by Terry James
Martial music played, softly at first, then grew in volume and inspiration. The disembodied voice spoke when the music subsided.
"What follows is a detailed operational video manual for the position within INterface government to be known as Sector Coordinator. This presentation details all aspects, minor and major, first of the Sector Coordinator's responsibilities to INterface Council, and second to INterface citizenry. Next, the responsibilities of the citizenry, individual and collective, to the Sector Coordinator, to all other instrumentalities within INterface government, and to each other."
Bright gold characters were generated over film of hundreds of pedestrians walking the sidewalks of a large city during a business day. Film that had to have been shot, Jacob decided, within the last two years. Seeing the people dressed in their business attire, and at the time of the film's shooting, so terribly rushed, he wondered how many of those men and women now moved about within Herrlich Krimhler's inner world...having disappeared in the "dissolution."
"They're not kidding about this, are they?" Melissa asked.
Jacob put his hand up for quiet, squinting in concentration at the activity on the screen, which continued to present changing scenes.
"In addition to the specific duties and responsibilities of Sector Coordinator detailed in this inculcation session, there will be outlined the technologies which will assist you, the Coordinator, in the governing of entities within your Sector."
"We're no longer considered people, I guess," Jacob said, thinking out loud. "Now we're entities. A quick demotion from citizens."
Scenes of sophisticated communications equipment flashed and faded in and out on the screen, along with people operating it. Some of the technology was familiar to him from his time in the Naxos complex, some was not.
All the while, the music played on, although more softly than before. The video seemed to flash and change in time with the percussional beat while the voice continued.
"It is no longer practical to transact business using currency in the traditional, historical sense, although INterface Response Unity will utilize currency of a modified electronic type — somewhat like that which has been used since the inception of computer banking. Naturally, as an outgrowth of this evolution in computer currency, it will also no longer be feasible to use names in everyday business activity. Each citizen-entity of INterface society will be assigned an INterface Number to make INterface Response Unity work."
"Naturally," Jacob agreed sarcastically.
"A cashless, checkless system," continued the computer instructor, "designed to eventually eliminate altogether and forever the debilitating scourge of paper and coinage which has slowed economic progress.
"The founders of INterface thus have directed and supervised the development of this identification and verification machinery, which will make interaction within our world-saving monetary system immune from the thievery and graft that have plagued every socioeconomic system in history. This marvelous technology assures that everyone it serves remains unimpeachably honest.
"What follows is a demonstration of what will be referred to, henceforth, as the INterface Response Unit. 'I.N.R.U' will be the acronym for the computer unit which will be used in conducting all business matters, as you will understand when this session is completed."
Bright yellow letters popped on the screen one at a time:
I...
N...
R...
U...
"The verbal command which will be used to confirm User Identification and will clear the way for transacting business within the system is the statement: 'IN ARE YOU.'"
The words for the acronym above them popped one at a time onto the screen, bright yellow letters on a brilliantly blue background.
IN...
ARE...
YOU...
Jacob and Melissa watched for the next 10 minutes the intricate home-to-business, business-to-government, continent-to-continent, individual-to-individual interconnectedness, displayed through colorful computer graphics spiraling and networking in mesmerizing demonstration of the system in its conceptual totality.
"Now to demonstrate how you, the Sector Coordinator, physically and psychologically fit within the framework of INterface Response Unity," the voice said when the networking display was completed.
The video changed to a man sitting in a chair-computer console — a sleek combined modular unit with sharp, angular features and made of black on gold fiberglass and stainless steel. The chair was thickly padded and covered with red velour material. A video screen, in the center of its own oval-molded shell, sat atop a keyboard unit at the end of the chair's right armrest. The keyboard curved in school-desk fashion in front of the man. The operator was dressed in an orange jumpsuit of the type Jacob remembered wearing in Naxos.
"This is the INterface Response Unit. It will become as much a part of you as your brain and arms and hands are parts of your body. The INRU makes you a vital link in the Universal Mind Order. As healthy, effective neurons and synapses provide linkage within the brain to make a conceptual-level-of-functioning biological unit, so the Sector Coordinator will serve the Universal Mind. Helping link one cluster of cells to other clusters of cells, making INterface Response Unity function as an effective whole, for the good of all."
The man sitting in the console chair began manipulating the keyboard. The camera made a slow sweep, giving perspectives from behind and above the operator. The computerized voice continued instructing how the Sector Coordinator fit within the networking, governing process, and how the INterface Response Unit functioned for the good of all who were part of INterface Response Unity.
After several minutes, the presentation ended with the same graphic demonstration of the total system's interconnectedness shown at the beginning. Jacob sat forward on the sofa, his interest piqued when the voice and the video produced new revelations.
"Of course, the position of Sector Coordinator, as do all positions of authority within INterface, carries with it great responsibilities. And with that authority and responsibility, must be included accountability."
When the man in the chair manipulated the controls, his screen displayed:
FELIX SMITH
lN-3-010101010
SECTOR COORDINATOR DO 1
"This Sector Coordinator," the computer voice said, "at this point hears and responds to the following command."
A different mechanized voice, one less human-like issued the order: "You are instructed to read the following pledge, zero-zero-one."
The man watched his screen and complied by reading the electronic copy it displayed.
"I, three, zero, one, zero, one. zero, one. zero, am one with INterface, as are all within Sector zero, zero, one. We swear this before Almighty God."
The voice emanating from the console speakers continued: "Prepare for Print Ident. Seize Print Plate."
The Coordinator reached forward with his right hand to the end of the right armrest; at the same time, the camera zoomed in, bringing the viewer a close-up shot of the man's right hand and the dark glass plate, upon which he placed his right index finger and thumb.
The video became a still frame while the voice explained: "Accountability of the Sector Coordinator is achieved through use of the Ident Print Plate, which also assures that the information cannot be subverted. That only this individual has access during INRU accounting and allegiance periods. The Print Plate feeds INterface the Sector Coordinator's thumb and fingerprint simultaneously, plus reads his temperature, which must be close to the normal range of 98.6. Any significant variance from this temperature will automatically set in motion an investigation into the matter. Of course, duplicating the fingerprint and thumbprint would be highly difficult. However, there are safeguards which will be used in conjunction with the Sector Coordinator's fingerprint and thumbprint, to eliminate possibility of forged access, for example, retinal scan."
The video was in motion again, the camera pulling back slight
ly to include the man's right arm and most of the chair's right armrest. A metallic tubular device swung upward electronically from somewhere beneath the right armrest and covered the man's hand and wrist.
Jacob heard the same words the Sector Coordinator heard, and watched while the man's console screen displayed the words:
AFFIRM: FELIX SMITH
SECTOR 001
CDDRDINATDR IIM-3-O 1 D 1 O 1 D
Interface accepts. IN ARE YOU
"INterface accepts," the voice from the console announced. "IN ARE YOU!"
"You have just witnessed INterface, during which this Sector Coordinator — fully aware of activity within his assigned portion of INterface society — assured Central INterface Terminal Coordinator that order is maintained and the peace is secure within Sector zero, zero, one.
"The INterface Terminal Coordinator, who is responsible for a much larger segment of INterface Unity, known as an Octadrant, affirmed that this Sector Coordinator's Print Ident and IN Scan proved he was IN — that he had legitimate access to the INterface Response Unity computer system, and therefore, the Sector Coordinator's claim that all was well within his sphere of responsibility, was acceptable to INterface Response Unity.
"All Sector Coordinators report to all Octadrant INterface Terminal Coordinators, who then report to the INterface Response Unity Center. Thus, completing the chain of command and assuring that all are One within INterface Response Unity. By INterfacing -- law is maintained, order achieved, the peace secured."
The graphics on Jacob's screen displayed a line chart illustrating the chain of command outlined by the mechanized voice. Ten seconds elapsed, then the now-familiar crystal pyramid symbol took the place of the graphic. Moments later, the tape was finished.
"Can you believe it?! It's like something out of Orwell or Huxley!"
"I can believe it. I have the bruises to show they're serious about it," Jacob said, beginning again to shuffle the materials in front of them on the coffee table. There was so much to look through to understand. So much...
His first inclination was to put the second Naxos tape, the one he had not yet viewed, into the recorder. Thoughts ran through his head of Krimhler's videotaped speech he watched at Marchek's home before they broke in on him. Herrlich Krimhler — surely the architect of what was intended to become INterface Unity. That earlier videotape had revealed a much more sinister, more concentrated intent. Thoughts of something the tape and the papers he brought with him from Naxos termed "The Plan." The blueprint that would lead mankind into his finest hour: Utopia achieved! Would the cassette he held now in his hand provide answers to what this grand design for heaven on earth might entail?
A face behind wire-rimmed glasses, a balding head — its imprint stamped over Jacob's thoughts of Herrlich Krimhler and Naxos. "Listen to the inner voice," Hugo Marchek was saying to him from the grave, from somewhere... "When all else fails, listen, heed your innermost urgings; be guided by them."
The actual words the eschatologist had once given him in counsel seemed the derivative paraphrasing of the words he imagined now—the imagined advice, the actual. A cold shiver rippled along his spine and he convulsed in the moment of eerie sensation.
"Anything wrong?" Melissa touched his arm in concern.
"No. What is it they say when you shiver? A mouse running over your grave, or something?"
"I never heard that. It's the devil sticking you with his pitchfork, I've always believed."
Jacob smiled, but his thoughts were already turning back to Marchek and the materials on the coffee table's top. His gut feeling was that there was at the moment more to be learned from the old man than from the propaganda of Naxos. He dropped the Naxos cassette onto the coffee table and picked up the video taken from Marchek's fireplace, then fed it into the recorder.
"What are we watching?" Melissa, who had left the room for a moment, returned and sat beside him on the sofa after placing a bowl of soup on the table near him.
"A tape I got from an old friend." It felt good to say it for the first time.
Hugo Marchek was a good friend, although fate had allowed them only a brief time together. And, while it felt good to finally verbalize his feelings for the old man, there came at the same time a sadness he had not sensed before about Marchek's loss. In a strange dichotomy, the bitterness toward those responsible for Marchek's murder relieved his nerve-taut emotions, freeing him to proceed with clearer vision of purpose.
He ate the soup, his eyes cut upward at the screen. Lively music sounded while the screen displayed a huge curtain of sparkling gold color, emblazoned across with bright red script-written letters:
"THE RANCE JORGENSON SHOW"
A voice, rising in volume and flourish, announced, "Make welcome Dr. Hugo Marchek, Professor of Eschatology for the Institute of Christian Studies at Rockville, Maryland — who is also President and Founder of PAL, Preservers of American Liberty."
Light applause greeted the guest, who walked through the part in the curtains. A slightly built man of about 70, who although obviously younger than when Jacob knew him, was instantly recognizable. The new guest walked to the booth where the show's host sat and reached to shake the host's hand. He then moved beside the booth and shook hands with Lauren Winchester, Rance Jorgenson's previously interviewed guest.
"Glad you could join us, Dr. Marchek. Did I pronounce the name right?"
"Whatever you wish to call me, Mr. Jorgenson. It is your show," Marchek responded in his thick Polish accent. He patted the host's arm lightly, taking the seat next to Jorgenson, the seat just vacated by Lauren Winchester.
"I think I like you already, Doctor. Most of my guests don't give me the respect I deserve," Jorgenson said pseudo-indignantly.
The sounds from the audience, in feigned sympathy for the host's self-described plight, brought a look of disdain from Jorgenson.
"Who let these people in here tonight, anyway?" said the host, looking somewhere in the direction of off-stage. "They're obviously not members of my family, who I got tickets for--at 10 percent off regular price," he added.
From off-stage, the voice of the program's booth announcer enjoined, "Those tickets were given to you free, Rance. You mean you sold them to your own family?"
The studio erupted in laughter, causing the host to look sheepishly about the stage for support that could not be found. "See you at contract time, Morton," he said with feigned irritation. "I finally get one who shows some respect, some regard for me, and what do you do?"
Turning serious after the laughter subsided, Jorgenson questioned the guest. "What, exactly, is an eschatologist, Dr. Marchek?"
"One whose work is in the field of eschatology," Marchek said.
Jorgenson was silent for a moment, a blank expression on his face, the expression changing then to resignation. "See what I mean?" he said while the studio audience laughed. "I finally get one who shows some respect and you win him over to your side."
The old man was finally able to speak above the laughter. "The field of eschatology deals with the study of the ultimate destiny and purpose of man. The branch of theological eschatology, to which I have devoted myself for the past 38 years, is the apocalyptic prophecies. It is the road map that God has provided through His Word, the Holy Bible. The road map points to events leading to the end-of-the-world system as we now know it."
There were snickers and scattered hoots throughout the studio.
"You mean the end is coming... and you can tell us when?" Jorgenson questioned smugly.
"I can definitely answer 'yes' to your first question with some qualification, Mr. Jorgenson. The end of this present Earth Age is definitely coming, but it is not the end of the world. And in answer to your second question, I must tell you 'No.' I cannot tell you when. But I know who does know the precise time it will happen."
"Who's that?"
"God, of course."
"Oh? Whose god? Yours? The Muslims'? The Hindus'? Mine?" The host's facetious prodding delighted the audi
ence, which broke into applause.
"There is but one God, Mr. Jorgenson. The Lord God Jehovah."
"So, if your God is the only God there is, why won't He tell you when doomsday will come? I mean, I can understand why He won't let me, a devout libertine, in on it. But you obviously don't have those sins pulling you down; you're in good with the big man upstairs. Why won't He tell you? I mean, for gosh sakes, you're the one who's trying so hard to understand. Right?"
"To answer your question," Marchek spoke slowly, deliberately. "I will not use my words alone, but the words of the One who has all the answers. From His Holy Word..." Scattered shouts from the studio audience cut the air sarcastically.
"No!... No!... No sermons, preacher! Preacher go home!"
Jorgenson raised his hands for silence, a smile of patient understanding on his face, his eyelids heavy with tolerance. "Now, children, we invited the good professor to play. So we've got to let him have his say. Am I right, Lauren?" Jorgenson looked past the old man to appeal to the young woman, who smiled, then gesticulated with a whatever-you-say gesture.
"Sorry, Dr. Marchek. They're bad kids, sometimes," the host apologized. "Go ahead and tell us what the man upstairs has to say."
Marchek patiently mustered his thoughts, unfazed by his tormentors, then spoke. "A moment ago, I said only God knows the answer to when the present dispensation, that is, the church age, will come to a close, and the tribulation of the earth will begin in preparation for the coming millennial kingdom."
"Forgive me for interrupting, Doctor, but you'll have to fill us in. At least fill me in, on what you mean by the church age."
"The church age, Mr. Jorgenson, is the period of history from the time following Jesus Christ's resurrection, when the Holy Spirit descended upon believers at Pentecost, as told us in the book of Acts, to the time He returns in the air for all born-again believers. When that happens, the present dispensation, or 'church age,' will come to its conclusion."
"And that's the end of the world?" Jorgenson said amidst groans from the audience.
