I ignored the rebuke. I had another pressing question to ask.
“If you made it from the other side of the galaxy to a beach in Florida, why can’t you project yourself from here to the top of the World Trade Center?”
“The mother-ship dropped me five thousand feet above the ocean. I’m able to navigate and land safely in free-fall, but I can’t propel myself, as I’ve mentioned. It’s a trade-off, Jacob. I don’t have room onboard for brains and propulsion.”
“So how will you get back to your ship?”
“I won’t. I’ll remain here on Earth, if there is an Earth left.”
I wondered if that meant Arcon had more adventures in store for me, if we survived. Then, I remembered my latest novel and its sad status as distressingly past due. I imagined my editor calling to announce that she had finally lost patience with me and the book was cancelled.
Arcon seemed to sense my utter despair. “Why don’t you join me in the garage and watch me bring your old car back to life. Does she have a name?”
“Mathilde. She reminds me of a French woman I once knew with sunrise golden hair and intense blue eyes.”
“Come along, Jacob. Let’s breathe new life into your lost love. I’m confident it will make you feel better.”
I carried an expensive mahogany bar chair from Jeffrey’s den into the garage. As I walked back to the house to retrieve Arcon, two trains of thought traveling in different directions struck me. I thought how lovely it would be to live year-round in Jeffrey’s stunning, ultra-modern house fronting a lone stretch of Daytona Beach. The ions in the air from the sea and the solitude would make it so much easier to write. At least theoretically.
If I survived the looming catastrophe, I resolved to negotiate a rental agreement with Jeffrey. If I could persuade my good friend that I wouldn’t interfere with his free-wheeling bachelor lifestyle, then maybe the idea had possibilities. Why hadn’t I thought of this before? Probably because I wasn’t breathing in enough salt air ions.
My second thought was more of a question which required an answer, if there was one, from Arcon. If an answer was forthcoming, I expected it to be short due to time constraints. We had a little more than sixty-five hours to prevent the extinction of life on Earth.
I noticed Arcon had remained unusually quiet since the conclusion of our latest mind-boggling discussion in the kitchen. I sensed that my friend from the other side of the Milky Way was gathering his energy to restore my old car for our impending trip to One World Trade Center in New York City. I had read it was the tallest building in the United States, and we were headed to the very top of it.
After carefully carrying Arcon from the house to the garage, I placed him comfortably on the bar chair. A few feet away, my decrepit red Mazda Miata waited for whatever might happen next.
From what I casually refer to as an eye in the center of his sleek silver body, Arcon began scanning the car with a beam of pale blue light. Suddenly, the blue light bloomed into a swirling vortex. It engulfed the entire car. Then, frenetic energy forms emerged from the vortex. For a few seconds, I was looking at an abstract light sculpture suspended above the car, until the forms shot off to do their jobs. Each glob of energy serviced a different part inside and outside of the car.
I expected to see my ancient sports car begin to morph into a new version of itself like a movie I had once seen. That’s not what happened. Arcon’s only predictable feature is that he’s always unpredictable. I kept my mouth shut. I knew instinctively that I’d be excoriated if I interrupted.
I heard grinding noises coming from underneath the sheath of blue energy. Then came screeching sounds of metal moving against metal, almost like the car was screaming in agony because Arcon had forgotten to administer an anesthetic before the operation. After several minutes of nerve-jangling scraping and crunching, the sounds became more subtle and less excruciating. I heard faint crackling noises. It sounded like Arcon was whipping up a huge batch of popcorn in an oven. Finally, I began to detect the pungent odor of paint thinner.
“I think you should leave now,” Arcon said to me telepathically. “The fumes might make you sick.”
I wasn’t used to this kind of concern from Arcon. Maybe he’s starting to warm up to me, I thought.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Arcon shot back. “We don’t have time for you to recover from a poisoning episode.”
“Right. I almost forgot. I’m just a means to an end.”
“Not quite. Now, what color would you like the car to be? Keep it conservative. We don’t want to attract attention.”
I settled on something called atomic silver; a glossy dark gray.
“Done. Now, be a good boy and wait in the kitchen. I’ll call you when it’s safe to come back.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Not now. Go back to the house.”
I returned to the kitchen and cracked open another beer. I closed my eyes and thought about the ending of my novel again. The elusive ending finally dawned on me. The detective and the beautiful FBI agent realize they are both too strong-willed to commit to a long-term romantic relationship. To make matters worse, their next cases require them to work undercover in distant locations. Ultimately, they come to a decision: to stay friends and perhaps occasional lovers if their paths cross again. I liked the idea. It left the door ajar for a sequel and a resumption of the relationship. I hoped my editor would like it.
The thought of ending my novel with a note of uncertainty generated images of something much worse. I saw the deadly pulsar emerge from a wormhole and slam into Mother Earth. A few hours after the Earth exploded into a blinding fireball, there was nothing left but stardust. All the hopes, all the dreams, all the achievements, all the moments of joy and sorrow, all the beauty and all the ugliness—all gone in a heart-beat. It was not science fiction. It was a reality hurtling towards us–getting closer every second.
“Come, Jacob,” I heard Arcon say inside my head.
A few minutes later, I stood before a glossy new MX-5 Mazda Miata. I noticed Arcon had made it a convertible.
“Looks even sportier with the hood added.”
“I thought you might like it,” Arcon replied proudly.
“Is there any chance we can take turns driving to New York?”
“Get real, Jacob. Hurry and pack your things. We’ll only have time for a few cat naps and bathroom breaks on the way. We can’t afford to waste a minute.”
Apparently, Arcon was picking up our vernacular with each conversation we had. I decided to hold my question for the trip to New York. I was not looking forward to the grueling drive, but at least there would be plenty of time to talk.
Generally speaking, the best time for a monumental crisis to occur is during the spring or summer. Frozen highways tend to create treacherous driving conditions, especially if the driver is in a hurry. Fortunately, the weather in Georgia couldn’t have been much better in early April.
The Azaleas were blooming in all their glory. The skies beamed overhead in immaculate blues with only a hint of clouds. The scent of honeysuckle wafted in the air. It was almost enough to make me forget that the world stood an excellent chance of ending in less than fifty-five hours.
We trudged Northward on I-95 in my miraculously restored Mazda Miata. We had just left a rest stop. I felt refreshed. I had nothing better to do except drive. On the other hand, Arcon was likely preparing for the challenges ahead. He was never idle and always irritable when I interrupted his thinking. I knew that “thinking” was an entirely inadequate way of expressing Arcon’s mental processes. Likewise, “mental processes” was a crude description, but these approximations would have to suffice for now. The point being, Arcon had plenty of time to do whatever he was doing on the long trip ahead. I did not foresee a better time to interrupt Arcon’s “process” to ask him the question that had been plaguing me.
“Are you familiar with the bible story of Sodom and Gomorrah?” I asked, and held my breath.
&nbs
p; “I don’t have time to scan your scriptures,” Arcon replied curtly.
“Then I’ll give you a quick synopsis. God decided to destroy the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah for their grave sins. Abraham, the founder of Judaism, pleaded for the lives of the righteous people who lived in the cities, especially his nephew Lot and Lot’s family. God relented and told Abraham if he could find ten righteous families, then God would allow the cities to stand. As it turned out, Lot and his family were the only righteous people in both cities. God allowed Lot and his family to leave before he leveled Sodom and Gomorrah, but he warned them not to turn around. Lot’s wife disobeyed. When she turned around to watch the destruction, God turned her into a pillar of salt.”
“Interesting. What is your point?”
“Is God punishing us for our sins?”
“I really don’t think so, Jacob. The human race is already doing an excellent job of destroying itself. Can we get back to giving your world a second chance?”
“Wait. I have to ask. Why, after billions of years of existence, is our planet threatened with incineration now?”
“I will answer you succinctly and truthfully to save time and avoid follow up questions. There are a few bad apples living in our galaxy. One of them is a race that you would call ‘super human.’ These extraordinary creatures have the technology to channel a pulsar. The pulsar heading this way was channeled by them. They want to colonize Mars without any interference. It is much easier for these creatures to pulverize your planet than to fight a destructive war to conquer it and then rebuild it to their specifications. It will be far more efficient for these bad actors to reconstitute the Martian atmosphere and terraform the planet for colonization without interference from your species.”
“So, if we succeed, we still have to worry about these super beings?”
“One step at a time, please. Let’s deal with the crisis at hand.”
The balance of our trip to New York City was uneventful. I’m not a big fan of the city. For starters, Manhattan is notable for its dirty air, dirty streets, dirty buildings, ridiculous prices, massive overcrowding, and unfriendly people. I can’t understand why anyone would voluntarily choose to live here, unless they are pursuing a career in the arts. Some people “just love” the city for its culture, expensive restaurants, and God knows what else. Not me. The last time I saw a Broadway show, the person next to me was practically sitting in my lap. I swore an oath never to repeat the experience. The only saving grace of being here is to see the rebuilt World Trade Center building up close and personal.
Unlike me, I’m sure Arcon has no opinion of the city. He is here to do a job of the utmost importance. He recruited me to help him. I’m also certain that he does not consider me his partner. He doesn’t have to like me. He doesn’t have to consider me a friend, or an associate, or a co-worker, or anything else of that ilk. He came to Earth to save us from a horrible fate. He has to do it quickly and efficiently. He has no use for extraneous pursuits such as opinions or the cementing of interstellar relationships. He is aware of every second that slips by. In less than three hours, the Earth will be reduced to fizzling cinders . . . unless we intervene successfully.
I have the unenviable task of transporting Arcon, undetected, to the very top of the One World Trade Center building.
One World Trade Center was built to replace the Twin Towers destroyed on 9/11. It is one of the tallest buildings in the world, measuring 1,776 feet high. It is no coincidence that the height of the building exactly matches the date of America’s independence. Many features have been incorporated into the new building’s construction to prevent the tragedies that occurred in the 9/11 attacks.
Arcon has assured me that the building’s security will not be difficult to navigate. I am, to say the least, doubtful. I have no idea how many layers of security we will have to fool to reach the top of the building. I have read that there are four hundred security cameras mounted throughout the building, all of them running the latest anti-terrorist software. There are an undisclosed number of New York City policemen patrolling the building in any number of locations. I’ve read that the lower Manhattan police force has been beefed up to six-hundred-and-seventy officers. I imagine many of them are assigned to guard One World Trade Center.
I am reasonably certain of only three things. (1) I am not a terrorist. (2) I’m no security expert. (3) Although I am trying to save the planet, there is a high probability I will be incarcerated, and shortly afterward, the Earth will explode.
With Arcon packed in wrapping paper inside a sturdy, innocent-looking shopping bag, I walked past the soaring white arches of the Oculus, an underground transportation hub. I was fascinated to learn about an interesting feature of the structure. Incorporated into its design is a lasting reminder of the attacks of September 11, 2001. It is in alignment with the sun’s solar angles on each September 11, from 8:46 AM, when the first plane struck, until 10:28 AM, when the second tower collapsed. Its central skylight washes the Oculus floor with a beam of light each year as a reminder of the attacks and in memory of the victims.
Past the Oculus, I caught my first glimpse of the gleaming edifice known as One World Trade Center. Seeing the building for the first time in person added profoundly to my sense of urgency. The beauty and grandeur of this project is a testament to the resiliency and creativity of the human spirit. Seven other buildings have been constructed to complement the project. To imagine that all of this might be destroyed again by terrorists from a distant star is incomprehensible.
To avoid waiting in lines, we arrived at the observatory entrance a few minutes after the opening time of 9:00 AM. Three soldiers in battle fatigues stood guard outside the entrance. A tag on their bulky vests identified them as members of the New York National Guard. Every inch of them, from their hats, to their pistols, to their machine guns, and down to their car-wax-shine-boots shouted: I mean business. Do not fuck with me. And, most importantly: DO NOT TRY ANYTHING STUPID.
I tried on a friendly smile and a wave. It didn’t go over well. We passed through the glass and steel doors to the security gauntlet. I call it a gauntlet because it looked more ominous than a TSA security station at an airport. I purchased an expensive express lane ticket for the observatory. The express ticket wasn’t going to make my journey through the gauntlet any easier. It would make it faster to get into the observatory if we made it through the first wall of security.
Faced with the gauntlet, my internal organs were freezing up.
I was most concerned about the complicated scanner. It was equipped with a laser scanner and a conventional x-ray camera. It looked powerful enough to examine Arcon right down to his atoms. I didn’t see how Arcon’s disguise as a Nineteenth Century Art Deco vase was going to pass muster. Attempting to pass through this formidable security array was sheer suicide. Then again, what choice did I have? I’d surely be dead if I didn’t try.
I placed the shopping bag on the scanner’s conveyor belt. I shed the required personal belongings one normally removes before boarding an airplane, and placed them alongside the shopping bag. I walked through the metal detector, certain that I’d be surrounded by policemen at the other end.
I made it through the metal detector without hearing any alarms. A heavily armed police officer approached me. I thought: This is what the guards are taught. Politely lead the suspected terrorist away so as not to disturb any of the other visitors.
Instead of arresting me, the officer asked me why I was bringing the vase into the building. I told him that I intended to give it to my fiancée as a gift. I ad-libbed the part about my fiancée. It sounded more believable than “my girlfriend.” He looked at me with an entirely too serious expression. I was positive he didn’t believe my story. Then, he told me it was a unique and thoughtful gift. Finally, he asked me how long I planned to stay in the building. With every ounce of my being, I tried not to look relieved.
How long would it take Arcon and me to do what we had come to do? “Three hours to
be on the safe side,” I said straight-faced.
“Let me see your driver’s license, or some other valid ID.”
I handed over my driver’s license in mortal fear that I had said something wrong.
“Collect your items and wait for me on one of those benches over there. I’ll generate your OWTC ID card and bring it to you. You’ll need the card for all points of entry in the building. Don’t lose it. If you do lose it, report it to the nearest officer or staff member. The card will no longer be valid after six hours, so watch your time.”
Collecting Arcon and my paraphernalia, I found the nearest bench. It was a relief to sit down after the harrowing trip through security. I spoke to Arcon in our customary mode of conversation; mental telepathy.
“How did you get through that scanner without your circuitry being detected?”
“I converted my insides into pure energy, and then I went into hibernation mode. I have a variety of energy frequencies to choose from. I used the most effective one for the pass through the scanner.”
“You could have told me beforehand. I was worried they’d find out you weren’t really a Nineteenth Century Art Deco vase.”
Arcon made no immediate reply, which was unusual for him. He always had some sort of bouncy rejoinder ready when we spoke. “I’m sorry. It didn’t occur to me to tell you.”
I was astounded by Arcon’s reply. Was he learning to have feelings in the same way he was learning the colloquialisms of the English language?
Before I could say anything more, the police officer returned. He handed me my ID card and pointed to a bank of elevators twenty yards to my right. “Take one of those elevators up to the observatory,” he said. “It’s a forty-seven second non-stop flight to the one hundredth floor.” He smiled at his clever little joke.
I smiled too, but only on the outside. Parking and getting through security had eaten up an hour. We had two hours left.
The Silver Sphere: It's Coming--No Time to Waste Page 2
