Firebolt

by R. M. Galloway

  “Afraid not.”

  “So what’s the real number then?”

  “You don’t really want to know.”

  “I want to know.”

  “You really don’t.”

  His hand was shaking. Over by the door, Daniel was getting nervous; his body language was getting tense. I probably shouldn’t have kept needling them, but I couldn’t help it.

  “It’s more like fifteen grand,” I said.

  “That goddamned cockroach!”

  He threw the glass at me and I dodged it with a flick of my head. The glass exploded in a cloud of gin and ice against the wall behind me. I don’t know why he did it, really. I suppose I was just a symbol of his former business partner at that point. But Daniel took the opportunity to come out shooting, and from that point onward, there was no more conversation.

  Chapter 4

  Eight hours later I was on a flight to Reno, listening to Siberian Meat Grinder’s “Hail to the Tsar” on my headphones. I’d been getting into all this Russian music lately – punk-influenced metal and hip-hop mostly, but also some older Russian goth stuff.

  I appreciated tech, in my own way.

  Back in my previous incarnation as an angry young street punk, one of the main obsessions most of the punks had was hatred for the music industry. The punk ethic was DIY: start your own record label or your own distributor, stay away from the industry or be labelled a sell-out. Important bands, bands everybody loved, were cut off and abandoned by the punk underground if they signed major label record deals. Maximum Rock n Roll even ran an anti-major-label extra feature right after Kurt Cobain died, with a cover picture of a guy shooting himself in the head and the headline “Some of Your Best Friends Are Already This Fucked.”

  We hated the control these companies had over what everybody listened to, their ability to dictate who got radio play and to tell people what the trends were going to be, so nothing new or different ever had a chance. We wanted to see their control broken, and we thought we could do it with independent music, distributed through our own alternative channels. That’s what “alternative music” actually meant – not a specific style or sound, just music that was distributed outside of the major label system.

  Then all these bands that used to be part of the underground started getting signed, and by the time the 90s were over, “alternative” was a specific sound, mass-produced by bands in the pocket of the major labels and marketed through “alternative” rock radio stations. We tried to build something outside of their system and they just ate it up and regurgitated it as a new product. We failed.

  But then came Youtube, and Pandora and Spotify and all these other websites… and the next thing you know, you could listen to a bunch of Russian black metal hip-hop punk rockers dressed in bear costumes. Or to Yiddish polka, or old garage band rock n roll, or whatever you wanted. The mainstream was all but dead, hanging on only by marketing to middle school kids and the terminally unimaginative. The power of the record labels was broken forever, and it wasn’t punk rock that did that. It was tech.

  So it’s not like I didn’t appreciate what new technology was capable of. With the mild resentment of approaching middle age, of course. But was it really the freedom and openness we had always wanted, or just a bold new step in market differentiation?

  “Sir? Sir, the plane is about to land. Please power down all devices.”

  I glanced up, and saw that the flight attendant had summoned a supervisor of some kind and was now hovering behind her wearing an expression of nervous disapproval while the supervisor herself glared down at me politely yet ferociously. Presumably this meant that I hadn’t even noticed the first attempt to get me to shut off my Siberian Meat Grinder. I smiled up at them apologetically, and turned off my music. Back to work.

  Father always used to tell me I would come and work for him, when he wasn’t contradicting himself and claiming I already worked for him whether I knew it or not. The man is like that. Other people’s autonomy really bothers him, so he’ll either predict that they’ll surrender it voluntarily to him or just deny that they have it in the first place. David Zinn had his own ideas, which is why he had to be silenced. I had mine as well, but it hadn’t worked out. Father’s predictions about the future have a way of coming true.

  I got off the plane, and walked out into the area where you meet whoever is waiting for you. I knew exactly what I’d see there – four members of Vitalius Kohl’s security team, including one Jesse Spindrift. He was a tall and skinny man, with brown eyes and sunken cheeks, a ragged little ponytail and a Satanic goatee. Again, not a highly-trained ex-military professional of violence. Kohl liked his amateurs, but at least he was smart enough to put a pro in charge of his own security. That pro being me.

  “How did it go?” asked Spindrift. One of the underlings took my bag. A creepy ex-cop named Frank Hill.

  “It’s done, of course. Brief me.”

  He pursed his lips, obviously resentful that I had this job. But he couldn’t do anything about it, I was his boss.

  “The TED Talk starts at eight, the place is booked to capacity as always. We’re setting it up, getting our guys in position. It should go smoothly.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll be up front where I can see him.”

  “Taking an interest in his ideas?”

  “I was always interested in his ideas, Jesse. The difference between you and me is that I actually understand what he’s saying.”

  He pursed his lips even harder. A true believer, Jesse was deeply concerned at my failure to hang devotedly on our CEO’s every utterance. The fact that I got a lot more face time than he did bothered him even more.

  We walked through the airport at a smooth but rapid pace, and soon found ourselves in a bullet-proof black SUV with tinted windows driving equally smoothly yet even more rapidly through the streets of downtown Reno.

  “The Ja Lama will be there tonight,” said Jesse.

  “Another complication,” I said. “Now we have to protect him too.”

  “We’re ready for it. You know we have contingency plans in place.”

  “Yes, I know. I wrote the plans.”

  “His presence helps Mr. Kohl. He’s a beneficial influence.”

  “Buddhism bores me,” I said. He stopped talking for a little while, most likely through sheer frustration at his inability to communicate effectively with me. It’s always hard to know what to say to a heretic, especially when you don’t have the power to burn them at the stake.

  Chapter 5

  “TED Talk conferences are a pain,” I said, as we walked through the hallways of the conference center toward the waiting room where Vitalius Kohl was getting ready.

  “I find them inspiring,” said Kirsten Weils, a journalist who was doing some sort of long-form piece on the Quod Corporation. Her voice was testy. People who watch a lot of TED Talks don’t like hearing anything bad about them.

  “I’m talking about the security aspects,” I said. “That’s my job.”

  “Why is this any different for you than one of Mr. Kohl’s other appearances?”

  “Because there are other speakers. Mr. Kohl isn’t talking for forty-five minutes or an hour to people who came just to see him. He’s talking for eighteen minutes to a mixed crowd of attendees, many of which are there to see other speakers or just to see a TED Talk. It’s a pain, because there are so many more security factors to consider. We can vet the attendees at one of our own events ahead of time, making sure the stalkers or the known enemies don’t get tickets. We can’t do that here.”

  “I see. Does Mr. Kohl have a lot of enemies?”

  I cursed under my breath. My job was physical security, not public relations. I had a strong tendency to say the wrong thing to the wrong person.

  “He’s a visionary,” said Jesse Spindrift. “He’s a prophet for our times. One of the geniuses building the new world within the old. Of course he has enemies.”

  “I understand how his work might provoke some cri
ticism,” said Kirsten Weils, “but this focus on protecting him from perceived enemies… it seems a little Stalinist.”

  “Mr. Kohl is the farthest thing from a communist you could possibly imagine,” said Jesse.

  “My point is…” said Kirsten, but we were already there.

  I knocked on the door of the dressing room as she argued with Jesse, grateful that I didn’t have to defend my employer to a nosey journalist. I had much bigger problems on my mind.

  “Come in,” said a voice, and I went into the dressing room. Vitalius Kohl was sitting in a chair in front of a large mirror, smiling just slightly at me as if he found me mildly amusing. He no longer had the long white beard he used to wear when he was pretending to be Professor Andrew Mann at the University in Hennington. Instead he wore the thick mustache and afternoon stubble of his personal favorite Russian warlord, the Baron Roman Nicolaus Maximilian von Ungern-Sternberg. Instead of the long flowing Mongolian tunic the real von Ungern-Sternberg habitually wore, he wore a slim black vest over a silk shirt in midnight blue - but he did wear the Russian military decoration of the Bloody White Baron above his heart.

  “Good afternoon, Gavin,” he said in his cultured voice. “Is everything ready for this tasteless exercise in mimicry?”

  “If you’re referring to the TED Talk event, it looks like we’re ready. Jesse and the crew put everything in place as instructed.”

  “Mr. Kohl,” said Kirsten Weil, who came into the dressing room behind me. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course, Ms. Weil. I am at your disposal.”

  “Why do you refer to this TED Talk event as a tasteless exercise in mimicry?”

  Like I said, TED Talk people don’t like to hear their beloved conference disparaged.

  “I shouldn’t have phrased it that way,” said Vitalius smoothly. “I know that you and many others have been deeply inspired by TED Talks and their rightfully optimistic view of human potential. My concern is with their cultural role. In restricting all speakers to eighteen minutes and encouraging great scientists and philosophers to present their ideas in such an… accessible fashion, I am concerned that TED Talks are merely bastardizing culture. Transforming the most sublime ideas into a casual entertainment.”

  “But what are they mimicking?” she insisted. He pressed his lips together.

  “They are mimicking intellectual culture, Ms. Weil. The free and unrestricted exchange of ideas for their own sake is not simply a strategy for killing time on the morning commute. Great ideas are not soundbites.”

  “Mr. Kohl, that seems elitist to me,” she said.

  “The charge of elitism does not offend me at all,” he said. “We should all strive to fulfill human potential to its highest possible level. That is by nature anti-democratic.”

  “Some might argue that if you cannot present your brilliant ideas in an accessible format like a TED Talk, they may not be so brilliant after all.”

  “There is no logical connection whatsoever between the accessibility of an idea and its validity,” he said. “But listen to my talk before you judge. I am confident you that will be entirely satisfied.”

  He turned back to me. “I’ll need an update on your progress after that talk.”

  I nodded. “Of course.” I certainly wasn’t going to discuss my role in silencing his enemies in front of a journalist. That would only result in having to silence her as well. On the wall behind him, there was a promotional poster from one of his larger rallies. It showed his face, staring ahead into a brighter future with the stern optimism of a heroic statue. The words below his face read: VITALIUS KOHL – ENGINEERING THE FUTURE WITH THE WISDOM OF THE PAST.

  He stood up to go, and everyone stepped back to give him room. Most people didn’t know enough to be scared of Vitalius Kohl, and yet somehow… they instinctively knew. He was always the dominant power in every space, in every place. His behind-the-scenes role in countless bank robberies, armored car hold-ups, home invasions, and terrorist atrocities was a well-kept secret. His public persona was that of a wealthy and innovative intellectual, a tech guru with a spiritual side who promised a glorious tomorrow. Yet no one was ever stupid enough to challenge his raw dominance when they were in the same room with him.

  I stood beside him, ready at any moment to draw my gun in his defense, to kill anyone who tried to hurt him. He smiled at me again, as if it pleased him. As if my debasement and my corruption was one of the most personally satisfying achievements of his long and wicked life.

  Chapter 6

  “My friends,” said Vitalius, his voice quiet yet deep and resonant as he paced slowly across the stage with his hands folded as if in prayer. “You have all been promised so many things. The wonders of technology, the magic of the future. Intelligent machines. Robot babysitters. Ample supplies of food and water, enough for everyone regardless of income. Extended lifespans. Flying cars.”

  He grinned at that one, and the audience laughed. I scanned the room with my eyes, looking for any hint of a threat. Anyone paying the wrong kind of attention, anyone with the wrong kind of body language. There was nothing. No one in this room wished Vitalius Kohl any harm.

  “When I was a child, I just naturally assumed all these things would become available, that they would be a part of my own adult experience. Perhaps in The Year 2000!”

  They laughed again, sharing his gentle mockery and his nostalgia for the naïve optimism of yesteryear.

  “Perhaps you have given up these dreams, and perhaps you were right to do so. 1 Corinthians 13:11 - When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. Yet I have not.”

  His voice held a subtle tone of self-reproach, as if he chided himself for his own inability to give up hope as they had.

  “I never surrendered those childish dreams. I became a man, and I did all the things a man does. I amassed wealth and power, I built my own empire through my own efforts. I married a good woman, and I raised a child.”

  Jackie Cole, I thought. He’s talking about Jackie Cole. The lost love of my youth, the old flame who came back into my life and then burned it to the ground. He wasn’t her father, but he was her uncle. And he had raised her intentionally to become a monster. I suddenly noticed that I was clenching my teeth so hard they hurt, and I made myself stop. Vitalius Kohl continued, weaving the audience into his words like a spider-web.

  “And then the day arrived. I had the wealth and the power. I had the wife and the child. I had lived the life of a man. And I tell you this: When I was a man, I spoke as a man, I understood as a man, I thought as a man: but when I became a child again, I put away adult things.”

  He owned that audience. That’s the thing about TED Talks; the vast majority of the audience is already sold on the idea that the future will be a beautiful place for us all because of the wonders of technology. Forget Zyklon-B and the hydrogen bomb, forget the 276 dead lambs it took to produce Dolly the Sheep. These people want to believe in the beauty of the future, and that’s exactly what Vitalius Kohl was there to sell them.

  “When I put aside the ways of a man and became a boy in my heart, I started to ask myself why we don’t have these things. What is holding us back, preventing the bright dawn of tomorrow from lighting the sky? It has to be our paradigm, something missing from our most basic assumptions. Some missing piece in our science. And as soon as I realized that, I knew the answer. In our rush to the future, we have forgotten the past. Too much of what the ancients knew has been abandoned by the moderns, disregarded and ignored by our approach to science. I am not talking about mere superstition…”

  Here he held up one hand gently yet firmly as if to forestall criticism. Someone muttering something in the dark of the audience suddenly stopped as if they’d been caught.

  “I am talking about the truth, or more correctly, a truthful understanding of the structure of reality, as discovered and passed down through oral tradition since the most ancie
nt times. Consider the Four Seals of the Dharma, an ancient Buddhist text. What does this text teach us? It speaks of the universe, of all reality, as being made up of particles. Yet these particles do not have any inherent existence because they are neither indestructible nor indivisible. They never exist without a definite cause. They are not made up of indivisible points; they can always be subdivided into still smaller parts. They have no stable or fixed identity. In truth, they exist only as potentialities, only as relationships with other entities, always mediated by active consciousness. What does this text speak of except quantum mechanics, as developed by our science only a relatively short time ago? By being willing to accept this, to embrace the connection between the spiritual teachings of the past and the modern spirit of scientific inquiry, the physicist Max Planck was able to develop his quantum mechanics.”

  Some of the audience seemed to love this – a few of them were absolutely enraptured by it – but he was losing some of them too. The whole “quantum physics is really Buddhism” thing has been a cliché since the 1970s.

  “If our reality is only Emptiness, if there is truly nothing but Mind, then where are all these limits from? The limits to what we can accomplish can only come from our own consciousness, and if we can change our consciousness we can step past our limits!”

  A few audience members were fidgeting nervously, almost as if they were embarrassed for him. Others were giving him their full attention, wrapped up in the web of what they wanted to hear.

  “I have been fascinated by these subjects for years,” he went on. “Yet it was only about a year ago that I took active steps, positive steps to set limitations aside. Not just my own limitations, which are as burdensome as yours, but the limitations of all humanity. I used my extensive financial resources to construct a special research center in the Nevada desert, a place commutable from the Reno area and yet quite isolated as well. I invited all of the top scientific and intellectual geniuses, all the brilliant engineers, all the future Einsteins and Michelangelos – and I offered them enough to ensure that many would accept the offer. Many came to join me, and together we emerged as the Quod Corporation – a new kind of company, dedicated not merely to profit but to the revolutionary fulfillment of human potential. To the true enlightenment of all humankind!”