He nodded. “I have to make a speech.”
We drew closer, and an immense Georgian Architecture building loomed in front of us. It stood three stories tall and over a hundred feet wide. The occasional dormer window broke up the otherwise straight black roof line. White trim accented its pale yellow siding. I could see an underground garage entrance on the building’s left side.
“I feel like we’ve stumbled into an Edgar Allen Poe story,” I said.
“There’s nothing scary about our headquarters, sir.”
Bob sounded like he was trying to convince himself. He walked across the driveway and up the porch steps. “Let’s go inside,” he said.
I hurried to catch up. We entered through a tall wooden door and stood inside a large lobby. A young receptionist smiled from behind a massive oak desk across the room. “May I help you?” she called.
We walked closer, and I saw she wore a light green silk blouse and small emerald earrings. “Bob!” She jumped up from the desk and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. “I was wondering when you’d get here.” She went back to her seat, her blonde ponytail bouncing behind her.
I looked at Bob. “So that’s why you fixed your hair.”
Bob’s cheeks flamed red. “Elizabeth, this is Mr. Scott Waverly. He’s got a meeting with Mr. Morgan.”
Elizabeth stuck out her hand. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Waverly. Especially since your arrival brought Bob back up north. He’s been avoiding me, I think.”
Bob looked at me with a ‘what can I do’ expression on his face. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I’ve been—”
“Busy, I know.” She held up her hands and mimed quotations. “Number one delivery person in the Mid-Atlantic region.” She threw me a wry smile. “He’s very proud of that, Mr. Waverly.”
“I’ve noticed.” I looked around the lobby. “Who are the people in all these portraits?”
Elizabeth pointed at the walls. “The current overseers are on your right, and past overseers are on your left.” She pointed above her, and I saw a picture of a middle aged lady wearing a green scarf over a lime colored blouse. “That’s Ann Blake up there, the depositary chief. She’s also my mom.” She picked up her yellow telephone. “Excuse me while I inform Mr. Morgan of your arrival.”
I walked around and examined the portraits. Apparently there were only two current overseers: one painting was of Archie, looking forty years younger than he appeared in the video. The portrait of the other overseer was of a younger man barely out of his teens.
Elizabeth hung up the phone. “Mr. Morgan is ready. Bob, please escort Mr. Waverly upstairs.”
As we walked through the door behind her, she called out, “And come back here after you drop him off.”
The door closed, and we stood in what appeared to be an elevator lobby. I nudged Bob with my elbow. “Somebody’s really happy you’re in town, dude.”
Bob leaned in close to my ear. “I’m scared of her mother,” he whispered. “I’m afraid to get anywhere near her daughter at the office.”
“Why, is Ann Blake an old battle axe?”
“Actually, I’m very nice, Mr. Waverly.” A live version of the lady in the portrait above Elizabeth’s desk stood next to me. She had a strong Texas drawl. Four men in spiffy dark green suits stood behind her and waited as she smiled and stuck out her hand. “Ann Blake.”
“Call me Scott.” I took her hand.
She squeezed hard and released.
“Do you know Bob?” I stepped back to get out of the line of fire.
“Of course I know him, and I like him too, whatever he may think. We wish we saw more of him around here.” She slapped him on the shoulder. “How are you, Bob?”
He stammered out a “Good afternoon, Ms. Blake.”
“You’re coming for dinner at our place tomorrow night.” She pointed at me. “Bring Scott with you. Be there at eight thirty sharp.” She strode off with her retinue.
I smiled. “That went well.”
Bob shook his head. “I’m going to be sick.”
“Is her cooking that bad?”
“No, sir. She intimidates the heck out of me.”
“She puts on her pants one leg at a time, just like you.” I smiled. “But then you put on shoes, and she puts on cowboy boots. Maybe it’s the boots that are scaring you.”
“Maybe.” He pressed the elevator call button and the doors opened. An ancient elevator attendant sat inside on a yellow stool. He was wearing green pants with suspenders, a white shirt, and a green cap.
“Third floor, James, we’re going to Mr. Morgan’s office,” Bob said.
James sat up straight. “Next stop third floor. All aboard who’s getting aboard.” He closed the doors and the elevator hummed. It stopped, and the doors opened. “Third floor, and mind the gap as you disembark.”
We got off, the elevator closed, and we stood on the marble floor of a grand foyer. “James used to be a train conductor,” Bob said. “Old habits die hard.”
“Was he a train conductor in this life, or in a previous life?” I asked.
“Of course this life, Mr. Scott. Nobody remembers anything from their previous lives. Except what you learn in there.” He pointed to the left. “The depositary is just down that hall.”
We walked to the right, made another right, and entered an open door on the left. Archie sat at the same desk, in the same pose, wearing the same smile he wore in the video. He sported a different bowtie, though: this one had green and white stripes. He stood up when we approached.
“Welcome to Soul Identity, Scott.” Archie shook my hand. “Did you have a nice trip?”
“We had a great trip.”
Archie turned. “Welcome back, Bob. Thank you for taking good care of our guest.”
Bob nodded. “You’re welcome, Mr. Morgan.” He reached into his pocket and handed me a card. “Mr. Scott, here’s my phone number. When you’re ready to go, just give me a ring.” He left.
I walked over to the window and gazed down at a green field bordered with evergreens and lined with stone walls. “This is quite a view.”
Archie stood next to me. “It reminds me of stability. The view hasn’t changed in the last thirty years.”
I looked at him. “You’ve been here for thirty years?”
“More than that, I am afraid. I came to this organization sixty-four years ago, when I was twenty-one years old.” He turned to me. “Did you watch the video?”
I nodded.
He pointed to the left corner of the room. I saw four comfortable looking leather chairs arranged around a low oak table. “We can sit there. Can I get you coffee?”
I sank into one of the chairs. “Coffee would be great. With cream and sweetener, please.”
He picked up the yellow phone on the table. “Two coffees, Brian. A fatty fake for my guest.” He hung up.
“Are you from Seattle?” I asked.
“My assistant spent a few years out there before coming back east. He insists I use his awkward names for the coffee.” He frowned, and his bushy white eyebrows stuck straight out. “Let us discuss why you are here.”
That sounded good to me. But then a short and slim young man walked in. “One skinny bitter and one fatty fake, as ordered.” He put the cups and saucers on the table. “I also brought some cookies for your guest. They are not for you, Mr. Morgan.” He laid a plate of two steaming chocolate chip cookies next to my coffee.
“Thank you, Brian,” Archie said. “Do you have any more bran muffins?”
“You’ve had two this afternoon. Are you sure you should?”
Archie sighed. “I suppose not. Please close the door on your way out.”
Brian smiled. “You betcha, Mr. Morgan.” He left.
I slid my plate of cookies toward Archie. “Wanna share with me?”
He leaned forward and picked up one of the cookies. He took a bite and sank back in his chair with a sigh. “He tortures me with these cookies every time I have a visitor.”
&n
bsp; “So get a new assistant,” I said.
Archie shook his head. “Brian has made himself indispensable. And my daily ration of bran muffins is probably good for me.” He leaned forward and dropped his voice to barely above a whisper. “I told you I need our Internet applications audited, and I do. But the real reason you are here is to stop those who are destroying Soul Identity.”
“That’s what you said on the video.” I crossed my legs. “But if you know who is destroying you, why do you need me? Call the cops and let them handle it.”
“Because I cannot pin them down. Even with the signs all around us.” He held up his hand and counted on his fingers. “Unrecovered overseers, unreported members, and misplaced deposits, just for a start.”
“I’m lost.”
“Let me show you.” Archie walked over to his desk and opened a drawer. He withdrew a bulging yellow folder. Back at the coffee table, he rifled through it and pulled out a stack of papers. “This is what they are doing to us.” He handed me a sheet.
I looked at a chart labeled “Overseer Recoveries.” The line showed an early decline, then a steady rate until a precipitous drop-off on its far right. “If this was your stock price chart,” I said, “people would be jumping out the windows.”
He nodded. “As well they should. It is our overseer recovery rate. Each data point covers one century.”
The first century showed forty overseers recovered. It dropped to seven for the next century, and then hovered between nine and eleven for the remainder, until the last one. That bar had only two.
“What’s wrong with this?” I asked. “The twenty-first century is less than a decade old, and you’ve already had two, what are they?”
“Recoveries.” Archie shook his head. “We do not use your calendar. In July we completed our twenty-five hundred and ninety-second year. That last bar is only eight years short of a century. Ninety-two years, and only two overseers recovered. We’re being strangled.” He handed me another sheet.
“New deposit value over the last century,” I read. The chart showed a drastic falling off in the last three years.
“They’re keeping the money away.” Archie thrust another in my hands. “Look at our membership rates.”
This chart was labeled “New members this century,” and showed that relatively few members had joined in the last decade.
Archie gave me another sheet. “This is the last one, and it is by far the worst,” he said.
The final chart said “Depositary withdrawals this decade.” It showed a huge recent spike of activity in the last year.
“We are close to the point of insolvency,” he said in a whisper.
I cycled through the four sheets again, trying to make sense of what they meant.
After a minute I glanced up. “I have no clue what a recovered overseer is,” I said. “I don’t know the impact of no new deposits or no new members. And I’m struggling to believe that you guys have been around for almost twenty-six hundred years.”
He looked ready to interrupt, but I held up my hand.
“I do understand the threat of insolvency.” I handed him the papers. “But if you want me to help, you’ve got to get me up to speed. I’ll try really hard to suspend my disbelief.”
Archie stared at me, and I stared back. After a minute he nodded. “I shall keep reminding myself that you are neither a member nor a believer.” He drummed his fingers on his armchair, looking out the window. “But how can I explain?”
I sat waiting.
His expression brightened, and he stood up. “We shall start with the basics,” he said. “I will show you my soul line collection in the depositary.”
seven
Archie led me to the depositary and through its automatic steel doors. We stood in a waiting room. A lady receptionist sat on the far side behind a thick acrylic window. Archie walked up and leaned on the countertop.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Morgan.” The receptionist smiled. “What can we do for you?”
Archie smiled back at her. “I would like to bring a guest to see my soul line collection.”
“Sure, just fill out this waiver for him.” She slid an index card-sized form under the window.
Archie filled it out and passed it back.
“Thank you,” she said. “Now if we can verify your identity, you’ll be all set.”
Archie picked up the goggles and put them on. “Like this?”
“That’s right. Now just a sec. Ok, Mr. Morgan, we have you verified.”
Archie took off the goggles and straightened his hair.
The receptionist passed him a badge-sized card. “Here’s your smart card, Mr. Morgan. Room number four is available.” She pressed a button, and a door behind her opened. “Just through there—it’s the second door on your left.”
Archie inserted the card into the door of room number four, and it swung open. I heard a hiss as it closed behind us.
“The room is hermetically sealed to keep out dust and mold,” Archie said.
“What about the dust and mold we just carried in?”
“That will be removed after I do this.” He slid the card into a slot on the wall. “You may want to close your eyes.”
I heard a low humming, and a bright light made me see red through my eyelids. I felt the air swirl around me, and I smelled some sort of disinfectant. The humming stopped and the bright light switched off.
I opened my eyes. “Now what?”
“Now we wait for them to deliver my collection,” he said. He pulled out of his pocket a small stack of laminated cards, wrapped with a rubber band. “But take a seat and let me give you a taste of our history.”
I sat down.
“I told you that we started almost twenty-six hundred years ago, correct?”
I nodded.
He slid the rubber band off the stack of cards and handed me the first one. It showed a bust of a bearded man with curly black hair. Underneath the picture I read, “Thales: Soul Identity founder, circa 580 BCE.”
I flipped the card over. The back showed a map labeled “Anatolia (Asia Minor).” It appeared to cover the lands in the northeast corner of the Mediterranean Sea. A small star about two thirds down Turkey’s western coast marked the city of Miletus.
I flipped back to Thales’ face. “This is the man who started it all?” I asked.
Archie nodded. “Thales was a philosopher, one of the Seven Sages of Greece, and a businessman. Aristotle called him the father of modern science. He lived in Turkey, and he mastered Greek mythology, Egyptian mathematics and astronomy, and the ancient Phoenician and Jewish legends.
“We like to tell a story of how Thales made a fortune by cornering the market on olive oil. He bought all the olive presses in his city after he predicted there was going to be a bumper year for olives.”
“I like this guy,” I said.
Archie smiled. “I like him too,” he said. “Now when Thales was studying in Egypt, he discovered a band of priests who had spent centuries painting exquisitely detailed images of people’s eyes on papyrus. These priests claimed if you calculated the difference in the patterns of a person’s eyes, the difference would exist at most once per generation.”
Archie handed me the next card, and I saw a painting of a group of priests sitting cross-legged under a tent in front of a pyramid.
“The mainstream priests persecuted the band because they did not teach that a glorious afterlife awaited each good person,” Archie said. “Thales persuaded the group to return with him to Miletus.”
“So what did Thales do with them?”
He smiled. “This is where we enter the picture. Thales set up a new society which he called Psychen Euporos, which roughly translates from ancient Greek to Resourceful in Soul.”
He handed me the next card, and I saw Soul Identity’s logo, with “Psychen Euporos original shield” written below. So this was the original name of Soul Identity.
Archie flipped the card over, and I saw a picture of a large
stone building with huge pillars holding it up. “That was our first depositary,” he said. “Thales realized the business value of being able to connect people between their past and future lives, and he established Psychen Euporos as a way people could invest in their future selves.”
Thales seemed to have been all about the money, much like Soul Identity acted today.
Archie smiled at me. “Our historians believe that Thales also had a personal reason to found our organization—he had no children, and he wanted to pass down his accumulated scientific wisdom to his future self.” He let out a chuckle. “We would not call it wisdom today—Thales believed that everything in the world was made from water.”
“It’s nice to see the ancients didn’t know everything.” I held up my hand. “Before you continue,” I said. “Thales believed his future selves would inherit his characteristics, and I’ve talked to Bob and others—they also expect their future selves will be like them.”
“Most of our members expect that.” Archie leaned forward. “What is your question?”
“Are they right?”
Archie sat back. “As you might imagine, we have performed centuries of research on soul line inheritance. And the results are inconclusive. We know for sure that one’s memories and physical characteristics are not inherited, but our writings are filled with anecdotal evidence of passed-down intelligence and personality traits.”
I thought about what Archie didn’t say. “So you can’t prove it,” I said.
“We cannot. Other than the soul identity, that is. Anything beyond that, and what it means, is left to each member to work out for themselves.”
Bob had also hinted that Soul Identity didn’t delve into the spiritual realm. “You’re telling me Soul Identity forces no special beliefs on its members?”
Archie was silent for a moment. “Not all overseers have felt like me. In fact, throughout my tenure, I have fought many battles against those trying to force their own views on the rest of us. But these days, the business of Soul Identity is business. We let the churches run the spiritual side.”
I nodded. “Thanks. Let’s get back to Thales.”
He handed me another card, and I saw a picture of two armies on a battlefield. Instead of fighting, most of the soldiers stood pointing in the sky at a solar eclipse.
Soul Identity Page 7
