Harbinger (The Janus Harbinger Book 1)

by Olan Thorensen

  He imagined the images he’d seen of the two-faced god . . . Janus looking at both the future and the past. The past was known, but the future . . . ?

  CHAPTER 51

  THE CALL

  The morning after Chesterton’s address dawned as with any other day. No matter the momentous news and the worldwide simmering turmoil, routines continued for the attendees at the previous evening’s gathering. Six of them went to work by first light. The exception was Jill. Taking care of two young children and the home was at least as much work as any of the others’ jobs. In addition, today was one of the two days a week when she drove the seventeen miles south to Coos Bay, to attend classes at the Southwest Oregon Community College. When she left the house, Zach would take Karen to where Kathy and Willie collaborated in caring for their son while they worked. The pair of parents hadn’t worked out what to do when two new babies arrived.

  On her school days, Jill would take Bobby to kindergarten at the North Bay Elementary School, eight miles south on Highway 101. She always picked him up after school, but she and Zach took turns dropping him off, depending on their schedules.

  To both Zach’s and Jill’s surprise, both had turned into students. Jill preferred the organized approach. She had never had strong academic interests, but the six months at Site 23, the revelations about the Object, and the small contributions she felt she had made had ignited a fire in her to KNOW.

  The first few classes had been difficult. She initially despaired at remedial algebra and introduction to psychology. But she persevered, with Zach’s support, and she passed the courses with better grades than she expected. From that point on, she flourished, taking an eclectic selection of courses in the sciences and the humanities. Yet the time neared when she would exhaust the courses of interest to her at that school, and any further studies would have to be through correspondence. She browsed the Web for options in long-distance courses and degrees. For the latter, she was uncertain whether she wanted to continue with the broad sweep or focus on a narrower area, as required for a formal degree. There was no rush. With a growing family, she had time to explore her interests for a few more years.

  For Zach, it was different. He was not inclined to sit in classes with eighteen- to twenty-two-year-old students. The difference in their life histories was too great. Plus, he had educated himself to a considerable degree and gravitated to self-learning. His patrols fit perfectly with this inclination because he could listen to lessons on tape. He included general overviews of all areas of science, but he found himself emphasizing history, anthropology, religion, philosophy, psychology, and political science.

  He was not oblivious that his interests gravitated to understanding what would happen when the Object became public. Exceptions to these topics were ecology and environmental science, a result of Simeon’s overt and suggestive comments that these could be major factors in the future of the human race.

  Today’s lesson had been on the philosophy of Nietzsche. As Zach listened, half the time he felt lost and wondered if philosophy was not his forte, but persistence he had in abundance.

  I need to find a simpler version, he thought. Something like “Nietzsche for Dummies.” But at least he listened to the entire lesson. Maybe some of it would stick.

  As the narrator closed off the lesson, Zach turned through the fence opening and onto the drive leading to the house fifty yards away. Halfway there, Bobby catapulted out the front door and ran to the railing bordering the driveway. He climbed onto the three-foot railing and jumped up and down.

  “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!!” By the time Zach pulled into the carport, Karen had tottered out of the house, followed by Jill keeping an eye on their daughter. Zach tousled Bobby’s hair and surrendered his lunch box and hat—the latter Bobby donned, pushing it back to not flop over his eyes. Their homecoming custom had developed in the last month. Bobby insisted on “helping Daddy get home.”

  Karen attached herself to a leg, and he walked stiff-legged up to Jill on the porch, then completed the latest ritual with a kiss and a hug. Karen assented to being picked up, and they went indoors, Jill and Zach arm in arm.

  “And how was your day?” she asked.

  “Exciting. One barking dog complaint, one court summons to deliver, and one domestic violence report. The same family on the east side of Saunders Lake. I must go there twice a month. Most of the time, it’s just that the couple yells at each other so loud, but we have to check out the reports just in case. I think they used to actually fight more often, but I seem to have become part of the routine, so by the time I arrive, their stories are well rehearsed.”

  Jill laughed. “Zach, the family counselor?”

  “More like the family parole officer. Both the husband and the wife have several priors against them for domestic violence, and they’re afraid of another charge.”

  “Oh, yes,” added Zach, “I finished a lesson on Nietzsche and now can confidently say I haven’t the slightest idea what it was about.”

  Jill smiled. “Oh, I know you. You’ve probably already planned on getting more basic lessons to work up to this one. Right?”

  “Well, yeah. But how about your day?”

  “Just as thrilling. Bobby insisted on showing off his ABCs and numbers. He’s definitely ready for kindergarten. Naturally, Karen had to accompany Bobby’s recitals. I think she maybe could pass some of the kindergarten readiness test herself. I let Kathy experience the alphabet for a few hours while I was off to school. Organic chemistry and history of the Middle East.

  “Oh, before I forget, we got a phone call from Bre asking for your email address. She relayed the request from Ralph. She evidently is somehow in contact with him. You know, THE Ralph from you-know-where.”

  Zach’s right eyebrow rose. “Ralph? Haven’t heard from him since we left. Last we knew, he was staying on.”

  Jill nodded. “Well, he evidently wants to contact you about something. You’ve probably got something from him—if you ever check your email. Anyway . . . I gave the address to Bre.”

  “I do check my email,” said Zach, mock defensively. “I checked it just last month.”

  “Whatever. Dinner will be in about half an hour. Spaghetti—by Bobby’s request. He informed me it was Daddy’s favorite meal.”

  “News to me. He didn’t happen to mention it was also his favorite, did he?”

  “No,” said Jill, “that didn’t come up.” They shared a laugh.

  Later that evening, after dinner, after cleanup, after bedding down Bobby and Karen, and while Jill retired to her study room to finish an assignment in Middle East history, Zach went to his workroom and pulled up his email. There it was. Please contact me. From rmarkakis@gmail.com.

  Zach clicked on Respond and typed in the new box: “Hi, Ralph, this is Zach. Long time no hear from you. What’s up?”

  Expecting to get an answer perhaps later that evening or the next day, Zach was mildly surprised when a response came within seconds. The new email simply asked, “Do you have Skype?” To get the answer this quickly, Ralph either was on his computer or had set up an alert whenever an email from Zach was delivered.

  “Yes, to Skype, but I’ve never used it. Jill has.”

  Again, the answer came quickly. “Best not to bother Jill. I will send you a file you can run and simply follow directions.”

  Zach’s sixth sense now was itching. What was Ralph up to, and why would he be contacting me now? The question had barely run through Zach’s thoughts when another email arrived from Ralph. This one with no text—only an attached file. Zach clicked on the file, then indicated “allow” when Windows asked him if he wanted to run the attached .exe file. It was 46.3 megabytes! What was Ralph sending?

  Zach waited for the file to complete downloading. It took several minutes because their connection was not the fastest. While he waited, Zach pondered the possible purpose of the big file. None of his pondering encouraged him that it was anything he looked forward to.

  Finally, Windows si
gnaled the download complete and asked did he want to run the big .exe file? Zach didn’t hesitate. He had already decided Ralph was too good a nerd to have sent an infected file. He clicked “Continue,” and the drive hummed . . . and hummed.

  Finally, a small window came up saying, “Wait.” So he waited . . . and waited until another window came up with a question: “Who let Bobby in the room?”

  “What—!” he said before realizing it was a test question.

  He typed in “Freddie,” and hit Return.

  Another question. “Who wrote Andy’s favorite music?”

  He entered “Mozart.”

  A third question. “What is H’s favorite food?”

  Zach hesitated. “H? Howard, Harold, Harry? Were there other Hs at the site? And why would I know any of their favorite foods?

  It hit him. There was one other notable H. Harriet! He typed in “apples.” All the windows vanished, and another appeared, with the labeling at the top indicating Skype had been activated. Then the computer speaker cleared the static. Zach casually wondered how did Skype and the speaker on his computer get activated by whatever Ralph had sent?

  Then the Skype screen displayed the image of Ralph. He appeared harried, many years older than Zach remembered.

  “Hi, Zach. A friend wants to talk with you. Afterward, if you want to discuss all this with me, we can arrange to meet. We can use circumlocutions to arrange a meeting. But if you email me, don’t say anything about a package I’ve sent you or anything else that comes. I’ll be using snail mail addressed to a Zach Markus at “general delivery” in Coos Bay. You’ll have to convince the post office there that the package is meant for you. That’s all for me right now. Here’s our ‘friend.’”

  With that, the screen blanked out for perhaps ten seconds, then another head appeared—a known head and a plain white background.

  “Hello, Zach,” said the head with a slight smile. “I expect you are surprised to hear from me.”

  Zach stared at the other face for several seconds before replying, “Yes, I am surprised. So, how are you?” It was an inane thing to say, but then what else was there?

  “I’m afraid we have a serious problem,” Simeon said, “and we are hoping you can help.”

  THE END

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to my wife, Kathleen, for encouragement, tolerating my sequestering away for endless hours writing and revising, and for reading drafts. Thanks to editor and Patricia Waldygo for contributions and teaching me those things about writing and grammar that I didn’t learn in school. Cover by Alex at Podium Audio.

  About the Author

  Olan Thorensen is a pen name. He’s a long-time science fiction fan (emphasis on ‘long’) who has jumped into independent publication with all its pitfalls and unknowns. He thinks all colors go together: clash, what clash? A fan of Dilbert, Non Sequitur, Peanuts (even if old strips), and still thinks the end of The Far Side was a tragedy. In his youth, served in the US Special Forces (Vietnam:SOG). Has a Phd in Genetics, around 200 science publications as author and co-author, and is a Fellow of the American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS). Lives in the Blue Ridge country of Virginia. Thinks it’s totally cool someone can read his stories and enjoy them. Loves fireflies, thunderstorms, is eclectic in music, and thinks four seasons are better than one. His web page is olanthorensen.com. All input from readers is appreciated.

  Please email him with any comments at olanthorensen@gmail.com or through his web site at olanthorensen.com. He promises to read all emails, though he won’t be able to answer personally every one. Also, if you enjoyed the story, please leave a comment/review on appropriate venues, such as Amazon and Goodreads. Readers and authors have a synergistic relationship. The more reviews, the more likely there are for more books.