Invisible Forces

by J. K. Scott

An unfamiliar voice told me Harmony was on vacation. This only added more questions. As I trudged back to my jeep, unexpectedly, the phone rang. Clueless as to who’d be calling, I looked at the Phoenix number, expecting it to be one of Ronzo’s numbers.

  I answered, “Hello. This is D,” careful not to use my name until I knew who called.

  A male voice said, “D for an initial?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “D, it’s Peter.”

  Confused and curious how Peter had my number, I flashed on Harmony. I asked, “Have any updates?”

  “They are hot to find you. I need to see you.”

  Pissed by the obvious, I said, “Who is hot?”

  “It’s a long story. We need to meet,” Peter said abruptly.

  “What’s your advice?”

  “You need to return.”

  “To be arrested?”

  Peter hesitated and then said, “We need to solve your problems. And, Dak, why travel so far away?”

  My gut tightened. He had my coordinates. Harmony or Rustler had passed my number. I couldn’t fault them; they thought Peter and I were cohorts.

  I was screwed. Either Peter couldn’t talk, or he was bullshitting me.

  I said, “I’ll call you later.”

  “You’re adding to your problems,” Peter said sarcastically.

  “I’m solving my problems,” I said bluntly, closing the connection.

  Peter’s refusal to tell me what was going on made me angry, and now I had to find a store to buy a new burner phone and listen for a ping for the coordinates. It took me over an hour but was well worth the effort. I had to be extremely cautious, or my downfall could be painful.

  I found another place for another beer and a late lunch. All I could think was How in the hell did I get myself into this mess? I hadn’t bargained for a life on the run. It took me a few minutes to pull myself together. I thought, Even the shadowy messenger didn’t help matters. I came to the conclusion that the powers that be didn’t want anything solved. What if the forms were man-made or something beyond my comprehension? I speculated on Peter’s loyalties. I decided to cool my drinking since it wasn’t making me a happy beach bum.

  I paid for my beer and skipped lunch to walk around town before my contact at Poet’s Antiques. I window-shopped the galleries around Burns Court and thought about hopping a boat ride to Cuba to bum around for a few months. I could drop off the grid completely. My thoughts became wilder as the hour passed. I could claim amnesia and bum around Key West or hop on an Atlantic freighter to London. I was quite willing to mop decks.

  With more wishful thoughts, I went to Arnie’s to collect my cash and felt comforted it went without a hitch. After leaving the shop, I ran the RAD over the money to be sure it was clean. With money in my pocket, I needed to get back to work. I drove to a high-priced hotel to access their network on my mil-spec computer among the users in the lobby.

  I researched any data on Frog Palm’s legitimate business and couldn’t determine how the company harbored their clandestine work. I was cautious not to alert the network for any lengthy browsing time. Quickly, I signed off.

  From what I’d gathered, Kisha had told the truth about Palm Frog’s storefront. I wanted to drive by their building but couldn’t risk video surveillance that could track my jeep or facial recognition—or worse yet, a drone following me. I decided to research “space activity near Earth” before meeting Adam to work on the images.

  I logged on to the Tampa Research Center, which tracked near-Earth objects (NEOs). After searching the web pages, I found an obscure article written by a scientist who seemed informed about questionable activity, but I couldn’t find him on the grid. Surely these observatories and clandestine companies would have identified any rogue objects or images, even though much information was kept from the public.

  There were more than thirty-four astronomical observatories just in Arizona, and numerous observatories weren’t even open to the public. Even though the latest computer pod satellites searched for near-Earth objects, the data was time delayed or censored. Again, I wondered why. Fortunately, amateur astronomers survived censorship and published on the non-indexed dark web. One had to know how and where to access these files.

  Frustrated that there wasn’t any useful news, I concluded that there weren’t any significant articles on unknown rogue objects or serious alarms from the past five years. I logged off after the dismal search.

  I took a breather and strolled around the ritzy hotel to settle my thoughts. The hotel backed to an inlet bay with several three-story luxury towers. Inviting paths led to waterfall pools, the marina, and boutique shops. I wanted to join the swimmers for a beach-bum day. Instead, I had an hour before meeting Adam, so I decided to grab a bite at the pool café and sleep for forty minutes. Sleeping in the jeep, at the campground, and on couches and floors the past few days didn’t bode well for my well-being.

  20

  BILL’S SEAFOOD GRILL was packed. I found a parking spot next to a Dumpster. I grabbed the bag with the Mylar disc and headed for the entrance. Inside, customers stood waiting to be seated. I was discouraged by the busy time to meet Adam. I suspected he was getting back at me. I maneuvered through the crowds to the dimly lit bar. Adam and another man waited on the bar customers as I stood behind two ladies, hoping they would leave. Adam finally noticed me and pointed to the other end of the bar. Following his request, I maneuvered through the crowd.

  An elderly man at the bar smiled at me and said, “Adam asked me to save this seat for you.”

  I thanked him and took his seat.

  Adam passed me a beer and spoke in a low voice. “After your beer, go around back to the kitchen door. Fargo will drive you to the lab. And, Dak, you will need to leave your jeep here.”

  I wondered how he knew I had a jeep. I took a swig of the cold beer. I felt uneasy about the plan but had limited options. I wasn’t in the mood for a beer, so I took two swigs, put a twenty on the counter, and left.

  I trudged to the kitchen door near my jeep. A tall, thin young man with spiky blond hair greeted me wearing a blue apron. Unexpectedly, he scanned a RAD over me. Assured I was clear, he said, “Call me Fargo,” and led me to a white sedan. Fargo didn’t appear to be a mini-Alto car driver.

  I slid into the passenger seat, hoping I wouldn’t regret this. Fargo lowered the windows and turned on the air conditioner, which blasted hot air before cooling. Fargo turned north on the Tamiami Trail and said, “We’re headed for the computer lab. We need your advice.”

  Relieved I wasn’t a hostage, I speculated whom he meant by we. I asked, “What seems to be the problem?”

  “We’ve been working on the images since Adam delivered them this morning. Your verbal description to Kisha doesn’t match our models. We need you to connect the fragmented pixels.”

  I was upset that Adam’s group had listened to my recording—even more so that they had started without me. That wasn’t my plan. However, it wasn’t a good time to express my anger.

  I asked Fargo, “Do you and Adam work for the same boss?”

  “Do you mean Bill’s Seafood?” Fargo said with a chuckle as he glanced at me. “I don’t work for Bill’s. I wore the apron so you’d follow me.”

  His inference wasn’t funny. I focused on Fargo’s driving as he turned left on University, passing the Ringling Brothers Museum, and then a left on Bayfront. The waterfront mansions were protected by gates. Across the street from exclusive homes, I admired the bright, colorful artsy homes surrounded by a tropical canopy.

  Fargo turned into a short entry with an electronic iron gate that opened to an extensive stone driveway. Tropical plants careened over the fences as he drove to a small house.

  Fargo said, “We call it Dakota’s Haunt.”

  The lab house was surrounded by palm and oak trees, colorful begonias, bayberry plants, and oth
er shrubs. The tropical canopy covered most of the satellite antennae. Along the walkway to the porch, artistic Darth Vader–style signs greeted me with “Students saving the world” and “Students draining their brains.” I had anticipated a two-story brick building surrounded by electronic fences.

  Fargo nudged me. “Come on, Dak. Let’s go.”

  On the screened porch, I entered a canvas tent and stepped into a security screener. I heard a strange beep, and Fargo asked me to remove my burner phone from my bag. He placed the phone in a small Faraday cage nearby, assuring me it would be there when I left. Strangely, the Mylar disc must have passed.

  Fargo held the door open, and I stepped inside and saw a 1968 classic poster of HAL 9000, the computer from the renowned film 2001: A Space Odyssey. Space photography peppered one wall, along with a row of compact computers. A large-scale screen filled the opposite wall, and the third wall had black script written all over it. Two young women and a man sat at the computers, undeterred by my arrival.

  Fargo yelled, “Hey, you guys! We have the source. Say hello to Dak.”

  The women, Kim and Shelly, voiced their names and said hello, but the man, John, greeted me with a welcome applause, as if I were “the Answer Man” from a classic film I fondly remembered. John was a muscular young man with a bushy dark beard.

  He said, “We have modeled several simulations, but they don’t form to the description you gave Kisha. We need you to connect the fragmented dots.”

  I understood their problem. I couldn’t verbalize my dimensional skill, but I could provide simulations. Looking at the fragments on the walled screen, I asked, “Can you print a reverse pattern from the dots?”

  Kim, who looked like the youngest, faintly smiled as she tossed her black braid behind her back and left her computer. She offered me coffee and sandwiches perched on a table with a bowl of fruit. I declined her offer.

  Her tall, thin stature guided me to the drawing table as she said, “Yes, we can reverse the pattern, but we would like you to work on the drawing board step-by-step so we can compute these images.”

  In the past, I had worked on paper but usually for two-dimensional forms. I took a seat at the table with the familiar engineering D-size paper.

  Kim lifted a thin plastic overlay on the twenty-two-by-thirty-four-inch print of dots, adding, “You will be using a magnetic pen that draws to the screen. More detail will enhance the accuracy for the computer analysis.”

  I was surrounded by strangers who expected me to see their techniques. I asked, “What are the plans once we model these images?”

  Fargo spoke. “We have a separate server that stores data on Planet X along with ancient texts. Our deep space analysis focuses on the Kuiper Belt, comparing dwarf planets, comets, asteroids, and near-Earth objects. We have access to research on several continents, including the infamous top secret Pine Gap in Australia. We are deeper and more clandestine than the dark web, using an advanced TOR, or the Onion Router, Freenet, or I2P subnetworks and encryptions. Our mission is to analyze space objects and any encrypted data for any alien life-form in the solar system. We collect and integrate thousands of research papers to summarize the data. This includes books and articles on the matter. We even have a special program for fiction books too.”

  Impressed with the group’s focus, I wondered whether I was a hostage of abductors who had removed their masks, which could mean I wasn’t leaving. I trusted Kisha that the images would be protected. This also included trusting Adam without certainty whom he worked for. However, this was my best option to finish the project before Cascade found or arrested me. I scanned the faces of the four skilled specialists, asking, “So you believe Planet X is out there?”

  Eyes turned to Fargo, who answered, “Yes, we collect numerous images from deep space. We speculate that Planet X is orbiting on the outer edge of our known solar system, while others believe it could be orbiting a brown dwarf binary star to our sun in the Oort cloud. Also, we’ve been modeling various Planet X orbits that could cross our solar system’s orbital path. We have been computing the gravitational determinants for various upheavals. That’s our focus at this time.”

  Surprised by Fargo’s admission, I said, “Then there isn’t any sign of Planet X.”

  Fargo said, “Well, it’s complicated. There is a search for Planet Nine or Ten, enabling research for gravitational influence. We speculate there are more rogue planets with different ecliptics in the Kuiper Belt and beyond what we haven’t identified. For example, the dwarf Pluto in the Kuiper Belt has an incline and eccentric orbital path that varies due to the gravitational influence of Saturn. Our group continues to study dwarf Pluto’s eccentricity from data since 1930 for any perturbations. Many scientists believe Pluto is a hybrid between a planet and an asteroid due to its slow solar winds, which are unlike the solar winds on the other planets in the solar system. All these parameters add information to the objects in the Kuiper Belt and beyond.”

  John tilted back his chair and added, “Bottom line—we’re modeling various trajectories from above, below, or coming straight at us in our attempt to determine what catastrophic events Planet X or any other large objects intercepting our solar system and that could impact our planet could cause. Predictions are risky, with diverse theories, speculations, and controversy from other scientists.”

  “Who supports your work?” I asked John.

  Fargo and Shelly glanced at each other as if they didn’t want John to answer.

  Fargo replied, “We work for a very dark, very covert company. We are one of a few companies studying ancient texts’ predictions. We also research other possible cosmic catastrophe events as well as techno signatures of prior origins of extinct life in the solar system or elsewhere. Currently our astrobiologists search for past signs of life from millions or billions of years ago on our planet and in the solar system. However, we believe the public needs to be aware of past and present possible catastrophic events on this planet.”

  “Do you think the public wants to be informed?”

  Fargo spoke with affirmation. “Human ignorance is not acceptable. Possible catastrophes on our planet or in the solar system should be known. There are those in the know who have survival plans for possible catastrophes.”

  Impressed with their work, I said, “As a graphics specialist, I’ve worked with cosmology patterns, and like you, I have read ancient texts. There are many cosmology references, especially in the Kolbrin Bible—for example, in Book of Manuscripts 3:3: ‘When ages pass, certain laws operate upon the stars in the Heavens. Their ways change: there is movement and restlessness, they are no longer constant and a great light appears redly in the skies.’” After a long pause, I said, “I need to know if these two images are associated with a rogue planet, Planet X, or another object. I’m glad to be working with you.”

  Kim twisted her long braid. “Kisha said you attended her lecture, and we were elated to know you are familiar with our focus and have read the Kolbrin Bible.”

  Kim walked over to the wall and read from the black print: “Manuscript 3:4: ‘When blood [red ash] drops upon the earth, the Destroyer will appear and mountains will open up and belch forth fire and ashes. Trees will be destroyed and all living things engulfed, waters will be swallowed up by the land and seas will boil.’”

  Astonished, I became aware that the walled script contained passages from the Kolbrin. I realized I was among a rogue group of scientists. However, whom they reported to and received financing from occupied my thoughts.

  John spoke in his husky voice. “We posted and memorized passages from the Kolbrin and other texts that inspire and motivate our research. My passage on the wall is from the New Century Holy Bible, from Jeremiah 25:32 and 48:8: ‘Disasters will soon spread from nation to nation. They will come like a powerful storm to all the faraway places on earth … The Destroyer will come against every town, not one town will escape … The Lord
said this will happen.’”

  Fargo appeared impatient. “Okay, let’s start working. We need to interpret these images and pay homage to the man who died protecting them.”

  I was astonished by the gurus’ knowledge of the project. Apparently, Kisha was rather detailed, and she was recording our meeting. I scooted my chair under the drawing table. “Let’s get to work.”

  Shelly’s cool hand touched my wrist as she passed me the magnetic pen, saying, “Press the pen firmly for thick lines connecting the anchor dots.”

  Shelly’s soft voice, soft touch, and soft blue eyes reminded me of a delicate lit candle glowing with warm light. She couldn’t have been over twenty, but she reminded me of misty fog upon the sea, esoteric in contrast with Kim’s rather simple appearance and mannerism.

  I glanced at the fading Celtic crosses on my wrists, rather embarrassed, as they anxiously waited for me to make a mark. The roof could have caved in, and they wouldn’t have lifted their eyes from the pen in my hand.

  21

  I HELD THE PEN with determination as I cleared my mind and focused on the thin plastic sheet scattered with black dots. It reminded me of a thousand-piece puzzle that needed to be organized. Somehow, miraculously, my brain knew what to do. I thought about Peter’s grilling skills test a long time ago. The gurus were determined and duty-bound to interpret these images.

  The four gurus represented the implant generation, who struggled to regain independence from previous generations’ restrictive laws and regulations, which reinforced security over freedom. They had open minds and were rebellious against personal limitations and far more aggressive in exposing truth. I had to thank John Wheeler for that moment; without his help, I’d be at Cascade without additional frames battering my brain.

  I carefully marked two opposing dots on the clear plastic, saying, “These two anchor dots delineate the space between the two frame images. I’d prefer to work with one form at a time.”

  The gurus looked shocked that I could distinguish the frames. Apologetically, John changed the display of patterns to the single forms, and Kim replaced a plastic sheet with the new frame dots.