“When you get there, make sure you ask the neighbors if this guy has shown any violent tendencies in the past,” Scott ordered.
“Sure thing,” nodded the tall reporter from the corner of the news room, his back against the cool window that looked out over the street below.
“Okay,” Scott turned to the board. “Are we missing anything? We’ve got Frank on the double homicide, Jessica on the fire to the north, Caleb on the fire to the east, Natalie on the homeless camp… and…”
Scott drifted off. His hand, pointing at the items on the board, slowly came down. A smile pulled at his cheek.
“Is there something else?” Jessica asked.
Scott’s whole figure changed. He felt more relaxed than he had since… he couldn’t remember when.
“No, I…” he muttered. “I just remembered something.”
“What’s up?” Frank asked from the corner.
Scott’s eyes were looking past the board. It didn’t matter anymore. He turned and strolled over to the line of windows, enjoying the cool air blowing in from the open one in front of him. He put his hands on the windowsill and peered down.
“You know… it’s not so bad,” he observed. How could he have worried before?
“What’s going on, Scott?” Natalie asked with a laugh.
Scott suddenly remembered the people there with him. He turned briefly to look at them, then back to the pedestrians and cars moving around five stories below him. A gentle breeze was just strong enough to flutter the flag hanging on the flagpole a few yards down the building.
“I actually used to go to church,” he explained. “As a kid. I hadn’t thought about it in a while.”
The reporters looked at each other with confused smiles.
“The Bible… it’s got some good stuff in it.”
He didn’t register what they said next. Ecclesiastes. The book of Ecclesiastes.
The people behind him were talking louder to get his attention. One tried to grab him, but he brushed them off and stepped away. Ecclesiastes… no one wanted to talk about that one. But he understood it. No one else seemed to get it.
He heard a scream, but wasn’t sure where it came from. Or why anyone would bother, anyway?
“Meaningless.” That was the word. The verse he had memorized. “Meaningless! Meaningless!”
The other kids in his youth group — the whole church, really — were scared to really talk about it. They kept trying to give it a positive spin, not willing to really take it in. It didn’t have to be scary. It was beautiful.
The people below him. Their outfits. Their pets that they were walking. The cars they were driving. The imperfect sidewalk, with its cracks and ancient gum.
It rose up to meet him. It was beautiful.
“You’ve got the wrong guy!” he shouted, dazed and confused.
The old woman standing over him bared her teeth, her eyes aflame. She shoved her staff into Greyson’s chest, forcing him flat onto the ground.
“No more tricks from you, peasant!” she spat. “Where is that cursed genie?”
Greyson squinted up at her, grunting from the pressure of her staff. He suddenly became aware of a rumbling in the ground beneath him — it must have been growing for some time before he noticed it. But it was beginning to shift the sand and pebbles around him on the dry desert ground. Looking up, he could tell that the woman now noticed it, too. Raising her head, she scanned the dunes around her before finally turning to her right, aiming the staff at the top of a dune.
The rumbling slowed to a stop. The woman did not lower her staff.
“The genie will do you no good, Emmetta,” came Greyson’s voice — but not from Greyson. From behind the dune that the woman was focused on.
The woman shot Greyson a confused look. Her eyes darted back to the dune, studying it. She swung the staff back to Greyson.
“I said no more tricks,” she growled. “The genie, or your life.”
Greyson returned her gaze. “How will you get the genie if I’m dead?” he asked.
“She won’t,” his voice answered from behind the dune.
Emmetta swung her staff back at the dune. A ball of purple light, like the plasma ball that Grayson had as a child, erupted from her staff and hit the dune. Instantly, the dune exploded. Through the resulting cloud of sand, Grayson could barely make out… a… pirate ship? On legs? Mechanical SPIDER legs?
Through the sand, a cannon fired. Emmetta swung her staff from her right to her left, deflecting the cannon ball into the sand a few yards from where Grayson lay — and, for just long enough, leaving the staff within Greyson’s reach while she was distracted. Greyson kicked out with his right leg, sending the staff tumbling across the sand. He rolled, swinging his legs at Emmetta’s, sweeping them out from under her. As she collapsed, he scrambled to his feet, darted to the staff, and snatched it up. As Emmetta rose, he ran for the mechanical spider ship.
As he neared the vessel, a man came into view — a man identical to Greyson, but more sunburnt, and wearing something like brown robes instead of Greyson’s T-shirt and shorts. Standing next to this doppelgänger was a beautiful woman with dark skin, bright green eyes, and golden robes of her own.
“Fire all!” he heard the man call.
“So you two had a plan?” the woman asked.
Greyson laughed. “No way. I just got here.”
“How did you know what to do?” she asked.
The man smirked and looked at Greyson.
“I heard my own voice… I knew there was a genie involved…” Greyson returned the man’s smile. “And I pieced together why I would wish for another version of me to appear.”
“I needed something quick,” the doppelgänger filled in. “I needed something Emmetta would not expect. Wishing for a version of me from another world — as scholars have assumed there are — would, at worst, provide a distraction. And, at best —“
“…provide a partner,” Greyson finished. He looked at the woman for a moment, smiling. “And, if I were to guess… I’d say the ship was wish number one, and I was wish number two. Leaving wish number three to free you — and end the wishes. If, in fact, the limit is three, as I’ve always heard.”
The woman smiled and looked at the man in robes. “I see you are clever in every world,” she commented.
Greyson looked down at the staff he was holding. “And now, my guess is that I’m other stuck here forever… or the wish made my return contingent on something.”
He held out the staff to his doppelgänger. The man studied it for a moment, then locked eyes with Greyson.
“Thank you for helping us,” he said.
Greyson smiled. “Thank you for showing me what’s possible.”
The man nodded. “Godspeed.” He lifted the staff from Greyson’s hands.
Greyson was back in the college library. His group members all yelled in surprise. He was still covered in sand.
“Greyson!” Rebecca cried. “What just happened?”
Greyson didn’t answer immediately. He just returned the gaze of the beautiful, green-eyed, dark skinned girl, and knew what was possible.
I do not think of myself as an “alchemist,” but I can see how some could apply that word to my pursuits. It began simply enough — at least, in comparison to the end goal. As a child, I was fascinated by energy. I lived near a wind turbine, and was walked through the process of how energy was harvested from the wind. Then there were solar panels, coal, gasoline… I just kept eating this stuff up. One of my greatest memories of school was a field trip to a nuclear power plant, although I think most of my classmates found that one forgettable. But my life changed when I was dealt the biggest curveball of all. I don’t remember exactly when it happened, but I learned that energy can be turned into matter. If I wanted to, I could HOLD electricity. I could drink it with my cereal in the morning. True, it would be just a regular glass of water, in theory… but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It became my obsession. The major problem, of course, was the amount of power it takes to do that. We’re talking multiple nuclear explosions worth of power. Thank goodness for Doctor Drake. He found a method to harvest that kind of power in a fairly easy way. Of course, it revolutionized everything. With that kind of power available so easily, coal, gasoline, even wind and solar became a thing of the past. The Drake Process pushed us into a whole new world. Unfortunately, such power could and would be weaponized… but that’s not part of my story. Suffice it to say, it was no utopia. Anyway, with the Drake Process available, converting energy into matter was suddenly quite possible. I was on the team that designed and built the first Drake printer. Similar to the old 3D printers, you could just plug it into the wall and it could create anything you wanted. This, then, led to the dwindling of ovens, microwave ovens, refrigerators… when you can just get the food you want in a matter of minutes, cooking was reduced to a hobby for those who enjoyed such things. But I couldn’t help but ponder the possibilities. In particular, I began researching the brain. Our brains, after all, are electric… could THOUGHTS, so to speak, be turned into matter? Would there be anything different in the end result? Would it impact the brain it was harvested from? Only a handful of people wanted to invest in this idea, and none of them agreed with what I wanted to do. They wanted to experiment with mice and such; I wanted to go straight to humans. Mice can’t communicate what they were thinking at the time the energy was harvested. I wanted to know exactly what I was working with. Maybe it was a little reckless, but my obsession drove me to go behind the backs of the scientific community a little bit. Under the pretext of doing a neurological study, with some adaptation of the standard equipment for such research, I attached nodes to subjects’ heads and asked them to think of various things. As their brains changed in response, I harvested some of their mental energies, storing each thought in its own battery. When I was alone, I began turning each thought into a liquid. The results were fascinating: The molecular structures of each one came out different. The liquid form of angry thoughts came out clouded, like impure water. Happy thoughts had an almost carbonated quality. Feeling especially bold, I decided to taste the results. Curiously, as I drank them, the thoughts came into my mind. Not just thoughts that made me feel angry; I saw and heard EXACTLY the things the subjects thought when I asked them to think of something angry. I took it a step further and began crystallizing the thoughts. The results were similar to the liquids in terms of varying molecular structure. But, upon further inspection, I noticed there was barely-noticeable movement at the core of the crystals. I held one up to the light. There, on the wall behind me, appeared the thoughts inside, as if being played on a projector. The wildest thing yet then occurred to me: Could I have the power to turn thoughts into a fully-realized reality? Take my wildest imaginations and put them into the world around me? That was how I created the Thought Bomb.
A cat, relaxing in the setting sun, beheld the girl collapsed upon the grass. Contentedly relaxed, it had begun
detecting something odd about to pass. Electromagnetism can be read from anywhere, by anyone — alas,
galactic-level readings hurt the head. However, Señor Gato seemed to sense incredible sensations — and a dread.
Just underneath, the earth began to tense; kinetic energy alarmed the cat! Lamenting ever getting off his fence,
morose, he shifted upright, and he sat, now pondering how best to stay secure out on this road, where everything is flat.
Perhaps the girl would help; he wasn’t sure. Quick-witted, he proceeded to the lawn, regarding her with an increasing purr,
supposing she could see what’s going on, to act as wisely as a human could. Until he knew the oddities were gone,
vibrations dormant, feeling as they should, whatever seemed to him the safer route — X, target, crosshairs. Yes, he knew he would.
You never know what felines are about; zoology has yet to find that out.
“I’m going out front for a minute,” Harmony said, quickly getting up. If Lex said anything in response, she didn’t hear him. Closing the door behind her, she walked out onto the front lawn. No one else was on the street, so she couldn’t see what other people looked like now. But it was a gorgeous evening. As the sun was going down, the neighborhood was bathed in reddish-orange light. The grass stood crisp and tall, perfectly mowed. She heard a toad croak somewhere down the street. Señor Gato, Lex’s black cat, was spread out lazily in the middle of the quiet street, enjoying the final sunbeams of the day. But, again, Harmony couldn’t enjoy it. Was this all there was? It was a question she couldn’t help but ask herself recently. But it was hardest in times like these. Everything was beautiful and warm, but Harmony couldn’t help but tinge it with doubt. Shouldn’t there be more? Was she greedy to ask that question? On the other hand, how good was it, really? Could she really enjoy a pleasant evening when she knew there was pain in the world? But didn’t that also mean she should enjoy the good times while she could? But didn’t THAT mean it was unfair that she got them when others didn’t? A breeze blew by, rustling the grass and the green leaves of the trees, as full of life as they’d ever be, the sound of their dance almost musical. Others could enjoy it. But not Harmony. She sat helplessly on the perfect grass, on a perfect day, in the prime of her life, and found herself, once again, searching for answers. That voice in the basement had changed everything… hadn’t it? Or had anything really changed? She sat up straight, in defiance of the perfect evening. No… SOMETHING had changed. SOMETHING was out there. More than what she knew or had been told. She’d had a brush with SOMETHING. Her head turned slightly back toward the house as the air cooled and the light faded. Something…
Jon stood amongst the damp, shadowy inhabitants of the forest floor: Mushrooms, branches, thorns, toads, insects, all giving an ominous feeling. But, of course, the most ominous thing was what loomed over that forest floor: a crooked, zigzagged rock pathway leading up to a crumbling, leaning tower, topped with a wooden house. It would be easy to assume it was abandoned... if the lights hadn’t come on in the windows. Jon, a middle-aged, balding, but still relatively fit man, felt overwhelmed by the whole thing. The trek to get here was hard enough, but now he had to face what he had come for, and it was much bigger than he had anticipated. He wanted to turn back. The hike back would be much easier than what lie ahead. Jon grit his teeth. No. No more giving up. He made his way up the path, walking, climbing, jumping, sweating, and groaning. He was not normally an outdoorsy person. His movements and grunts made it clear that this was far from natural for him. But he made it to the dark front door, the whole house overhead seeming to creak on its unstable foundations. Jon paused for a minute at the door, gathering his courage. He was not a social person, either. The long hike to this house was much easier than lifting his introverted fist to knock at a stranger’s house. But he did, and loud enough to make sure it could be heard throughout the large structure. Jon waited a minute or two. There was no response. He knocked again. “Who is it?” came a voice from the other side of the door. Jon guessed that it was a female voice, but it was hard to guess beyond that how old it was. The emotion behind the voice didn’t seem menacing. “My name is Jon,” he answered. “I live down the mountain. I’ve seen this place from down there for years. I was wondering if you were interested in getting it repaired?” “Repaired for what?” the voice asked. “Just… repaired,” Jon struggled to reply. He wasn’t sure what exactly she was asking. “I’m not looking to buy it, if that’s what you’re asking. But I know some people at my church who could help fix this place up for you.” “So you believe in God?” the voice shot back, an edge to her voice. “I do, yes,” Jon responded. “Are you trying to convert me?” “No, that’s not why I’m here. I just want to help make the world better.” “Are you trying to get me to come to your church?” the voice went on. “Well, I mean, if you WANT to, then that’s great, but that’s not why I’m here.” “And why ARE you here?” “I just…” Jon fumbled for an answer, “wanted to offer you help if you wanted to fix up your house.” “Why do you care if my house gets fixed?” “I’m just looking for ways I can help,” Jon tried to explain. “I want to help people.” The voice laughed for the first time. “Very noble of you!” she chuckled, and Jon heard her move away from the door and further back into the structure. Silence was left over. Jon looked up at the crumbling house. He sighed. He turned around, looking at the way back. He’d come so far. He carefully climbed back down the rock pathway to the forest floor. He was also not very comfortable with the thought of falling, which slowed him down a lot. But he finally made it to the bottom. He looked back up at the tower, now darker as the day began to fade into twilight. He’d have to get going if he didn’t want to be in the forest in pitch black. Looking down, he noticed a wooden stake laying on the ground. It was the base, he realized, of a very old mailbox, long since fallen to the ground and hidden in the dirt and plants. Jon looked back up at the house, then back to the ground. He carefully lifted up the mailbox, untangling it from the layers of growth that rooted it to the soil. He thrust the stake into the ground, setting the mailbox upright. With his shirt, he wiped at the mailbox. There was a layer of rust that would never come off, and any name or address that had once been written on it was long-gone. But he at least got most of the dirt off.
When Harmony reached the bottom of the staircase, she instantly knew that the sound was coming from the darkness in the opposite corner. She pointed her flashlight into it. She blinked. She moved the flashlight around. The light would illuminate the walls to the left of the corner and the right of the corner. It would illuminate the floor in front of it and the ceiling above it. But whenever it was pointed into the corner itself… nothing. The light was swallowed up, as if she was pointing it into the night sky. She squinted, and slowly stepped forward. “Harmony,” came a clear, deep voice from the corner. Harmony let out a yell and jumped back to the stairs. “Don’t be afraid,” the voice continued. Harmony stopped halfway up the stairs, her body poised to run the rest of the way at the first sign of danger. “Who are you?” she asked. The darkness paused. “That’s a difficult question to answer,” it finally replied. “I can’t say I’m quite sure myself. Do you know who YOU are?” “I’m Harmony,” she replied, not moving. “Yes,” the darkness agreed. “You’re the reason I’m here. But, I suppose, I’m also the reason YOU’RE here.” Harmony stayed silent. “You’re seeking truth,” the voice continued. “So am I. I’m hoping we can learn something together. I’m going to give you a gift. A layer of truth. I hope it helps.” When the voice went silent, the room changed. The sense of the room was different. A shift in the air pressure, a change in the echoes. Harmony shone her light back into the corner. This time, the concrete corner was clearly there. Harmony studied the corner a few moments more, then the rest of the basement. Finally, she hurried up the stairs, closing the door behind her. She turned to Lex, and froze. “Lex?” she asked, “What?” Lex responded. Harmony stepped closer. What she saw was Lex, but not as Harmony had known him. He was covered in lines, like the metal framework under a bush sculpture. The lines glowed green, and tiny points of blue light ran rapidly along them like cars on a map. “Lex?” Harmony asked again. Lex finally looked at her. As he did, the points of light changed to a more chaotic array of reds and greens, and the pattern of the lines became more confusing. “Are you okay?” Harmony asked. The lines and lights shifted into a darker shade of purple. “Yeah?” Lex replied. Harmony went and sat in a chair along an adjacent wall from the boy, not taking er eyes off Lex. Lex looked down at himself. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “You look different!” Harmony replied. “Do you see those lights?” Lex looked down again. He began to glow red, and the lights increased to an incredible pace as the burned brighter. He looked back at Harmony. “No?” Harmony continued to stare. She thought back to the voice in the basement. She had no idea what was going on. But she knew something was very, very different.
“What’s that sound?” Harmony asked. “What sound?” asked Lex. “That deep, slow ticking with a hum to it.” “I dunno.” “Can’t you hear it?” Lex didn’t answer. Harmony moved from the window, listening carefully for the sound. She stopped at a door, putting her ear to it for a minute. She opened the door to reveal a dark, descending staircase. She flipped a light switch, but nothing happened. Looking around, she found a large metal flashlight in a nearby closet. She turned it on and pointed it down the stairs. It lit the area decently enough, but only revealed a wall at the bottom where the staircase turned out of sight. Harmony stood observant for a moment. She turned back to Lex. Lex was still playing his game, seemingly unaware she had moved at all. Harmony, without hesitation, descended the staircase.
“I have read,” the first voice said, “this fact: The human body’s rhythms better suit a Martian’s daily schedule.” “Please extract,” a second voice responded, “just what fruit
you hope for us to pick from such a claim.” “I think you know,” replied the first to speak. A third voice said, “However, you must frame the issue plainly — for this is unique.”
“I mean,” the first voice answered, “what if Man was built for somewhere else, but never knew? Would they find out? Is there someone who can? Can Harmony discover what is true?”
“Can anyone?” the third voice, soft, observed. “But if she can… I think it is deserved.”
“I can’t remember when I was born,” Harmony observed, continuing her observations of the empty street outside. “So what?” Lex countered, not taking his eyes from his video game. “No one can.” “Why not?” Harmony asked, never looking at Lex. “Why can’t we remember? How do we know that it happened?” Lex laughed. “How else would we get here?” “Maybe there are lots of ways.” Harmony’s gaze finally dropped, focusing on nothing at all. “But… how do we know that we’re ‘here’ at all? How do we know we exist?” Lex finally just ignored her. Harmony looked back outside, her unreadable expression finally showing a glimmer of fear. “I don’t know how I got here,” she went on. “People TELL me I was born, but… I’ll never really know for sure. I have forgotten.”
