by Dennis Elder
Mark Harris and Innovative Combat’s other eight employees were distributed evenly in the two vans they had rented at the LA airport. The van’s rear cargo areas were packed tight with anvil cases. The cases were full of display equipment they planned to set up before tomorrow’s annual US Police and Security convention held at the Anaheim Convention center. They were introducing their new SmartScope to a national audience. There had been a lot of pre-event magazine and Internet hype about the SmartScope and they expected good interest, followed by a backlog of orders that hopefully would take their company to the next level. There was a lot riding on their success. But the LA traffic didn’t help.
“I thought this was a freeway,” sarcastically suggested Jake Oliver, from the seat directly behind Mark. “You know free as in free to go, free to move…. freeway.”
Jake was being his regular speak your mind self.
“Probably was 50 years ago, quipped Junior Taylor. Cool hand Junior his buddies often called him. “Too many people these days and no more space.”
“Well then they need to start thinkin about double decking these things,” responded Jake.
“Interesting idea, but way too expensive,” countered Junior. Junior always saw things in numbers, dollars and cents, orders and inventory.
“I don’t think they’ll ever build another double decker freeway in California,” added Boon Seteran. Boon looked like he was sleeping. He continued without ever opening his eyes. “Remember that San Francisco earthquake in ‘89. As soon as things started shakin those two-level freeways were the first things to drop. I can still see those cars pancaked flat with 20 tons of concrete sitting on um.”
“Then I guess the only alternative is flying cars,” said Jake impassively as he watched the little kid asleep in the mini van stuck in the traffic lane next to him.
“Speaking of flying, added Mark, who sat behind the wheel and was considering putting the van in park, again. “Why was it we had to land at the LA airport instead of Orange County?”
That brought Boon’s eyes open. Orange county airport was only a few miles from their hotel in Anaheim.
Boon stretched in his seat, sat up straight and said, “Couldn’t get any flights. They said it was the Convention and Disneyland. LA offered the only flights today.”
“At least we’re flying back home out of Orange County on Sunday,” smoothed Junior.
“Yea,” quipped Jake. “No mas 405 freeway.”
Chapter 4: The Sun
Our Sun is perfectly positioned at ninety two million, nine hundred and sixty thousand miles from our Earth. If we were one percent closer our atmosphere would grow so hot that the seas would boil away. If we were one percent father away from the Sun, the Earth would plunge into an ice age. Our distance from the Sun provides us with just the right amount of radiated heat to sustain life.
At the Sun’s core the temperature is approximately twenty seven million degrees Fahrenheit. The energy there is equivalent to 100 billion atomic bombs detonating every second of every minute. Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom and etc.
Scientists say the energy created at the Sun’s core is like a very large fusion reactor. During fusion the combination of helium and hydrogen atoms react together and release tremendous amounts of energy. This energy comes in the form of heat or radiation, which is measured in wavelengths. Each range of wavelength has a name: like X-rays, sunlight or radio waves. Some energy waves are harmless to humans. Others are deadly.
At the Sun’s surface, known as the Photosphere, things are much cooler - its only six thousand degrees there. The Photosphere is what scientists see when they search the Sun’s surface with heavily tinted telescopes. They constantly look for surface irregularities that might cause sudden radiation increases.
Most people don’t realize it, but our Sun goes through regular periods of increased and decreased radiation activity. These are referred to as the Solar Maximum and Solar Minimum. And these periods of greater and lesser activity come and go every eleven years. Just like clockwork.
The increasing activity, during the Solar Maximum, is caused when the Sun’s magnetic fields or lines become twisted. When these lines twist or cross, they cause larger numbers of irregularities on the Sun’s surface.
These irregularities are often observed as Sunspots. From these sunspots giant fireballs of plasma and charged particles are often ejected into space. These ejections are often referred to as CMEs or Coronal Mass Ejections. Others call them Solar flares. The largest ever-recorded CME stretched out for 385,000 miles.
The growing frequency and increasing radiation output of these CMEs were what Dr. Kevin Phillips grew initially concerned with and why he wrote his paper. Yet Kevin’s hypothesis suggested an even greater concern - that the proportion or size of these CMEs would most likely grow at exponential rates the longer the Solar Maximum continued past the normal 11-year cycle. Meaning the size of future CMEs could be off the charts huge. And he suggested the increased radiation from these potentially very large CMEs could reach earth in as little as three hours. Historically increased radiation from a CME takes three to four days to hit our planet.
But what would now not be included in Kevin’s paper was his supplemental theory on potential Gamma Ray Bursts from our own Sun. Gamma Rays are extremely destructive and have no mass in the vacuum of space. Therefore, they can travel over long distances at the speed of light – that’s 186,000 miles per second. If even a short Gamma burst were to erupt on the Sun’s surface it would only take a few minutes for those rays to reach earth. If that were to happen, no one would have time to prepare, and, depending on the severity of radiation, most every living organism on the planet’s surface would be threatened.
The existing record suggests that destructive levels of Gamma Ray radiation have never originated from our Sun, or from anywhere in our solar system. Measurable Gamma Ray Bursts, or GRBs, seem to only come from distant galaxies. Scientists who have spent their entire careers in this field report that Gamma Ray Bursts only came from areas of the Universe where galactic-level events occur - like the merger of two neutron stars, or a collision of massive but exhausted star systems.
But a gamma ray radiation burst from our own little Sun just doesn’t compare with the energy pattern offered by a much larger galaxy level event. That’s why Kevin’s Gamma Ray theories landed so far away from present day acceptable theory.
Of course, that didn’t mean it would never happen.
Chapter 5: Orphans
Silvia Harmon was a tough old lady. She’d been married twice and was a cop for twenty years. For the past three years she’d been doing something different with her life. After her last dirt bag husband had left, and two decades of police corruption, she was hoping to do make a difference - something that gave back to the community. She found it in an old abandoned church along Los Angels’ Orange freeway.
It started four years ago when a 15-year-old boy tried to snatch her purse as she pulled out her wallet at the Quickie mart. That poor kid got a lot more than her purse for his troubles. Silvia knocked the kid’s feet out from under him with a single kick and then held him around neck with one arm while she called 911 with the other. People in the mart just stood there with their mouths hanging open.
She quickly learned what happened to boys like that one when there were no parents in the picture. Tomas was the name of that young man. He died in juvenile detention six weeks later.
Six months later she filed for early retirement with Police department and began a new career – helping disadvantaged youths.
She didn’t have much to start with and her house quickly grew too small by the time she took in her fifth kid, Yolanda, a runaway from Oklahoma.
There were five boys and four girls with her now. They were housed in the old church donated to her by a local businessman. Over time she made connections with larger corporations who helped her pay bills and at times sponsored kids with scholarships and part time jobs. Silvia was sitting at her office desk payin
g bills when she heard the side door open slow. Slowly she raised her head.
“Jeremy!” she barked as the young boy attempted to sneak in through a side door. Jamie stopped dead in his tracks and turned slowly to face Silvia Harmon.
“Yes mam,” squeaked Jeremy.
“What time is it?” she said.
“Jeremy looked up at the wall clock and said, “2:30.”
“And what time does school end?” she questioned.
“2:45 Ms. Harmon,” replied Jeremy.
“Ah huh,” Silvia breathed out.
Jeremy didn’t know what to do so he just stood there for a moment.
“So, you cut class?” questioned Silvia again.
Jeremy took a deep breath and thought about making an excuse, but Sylvia cut him off before he could say a word.
“Or were you going to tell me your teacher let everyone out early today because it’s a…” Silvia looked down at her calendar momentarily and then finished, “Tuesday?”
Jeremy was one of Silvia’s more recent additions to the Nest, as she affectionately called it. The other kids had warned him about Ms. Harmon’s six and seventh senses. “Don’t even think about lying to her, cause she checks up on everything,” said Caroline Waters to Jeremy on his very first day.
“No mam,” offered Jeremy.
“Cause you know I’m going to call your teacher and check,” countered Sylvia.
“I’m sorry Ms. Harmon. I just wanted a break. Math is just too hard for me.” whined Jamie.
Sylvia sat back in her chair and beckoned Jeremy into her office. He came forward hesitantly.
“Sit down son,” Sylvia said in a conciliatory tone just before Jeremy sat down with a thump.
“You can choose to ditch your responsibilities, but you can’t ditch the consequences… ever. Consequences follow us all around like the air we breathe. Can’t ditch um, can’t live without um.” finished Sylvia.
“Yes mam,” mumbled Jeremy with his head held low.
“Tomorrow you will go to your teacher and confess that you cut class and that you are sorry….” said Sylvia.
Jeremy made a face and snorted.
“…And you will ask your teacher what you need to do to make up the time.” she said with emphasis.
Jeremy dropped his head again in silence, paused for a moment, and then said, “I just don’t get the math. Everybody else seems so much smarter than me. I’ll never get it.”
Sylvia heart was melting. Nearly all her kids were way behind in school when she first got them. She wanted to take little Jeremy into her arms and tell him it was all right and that things were going to get better. But experience had taught her that you needed to show them you loved them, but you could never let them off the hook. Otherwise they’d turn back to old habits and end up on the streets again.
“You know how many of my kids have sat in that same chair and said the same thing?” said Silvia.
Jamie didn’t look up.
“Every one of them. And everyone who came into the Nest and stayed, has graduated from High School.”
Jeremy’s head came up slightly. “All of them?” inquired Jeremy.
“All of them,” responded Sylvia with a wide smile. Jeremy was looking at her now. And I’ve got five in college now.
“College?” questioned Jeremy.
“I’ll tell you what. You go to the fridge and get two glasses of milk and eight Oreos and come back here with your math book and I’ll show you a few tricks I picked up over the last six years.” suggested Sylvia.
Jeremy finally smiled a bit and said, “OK.”
“OK,” encouraged Sylvia.
Jeremy got out of the chair and moved down the hall and disappeared around the corner toward the kitchen.
Currently Jeremy was one of four boys in the Nest. She had room for five boys and five girls. Two separate dorms kept them apart. She learned through sad experience to put the beds in the basement so she could keep an eye on them at night. Plus, the thick walls kept it cool in the summer and warm during winter. There were no windows or exit doors down there either.
“The fire department would throw a fit if they found out,” she reminded herself.
And the basement provided the ideal low-tech security solution. If anyone ever tried to sneak out at night they would have to go by her open bedroom door. And Silvia Harmon was a very light sleeper.
Chapter 6: Jailhouse Rock
Ivan Petrovich lay on the floor of his cell and stared at the ceiling. He’d bee doing that for eight hours now. The warden had put him in a solitary cell last month for stabbing two inmates. Solitary confinement they called it.
“American prisons!” thought Ivan to himself. “What a joke.”
Solitary confinement where he grew up was a death sentence. He’d been in Moscow jails before. If you went into solitary confinement there, you never came out alive.
As a boy Ivan was known as Ivanao. His parents died from contaminated drugs when he was ten. So, he learned to exist on his own, in and around the ghettos of Moscow. As a teenager a local Russian mobster named, Viktor Ivazov, took him in. One snowy afternoon Ivan found out about a planned ambush from some of Viktor’s competitors. For warning Viktor, Ivan was adopted into the mobster’s family. He was thirteen.
Viktor grew to like the kid and treated Ivan like a son. Over time, he taught him everything he knew about extortion, bribery, gambling, prostitution, illegal firearms sales and drug manufacturing. Ivan leaned quickly and rose in the ranks of Viktor’s crime organization.
But now Ivan was stuck in this stinkin American three-star hotel of a prison for five to ten. And stabbing those two homeboys didn’t help him reduce his sentence any.
His Russian boss had given him an important assignment three months earlier. He was to come to American with a false passport and arrange to purchase several high-tech meth lab cook vats. Everything was set, but the buy turned out to be a setup and the DEA swept him up and his American coordinators. They took his Russian passport and held him for trial. He tried to plead out, but the DEA had an airtight case against him and ultimately he was sent to Nevada’s High Desert Federal prison just North West of Las Vegas. For his recent bad behavior, he was now stuck in the lower level solitary cells along with two hundred or so of his contemporaries.
“Just my luck,” he reminded himself as the afternoon minutes ticked by.
Over the last three months Ivan had learned to predict when his dinner would arrive. You had to do things like that in prison or you’d go crazy from the boredom.
“Any second now,” Ivan whispered.
A ten-inch wide and four-inch high metal flap opened at the base of his prison door. A plastic plate filled with high calorie and low fiber food was slid through. The guard who delivered it held the spring-loaded door up a second longer. A plastic spork was pushed through as well.
“Be back for the plate and fork in 30,” mumbled the guard from behind the door.
Ivan sensed the guard was looking at him through the small security window, but he didn’t look up. Again, anything you could do to challenge the guards was a victory.
So, he waited a minute more and then sat up in one quick move, grabbed the spork and plate of food and took a seat on the edge of his cot. He looked down at the plate. It was covered in some kind of hot dog stew with mash potatoes, a dab of gravy and a few green beans from a can. A growing pool of orange grease was coagulating along the bottom of the plate.
He took a deep breath and said, “What I wouldn’t give for some caviar and bottle of real Russian vodka.”
But Ivan wouldn’t be eating any caviar for a few years. He along with five hundred and fifty three murderers, drug dealers and other assorted low lifes were incarcerated with him in what turned out to be of America’s newest and most secure Federal Penitentiaries. All doors and access passages were controlled with magnetic locks. There wasn’t a key in the place. Guards opened individual doors with their thumbprints. And the entire prison could be
locked down tight by hitting any number of panic buttons located around the prison facility. Guards were only allowed to move around the prison in groups of four – just like the cops rode in their police cars during the LA Watts riots. These guards even traveled in fours when one of them had to go to the bathroom.
If a guard had the slightest suspicion that there might be a fight or riot, any of them could push one of the panic buttons and every prison door would automatically close and lock.
This was effectively demonstrated recently when Ivan was stabbing the second of two “brother” inmates. Locking down all the doors instantly defused the situation. None of the other inmates were able to gather and cause additional trouble. The fight was immediately isolated, and the area was flooded with Taser carrying guards. Every prisoner standing next to Ivan during the fight, were hit with Tasers. After just a few automated lockdowns, the prisoners learned to stay clear of anyone involved in a fight.
