by Lee Bond
As Terry understood it, those corporate titans were a thousand times worse than their political counterparts, and they held a tighter grip over the new youth –not to mention how the country was to be run- than ever.
“I see.” Terry said, pulling out his logbook to make an entry.
“He’s … he’s one of those Statey kids, right? The weird ones?” Sandra asked, concerned. She’d never met one before, but had heard all kinds of things from some of her friends who partied in those circles. They had all kinds of money and knew how to have a good time, but some of the stories she heard … they went overboard, it sounded like. Got into things they shouldn’t.
Terry nodded. Should he call it in now or take a look at the Statey kid first? “He probably is, yes. Their finals are coming up soon, and their curriculum can be tough on them.”
“Do …” Sandra ignored her friends, who were calling her name, trying to get her to end this silliness, “should I come with you?”
Officer Terry Friendly smiled, big and bright and wide. Their economy might be failing, their government might not know what it was really doing, might not be able to accept that they weren’t a superpower that anyone was afraid of anymore, there might be drugs out there that could turn ordinary kids into face-eating lunatics, but they were doing some things right after all. “No, no miss, you don’t need to come with me. Just give me your name for my records and you can rejoin your friends. It looks like they’d rather be elsewhere.”
“S-sandra Kennings.” She flushed, did an awkward curtsey thing that evoked laughter from her friends, and then she hurried back to them.
Terry Friendly watched the lovely Sandra Kennings disappear into the crowd of her friends, laughing at being made fun of. Such great things. He nodded. He was going to check out the weird kid from State whose brain had probably cracked open from thinking too hard. It wouldn’t be the first time and it wouldn’t be the last time.
***
They were a captive, if slightly dumbfounded audience; many of the ‘experiments’ he was busting out for them had firm roots in either quantum mechanics or metaphysics, and they were being revealed in a vaguely Mr. Wizard-ish or slightly Bill Nye manner, forcing them to think outside their respective boxes, but not so far out that they began to experience their own personal existential crises.
That was the adults. Asking grownups to consider their own place, not only on the planet, but in their local time/space continuum was one thing. Most of them had enough elasticity in their brains to struggle through some of the higher end things being brought to the playground that day. They’d all go home and tell their friends, wives, lovers or barfly buddies about the weird guy they’d met in the park that day and they’d all have a laugh about how State Uni was churning out lunatics, just like they’d always secretly expected.
But the kids? That was a whole ‘nother ballgame, one Garth found he was more than adequately up to the task of handling.
He devised his little thought experiments just as he would for himself, because let’s be honest, he knew that when it came to stuff breaking or exploding or making all kinds of terrific racket, he was all the way on board within seconds.
“Okay. So.” Garth wished he had a rubber band or something to tie his hair up properly. He’d never had a proper haircut since waking up in the future and most Specters with hair just either let it grow all the way out until it got burned off by various types of weapon’s fire or he took a knife to it, but he hadn’t had time ‘neath The Dome to hack it to a more manageable level and he was beginning to feel like a goddamn hippy. “Here we are. On this planet. This one, tiny little planet circling a bright yellow sun…”
“It isn’t yellow!” Someone shouted from the back, near the nearly mangled swing set. “It’s orange.”
“I know it’s orange and you know it’s orange,” Garth stage-whispered behind a back hand, eyeballing the kids arranged in neat little half circles before him, “but these kids aren’t ready for spectrum and color theory. Anyways, we’re zooming around the sun, and we’re all hurtling through space. Does anyone know what SETI is?”
A little kid in a brightly colored Spongebob Squarepants t-shirt shot his hand up so hard Garth was pretty certain the kid dislocated his shoulder, but whatever. The eager beaver got the worm, so he gestured grandly. “What is it, Spongebob?”
“They look for aliens. I know because I was watching this movie where this guy was doing that, and he found them, and they thought he was the king of the planet or … no, that was another movie. The movie with SETI had a girl, and she was…”
“That’s right, Spongebob, they’re looking for intelligent life in the stars.” Garth added all kinds of excitement and mystery to the proclamation.
Here and there in the crowd –mostly in the over thirty generation- he caught sight of a lot of rolled eyes and disparaging, whispered comments to their neighbors. That was fine. It was all part of the plan. Everyone over fifteen already thought he was more than a little bonkers, and the disastrously executed swing-set Newton’s Cradle experiment was the kind of seed that he’d been waiting to plant since he’d come up from the beach.
“Now. Can anyone guess why we haven’t found any life yet? No signs, no hints, no nothing, and why this might relate to what I’ve been saying all along? That none of this is real? That we’re all part of a massive, shared hallucination or virtual reality simulation?”
Someone shouted from the back again. Garth suspected it was the same guy as before. That was fine. Odds were decent that he’d either run into someone from State Uni or someone who knew someone that went there. A little actual intellectual opposition would go a long way.
“Drake’s Equation strongly suggests it’s only a matter of time.” The smart man with the irritating voice said smugly. “In our Galaxy alone there’s a minimum of two billion planets that could totally support life, and that’s if we’re only talking about carbon-based, quasi-pedal lifeforms. If we include silicate, or, like, viral lifeforms, then that number could be higher. Spread throughout the entire Universe, which is infinite or nearly so, the number of habitable planets with sentient life also reaches near the infinite.”
“We got a smarty in the audience, kids.” Garth directed his comment to the young kids, who’d developed a noticeably glazed look in their eyes from the moment the irritating asshole had started going on about Drake’s Equation. “What he means to say, boys and girls, is that through math, we’re probably not alone. And that would be a super cool thing. To not be alone.”
Garth caught sight of a boy in blue wending his way cautiously through the audience, which was nice. He was having difficulties staying interested in his own batshit crazytalk, mostly because he was starving to death, but also because the timetable for Drake and Sparks was approaching the moment where –without him having been delivered by the cab driver earlier that morning to derail their evening’s plans- they’d be heading out for drinks and shenanigans somewhere in the city.
He needed to get to them before they did that. He needed to insinuate himself into their lives right now, before shit with Lissande got out of control. If he got there now, knowing what he did about the very near future, there was every possibility that he could stop Lissande Amour from infecting Drake Bishop with Ocular Degenerative Degradation with Complications, which would in turn aggravate the living fuck out of Baron Samiel.
Boom. Done. Friends saved. Guilt over never staying with his friends gone. Simulation over.
Time to start sounding crazy.
“But we are alone.” Garth put a tiny wedge of hysteria in his voice. “We are alone. Drake’s Equation mathematically proves we shouldn’t be, but other experiments and attempts at proving it suggest otherwise. If there was life in our local Galaxy, SETI and other facilities like it would’ve found hints by now. If not actual factual aliens running around their planets strip-mining the absolute shit out of their precious resources or anything like that, then certainly their radio broadcasts. But they
haven’t, not really. A few wows here and there that turned out to be nothing more than some pretty hairy wobbles in the quantum substrate. No signs of life. Just the weird Universe being weird. And if these alleged aliens are running along the same kinds of developmental patterns as we are, then they should be doing the same kinds of things we are. Trying to find others, to prove they’re not alone. And that’d make SETI’s job easier, wouldn’t it, wouldn’t it? But there’s nothing out there.”
The cop was about fifteen feet away, making cautious notes in his logbook. Garth scoped his audience out. They were losing interest because instead of wrecking stuff in the playground with pseudo-scientific tomfoolery he was starting to sound like a guy who should be on the corner with a science almanac, preaching about the end times.
Time to go for the gusto.
Garth amped up his approach, started shouting as loud as he could. The children arrayed by his feet, once interested in the crazy guy who was wrecking stuff, steadily began looking for their parents. Most of the childless people in the audience were already shuffling away, laughing and shaking their heads, no doubt preparing how they’d tell the story of how they’d spent the afternoon.
“Another theory suggests that if there is no life in our own Universe, it’s because this one belongs solely and strictly to us, and that out there, just behind the observable state of this Universe, there are endless iterations of this one. And that it’s as simple,” Here, Garth mimed opening a door, “it’s as simple as walking through a doorway. Well, not that simple, but … simple, if you’ve got the right tools. And we have a tool like that, right here on this planet, in Switzerland. It’s called CERN, and one of the things it’s supposed to be able to do is detect things like that. And you know what it’s done? Nothing. When they turned it on, we were all terrified it was going to make black holes all over everywhere or …”
“Your statements are dumbed down and baseless besides which.” The voice from the audience shouted. “I …”
“You nothing, man!” Garth bellowed loudly, shouting the unseen man into silence. “You nothing! Don’t even get me started on holographic theory, man! Because that’s where we really are! We’re not even real to begin with! We’re all fantasies being projected onto a two dimensional map! You’re not real, I’m not real, this cop isn’t real! We’re all made up. We might as well be characters in a book written by some nerd! Or the musings of a coma patient! Or worse … echoes of some other consciousness altogether! We’re not … ouch! Hey, man, what the fuck.”
Officer Friendly spoke calmly and deliberately. “I am securing you in handcuffs, sir, for your safety, and for the safety of the people around you. You may be unaware of it, but you were swinging your arms around very aggressively. I don’t believe for one second that you intended to cause anyone any physical harm, but you are big, and you are very distraught.”
“This,” Garth said as he pretended to struggle against the handcuffs clasped quite tightly around his wrists, “is a violation of my civil liberties. Under the Freedom of Speech act, I can talk about whatever I want in a public place.”
Officer Friendly nodded. Sandra hadn’t been kidding about the size of the guy. He looked like he could bench nearly three hundred pounds, all without breaking a sweat. “You are definitely allowed to talk about whatever you want, friend, but between your little … argumentative stance just now and what I’m seeing at that swing set over there, I think it’s best if you and I just stand here for a minute and talk calmly to one another about what’s really going on.”
Garth nodded slowly, hesitantly. “O-okay.”
Terry Friendly smiled wide and pleasantly. “Great. Just great. Now. Tell me what’s on your mind…”
***
“I dunno, Terry, I think you’re too nice to these guys.” Sharon looked dubiously through her rear-view mirror at the guy Terry’d called her over to transport back to the Cackle Factory. A bit good looking around the eyes, but the stuff coming out of his mouth was the purest horseshit she’d heard in some time. “I mean, really. This guy’s cracked like an egg over here.”
Terry, leaning on the cabbie’s roof, nodded. “There is no doubt about that, Sharon, but the truth of the matter is, it’s guys like this that could help our nation become strong again.”
Sharon snorted. “The last of the patriots, that’s what you are.”
Terry held a hand up to his heart. “As God is my witness, Sharon, it could happen in my lifetime. We just need the right break at the right time and we could come out of this mess we’ve dug for ourselves.”
“You know I only take them as far as the main gates, right?” Sharon started the car up. “I can’t get any further in. All that security is a bitch. They got cameras and keypads and patrolling security guards and the whole nine yards.”
“I know.” Terry stepped back from the car. “And I also call the next day to make sure they went right on in. So far, they always have, no matter how weird they are.”
Sharon smiled, glad she’d gotten that off her chest. It’d been plaguing her for some time now, that little bit of, well, not necessarily deception as it were, but … something similar. She liked Terry and she was kind of certain he liked her back, and that was the kind of thing that could keep any potential … friendships … from growing stronger. “Same time, same place?”
Terry nodded, a smile on his face. “I’ll never miss an opportunity to buy you chicken wings and beer, Sharon, never. Drive safe and see you later.”
“Later.” Sharon sped off, looking in the rear-view mirror again. The guy’d finally stopped talking to himself under his breath and was now staring out the window with a look of deep concentration on his face. “No funny business.”
“You’re telling me, lady.” Garth said with all seriousness. “If this cab blows up, I am going to be fucking pissed when I wake up.”
Sharon shut her eyes for the briefest of seconds.
Terry Friendly knew how to pick ‘em, that was for sure.
***
“Eagle eye, I’ve got one coming up to the gate. Doesn’t match anyone on record.”
“10-4, running through the deep records. Could be an old student not on the roster, a teacher’s aide. Someone like that. Hold tight, Alpine 1.”
“Copy. He’s familiar with the keypad’s location. Walked right up to it. He’s in.”
“Which code did he use, Alpine 1?”
“Most current, Eagle Eye.”
“Odd he’s not in the regular database. New student?”
“Dunno, Eagle Eye. He’s heading out of my visual range. Alpine 2, he’s moving your way.”
“10-4 Alpine 1. Eagle Eye, I have eyes on. Doesn’t seem aggravated, aggressive or otherwise out of place. Familiar with the grounds. Taking the usual shortcut through east quad. Moving at a pretty brisk pace.”
“Alpine 2, is he engaging with any of the other students?”
“That’s a negative, Eagle. Keeping to himself. Whoever this guy is, either he’s been here before, and for a long period of time, or he’s got the layout memorized, and has some serious Intel on the student body. He’s just zipped through the East Quad and is taking a back route to some of the Dorms. Any hits on file yet?”
“Negative, Alpine 2. Hey, Alpine 1, call up the Dean of Students. Find out if he’s got anyone that’s been here before but not loaded into the system yet. For preference, someone who’s only been here during the night shift rotation. I’d remember a guy that big. Alpine 2, you still have eyes on?”
“He’s passing out of my line of sight now, Eagle. Alpine 4, he’s all yours.”
“Copy that, 2. Crap, this guy’s well-built. If he’s a student here, he’s probably on an athletic scholarship. The only athletic scholarship. Looks like he’s headed … oh shit, yeah, Eagle Eye, he’s headed right for them.”
“We’ll be talking about your language over open radio later, Alpine 4. Are you certain he’s headed there?”
“That’s a big 10-4, Eagle Eye. He’
s just now climbing the stairs for Drake and that surfer broham, Sparks.”
“Eagle Eye, this is Alpine 1. Dean knows nothing about any students not entered into the system or only being here during the graveyard shift.”
“Copy.”
“Eagle Eye, Alpine 2. Just checked the grave logs. No mention of anyone being snuck in by those two. Plenty of nighttime departures logged in for them, and quite a few townie girls being snuck back in, but nothing says ‘burly dude with hair’.”
“Copy, gentlemen. 4, what’s he doing?”
“Uhh. Right now, pacing back and forth and talking to himself. He’s suddenly extremely agitated. And growing more … agitateder.”
“I hate these two guys. They are the absolute worst for keeping this facility secure. Odds are high those idiots met this idiot somewhere out there in the city and told him how to get into this place, the right route, everything. If they weren’t worth about a billion bucks each, I’d pressure everyone in eyesight to get them gone.”
“What do we do, Eagle Eye?”
“Gimme a second, Alpine 4.”
“Copy that.”
“Okay. If they know him, and let him in, all’s fine. We lodge a formal complaint for a pretty severe breach of security protocols which these idiots know. If …”
“If not?”
“If they kick him to the curb, we wait for him to get far enough away from the dorm and we put one in his head. Beyond Idiot One and Idiot Two, there are Saudi Princes here, kids of State officials. POTUS’ niece goes here, for crying out loud. Beyond that, there’s nearly a trillion dollars of high-tech equipment here. If he’s not a friendly, he’s an invader.”
“What if they try to kick him loose but he gets aggressive?”
“Then I guess those idiots get to see what kind of mess a Cheytac .408 can do to a guy’s head. Maybe then they’ll get their act straight.”
