by J. K. Scott
27
THE GROUP LEFT the room. I felt relieved to be left alone. After a few minutes, the sound of rustling paper caused me to flinch. I turned around and saw Turbero behind me, thumbing through papers.
Confused, I asked, “What are you doing?”
“I’m waiting to talk to you. I’m reading your notes from inside your book.”
I started to lift from the chair when Turbero told me to sit back down.
Angrily, I shouted, “Those are my private notes!”
“Sorry, Dak, but I’m following orders. I’m waiting for you to tell me what frightened you in the video. This is your last chance. What happened that night?”
“Or what?” I snapped.
“Well, we could cancel our agreement. We need your full cooperation to continue this project. If you are not forthcoming, you will be released from BBB and returned to Cascade. This includes our protection, and there is the matter of a hefty bid on the dark web for your capture. Dak, we need to be honest with one another,” Turbero said sarcastically.
I sank deeper into the chair as I weighed my options. I could ask Ronzo for more money. I could sell the gold coins hidden in the cabin. I could trade in Will Sargent’s identification for a new identity. I imagined myself camping in the Prescott Mountains or the desert around Wikieup. Could Drab Wash Junction be another Cascade?
Raising his voice, Turbero asked, “What’s your decision?”
The benefit of staying would be to solve the forms. Could I be protecting an uncontrollable fear? The shadow messenger wasn’t my only problem. I had to resolve my resistance to accepting it.
Turbero’s words meant business. Being a maverick didn’t bode well. I said, “First, I need a few answers. Do you believe what happened at the gurus’ lab is linked to the images?”
Turbero looked me in the eye. “We are still searching for answers. The thermal video shows an intense focus on the chair in your room. And the energy around the chair is the same as your resonant frequency, meaning whatever was in that chair shared your frequency.”
I felt uneasy hearing what Turbero said. The burden of protecting my personal experience caused me undue stress. I admitted to myself that I couldn’t defend my silence much longer.
I said, “You probably won’t believe me.”
Turbero sat in the chair next to me. “This vast universe is far more complex than anyone can imagine. Dak, you cannot shock or frighten me. I’ve seen things that are horrific and unrepeatable working for BBB. There are invisible forces that influence our lives. If we choose to ignore them and refuse to dig deeper, we’ll never understand how they integrate into our lives.”
“Can we discuss this back at Orion?”
“You need to stay in the chair. You are being recorded, and your vitals are being monitored.”
After releasing a sigh, I spoke in a monotone voice. “After three exhausting days spent working on the images, I passed the project to a cohort and left work upset. That evening, at midnight, I was awakened by a shadowy presence in my room that mentally told me, ‘I am you.’” I continued with the details, telling Turbero about the mental message, “The images are about survival. Solve it.” When I finished, I felt an albatross lift from me.
Turbero didn’t say a word. He waited for me to continue.
Feeling bold after my experience, I said, “These past three weeks, I’ve been working to solve the images, and people are dying. I feel guilty that I could be responsible. Cascade has false warrants for my arrest. I’m being told there is a high price on the dark web for my capture. I’m being held hostage at BBB. The images haven’t been identified. I have this edict from the messenger to solve them. And one other thing: I didn’t like the spinning windmills.”
“I understand your anger; we purposely wanted to confuse you. However, the message is straightforward. It has motivated you to solve the images against all odds. We believe you have suppressed the reason you were told to solve them,” Turbero said.
“My higher self—or there’s more than one of me!” I snapped.
Turbero looked troubled. “It’s more complicated than that, but I believe we are closer to resolving this conundrum.”
“Well, there’s more. The first night when I returned to Sedona, I was awakened before dawn while sleeping in Oak Creek Canyon.”
Turbero politely asked, “What was the message?”
“The voice said, ‘I am with you. I am you. Solve the images. There’s a void. Solve it.’”
“What does that mean to you?” Turbero asked.
“The word void confused me. I kept thinking that I had missed something. Void implies emptiness, a vacuum, space, a hole—which reminded me of Fargo’s last words to study the torus.”
Turbero said, “This is good. We have another message but still have problems.”
“What other problems?” I asked.
“For starters, we haven’t identified the courier or who he was meeting. Who killed him? What invisible forces are agitating the chaos? Who is bidding on the dark net for your capture? What do they know about you or the images? And why the deaths associated with the images? I’ve been thinking. First, are the images the message or the messenger? Second, was something else inside the briefcase? Third, could the briefcase have been a decoy for the SD card?”
I agreed we needed answers for the numerous questions.
Turbero added, “Regarding the two messages from the shadowy form, could the messenger be a haunting from the dead courier? Or could it be a figment of your imagination or your double? And do you want the responsibility to solve the images?”
I didn’t answer as my muscles tightened with each question.
Turbero continued his analysis. “You have recreated the images. You have special skills to analyze the images. The messenger expects you to solve it. You must have the ability to solve it.”
I was encouraged by Turbero’s words and was feeling lighter. I couldn’t understand why it was so difficult to admit what had happened that evening. Released from the burden of the messenger, I had to dissolve my psychological block.
I asked, “What’s next?”
Turbero shook my hand. “Welcome aboard. You need to attend the DWJ’s protocol sessions. You will be screened by security, attend an orientation class, and pass underground safety procedures. After indoctrination and passing your tests, you will have a tour of Drab Wash Junction, according to your security status.”
Turbero walked me to Orion and told me I’d be leaving the visitors’ wing in the morning to relocate to a residential facility. He added, “I’ll see you in the morning. And, Dak, I appreciate your honesty and persistence.” Then he returned my notes.
I’d been at Drab Wash for two days and had one last night in Orion. Glancing up at the dark ceiling, I knew it had to be late. I grabbed a half bottle of merlot and poured myself a glass. Then I retired to the bedroom lounge chair. I sank into the chair, thinking, The shadow would like this chair, and next time, I’ll ask for more details.
An obnoxious bell sound awakened me. I had fallen asleep in the chair. I hobbled to the door to see Turbero grinning and holding a silver coffeepot.
I said, “Hey, don’t you ever sleep?”
“Sure, but I don’t sleep in a chair.” Turbero chuckled.
Within minutes, we were drinking coffee together as if we were old buddies. Aware the conversation was monitored, I asked, “What’s on the schedule for the day?”
Turbero said, “Good news: you were vetted from Cascade’s files. You won’t have the two-day security training session. And the project has been elevated to high-demand status. We will be working on the forms after a shortened orientation. There will be tests on safety rules and regulations to stay at Drab Wash Junction.”
“Let’s do it,” I said confidently.
“Good. Flynn will take you to orientati
on in thirty minutes.”
Flynn arrived to inform me I was leaving the Orion wing. The elevator went down to a lower level, and we exited to a yellow bullet train. We rode the short train trip to a large platform with multiple tracks.
We took an escalator to an upper level, while many others rode the escalator to the large platform similar to a normal metro system. I glanced at the passing faces and didn’t recognize anyone. They were all wearing colorful jogging suits, which seemed to be the uniform.
At the top of the escalator, my jaw dropped as we arrived at a lush green park. I smelled trees and plants while my eyes bathed in the green tropical setting. Sunlight filled the park from a glass dome above. Following close to Flynn, I passed miniature potted fruit trees that bordered the manicured grass area. In the distance, I saw rows of vegetable plants and herbs and wondered if the greenery was all edible.
We entered a pink four-column marble building. Surprised to see a sports arena or theater, I noticed rows of seats that overlooked a large stage. Flynn explained, “This is Junction Arena. It seats more than three thousand people.”
Astonished, I asked, “How many people live here?”
Flynn had an evasive look as he said, “Many.
Silently, I followed Flynn around the corner to a smaller building. A short, bald man with dark eyebrows and horn-rimmed glasses introduced himself as Radar. Flynn advised me he would return after my sessions.
Radar enthusiastically said, “You will have a virtual training session by avatars. You will interact with them and answer their questions.”
“Will you be in the room?” I asked Radar.
“No, I’ll be observing from screen D,” he said, pointing to the small screen in the door. “Your first lesson will be about underground safety with Avatar Torkel. Are you ready?”
I looked around and said, “Let’s get started,” accepting that artificial intelligence had overtaken teachers’ roles like it had many others’.
As soon as Radar shut the door, Torkel appeared, looking young and wearing a chartreuse bodysuit. On the enormous wall screen appeared an outline of the room we occupied.
Torkel said, “I’ll be instructing you verbally and be showing you videos. You will be tested after each lesson. Are you ready for your session?”
I voiced agreement, feeling weird talking to the avatar.
The avatar outlined the sessions that focused on operations safety of underground facilities (OSUF) with the requirements of the Occupation Safety Hazard Administration (OSHA) and National Fire Protection Association (NFPA). The avatar guided me through the lessons and posed test questions. The interactive instructions emphasized the criticality of detecting gases, radiation, fire, and smoke, as well as monitoring temperature, water, and oxygen for sustainability. Fire and smoke were the highest risks.
After the hazardous-material lesson, I realized why my burner phone didn’t pass the material specification requirements. Aware DWJ searched my incoming and outgoing calls, I couldn’t recall if Peter’s last call was on my last burner.
The session ended with a presentation on the technical system relationships and human adaptive lessons for living underground. Fortunately, I didn’t have claustrophobia, but I was told that others had to overcome their fears or fail the tests.
After five long hours, I passed all the tests. Radar told me he had to leave the room for a moment and then disappeared. Viewing my test scores on the screen, I sniffed as smoke drifted into the room. A loud boom followed with a second boom. Within seconds, black smoke billowed inside. In a panic, I couldn’t see the only door. Blinded and confused, I inhaled the toxic smoke. I dropped to the floor and dragged my body toward the door. I pulled my shirt over my head to filter the smoke. The smell irritated my nostrils and tasted bitter. Fearful, I groped along the floor in the thick smoke and intense heat. I continued to crawl until I touched the wall. I searched for the door’s edge and crept up the door frame to use my shirt to grab the hot inset handle, which I hadn’t noticed before. An alarm echoed as I pushed the door open and heard the announcement: “Dak survived the fire with five seconds left.”
The physical and emotional lesson hit me hard. It was a critical lesson about the risks of living in an underground facility. For the final physical lesson, Radar asked me to name the location for the closest escape route in the park and describe the exit. Spiral metal stairs led to protected tunnels surrounding the facility that opened to three holding rooms. There were manual lifts next to stairs for disabled speedier exits. I was curious about the design of the emergency tunnels, but that wasn’t shown on the maps.
I learned that Drab Wash could house more than five thousand inhabitants. The area’s size was not cited, but the diagrammed maps indicated twenty research laboratories, ten residential quarters, and numerous buildings with food service, cafeterias, and personal retail, as well as health-care services and maintenance services. Drab Wash Junction was an amazing sustainable underground city.
Flynn met me for a late lunch. We crossed the park and ate at a café that served hot lunches. I ordered the vegetarian lasagna, and Flynn ordered turkey meatloaf. We both ordered vitamin water. Flynn kept silent as I listened to soft voices nearby. The quietness bothered me, and I had to restrain my impulse to speak loudly. I even desired to talk and question others.
I could only speculate what Turbero had planned. I hoped I wouldn’t have to live the remainder of my life underground but felt secure that Drab Wash Junction had ample resources for human survival.
28
AFTER LUNCH WITH Flynn, I endured the search-and-rescue session. Then I heard a disturbing session on protocol and penalties for disclosing Beyond Black Borders. BBB’s mission statement was “Secure and protect Earth’s inhabitants from foreign and astrophysical intrusion.” The simple statement dug far deeper than mere words. Astrophysical invasions covered matters of space, including bacteria, space objects, and other worldly intrusions into earthy life. The underlying mission was to avert war in space. BBB’s space mission spread far and deep, probably beyond the session I had attended.
I suspected that BBB was funded by a shadow government at the deepest classified levels. The reminder “You are located at Drab Wash Junction,” or DWJ, emphasized that BBB was not to be spoken of.
After my training, Turbero arrived in black pants and a blue collared shirt, dressed for an important meeting. He’d neatly tied his long black hair back into a ponytail.
With a congratulatory back slap, he said, “Glad that’s over. We have a meeting to attend.”
With hesitation, I said, “Let’s go.”
I followed him to the train station, and with seven minutes to spare, I headed for the restroom, looking into the mirror with heavy black-and-blue sagging bags under my eyes. My pale skin blended with the yellow walls. After splashing water on my face, my damp hands attempted to smooth my unruly hair. I needed a haircut and a shave, but those needs ranked at the lowest rung of priorities.
We boarded a yellow Alta train, recalling Stone Pillar Castle’s black train. We sat in the back row on bench seats. Others on the train wore their athletic uniform attire. I assumed that fashion statements had no place here. We exited at the first stop onto a large platform with a wide white marble corridor. There was a reminder sign for quiet. Turbero sensed my concern as I stared at the sign. He whispered, “I’ll explain later.”
Turbero passed several doors before stopping at Security. Turbero palmed the door and left a voice pattern. At the front desk, a smiling elderly woman said, “Hello. I’m Ellie. I’ve been waiting for you.”
Turbero talked to her as I studied the rows of people hunched over their computers. They wore headsets and stared at screens. Behind the row of cubicles, I observed a tinted-glass wall, probably with more discreet monitoring.
Turbero said, “Ellie will program your palm, iris, facial, and voice print for your clearance to the
trains and specified areas.”
I realized this nailed me to BBB.
Ellie asked Turbero, “Do you need a DNA puncture?”
Turbero hesitated, saying, “Go ahead, but don’t activate until I give you permission.”
Taken aback by Turbero’s comment, I asked, “What happens if I don’t have access to an area?”
Ellie said, “A silent alarm will alert security. All doors and entrances will be closed to you. I will give you a security card with instructions for your clearance locations and color-coded trains. You will have a pocket sensor for the approved areas until you are versed on clearances. The security training session takes a day, but this has been suspended for you. You are required to have a guide.”
I took the security sensor, accepting that I couldn’t avoid monitors. Turbero reassured me my current security was all I needed.
We returned to the train station to board the Beta green train for the Hydra Building. I glanced around, still unable to identify anyone, and followed Turbero to the back-row seats.
The Hydra Station covered a smaller platform. I followed Turbero to a twelve-by-twelve room with recessed cameras and lights. The sign read, “Single and voiced entry.” Turbero told me to go first. I pressed the metallic pad and voiced my name to open the door. I stepped inside a glass cage with a glowing yellow light that seemed to scan me. Turbero followed after me.
I was overwhelmed by the enormity of the Hydra Building. Turbero told me the four-story-high technical computer building had an upper-level observatory that opened to the above sky. Turbero guided me to a table facing another enormous screen. My jaw dropped when the images appeared on the large screen. Two men joined us and introduced themselves as Allan and Rio. They looked as if they were fresh out of college.
“What do you think?” Rio asked with a wide smile. His dark brown eyes waited for my approval.
I said, “Wow, I’m impressed. The images look alive.”
Turbero said, “On the big screen, they are compelling.”
