it out there would be something that none of you would want to deal with, much less be able to. You’d be better off dead, by the looks of it. You’re not thinking of all the negatives. Imagine being claustrophobic. Tempers flaring up because of lack of decent food. Something on the ship malfunctions and being ill-equipped to fix it in those kind of conditions. Plus, you don’t think you’re going to beat the world superpowers with that, do you? They’d sooner shoot you down from the sky than to let you embarrass them, which you wouldn’t get close to doing. And you get no second chances with this. When the ten years are up, they are up, Bell. Gone. Finished. Kaput.”
For the moment, it seemed Bell had nothing to say.
“And yeah, I know your vessel is in the early stages. But still, I see where this is headed.” He pointed toward the people of the vessel. “Look, is this…is that your crew?”
She glanced over her shoulder at everyone that was working and put her attention back on Alan. She shook her head.
“It’s not my crew,” she said. “It’s headed by someone else.”
“But you work for that person, right? And you have influence with everyone?”
“Yeah, I have influence.”
“Okay, well, I want to propose something to you,” Alan said, taking a step forward so he only stood a foot away from her. He had to suppress the urge to cough as the smell of chemicals grew thicker. “And if you like what I propose—which I think you’d have to be insane not to—I want to get the main guy here to allow a sit-down.”
“What Stephen King would call a ‘palaver’,” Danny said.
Bell didn’t seem to give a yes or no, only took a drag of her cigarette, puffed out another thick stream of smoke, and looked at the two boys coolly, her tied-back, bushy brown hair unfazed as a breeze blew past.
“What do you have to say?” she said after a few seconds of silence. Behind her the sound of a heavy duty, electric saw started up.
5
“All right, Mr. Alan Desai,” said a man that had probably just broken thirty years old or was on the verge. He extended his hand, and they shook, each with a firm grip. “What is it that you want to tell us?”
It was quiet now. Alan, Danny, and Bell stood by the edge of the lake, facing a crew of twenty five people, the man introduced as Arnold standing out in front. He wore a yellow T-shirt with dark patches of oil all over, a pair of oil-stained jeans, and had a large build. Everyone behind him looked small by comparison. Younger too. Some still had their head gear on, tilted up on top of their skulls so their faces could be seen.
“All right,” Alan said slowly, making his words loud and clear. “You guys are obviously building a spaceship.” It was a perfect night. Slightly off to his right, just beyond the trees, was the vessel Arnold and his crew had been working on.
“Wow, must’ve been hard for you to figure that shit out,” said some girl near the back of the crew.
Alan only smiled at that. “You’re going to want to be nice to me, I assure you. If not, you may spend the next ten years with a gun to your head, wondering how you could’ve fucked up the opportunity of a lifetime.”
“And what’s this opportunity?” Arnold said, looking tired, if not on the verge of irritable. “What’s this opportunity that’s supposedly better than the one that I offer? What is this thing that’s brought you all the way out here and is keeping us from our work?”
“Have you guys heard of Avery Johnston?” Alan asked. In the moonlight, Alan was able to see clear looks of recognition appear on a number of faces.
“Guy disturbing the peace, right?” said a young, black boy standing a few feet behind Arnold.
“No,” Danny said. “Avery Johnston’s the motherfucker who’s going to save a million lives. And you may not be saying his graces now, but give it enough time. You will. Whatever you think you’re doing, he’s already a million paces ahead and growing. And here’s the thing, fellas, the real work hasn’t even started yet.”
Arnold’s eyes widened briefly, and for a moment—just a moment—he looked as if his interest may have been piqued. But when his expression returned to what it had been it returned all the way, as it had been when he first brought his people near the lake, it was tired and on the verge of irritable.
“One million people, huh?” he said and chuckled. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and glanced briefly at Bell (seriously, this guy) then back at Alan.
“Construction of a spaceship that will take us to another planet and provide considerably better living conditions than your current project seems destined to provide. This isn’t to insult what you are doing, Arnold. What you are doing is commendable, it really is. And I know you only mean to do good. No one wants to die. But what Avery Johnston is doing—what we are doing—can save one million lives and get us to the nearest habitable planet within six months of take-off. This isn’t science-fiction, ladies and gentlemen, no, what this is, is a real chance at survival.”
“But no one here really knows who Avery Johnston is,” Arnold said. “From what we see, he’s just a boy making trouble.”
“Yeah, that’s what they want you to think,” Alan said. “The government. All these asshole corporate people pulling the strings so anchors on local and cable news can skew the message to their favor. Go ahead and just dismiss him as a dangerous nuisance, and everything he says as just the ramblings of some psych ward patient who forgot to take his meds. Well, trust me, Arnold, there’s a lot more to this guy than that. And that’s not something you want to learn the hard way. No threat, just hard truth. We’re gone after tonight.”
Arnold kept his eyes on Alan’s, saying nothing. His hands remained in his pockets.
Alan grinned and continued. “The project is going to take damn near a decade for us to complete but I assure you, if we make it to the end point alive and with the ship intact, that it will take off and that we will be off this rock before that last, cataclysmic comet hits. And where we’re going to be building will be safe from all the comets that will hit Earth in the meantime, I’m talking a place that no government group can fuck with. What we deal in, Arnold, unlike you, and your crew, is absolution.”
Arnold chuckled and fixed his small eyes on Bell. For what seemed an eternity, he only looked at her. “Really? You have me bring everyone over here so this guy could spout off a bunch of nonsense. Really, Bell?”
“I believe what he’s saying.”
“But has he given you proof?” Arnold asked and cackled. “Anything that lets you know that he’s not some random druggie off the street who wants to lure you into some dark alley and rape you.”
“As I see it, that’s his risk, not mine,” Bell said darkly.
Arnold waved one large, dismissive hand. “Whatever. You seem like the kind of person that still believes in Santa Claus.”
“Hell, if he wanted to do that, don’t you think he would’ve already? Fuck, Arnold, get your mind out the gutter.” She sighed. “Besides, he promised me proof before we start anything. But as h
e said…” She looked at Alan.
“I want to hear you say ‘yes’ first,” Alan said. “You say yes, that you’ll join our cause, and I’ll give you proof that we’re not some kooks before we leave.” Alan raised his eyebrows. “If we were full of shit, it wouldn’t make sense to offer proof, now would it. So what do you say? Sound good?”
Arnold pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped at his lower face, and then commenced to wiping his hands. This was a slow, tedious process, almost as if it was merely meant to irk Alan. Finally, when the cloth was returned to his pocket, Arnold shook his head, looked around at the rest of his crew, and then back at Alan, chuckling. “You know what, it sounds like you can take your friend, Bell, —that’s right Bell, you too, because you’re done here—take her and get the fuck off this site. You have nuts for a girl, I’ll tell you. You just bring a couple of strangers along because they agree with what you’re saying. What did they give you in return even? Nothing, apparently. Just some fabrication. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Listen,” Alan said. “We’ll go. Because if I can’t get your commitment before showing you the proof, then it’s really not worth getting your commitment at all. I need to know that you’re open enough to believe in something that could do as I describe, before I show you. It’s my requirement, you can take it or leave it, but if you leave it, you’ll be fucked. It won’t be my issue anymore. And your friend, Bell—the team member you just fired—will know before the night’s out, the proof.” Alan’s smile was broad, almost taunting. “And you’ll know something’s up when she doesn’t return to try to work for you, when you can’t even get her to return your fucking phone calls. And you will call, asshole, because you’ll have a feeling, just the tiniest feeling inside, that you missed out on something big, something that would have saved the life of you and your whole fucking crew.
“And when the ten years are almost up, it’s going to be the name of our fucking cause that you hear about on every news station you turn to. You won’t even be able to escape the name. What do you think Fox News, CNN, and MSNBC are going to be talking about when we’re nearing the last days, huh? It’s going to be a fucking war they’re talking about. I’m talking about survival, Arnold. Who is doing what and has the best chance of saving the most people? We have the guarantee. You think Avery’s just a fucking nuisance today, but before it’s all said and done, he’s going to be the one people talk about the most. The government, the people, and everyone will be trying to sabotage him, help him, get on their knees to him, worship him, kill him. He’ll be the name on everyone’s hearts and minds, and in the end…he’ll be the only name that matters. By then you’ll be willing to cut off a fucking limb just to have a minute with him, you ignorant piece of shi—”
Arnold cocked back and lunged forward to throw a punch but was held back by two of his team members.
“Get the fuck out of here, all of you,” he screamed, white bits of spittle flying from his mouth. “You’re fired Bell! And you’ll be the one crawling back to me in a day, because you fucked up the one thing that could’ve saved your worthless life!”
Bell said nothing, only looked down uncertainly. Danny put an arm around her shoulders.
“Don’t worry,” he said into her ear. “Wait until you see the proof. You’ll see.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Alan said, and the three of them turned and headed back toward the trees.
“You’re in a fantasy, Bell,” Arnold continued to scream. “You’re in a fantasy if you think that this is going to go anywhere.” Arnold took a couple of deep breaths, they were loud and ragged. His crew was still holding him back. “You know how long I’ve been working on this and you bring him over here because he makes up some LIE! BITCH!”
“Jesus Christ,” Alan said, looking over his shoulder as they passed the beginnings of the ship. “Dude must have been in love with you, Bell.”
“Yeah, guy loves you like Asians love homework,” Danny said. “Isn’t that right, Alan?”
Alan chuckled. “Shut up Danny.”
6
“Should I be worried?”
Alan raised his eyebrows. They were inside a bowling alley just before 12am. Alan had purchased couple of games, some food, and rented shoes for everyone. Now they were seated in front of the monitor meant for keeping score. Danny was dipping his fries steadily into a small container of ketchup and slipping them into his mouth, one by one.
“About what?” Alan said.
“The proof.”
“Oh, that’s right, the proof.” Alan, mockingly, slapped his forehead with an open palm.
The lights flicked off then and the strobe lights came on. They were now swallowed in a world of bright stars that glided from the slick bowling room floor to the walls and up to the ceiling. Some people cheered and the sound of bowling balls being rolled down the lanes by the hands of eager and inebriated players filled the room. A Kendrick Lamar song, three or so years old, played on the speaker system and as Alan listened a number of memories, all nostalgic, flashed in his head. When he had first heard the song there wasn’t a concern about the end of the world, only a concern of going to his MMA classes, running, meditating, and practicing his katas. That and making sure that he maintained his grades.
Please Don’t Kill My Vibe
Please Don’t Kill My Vibe
Oh, how it took him back.
“Give me the proof Danny,” Alan said, putting his hand out. Without even looking away from his fries, Danny handed him what looked like a sleek black smartphone. “This probably isn’t the proof that you expected but you’re going to have to ask the question, who else could do it?”
Bell raised her eyebrows. “Do what?” She was clearly uneasy, probably wondering if she had made a mistake, and considering the words she would use when she begged Arnold for a place back on the team.
“Check this out,” Alan lifted up the smartphone, tapped the screen twice, making it ripple.
Bell’s eyes widened.
Alan held the water-like screen toward her face. “Keep your eyes on the screen now,” he said easily. “Think of it kind of like counting sheep because you’re going to start to feel calm. A feeling of relaxation will overwhelm you.”
Bell said nothing, her mouth opening slowly. Somewhere that seemed far off she heard Danny say,
“Think of it like being high as fuck.”
7
It occurred with the swiftness of a blink. That’s all it took for her to open her eyes and find herself in a world of blackness, in what seemed like being stuck in limbo. There was, however, light in the center of the space, almost like a spotlight in a theater act. But everyone in the bowling alley, including Alan and Danny were gone. Nowhere to be seen.
“Hello?”
Her heartbeat sped up. For the moment, there was nothing. Suddenly, her stomach felt very heavy, so heavy in fact, she thought it might make her knees buckle.
Wasn’t I just looking at the strange rippling of a smartphone screen?
“You’re good,” a voice said. “Don’t worry. And all of this will occur much quicker in the real world than it seems to here. Now that’s nice to know, isn’t it?”
Bell took a deep breath, recoiled a step. She put one hand out defensively. “Okay, where the hell am I? Why don’t you come into the light please…sir…do that favor for me, would you? This is freaking me out, something I’m sure you must understand.”
And he stepped out, right into the center of the room, wearing all black. He was a dark-skinned black man, probably sixteen or seventeen. He had his hair cut into a fade. The start of a mustache was visible on his face. His eyes were, dark, deep.
This guy looks like he’s been through a lot, Bell thought.
And it wasn’t just because his eyes seemed dark. They seemed…well, very tired. It didn’t take long for Bell to realize that the man before her was Avery Johnston. Suddenly breathing was difficult. It felt as if her chest had tightened, as if a giant, meta
llic hand closed over her lungs.
“What the hell’s going on,” she said, getting down on a knee. “Let me…let me out of here.”
“Overwhelming, isn’t it?” Avery said. “Yeah…I know it is. Just know that it’s okay Bell, I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help you, here to show you that this is real. The sole purpose of this is to make you a believer.”
“Are you really here though” she asked, looking up at him as he slowly approached. A tear fell from her eye. “Am I…is this uh…am I in a…a dream?”
Avery shook his head and when he came within a foot of her took a knee so they were level. For a moment he only watched her, almost as if he was trying to get a read.
“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Bell said.
Avery nodded. “You will. Trust me you will.”
“Are you…are you God? Or maybe a god.”
Avery gave a small smile. He shook his head. “Not even close.”
“What is all this then? I don’t understand. I was just with Alan and his friend Danny in a bowling alley and I blinked and suddenly I’m here. This doesn’t make sense. None of this makes any sense to me. I mean…do you know what it’s like when your brain is trying to process too much at once? That’s what this is to me. Where is everything? Where am I? I feel like a blood vessel is going to rupture in my head or something.”
“In the bowling alley. You haven’t left, Bell.”
“How do you know?”
Avery only smiled at that.
“Is this…is this supposed to be your proof?”
Avery straightened up. “It’s the best I can do for now. There is no ship to show you Bell. But I can show you a display.”
He straightened up and snapped his fingers and the sound reverberated through the space as if they were in a large, quiet building. A three-dimensional outline of what must’ve been the aircraft appeared. The outline was probably the size of your basic automobile, round and thin. The display floated in midair, spinning slowly just above Bell. From where she knelt, she could see within the outline and what looked like the blueprint of the rooms, the front and rear section of the aircraft. She could tell by the sheer detail and the fact that she had been told that Avery intended to save one million that the ship must’ve been far, far bigger. There were thousands of lines, countless angles.