Love Story: In The Cloud
Page 9
The next morning Zaza buzzed me and said, "Dore Hamilton just arrived and is in the conference room."
I put on my coat and hurried to the conference room, getting there as Carolyn was showing her in.
"Good morning Dave," said Dore as she thrust her hand out for a handshake. "How is the trial preparation going? Are you getting comfortable with the subject?"
Dore was wearing a navy blue business suit with a scarlet scarf tied loosely around her neck. She was giving me her icy stare and I knew I was being 'read.' In a few seconds her face relaxed and seemed friendly.
"Good to see you, Dore" I replied. "I am now quite comfortable with these new ideas. Dr. Montgomery was very helpful. I have a court date in Rocky Butte Thursday and I'll see Steve Manteo that evening and stay over as required."
Dore was giving me one of her highly practiced professional smiles.
"We can talk about that later. I'm sure you have it under control. I think we have some security issues we need to address. Our security consultants have been talking to your office security and have done some further investigations. It appears the trial has attracted the attention of a group of people we should be careful of. They call themselves Skeptemos, and claim to be part of a secret organization that has existed since the Renaissance. Their role is to stamp out bad science, which they define as anything but Newtonian science. They especially like to go after anything of a psychic nature.
"There are legitimate organizations, scientific offshoots, of otherwise reputable people that make it their business to debunk all psychic phenomena. These are not the same guys.
"Skeptemos seems to be more like the guys that get totally involved with online video games and that go to game conventions dressed as game characters, wearing tights or capes. From our reports, Skeptemos people seem to believe that there is a conspiracy to destroy Science so that evil people can take over the world with superstition and fear. They feel called-on to save the world. The 'secret' order doesn't seem to have been in existence for more than a few years.
"We traced the tracking device on your car to a person who has a website that touts some of the Skeptemos line. He is a retired Special Forces enlisted man. He fits the description of the man Dr. Montgomery saw near her car. He could be dangerous.
"Our security firm suggests that we rent a place outside Rocky Butte for the duration of our business up there. Then, we can have people come and go without notice and not stir the locals up. An isolated place would make the security easier. I'll take care of the arrangements."
I replied, "Somehow that doesn't cause me much concern, but I'll defer to your judgment. I am going up there next week for court date and to visit Steve Manteo. I am going to hang around town a little bit to get a feel for the place. I understand about small towns like Rocky Butte. I was raised in a small logging town in northern California. Everyone knows what everyone else is doing and the rumor hotline is faster that the speed of light. It might be wise to secretly put a local on the security payroll, someone who would know about all the rumors, and someone who can tell you about strangers that might be spending time there."
"I'll suggest that. Now, I have to get going."
I walked Dore to the lobby, shook hands and said, "Thank you for selecting Bracken and Stevens to represent you in this matter. This is a good change of subject to me and I am quite excited about it."
Dore looked at me without blinking (I was being 'read' again) and then smiled her professional smile and said, "We are very pleased with our selection."
I walked her to the elevator and said goodbye. As I walked back into the lobby, Carolyn gave me her 'You are such a wonderful man' smile.
5
Rocky Butte
I drove into Rocky Butte late on Wednesday afternoon, across the bridge over Butte Creek, which was swollen with the spring runoff from the snowmelt, and saw about what I expected. One main street with one cross street surrounded by pine forests. I was seeing small town America, only modestly changed from the 1950s: a sporting goods store, a grocery store, the River View and Rocky Butte Inn motels, two restaurants, a post office, drug store, a hardware store that advertised "Gold Pans and Mining Supplies" and "Satellite Dishes," two gas stations, an auto repair shop, two real estate agencies, a bank, and two saloons.
After six it was quiet and most of the businesses were closed. Only the saloons, The Claim Jumper and Diggings, seemed to be doing a good business judging by the variety of pickups parked in front, some looking as though they might be from the 50s. On the outskirt of the town, I saw a school, probably grades K-8 judging by the playground equipment, and then a little farther a Tasty Freeze, the kind with a service window, shaded parking areas in the back, and picnic benches on a small lawn.
I U-turned and went back to the center of town and turned onto the only cross street. In the next block, I found a funeral home, the Butte News newspaper, and Courthouse Square, which appeared to be the civic center. In the center of Courthouse Square, I saw the white courthouse, a Greek Revival Style building, a much smaller version of the Supreme Court Building in Washington DC. A granite staircase led up to a portico, at the second story entrance, a colonnade of four two-story columns supporting a triangular roof, with 1922 engraved above the colonnade. The four windows on each side of the portico suggested that one half of the second story was the courtroom, and offices were in the other half. I noticed a county office annex added to the back of the courthouse, a plain building, probably built when the county offices overflowed from the courthouse in the 1950s. There was a Sheriff's office with a separate entrance in the annex. Two patrol cars were parked outside.
The library sat on one corner of Courthouse Square, a red brick building, two stories high, with steps going up to the second story main entrance. It looked to be from the era of the 1920s, when Carnegie libraries were built.
Next to the courthouse block was a Pioneer Museum with an adjacent park with playground equipment, picnic tables, and an old locomotive, apparently from a logging train, at the side. A granite slab, engraved with eighteen names, stands memorializing those killed in the earthquake of 1872.
As I looked farther, I saw a white, old–fashioned church with a steeple. It looked like the pictures that I had seen of churches in Vermont, having a sharp steeple perched on a bell tower in the front, several gabled windows along the side.
In the Gold Rush days, Rocky Butte had a population of ten thousand or so. It was a booming place proving hotels, saloons, and ladies to absorb the miner's gold. It became the county seat during that time. The town burned down twice in the 1800s. Now, the sign at the bridge said its population was 687.
It didn't take long to see all of Rocky Butte.
My first stop was about a half mile beyond the church at the Sodastroms', the parents of Lucy, the girl who was lost. They lived in a small white house, surrounded by pine trees, with an unpaved driveway to a garage behind the house. A small barn and corral were behind the garage. A dark brown mare, I guessed it had been Lucy's, grazed on the spring grass in the corral.
Ann Sodastrom met me at the door, and I introduced myself. Ed who was sitting in a recliner watching TV, got up and introduced himself. Ann was skinny, and looked as though she had lost more weight than she should have. Her print housedress hung on her. Ed was also slight and lean, had a hollow look to his face and stooped shoulders.
I didn't want to add to their grief by discussing the case. I simply introduced myself and gave them assurances that their case would be successful. I asked questions about Rocky Butte, the church, what they liked about the area: I made small talk to get to know them and for them to get comfortable with me. I left after a polite amount of time.
I went into Bob's Cafe on Main Street for dinner and gossip. I sat on a swiveling stool at the counter. The only other customer was a man with a white beard sitting in a booth reading a paper over his dinner.
A waitress came over, looked me over carefully, and said, “What’ll-y-have?"
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br /> She was about fifty, grey haired, wearing a pink, starched waitress uniform, the kind with a little tiara-like hat, a kind I had not seen since I was in high school. She had a name badge that said Agnes.
"Can I see a dinner menu?"
"Same menu all day, honey, special tonight is pork chops."
I looked at the bottom of the menu, and it said, "Free Wi-Fi for customers."
"You have Wi-Fi," I added.
"We're up-to-date around here," she boasted. "We even have cell phone service so visitors won't feel disconnected. You're not from around here, are you?"
"No, I have a little business at the courthouse tomorrow and then I will visit someone up the hill."
"If you are trying to beat a speeding ticket, forget it. Judge Jeremiah Cartright, we call him 'The Hanging Judge,' doesn't have much tolerance for speeders. You might end up spending the night in jail."
"Where is the jail?" I asked.
"Over in the basement of the annex at the courthouse, behind the sheriff's office. The main county jail is up in Pine Mountain, where the county sheriff has his office. They need it more up there with all the tourists and skiers."
"I'll try to keep out of both places. How long have you lived here, Agnes?"
"All my life. My great-grandfather had a mining claim here, and my family has come and gone over the years. I was raised on a farm down the valley. I seem tied to the place somehow."
In a few minutes, Agnes brought me my dinner.
"You must be the fellow from LA that is staying over at the River View motel."
I was somewhat taken aback, but then I realized, in this slow season, before the vacationers arrive, anything was news. Everyone in town probably knew my motel reservation.
'Lesson number one,' I thought.
"That's right," I said. "I'd better get over there and check in. See you later, Agnes."
I could tell I was being carefully watched as I left. As I got in my car, I saw that Agnes was on her cell phone.
'This is like a police state,' I thought. 'Except the tyranny comes from the rule of boredom. The trial will give them something to talk about.'
After dinner, I decided to enjoy a walk on this fine Sierra evening. The late-day yellow sunlight made the green of the pine trees glow as I walked through the woods on what must have been a game trail through the brush and manzanita. The forest was quiet, the birds were having their evening rest, and it was perfectly still. I smelled the pines and kicked the pinecones lying in the yellow dirt as I walked. I heard Butte Creek tumbling down rapids and followed the game trail to the bank. I sat down by an eddy in the water, caused by a fallen tree and looked into the pool for small fish, maybe trout. The bottom of the pool was lined with polished, water-worn pebbles. I noticed a glint of light on one, which turned brighter as I watched.
Then I heard, "We bring you greetings on this evening as you believe time to exist."
"Mason?" I asked.
"Yes, it is our pleasure to talk with you again."
The glint on the rock got very bright and turned into an intense blue-white spot, diffusing through ripples in the water.
"Mason, get out of there, you will get wet,"
"Ha-ha-ha....ha," came the reply, a full minute of infectious laughter.
"You made what you call a joke. Your planet is one of the few we have explored or studied that has a language that allows the joke. Tell me another."
I was dumbfounded and thought for a long time because I don't get exposed to many jokes in my work. Then, I said, "One time there was a man talking to his young son. He said, 'There once was this man with a wooden leg named Smith.' His son interrupted and asked, 'What was the name of the man's other leg?'"
There was a long pause and then Mason started again, "Ha-ha-ha....ha, what was the name of his other leg! Ha-ha-ha....ha," he went on. "But, it takes much energy for us to hold onto your location in space-time. We must get on to our reason for contacting you before we run out of what you would call time.
"Now that you have some understanding of The Cloud, we would like to tell you about a vacuum in your culture's understanding of human nature. You are actively connected to other people through The Cloud and continually share information. You are communicating, at the subconscious level, with people in what you call the present, the past, and the future.
"Your people sometimes acknowledge part of this as Déjà Vu. Some people acknowledge part of this as saying they have 'remembered' past lives, which should be other lives in space-time, since time is only an illusion, a coordinate in space-time.
"Your western scientists, unable to think beyond the limitations of Newton and Einstein's four-dimensional paradigm, have missed your subconscious connection through The Cloud to other experiences and learning from other individuals living in other space-time coordinates. The medical establishment cannot conceive of the information transfer between your body functions and those of bodies at other space-time coordinates.
"However, some people on your planet have created healing practices or pseudo–religions based on subconscious connections. However, since these ideas don't agree with your dominant scientific four-dimensional paradigm, the people are often dismissed as quacks. They are ignored or persecuted by the establishment.
"The implications of The Cloud are not limited to the narrow area of what you call space-time."
"Wait a minute. You have just overturned a couple of centuries of scientific thought. I need more time to assimilate this, or write it down." I said with some desperation.
"Don't worry, our friend, this information will be coming from sources you will encounter. Be open to the ideas as they come to you. Then, try to think outside the four-dimensional box."
"Don't leave me hanging here with all these questions. Give me some examples, please!"
Mason paused. "I am scanning through space-time on your planet for examples." After another pause Mason continued, "You have on your planet the idea of child prodigies. A child, at an early age, might go to a piano and start playing melodies and, with lessons, become very accomplished. Your Mozart might be an example. He wrote his first opera at an age of eleven. Prodigies are connected to other individuals through The Cloud and drawing on their abilities. Your planet has many students who are attending college at the age of eleven. Many go on to great accomplishments in their fields, they are born with the ability to draw on several lifetimes of experience and learning.
"Many students are credited with being gifted, or 'naturals' who have great acting or vocal abilities. They are applying many lifetimes of experience.
"In your culture you have the idea of linear time, and you might say that these unusual children have past lives from which they are drawing experience. Maybe Mozart had been playing the keyboard instruments for several lifetimes. It would be correct to say he is playing the keyboard instruments in several simultaneous lifetimes.
"Some people have incurable fears. A person might get attacks of anxiety from seeing even a picture of a tiger and hate cats. They may be drawing on the experience of being attacked and eaten by a tiger in another life.
"In your medicine, doctors find ailments for which there is no cure. Suppose there is a man with a painful, chronic backache. They try medicines and find nothing works. They do surgeries and it does not work. It could be he is connected through The Cloud to another person, in another lifetime who died in an accident where his back was broken. That idea is positively not scientifically allowable in a four-dimensional paradigm.
"We do not expect you to understand all this in, how do you say, a flash. Treat it as a hypothesis and see whether you find data to support it. We leave you now to your search.
"Ha-ha-ha....ha, what was the name of his other leg?" Mason laughed as he faded away.
"Wait!" I shouted, but Mason was gone.
I sat and stared at the pool for a while as I tried to grasp what I had just heard. Then, I went back to the River View motel, sat in a lawn chair, watched the sunset, and won
dered about my life. I had been a mainstream science guy; believing in the truth of science I was taught. Now, I am caught up in an obscure idea of The Cloud, with contacts with spiritual entities, and events dragging me in directions I didn't plan. I certainly had put my career in a vulnerable position. Surprisingly, I was beginning to feel comfortable with it.
I watched the sky grow dark, and then I said, 'Good evening Hesperus.'