by P F Walsh
This morning she was looking forward to jogging in this nice quiet neighborhood right after breakfast, “In fact,” she thought, “I just might leave Henry in my room.” This was the best she had felt in the morning in a long time. As soon as Sean entered the living room, he could smell breakfast and the scent of fresh brewed coffee, his stomach growled. “Boy,” he thought, “nobody has made breakfast for me in over 9 years, that really smells good.”
“Good Morning Doris, looks like you have the kitchen totally subdued and producing.” He said as he looked hungrily at the stack of food being served up for the table.
“Where did you learn to cook?” He asked.
“A place called Barney’s, I started waiting tables to earn some money while in High School and moved into short order cook, until I went Into the Army. Barney was a great cook, knew how to make good food fast. I never went hungry after that.” She continued to scramble the eggs and slide them onto another serving plate when just right.
“How do you feel this morning?” she asked, bringing the eggs over to the table where Sean was now seated facing the window wall looking out over the pool, and beyond to the foot of the mountains just one-half mile away. He now began hungrily staring at the food plates.
“I feel great, no trace of what I was feeling last night.” He said.
“You hungry? She asked.
“I’m starving,” he answered, “first sign of recovery for sure!” as he began to fill his plate.
Later, after most of the food was consumed, a condition Sean was doubtful of when earlier he saw how much food she had prepared, they sat nursing their hot beverages of choice. Doris Made coffee in the Mr. Coffee maker after she had found the coffee grounds in the freezer, coming to the conclusion that Sean didn’t drink coffee, but kept it for guests. She was right, Sean, born in Boston 80 years ago, drank tea, English Breakfast Tea to be precise. In fact, he was sure at least half of Boston were still tea drinkers.
“What would you like to do today Doris?” he asked as they cleaned up all the dishes and cooking pans at the sink while loading the dishwasher.
“No problem if you want to stay for a few days. Hell, stay for a week, you can cook!” he said with a big smile,
“I can use the company, too many years alone, I guess. You got the time off?”
“Well, yes I do, I was involved in an officer discharging their weapon, and I’m on suspension relief while they investigate and subdue the hysterical, political shitstorm that always happens when that occurs.”
Sean asked,
“You get hurt?” Wondering if she had a bandaged wound that needed checking.
“Naw, but the perp did, I blew his leg off with Henry as he was drawing a huge knife, like a Bowie knife, from a leg sheath and turning at me at the same time. I was really aiming for the knife instinctively, but I missed. I damn sure wasn’t going to let him cut me. Did a job on his leg though. I had to use my belt for a tourniquet.” Once again, without emotion in her voice.
“Jeez, Doris, scary shit, no wonder you were wired, Who’s Henry?”
“Oh, that’s what I call my .357,” she said, “they all know that in the precinct, so when someone asks me out for a date I say, I’ll have to check with Henry. I don’t get much follow-up which is the way I like it; Cop romances are bad decisions. Never work out.”
She had sat across from him at the dining room table during breakfast, and was now looking at him with more intensiveness.
“You look better this morning.” She said.
“Well, I feel better for sure,” Sean replied.
“No, I mean, you look a lot better than you did yesterday. Your face is much smoother, no sun wrinkles.”
Sean said,
“Maybe some face swelling from the fever?
“Could be, we’ll find out after the day ends and we check you.”
Sean got up and said,
“I’m going out to walk the Mall, I do that three times a week and put in three or four miles, keeps me ready for the hiking days, and it’s cool inside”
“OK, I’m going jogging, any direction better?” asked Doris.
“Yeah,” Sean said, “go South toward the Indian Canyons where we were both yesterday, more scenic, less traffic. In the drawer with the pot holders is an extra house key, use that if you get back before me.” He headed back to his bedroom to get his keys and wallet.
257.69 Million miles away in the silent shadow of Ceres a massive Ship is parked, its systems ran silently...
“Run
VB Contact: Run: resumeShrep translate, run mode global, setaside full; category vbcontact.
Collector enable, mode: return: direct.
Extract category: all
Simile match: hierarchy > >
Initiate micro-nano buildout: Y
Simile match; legal: Y
Simile match: ethical: Y
Simile match: Military: Y
Run
Badsector replace: Y
Build commo: “English”;Y, Test route; N
VB Contact build: Run; standby: Y
Confirm Contact Build; run; Y
Reset VB environ: Run
Dispatch Courier Drone, Home, register find, Y
Courier Drone, sent.
Launch Registration Buoy
Registration buoy launched, active, Y
Log entry”
The Collector, number six of twenty, had done its job depositing the micro-nanites successfully, and after three massive uploads, was called back to its basket on the left side of the Ship alongside the others there. “Ship is good. Ship is home.” Siphoning data was very satisfying for the Collector but all the planets they had visited over the last hundred annuals were barren of data. Except this one.
The Collector’s program was to conserve space and energy to accomplish the massive task of siphoning up a planet’s history and its intelligence if it had any. This planet had huge data files and so many oddities and contradictions, filling vast amounts of storage space. The Collector’s program knew there was some uncollected data left, but not much, as it sped through the dark space, a mere spec, a small chrome Ball undetectable by the planet’s astronomical means. Building speed exponentially, it streaked back to the Ship, “Ship is good. Ship is home.”
The Collector did not understand either the purpose or the possible outcomes of its tasks. It just executed commands from Ship, its memory search could not find data in its own memory of a Viable Biological contact in any of its past planet searches. This was new. So was its discharge of the micro-nanites onto the VB. “Ship is good. Ship is home” it repeated to itself.
Bill Griffin was very vexed and slammed his notebook down on the table in his workshop he preferred to call his Lab.
“Why was the equipment passing data packs without an address? Where the Hell was that coming from?” He asked himself, repetitive packets that shouldn’t exist in his Quantum world. Could he be receiving another Lab’s testing, he wondered.
Of course, he couldn’t make sense out of the stream because he didn’t have key to unlock whatever was being sent if it even was data. Yet his equipment had never streamed spontaneously like this before.
In fact, nothing should be receiving. He wondered if he had stumbled across a government project working on the same thing? Maybe the Chinese, they were rumored to be working in the same field, but most believed their interest was in quantum computing and not necessarily communications?
Bill had recorded the data and could only see that in the stream there was a repetitive short packet appearing over and over like a station identification. “Maybe that was a clue,” He thought.
But of what? He decided to tear down the rig and re-assemble making certain all interconnecting cables were shielded and not picking up the temperature monitoring of the kitchen refrigerator, or at worse case, cable TV. His wife Marne called him for dinner. “I’ll do it later,” he thought.
The week passed by quickly. Sean enjoyed having Doris as a house
guest, now since she was apparently shed of self-destructive ambitions and reveling in the peace and quiet of South Palm Springs. For his part, Sean thought he may have gained a few pounds despite keeping his hiking schedule active. Doris was a good cook but experienced only in basic comfort food and probably never had to diet in her whole life.
On Thursday, she left for LA to sit for questioning by investigators of the shooting she was involved in. She didn’t have any anxiety about it, since she was convinced it was not only justifiable, but appropriate to prevent her from being gutted by a very large knife, wielded by an enraged criminal she had knocked down in a stand-up arrest confrontation. The whole thing had been caught by a security camera, though she didn’t know that when she left for LA.
He decided after Doris left, that maybe he should get back out on the trail. He hadn’t hiked out there in the time Doris had been at the house. Doctor appointments, car recall servicing, and a host of mundane tasks had filled up the week along with a few forays out at night with Artie. Doris had come along but didn’t say much, just enjoyed having a quiet drink with friends.
He went back to his closet where he kept his hiking gear, and as he got closer, he recalled that he still had that Ball in a bag in his pack. After opening the closet and pulling out his fanny pack, he zipped open the compartment he stored the Ball in, and pulled out the bag. It felt heavy like it was when he put it in there, but different somehow. He opened the bag and looked down into it and all he saw was water. No Ball, just the rough equivalent weight of the Ball in water. He took the bag over to the bathroom and poured the water into the sink while looking for some unusual attribute, but there was none. Just water.
Sean stood there totally perplexed as he retraced his recollections of what he had done on that day. No question it should be in this bag, but wasn’t. And, why was there water in the sandwich bag? Did Doris do this to have fun at his expense? Sean sat on the nearby chair and just couldn’t get his head around this impossible change related to a mysterious Ball he found in the middle of the desert. After sitting there for several minutes and coming to no logical answers, he got up, collected his gear and headed to his bedroom to change into his hiking clothes. While he was there, he looked in the mirror again. Clearly, his face did look firmer and younger, another item to this mystery.
“Maybe a hike in the desert will help me figure all this out. Not likely, but it’s a good place for clear thinking.” He thought. “Water in the bag? Yeah, always bring water to the desert. Symbolic?”
Passing through the kitchen to the garage, Sean collected one water bottle from the refrigerator and one from the freezer as was his habit.
Many thoughts crossed his mind, including sharing this latest anomaly with Doris, as he drove through the gate in the Indian Canyons. He recalled all the past years, going on 25 now, that a gate attendant named Maria was tending the fee collection. She was a very sweet lady and from time to time just let him in without paying, even though he never asked for the favor.
“I wonder what happened to her?” He thought and his car drove up the road to the Trading Post parking lot, and yet he knew time takes all of us whether ready or not.
“We mostly, just don’t want to know because it reminds us, we’re on the list.” He concluded. Sean parked his car in the Trading Post parking lot, got his fanny pack out, slipped the two water bottles in the pack’s holders, and then snapped it into place on his waist, adjusting the tightness for some back support. He went into the Trading Post and bought a half dozen energy bars to put in his pack along with telling them where he was going even though it was just: “Out there.”
“Where to today?” He wondered as he headed for the trail down into the canyon.
Chapter Four
Book One
After about two hours on the trail, this time straight out the Palm Canyon trail, he left the trail and dropped down into Palm Canyon to find some shade among the scattered Washingtonian Palms that grew there, feeding on the myriad water seeps that also fed the stream. It was time for a water break and one or two of those energy bars. Sean was very aware of the unwritten rule of hiking in the desert.... when you have consumed one half of your water, turn back if you are not at your halfway point. He was sure he was at his halfway point and hadn’t consumed half his water, so he knew his water resource was in good supply. Beside his packed water, he carried a small filter tube called ‘LifeStraw’ to be able to drink from the stream, filtering out all the infectious bacteria and parasites that might be in the water. “Never know what’ bad stuff is in the stream,” he thought.
The stream was now lower than the early months of the year when snow melt from the mountains often caused flooding and wild stream flows that were dangerous. Now, a languid flow made small gurgle noises as it splashed against stones and boulders it could not avoid. Sean selected a sloped face rock, under a palm cluster that provided some shade and took off his pack. He was now a few miles out in the desert, not another person had been within sight all the time he was on the trail. He knew no one was following him since every time he took a sip of water he stopped, and drank while looking back along the route he had come. This was a wise hiker’s habit. Always look back, so you know what the way back looks like.
He had explained some of these tips to Doris as they hiked back the other day, he wasn’t sure she was listening at first, but by the second or third wilderness hiking tip she seemed more attentive.
“Always share, someone might need that help.” He thought. “When it happens, they are sure to remember you fondly.” He mused. “Because they will really be in trouble!”
Sean had been sitting there for about fifteen minutes, having eaten two energy bars and washed them down with water. His legs felt good today. No aching from the cholesterol medication he was forced to take to reduce his cholesterol levels following a successful quad CABG, Coronary Artery Bypass Graft. Four of his heart arteries had been clogged to life threatening levels demanding immediate surgery despite his apparent good health, and no heart distress.
“Lucky, I was really lucky, or really blessed with that one.” He thought. No heart damage and a complete recovery.
“Hello!” A voice, seemingly right next to his ear, cause Sean to fall over, startled and shrinking from the unexpected voice on his left side. Sean spun around and as far as he could see there was no one nearby. No one. He kept looking around, then he took out his cell phone and could see there was no signal, so it could not have been his phone.
“Someone is playing a trick on me.” he thought as he looked closely near his surroundings for hidden speakers, or any type of concealed device. It was all stone, solid granite, no devices. Just the continued gurgle of the water. As Sean was still looking around,
“Does this unit use correct greeting?” The voice spoke again much softer this time, also seemingly close to his ear, but now Sean knew there was no one close by. Sean began looking to the sky, it occurred to him a silent drone with a speaker? Nothing. Did someone slip some hallucinogenic in his water? No, the bottles were sealed from purchase.
“What the Hell is this?” He thought.
Sean sat back down; no threat visible, but his heart rate was definitely way up. He knew he needed to calm down and consider why he was hearing voices. He was aware crazy people heard lots of voices, and some followed what they were told to do. He decided to reply not sure if that was even smart to do, acceptance of delusion?
“Yes, ‘Hello’ is the correct word.” Sean said out loud, and he stopped there, still looking around for visual evidence of the voice origination.
In a few moments he heard the voice again.
“Certification accepted,” there was a pause, then,
“This is communication to a selected, viable biological, with possible errors in context, speech selection. Unit assures you no harm. Please identify speech errors and indicate if unit may proceed with data”
Sean could hear all these words with clarity but not originating location. It was
as if the words were being spoken directly into his ear. He reached up to feel if there was anything in his ear or very near it. Nothing. A micro device inside his ear? Doesn’t seem possible to produce the fullness of tone and volume from something so small he couldn’t feel it he concluded. There must be another answer or, he was hallucinating.
Sean decided to ask questions.
“Who are you, and how can you speak to me when I cannot see anybody or anything near me?” He asked.
The answer came immediately.
“Collector Unit 2765△△ version 167.12 in service of astronomical mapping Seeker number 18 of 20 is unit’s designation. Biological unit has been initiated by Collector with contact modifications to allow interface.”
“Modification, what modifications?” questioned Sean, still not convinced all this was real. Despite what was happening. He suddenly felt very thirsty and hungry at the same time.
“Unit has detected elevated metabolism needs. Advise consume nourishment and unit will continue, there is much data to transfer.” The voice then became silent.
Sean was sitting down again, puzzled, but there was no question he was thirsty and hungry. He reached into his pack and retrieved two of the energy bars and began eating them, washing mouthfuls down with water from his fanny pack. When he finished, he sat there for several minutes quietly waiting for something else to happen....
Three and one-half hours later, Sean sat silently going over what he had been told by a machine. The scope had no boundaries and touched on circumstances that were not only unbelievable, but seemingly out of some cheap science fiction novel. Yet, his conversation with the Collector was still crystal clear in his mind. Every word, every issue, every requirement, but no alternatives, no options. Events were now set in motion, and there would be no permitted adjustments to the plan.
