The Presence

by Paul Black

  Meatball emerged from beneath the bed and began stalking Chaco’s foot under his baggy sweatpants. The cat pawed and caught the tip of his big toe.

  “Owww! Shit! You little asshole!”

  Meatball retreated across the loft’s concrete floor and skidded to safety under the bed.

  Chaco examined the blood oozing from the tiny puncture and pressed a paper towel against it. “Meat, shit. Don’t you ever do that–”

  “Sir, you have two Netcalls,” announced the loft’s HDI system. “One is marked high priority, the other urgent.”

  “What are their IDs?” Chaco asked, dabbing at the wound.

  “Ms. Deja Moriarty and Yoichi Tsukahara.”

  Chaco glanced at his watch. 11:09 a.m. Shit, he thought, Tsuka probably screwed up his ADR’s again. “Send Deja’s through and transfer the other to my NSA message box.”

  Deja’s holo-image formed to the left of the coffee table. She was in her office, her arms folded tightly across her chest. There seemed to be a commotion behind her. People were darting past the opening of her cubical. She started to speak, hesitated, then brushed her hair back in a way that meant something was up.

  “Morning,” Chaco said while he took another swig of breakfast.

  “Turn on INN now,” she said.

  “Request. Give me INN, full screen.”

  The Ansel Adams image of Cathedral Peak that hung on the wall opposite the couch dissolved into a locked-off shot of the United Nations main assembly hall. It was framed by an INN info banner ticking off submessages and vid-pulls from six correspondent remotes. The UN was in full session, and nothing looked all that unusual. But Chaco almost dropped his protein shake when the camera cut to a close-up of the main speaker.

  It was Marl.

  He stood behind the podium smiling that familiar smile of his and wearing the same coat, which appeared fairly normal in the harsh camera lights. As the INN image sequenced through various angles, Chaco saw that a U.N. security detail had rushed the stage, only to be stopped about 20 feet from the podium. They were frozen in various positions of attack, some with their weapons out and aimed at Marl. The rest of the assembly appeared able to move, but most had chosen to remain seated. A few were standing and looking around in confusion. It all seemed surprisingly calm, considering that Marl had suddenly materialized in the seat of the most powerful governing body on the planet.

  Chaco looked at Deja.

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “What the hell is he doing?” he asked.

  “Changing the world?” she replied.

  “Wasn’t Alberts speaking to the assembly today?”

  “Yeah, but two minutes before she was supposed to take the stage, Marl just materialized.”

  “Jesus. Has he said anything yet?”

  “We’ve checked all of our feeds, but so far he’s just standing and grinning. He’s been there about 15 minutes. Wait, go to INBC!”

  Chaco scanned through the different news networks and stopped on INBC’s feed from outside the U.N. A dozen armored personnel hover-carriers were touching down on a blocked off street. As each one landed, about 20 heavily armed Special Ops types jumped out. A series of quick-cuts showed close-ups of the troops securing the area. The image cut to a female correspondent standing in the street across from the U.N. As she described the scene in trite network adjectives, two imposing, black tractor-trailers edged their way through the chaos behind her. Chaco had heard of these trucks. Their conspicuous lack of markings, along with the complex array of antennas atop their roofs, confirmed to him that the OST had arrived.

  He sighed. “See those black trucks? This is going to get ugly.”

  “For the sake of us all, I hope it doesn’t. What are those, anyway?”

  “Probably MCC’s for the OST.”

  “MC what’s for the who?”

  “Mobile Command Centers for the Office of Special Tactics. They’re a section of DoD. Technically, they don’t exist, but a buddy of mine was once recruited by them and–”

  “Go back to INN!”

  INBC’s image cut to a medium shot of the podium before Chaco could react. As he scanned back, he realized all the Networks were carrying the same feed. The camera was dramatically slow-zooming while Marl gazed out to the assembly hall. He had that heavy look Chaco had seen before, but this time it was tinged with an air that seemed ... paternal.

  “Here it comes,” Deja said.

  An icy ripple went through Chaco. It was the same feeling he had back at The Thin when he was holding Deja on the night of Corazon’s death. Something shifted across his heart, as if an old part of him had slid away to expose something new ... something he had been suppressing for a long time. He looked at Deja and could tell she had felt something, too.

  “I love you,” she mouthed.

  Chaco felt his lips answer her with the same words, but a silence had settled around him. He looked back to the vidscreen and realized that the world was about to change forever.

  The camera locked-off on a tight shot of Marl’s face. As if on cue, he looked directly into the lens, gave a slight smile, and slowly closed his eyes.

  When Chaco’s vision returned, he was back in his parent’s old yard in Hooker. Marl was standing not five feet away. This time, there was no wind – just a clear sky and a perfect temperature. Chaco was still dressed as he had been in his loft. He curled his toes into the dirt but didn’t feel any texture or mass. Even the cut on his toe was gone.

  “Hello, Sonny,” Marl said casually. He wasn’t wearing the coat anymore. He was dressed in a black t-shirt, faded blue jeans, and a pair of old Nike cross-trainers designed by an aged fitness guru. The shoes were wildly popular until the guy’s face fell on national TV during a live infomercial. Marl even sported one of those stupid med watches that changed colors with your cholesterol level. It all seemed vaguely familiar, like everything had come from the TrumpMart in Hooker. But even though Marl looked remarkably normal, Chaco knew he was just a conduit for something greater; behind his blue eyes was unthinkable knowledge amassed from an ancient race that had probably evolved into wisps of non-corporeal energy.

  “Hello, Marl. Um, nice clothes.” Chaco was surprised how calm he felt, considering he was dialoguing with a creature that could wield power at the speed of thought.

  Marl leveled a look that penetrated to the core of Chaco’s being. Chaco didn’t feel any fear, however. There seemed to be a benevolence emanating from Marl, as if he were about to explain the meaning of life or something.

  “Please, Sonny, don’t be afraid,” he said. “At this moment, I am speaking to every human on your planet, just as I am to you.” Marl’s attention shifted slightly, and it felt like he was looking right through Chaco. “Many of you are asleep and will think that you are dreaming, but rest assured this is not a dream. Many of you will likewise be concerned for the safety of your passengers or patients or others in your care. Do not worry. The length of time we will spend together will be imperceptible. It will not affect your judgment, abilities, or anything in your environment. When I am gone, it will be as though you had blinked.

  “Let me introduce myself. I am a messenger. The ones who set into motion the variables that gave way to the rise of humanity have sent me to help your world evolve. When I am through, this conversation will be part of your new collective consciousness. I was sent to put your world into balance by implementing an effect that would bring order to your cultures. Usually, this effect would go unnoticed by your world, but after studying your people and their complexities, I have concluded that the only way your cultures will put aside their differences and come together as a world community is to discover that they are not alone in the universe. Believe me when I tell you that this is the truth.

  “Mankind’s potential is vast, and with respect to the universe, you are just infants. But even as infants, your future is yours to create, so I suggest that you start by helping your own. Only then can you begin to travel a path that will elevat
e your species to a new order. This revelation will spawn many questions within your different cultures, religions, and governments, but is not this the essence of evolving? It is not our intent to guide you or to become more involved. You already have the necessary tools and capacity to make this journey. The length of time you take will be up to you, but I suggest that you start immediately.” His look took on an even more serious quality. “Please be aware, this is not a suggestion. We will return from time to time to check on your progress, and our assessments may have consequences.”

  Chaco thought he felt a gust of cool air pass over the back of his neck.

  Marl looked about the yard before he centered his focus on Chaco. “Sonny,” he said, as if addressing only him, though Chaco deduced 12 billion other infants felt the same. “Do you have any questions?”

  An odd embarrassment rose in Chaco, and he looked away. Such a simple question. One that a professor might ask at the conclusion of a lecture. Chaco couldn’t think of anything, because nothing Marl had said came as a real shock. In fact, it all seemed to resonate pretty true. What he felt now was a mild guilt, as though he and his species had always known better but had been too fucking busy being selfish. Now all those Biblical references to man as “children” made sense: as a species, they were infants, and it was about time to finally grow up. Chaco wondered if Marl, at this moment, was engaged in answering billions of questions. But when he looked back, Marl was standing serenely waiting, his hands clasped in front of him.

  “No.” Chaco looked down and dug his toes into the dirt. “I don’t have any questions.”

  A broad smile came over Marl’s face, and he spread his arms. “Then I welcome you, Sonny Thomas Chaco, to the family of the universe.” An intense white radiance exploded from his smile and obliterated the Oklahoma landscape.

  “... Where’s Marl?” Chaco heard himself say.

  “I don’t know,” Deja replied. “He just disappeared from the stage.”

  Chaco watched as the security detail – released from whatever had been holding them – rushed the empty podium. Many of the delegates had charged the stage, but the Special Ops guys were pushing them back and barking for them to remain calm. The OST marched up in the new offensive combat gear Chaco had heard about – Objective Fabric that could mend a wound in battle. They were leading a team of specialists in bright orange HAZMAT suits. The correspondent was clearly flustered and bullshitting her way through the play-by-play. The whole scene was surreal, and as the OST began to set up a perimeter around the stage, the correspondent gave up and stopped reporting. Her loss of words summed up the situation. Chaco glanced at Deja.

  “Hey,” he said, “are you all right?”

  Deja pulled herself away from something out of the holo’s view field, probably the same report Chaco was watching. She faced him with a puzzled look. “W-what did you ask?”

  “Are you feeling anything? I mean, did Marl talk with you ... in your mind?”

  Deja slowly nodded. “Yeah.... It’s like I remember it, but it feels like an old memory.”

  “Me, too. It feels like it’s a part of my past. Did he tell you about himself and why he came to earth?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Did he mention that we’ll have in our collective consciousness the knowledge of his existence?”

  Deja nodded.

  Chaco whistled. “I guess he did talk with everyone.”

  Deja turned and stopped a guy walking past her cubicle. They conversed for a moment before she turned back. “Yeah, Sonny, he did because everyone here is walking around in sort of a daze. It’s taking time to sink in, I think.”

  The INBC’s report had shifted to a newsroom with six professor-types vidlinked to a moderator. The whole thing looked hastily staged as they roundtabled on various theories about Marl. One professor, a stately gentleman with an ornate handlebar moustache, was sure that his appearance was a new form of holo-teleportation, probably funded by a terrorist group. Another wearing a pair of Net-Linked Micro-Night optics conjectured that Marl was an alien life form here to help the world. His eyes darted back and forth, most likely following the information being fed to him by the Micro-Nights. Another dismissed all of the theories and said Marl was obviously a precursor for the Rapture. What else could he be? One thing was certain: it appeared that all of the professors, including the moderator, now had a sense of Marl’s message imbedded in their memories. The Micro-Night guy slammed his fist onto the table and demanded an explanation.

  “Sonny?”

  Chaco glanced back at Deja’s holoimage. She looked about to cry. “Hey, Dej, what’s the matter?”

  “I’m scared. It’s all going to be different, isn’t it?”

  That was the understatement of the century. “It’ll be different, but maybe it’ll work. I mean, maybe Marl’s intervention will finally get us moving in the right direction. Stop all the bullshit fighting over religion.”

  “I don’t know, Sonny. It’s going to take a lot more than a five-minute brainwashing to keep people from killing each other.”

  “I think he wants us to figure it out. He just supplied the push we needed. Dej, I’ve got a good feeling about this.... I guess it was the way Marl came across. He seemed pretty sincere to me ... kind of fatherly, you know?”

  An odd smile spread across Deja’s face.

  “What’s so funny?” Chaco asked.

  “It’s so weird you say that.”

  “Why?”

  “To me, he came across like my grandmother, the one who raised me. It’s not like he looked like her, obviously. It’s ... I don’t know, he just had this way about him when he was talking to me. It was weird, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, it’s like he knew who we would listen to the most, then took on the characteristics of that person.”

  Their eyes met, and a feeling that was becoming more familiar fluttered across Chaco’s heart.

  “You know I meant what I said earlier.... Don’t you?” Deja asked.

  “Yes,” Chaco answered, “I know.”

  Deja gave him a hairy eyeball almost as good as Slowinski’s. “And?”

  “What?”

  More hairy eyeball.

  Chaco chuckled. “Right,” he said. “I love you, too.”

  35. I PROMISE

  It felt like she had been inside a dream at the bottom of some distant ocean for 1,000 years. She tried to open her eyes, but a layer of sleep as thick as death pressed against her struggle. Dark silhouettes greeted her as she blinked away the pain.

  “Doctor,” said a voice, possibly a female’s. It was hard to tell.

  Another silhouette joined the two already at her side. They whispered across her as she lay in a warm and comfortable bed. The new silhouette leaned down and touched her shoulder.

  “This might be a little startling for you, but don’t be afraid. We’re here to help.” A man’s voice of soft timbre. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she heard herself say, the word emerging as if from deep hibernation.

  “All right, then,” the male shadow replied. “Now, just relax. This won’t hurt.”

  He reached down and removed something she suspected had covered every aspect of her for a long, long time. It passed over her eyes; a light so bright that it stung bloomed to fill her vision.

  “Good morning,” the man said, now in a low level of detail. He was older with a closely cropped beard, his face filled with sincerity. The other two shadows were Asian women who looked almost like twins with their sharply cut bangs and pale complexions. They shared his concerned look, though somehow not as genuinely. The older man’s ID pin labeled him as Dr. Haderous. When she read his name, a torrent of memories threatened to drown her in a wave of pure emotion. Her last memory was standing by her pool, at her home. She had a drink in her hand – her favorite, a vodka martini – and people were standing around the edge of the pool, laughing and talking. Suddenly she stumbled backwards (falling, maybe?) and her drink flew out of her
hand. She gasped loudly at the memory’s intensity.

  The doctor gently stroked her forehead. “Don’t worry, this sensation will pass. What you’re feeling is simply your brain coming back on line after a period of dormancy. There’s nothing to worry about.” He looked away and motioned for someone to join him. The two Asian women smiled shyly, bowed, and shuffled out of view.

  A large man approached the doctor’s side. His hat cast a shadow across his face, but when he removed it, she saw that his eyes were moist, as if he had been crying. He leaned down.

  “Kita, my love,” he said with such grace that she instinctually touched his face, “how do you feel?”

  Searching his eyes, she could feel his name enter her mind with a clarity that seemed almost too perfect. Then she remembered their life together, and there was a stinging behind her left eye. “Tired, Oscar.” Her voice was working now, but mechanically.

  “That, too, is typical,” Dr. Haderous said. “It’s nothing to be concerned about.”

  “What happened?” she asked, already having a vague sense of the answer.

  “You fell into our pool and hit your head,” Oscar replied. “You’ve been in a coma.”

  “How long?” she asked, surprised at her own calmness regarding the revelation.

  Oscar glanced tentatively at the doctor.

  Dr. Haderous smiled and patted her shoulder. “Mrs. Pavia,” he said in a way that reminded her of her father, “one thing at a time. What really matters is that you’re awake and on the road to a full recovery.”

  Oscar gathered her hands, which looked like a child’s compared to his. She noticed the scars across his knuckles and flashed a memory of his time in the Middle East. “Everything will be all right, my love,” he said tenderly. “I promise.”

  At that moment, for reasons she didn’t yet understand, she knew he would keep that promise for the rest of her life.