Movie Review: Destination Tokyo

I wanted to start off by saying that this movie wasn't what I was expecting for a WWII submarine film.

Sure, there are a lot of tense scenes in the second half when the American submarine arrives in Tokyo, and the film ends with a gripping sea battle as the crew tries to leave having accomplished their mission.

But before you get there, the film spends the first hour depicting their journey to Tokyo, and shows viewers what life is like on a submarine. The crew is a variety of characters from a family man captain (played by Cary Grant) to a would-be ladies' man and the slightly comical cook.

It's during this first half that the film really shines. Scenes like Cary Grant recalling his happiest moment is not sinking some Axis ships, but rather just spending time with his son, and the payoff later when his family's faces flashed before his eyes as the sub takes a beating later on just cements the believability of these characters.

Unfortunately, the movie is colored by some 1940s-styled propaganda, mostly whenever the characters talk about the Japanese, but whatever few Japanese characters appeared, they were played by Japanese actors and were not overly simplified.

This war film is more character-oriented, so action buffs may be put off by it. But fans of submarine films should enjoy this film and its realistic take on life underwater.

Doctor Who in Utah

The Game's Afoot

Ever since I was a kid, I had an interest in Sherlock Holmes. The problem was that every time I got one of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's books from the library, my boyish mind couldn't handle the armchair intrigue and teatime discussions of the novels.

Fast forward to 2009, when, yes, the new Sherlock Holmes movie came out, and I decided to give Doyle another go. (One of the things the movie got right was Holmes's dialogue. Why isn't 'discombobulate' used more often in our stagnant culture?) So, I read "A Study in Scarlett." I don't know if it was the whole Morman angle or what, but I wasn't really thrilled with the story. Oh, I remember now. Our Hero, the esteemed Sherlock Holmes, disappears one night and comes back with all of the answers, leaving him to explain to Watson, and you dear reader, in his usually condescending way.

Again fast forwarding, again to another Sherlock Holmes movie, and here I am, reading "The Sign of Four." And I was enjoying it immensely until someone was murdered. Then, watch and be amazed as Sherlock makes astounding leaps of deduction, disappears without telling Watson, and reappearing announcing he's figured everything out. (Sigh.)

It's a little frustrating to keep the reader (and Watson) out of the adventure. Watson is not incompetent, but he's never given a chance to help solve the mystery and neither is the reader. We are all there just to bask in the glory of Holmes.

Still, "Sign of Four" is big improvement on "Study of Scarlett." I hope to read "Scandal in Bohemia" before 2013.

Little tidbits about Mister Holmes:

- I'm surprised that the movies don't mention Holmes's "seven percent solution." Also, while Doyle hints at Holmes's mastery of fencing and boxing, there are, sadly, no extended fight scenes in the novels. Sorry. (Though there is the occasional chase down the Thames.)

- The lovely Kate Beaton has written a few comics on the depiction of faithful Dr. Watson. While the novels never goes into too much physically description, that I've noticed anyway, one can assume that Watson is no Pudgy McRoundbottom nor is he Jude Law. (Ditto for Holmes.)

- In "Sign", Holmes stated that love was a distraction along with about every other emotion. Say goodbye to all those Holmes/Watson fanfics.

The Three Stooges Remake

Wait, back up a moment. A new Three Stooges movie? How? Why? Okay, it's not too bad. They do actually look like the Three Stooges. (Cue clip of a nun coming out of a swimming pool in an ungodly small bikini.) Okay, they ruined it.

In all seriousness, people know that remakes are generally a bad idea, but they get made nevertheless. I have issue with remakes of characters/series that is defined by one actor/actress. Let's take the Three Stooges. Sure, they look like them, they hit like them, but whoever they are, they aren't the original Moe, Larry, and Curly. Not by a longshot.

Another example would be Richard Hurndall in "The Five Doctors." No matter how nice of a job he did, he was still not William Hartnell, and they should have not used the First Doctor instead of hiring a replacement (of sorts) for Harnell. Actors like William Boyd and Clayton Moore became their fictional counterparts. Many children growing up now don't have the experience of watching the "originals" and accept these remakes as new.

But should we view remakes as an insult to the originals? Is it offensive that Sebastian Shaw is deleted from the final moments of Return of the Jedi? In defense of the movie industry, they're just trying to make money any way they can.

There are two series that I can think of that are the exceptions to the rule. The first is the aforementioned "Doctor Who" series which has a built-in dramatic device to explain all the various actors playing the title role. The second is James Bond. Be it Connery, Moore, Brosnan, or the rest. Each actor defined Bond for their decade and their generation.

It's shame that younger generations don't seem to be aware of this.

Violent Night

In case you aren't aware, Will Murray and co. are working tirelessly at reprinting pulp stories including the original cover and interior art. While I regret they hadn't done it decades earlier, it's a welcomed relief nonetheless. It was these reprints that got me properly introduced to Doc Savage. (I had been a fan of the Shadow since eighth grade.)

Having read a few of them, I instantly fell for Patricia Savage and vowed to read as many stories that contained her as possible. But there was one story I was sure they wouldn't reprint mainly because it concerns a living person. The story is called "Violent Night," and it's about the night Doc Savage, Pat, and gang capture Adolf Hitler.

Not only is Hitler in the story, though probably not named outright, his horrified mug is on the cover. I was sure that, for any amount of reasons, Will Murray would be reluctant to re-release a story that features the Worst Man in History. But my fears were short lived, and Volume 22, out just last month, featured Violent Night along with two other stories.

I have just started reading the first few chapters, and immediately I'm sucked into the story. The reader is informed of what Doc's feeling and thinking, a big change from the earlier stories. I can't wait until the end where supposedly Pat Savage gives ol' Adolf something he wouldn't soon forget. (I'd rather not ruin it for others.)

Thanks, Will Murray.

I Also Wear Bow Ties Now

'Nuff said.

Updates

Apologies for no posting, but no harm, no foul when there's no one reading this.

I'm not sure what's to blame. My non-social life has been pretty limited to family and work, and the sad thing is I probably prefer it this way.

I'll post a separate entry with an update on the newest story. I keep trying to find an audience for these things, but to no avail.

I recently reread "The Room Without A Door" (Kate Orman) and "Lungbarrow" (Marc Platt), old high school companions among dozens of other Dr. Who novels, but they're still my favorites.

Speaking of Doctor Who, season six has come and gone, and I'm none too impressed. But what else is new?

Come back later for real content, folks.

Sunday Movie: Captain America : The First Avenger

There's a lot to adore about this movie, but nothing quite as much as Stanley Tucci's beign scientist and Chris Evans's pre-steroids Steve Rogers. They provide much of the heart and pathos in the beginning of the movie that help give meaning to the second half's over the top action pieces.

To begin with, the movie is a pastiche of American movie genres. Its 1940s setting helps cement the film as an "old fashioned" film made in that era. Our hero, always a boy scout, falls in love, but is never amorous except for some double entendre featuring fondue and a passionate kiss. This is, obviously, reminiscent of films of that era, and even old Westerns.

Once we move on to the villains, powered by a MacGuffin from "Thor" (Marvel almost works too hard to keep these films interconnected), and before you know it, they are armed with distintegrator rays from 1950s sci-fi b-movies. Luckily, Captain America has and briefly uses a gadget-filled motorcycle that would make 60s spy films envious. (It also may be a nod to the television specials made in the 70s featuring Rob Brown, a colorful outfit, and a motorcycle.)

(Alan Manken wrote a catchy tune that may invoke, to some, the Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers days of big musical numbers.)

Whatever the reason, Joe Johnston and gang made a hero, true to the comic books, as a courageous, well-meaning kid from Brooklyn who's always true to himself and never misses his mark. God bless Captain America.

Brown Costume Wolverine

Ron Lim is my favorite comic book artist, has been since the 1990s. I'm not Wolverine's biggest fan, but I've always liked his brown costume. Now, I would be embarrassed to ask Ron Lim to draw a pedestrian character such as Wolverine, but I've always wanted a drawing by him of Wolverine in his brown costume.

By hook or crook, I found a sketch Lim did of Wolverine in his newer X-Force outfit. (The design is very similar to the brown costume, except there's more grey. Lots more grey.) Armed with photoshop, I colored it as the classic brown costume and here it is:



(With apologies to the artist, etc.)

Only Human Epilogue: Ten Years Later: In Our Angelhood

Benjamin Beckett knew he had more than he could carry, but it was his own fault for not wanting to make two trips. The miscellaneous circuit boards, memory cards, and random hard drives shifted in the overloaded cardboard box that he held tight to his chest.

It didn’t help that the expo building was getting more crowded every day as the opening day of this year’s Science & Technology Convention was fast approaching. Wintermute Co., which Ben worked for, was hoping to use the convention to impress buyers and attract new business, since things had not gone so well for the company in the last couple years. That is, if Ben and his brother could get the booth’s presentation working in time.

Ben had been just recruited out of college, and, while reluctant to admit it, he was nervous about his first convention. There was a lot riding on it, and his boss wasn’t shy about reminding him.

Related thoughts filled his head as he carried the box of parts down the stairs. Distracted, his foot missed the last step, and Ben found himself pitching forward, an inevitable date with gravity.

Instead of the hard ground, though, he fell into a woman who caught him. He sleepishly apologized as the woman took it all in stride.

He guessed she was about twice his age. She had a mess of redish-blonde hair that covered her long face. Small, oval glasses framed her dark eyes. She wore casual work clothes with her sleeves rolled up. Around her neck was a simple necklace with a cross hanging on the end.

“You’re one of the presenters,” Ben said, pointing to her badge.

“Guilty as charged, but don’t hold that against me,” replied the woman. “I’m Elizabeth.”

“Ben.” He shook the proffered hand as best as he could while juggling the box.

“My father wanted to call me Stacey, but I was named after my grandmother instead.” She watched him fumbling with the box. “Do you need help with that?”

“No, I’ve got it. Thanks.” They walked out the stairwell and into the bustling lobby area.

“So, what company are you with?”

“Wintermute.”

A smile spread across her face. “You’re kidding.”

“No, why?”

“No reason. Mind if I tag along for a bit?”

“I guess not,” Ben said as he showed the guard his badge. The actual convention area was a lot quieter than the lobby outside. Ben nodded towards a corner booth where another man was sorting though a pile of computer parts.

“I’ll get this working if it’s the last thing I do,” said Silas, Ben’s brother. While related, Elizabeth found it hard to see a correlation between the two men. Ben was short, with cropped red hair and a hawkish nose. Silas was tall with long, dyed-green hair and a bulbous nose.

“Silas, Elizabeth,” said Ben. “Elizabeth, Silas.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said as he shook her hand. “I don’t suppose you know much about operating systems, do you?”
“A little. It’s been awhile since I’ve dabbled in that sort of thing.”

“We been working on a beta version of the new OS, but it now doesn’t want to ‘talk’ with the network.”

“Here, bro, is the stuff from the van. There should be the disc for version 2.4.4 in there. Maybe we can work off that until we can get 2.4.5 up to speed.”

“The thing is it was working fine yesterday. You know what I mean, Liz?”

“I do, and don’t call me Liz.” She looked over at the gutted insides of the chrome computer casing. “Is this what’s been giving you trouble?”

“Yeah,” replied Silas, not looking up from the box of junk.

“How about you put it back together, and I’ll take a swing at it?”

The two brothers looked at each other.

“Well,” started Ben.

“Did you guys get it working yet?” A man came up to the booth. The man wore a shirt and tie with his badge clipped to his breast pocket. The badge identified him as Kyle McManus.

“We’re working on it. Ben here has brought an expert, I guess.”

Elizabeth turned away from the computer and immediately recognized Kyle. They briefly embraced each other.

“Elizabeth, I haven’t seen you since the funeral,” said Kyle. “What have you been up to?”

“As if you didn’t know. Just look at you. You’re the spitting image of your father.”

Kyle grinned at her remark.

Ben and Silas huddled over by the box of parts.

“Say,” started Silas. “Isn’t she the one who spoke in front of Congress a few years ago? The one who protested the Human Augmentation Act?”

Ben glanced back at Elizabeth. “She could be. I didn’t really follow it like you did.”

“A lot of critics say that it would have passed if it wasn’t for her. They say that she singlehandedly halted the course of human evolution.”

“Critics? Don’t you mean pundits? And when have you given credence to what you hear on newscasts?”
Silas just shrugged.
“You’re just unhappy ‘cause you can’t plug your brain into a computer yet,” continued Ben.
“If I could, then I’d know what’s wrong with our prototype.” Silas started putting the computer back together. “They’re getting along like gangbusters.”

“The boss and Elizabeth, you mean?”

“Yeah, they’re like the best of friends, and yet we’ve never even heard of her before.”

“Maybe they haven’t seen each other in a long time,” said Ben.

“Look,” said Kyle. “I know you hate when I say this, but we’ve got an opening, actually plenty of them. Say the word, and you can have any of them.”

“I’m flattered, but you know how I feel about working for you,” replied Elizabeth.

“You’d be working with me.”

“Still, I don’t know.”

“You still don’t know? How long have you had to think about it?”

“It’s been ages. I’ve been travelling for a while with some old friends.”

“You’re a natural, just like your father was.”

“But my rep’s no good anymore.”

“I don’t care,” said Kyle. “I won’t take no for an answer this time.”

Elizabeth smiled. “You’re as stubborn as your father, you know.”

“I know.”

“How about if I fix your little problem, then I’ll consider it very, very hard?”

“Why not just say yes now?”

“It would be good work with my hands again,” admitted Elizabeth.

“As opposed to what?”
“Never mind.” Elizabeth turned to the two boys. “So, have you got this put together again?”

“Just about,” replied Silas. “There.” He replaced the panel on the side of the casing.

“Turn it on,” said Elizabeth.

“But,” started Silas.

“Do it,” said Kyle.

Silas pressed the button, and the computer dinged to life. The screen turned blue, but nothing else happened. The fans hummed unevenly from the back of the machine.

“See?” said Silas.

“Everyone, hold hands,” said Elizabeth. She took Kyle’s and Ben’s hands. Silas reluctantly took his brother’s other hand. Ben thought her hands would be soft, but her fingertips were coarse.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and bowed her head. Her hands’ grip tightened, and Ben thought she trembled slightly. Her rhythmic breathing was steady, but he swore she was going to faint.

Elizabeth Walker was trying to concentrate, but she was finding it difficult. She didn’t think it was possible that a simple thing like his hand in hers would be such a significant distraction. She had to admit that the whole thing was shamelessly theatrical, but she was going for mysterious, not practical.

But the data had a calming effect, washing over her. It was, as always, impersonal and empirical. The complete opposite of a woman’s heart which was full of passion and resolve. And it was Elizabeth’s heart that told her what she needed to do.
Face flushed, her eyes flashed opened, light reflecting on her dark irises. The knot of data unwound, and a loading window popped up on the blue screen. Silas looked uneasily impressed, while Ben was more confused than anything.

Elizabeth looked down to see her hand was still in Kyle’s. He smiled warmly at her, and she returned the smile.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing really,” Kyle replied. “Just not used to seeing you smile.”

“Maybe we should meet on less morbid circumstances.”

“Aren’t we doing that right now?”

“I do believe that we are,” said Elizabeth.

“I’ve been reminiscent lately. I don’t have too many regrets, but one of them was missing Sean’s funeral. The other was not getting you to work for my father’s company.”

“Don’t you mean your company?”

“I still have trouble thinking in those terms,” said Kyle. “Just like you had trouble accepting my offer.”

“You have to understand that back then I had other obligations.”

“That may be true, but it was hard to keep in touch with you when you dropped off the radar.”

“I traveled a lot. Well, I used to.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know what to do. I haven’t been like this in years. I’ve sunk my chances of being a millionaire when I decided to stand up for my beliefs.”

“You mean that whole thing with Congress?”

“That research was all based on experiments done illegally to animals and humans like me. It was the only thing I could do.”
“You acted off your conviction,” said Kyle. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I know you’ve explained your condition before, but I still have a hard time understanding it.”

“What’s to understand? I am what I am.”

“Words to live by,” said Kyle.

They shook hands, marking the start of something that would last a lifetime.

Written by J M Emmons. The story and all characters are copyrighted by J M Emmons.

Today is Free Comic Book Day

It must be important if NPR is reporting on it.

Only Human Chapter 11: Half Gifts

Zoey was half expecting her home to swarming with police officers. There was nothing out of the ordinary, in fact, except for a familiar white car parked outside. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes a little. It was only a matter of time before she showed up. It was a long ride home, and Zoey was too tired to care. Quietly unlocking the door, Zoey stepped into the house.

She could hear voices coming from the family room and walked almost soundlessly towards them. There, sitting together like old friends, were her parents, Rick Daring, and Sara.

Sara sat poised and refined as always. Her short, dark hair flapped as her head turned; grey strands danced downward over her green eyes. She wore her modest white jumpsuit with the rolled up sleeves and leggings, revealing the dark tegarei that covered her body except for her head and fingertips.

Rick Daring, well dressed as ever, wore a dark navy suit with a striped shirt and a red tie. The suit did little to hide his broad shoulders and trim physique. On display was his trademark disarming smile and sparkling blue eyes.

“Hello, Zoey,” said Sara. “We were just talking about you.” Zoey’s parents immediately got up and greeted her with warm, affectionate hugs.

“I was just telling your parents about your apprenticeship with me over the last five years. It was wrong of me to ask you to keep it a secret, given my high-profile status.”

“That must have been what’s been bothering you these last couple days,” said Harold.

“To think that you were working at a high ranking corporation, and you let us think that you were slumming around,” said Alice.

“Really, Mother, I -”

“And I assure you that my credentials are sound, and my associate can back everything I’ve told you,” continued Sara. “Your daughter is a very creative and enthusiastic person, but as hardworking as she is, I insisted on giving her a break.”

“We had a previous engagement nearby,” said Daring. “So, we thought we would drop in, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, though we would have appreciated a little forewarning,” said Alice. “Now, we see where Elizabeth gets it from.”

Harold nudged Zoey. “Well, don’t you have anything to say to your boss?”

“Well,” started Zoey. “That is, this is a surprise, and I just got back myself from… From a trip, and I just need a moment, to put away my things and gather my thoughts.” Flustered, Zoey started backing away towards the stairs.

“Don’t mind them,” said Alice. “We can entertain them while you get dressed into something more appropriate. Dinner won’t be ready for another twenty minutes anyway.”

“Dinner?”

“Yes, it would be rude not to feed them, don’t you think?”

Zoey trudged up the stairs; her head still spinning from everything that’s happened to her in the last 24 hours. I’m going to have dinner with my parents and Sara? I think I prefer being Zeitgeist’s slave. How can my life become any more upside down? She walked into her bedroom and found a man standing in it.

The man was no stranger to her. His dark hair was slicked back, and a small stubble was growing on his youthful face. He wore a green shirt with a tan tie and an olive sweater vest over top. His name was Maximilian Sebastian Orwell Maddock Jr., but everyone just called him “Junior.”

“Oh, hey,” he said. “I wasn’t, you know, spying or anything. Sara told me to wait outside, but I just climbed in through your window. I wanted to see you, that you’re okay.”

Zoey rushed over and hugged Junior. She was trembling in his arms. “You okay?” he asked.

“God, I can’t even tell you what I’ve just been through,” she replied. “It all seemed so strange, like a fading dream.” She suddenly broke their embrace. “Just wait a moment, I have to do something. I’ll be right back.”

Zoey left her room and walked over to her parents’ room. Her parents were too distracted by their guests, and it was a perfect time for Zoey slip back the gun undetected.

She walked into her parents’ room, reaching for the gun in her backpack. Her heart started to race as she realized the gun wasn’t in the bag. She had it with her when she was escaping the underground facility. She had it when she ran into the two police officers.

Her mind tried to retrace her steps. Did she have it when she rode the elevator up? What if the police have it? What if they’re dusting it for prints, and then come and arrest her, or worse, her parents?

“Looking for this?” Zoey turned to see Sara framed in the doorway, handing Zoey her parents’ gun.

Zoey took the gun from Sara. “How did you get this?” she asked before the realization kicked in. “No! Don’t tell me!”

“Yes?”

“Don’t tell me that you were that police woman!”

“Yes, Daring and I. I’m afraid you dropped that when you were trying to tackle us.”

Zoey looked skeptically at Sara for a moment, before quietly replacing the gun where she had found it.

“Did you find your closure?” asked Sara.

“Thank you for coming all this way and lying to my parents, but I’m going to tell them the truth at dinner. I promised myself that I would.”

“I’m sorry. I thought I was helping.”

“I need a ride, that’s all. I’m not going back,” said Zoey. “I don’t need the kidnappings and the death threats anymore. I can’t handle it like you, Sara.”

“I’m not some adrenaline junkie. Daring and I do this, because we have to.”

“What’s to show for all the years we’ve been doing it? All of them are back on the streets again or worse, re-elected.”

“That doesn’t matter. I only care about the people who need our help. Someone has to help them.”

“That’s fine. That’s what you believe in, Sara. But I don’t think that’s what I believe in. The fact is I still don’t know what I believe in or what my life is for. Hours ago, I was pointing a gun at the man who ruined my life, and I don’t know if it made a difference at all.”

“Zeitgeist is in our custody now, Zoey. He’ll never bother you again.”

“Really? Where is he?”

“He’s in the truck of our car, armless and legless. If he turns evidence that will cripple the Cabal, he’ll spend the rest of his unnaturally long life on an isolated planet doing experiments on nonliving things.”

“He should be rotting in jail. He ransacked my brain, not to mention all the others he wronged. For Christ’s sake, he murdered my friends.”

“Zeitgeist has a trump card. His life is being prolonged by an unknown procedure. If Richard or I bring him to any civilized court, the first thing they will do is cut him open and discover the source of his supposed immortality.”

Sara’s green eyes burrowed deeply into Zoey as she continued, “This would seriously ruin the balance of life on any planet, causing catastrophic overpopulation, to name the least. We had to make a deal with him, so that no one else can find out about his process.”

“Why does this all sound so familiar? Why are you so pessimistic when it comes to other people? You don’t think they can be as saintly as you are?”

“Don’t trifle with me, Zoey,” said Sara, an edge to her voice. “I know what other people are capable of, because I have looked into the darkness of my own hearts. I know that other people would be tempted, because frankly I would be tempted.”

“Fair enough. But I don’t want to have anything more to do with any of this. I just need you to take me out there one more time.”

“To run away again?”

“No. Before I got dragged into all this again, I was helping Kintu, and now she probably thinks you got me killed in one of your hair-brained plans.”

“Hair-brained?” asked Sara. “That hurts, really it does. And Kintu knows me better than that. Right?”

Zoey didn’t reply.

“That thing on Rylon IV doesn’t count.” Sara sighed. “Then, what will you do afterwards?”

“Probably hitch a ride back here. I still don’t know what to do, who I am. I looked into the eyes of the devil himself, and I don’t know what I’m going to do, Sara.”

“I have faith in you. No matter what you decide.”

“Even if it ends in prostitution and drug smuggling?”

“Don’t make me bring your mother up here,” said Sara, fighting off a smile. Then, suddenly, the smile was gone. “Does Junior know?”

Junior sat on Zoey’s bed, quietly waiting for her return. His thoughts, once about his recent adventure with Daring and Sara, now focused on Zoey and the happiness he felt being with her. Being a linguist, he could tell her in a million different ways, but why did he hesitate?

“Max?” He turned to watch Zoey enter the room. She sat down next to him.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

“Yes, well, no, probably not. It’s just so sudden, all of this. My head’s spinning. I feel like I was just put through a test, and I don’t know if I passed or failed.”

“It sounds like you’ve been around Sara too long. So much for getting away from all this. There’s nothing to worry about now. We got Zeitgeist. He won’t hurt anyone anymore.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Sara told me he’ll live a long but isolated life. Maybe I should have shot him when I had the chance.”

“Zoey, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Skip the sermon for a moment. That guy killed my friend and did a lot worse to me. Don’t I have the right to take his life after everything he did to me?”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know. When I looked at him, on that slab, all my anger evaporated, and I was filled with sadness. I guess I pitied him. He thought of himself as this great figure, but he wasn’t even capable of the most basic human emotions, except greed.”

“Sara would be proud of you. We all are. Compassion is a rare treat to see these days.”

“Then, why do I feel so bad?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you made the wrong decision?”

“Oh, thanks for that! I thought you were suppose to make me feel better.”

Junior shrugged. “Sara’s the philosophical one. I’m just good with words.”

“Look, Max, I’m going back to Imitatia. Why not come back with me? Just for a month or so?”

“I thought you were coming back with us, to the Institute.”

“No, I left Kintu in the lurch, and I owe her to come back and finish what I started. Then, I’m probably coming back to Earth.”

“Here? Why?”

“Even after all I’ve been through, I don’t know what I want to do, but I don’t want to live the life you guys are living, from adventure to adventure. I think being here will help me figure things out, and, God help me, I love my parents and miss them terribly.”

“I understand, Zoey,” started Junior.

“I hear a ‘but’ coming up,” interrupted Zoey. She placed a finger to his lips. “So, why don’t we just leave it at that?”

“Elizabeth!” came her mother’s voice from the base of the stairs. “You’re keeping your guests waiting! It’s dinner time!”

Zoey looked at Junior’s forlorn face. “Are you sure you don’t want to join us? There’s always room for one more.”

“No, thanks. I think I’ll just slip out your window while you all are eating. See you around.”

“Goodbye.” Zoey’s chest swelled as she turned from him and made her way downstairs. She forced herself to take deep breaths as she slowly walked down step by step. It was the only thing keeping her from breaking down.

No, not now. It’s supposed to be a happy occasion.

Zoey smiled as she greeted Sara and Daring and led them to the dining room. They sat down at a round table with her parents, and they sat in silence as Alice said grace. Then, they passed the food around, and for a moment, Zoey forgot herself, smiled warmly, and spoke openly.

She told those gathered around her about the last five years of her life. She told her parents about Zeitgeist, Sara, the Brilliant 5, and all the sights and terrors she had experienced.

When she was finished, they were only empty plates and full stomachs. Zoey simply sat there and waited for her parents to say something.

Click here to read the final chapter

Written by J M Emmons. The story and all characters are copyrighted by J M Emmons.

God Bless Nick and Lis

Recently, Britain has lost two of their most talented actors. Both were well known for their roles in the science fiction show, Doctor Who. I am talking about the untimely deaths of Nicholas Courtney and Elisabeth Sladen.

Courtney's death, I learned by happenstance, was in late February. The exact cause of death was not given, but it sounds like it was cancer. Courtney has worked, in one way or another, in various roles throughout the 26 years of the original Doctor Who, working along side six of the seven incarnations of the lead character. He most often portrayed the character Brigadier Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart, one of the most beloved characters in Doctor Who. He reprised the role in more recent audio adventures of Doctor Who.

Then, not two days ago, I heard that Elisabeth Sladen died. She played Sarah Jane Smith, one of the most popular Doctor Who companions, and certainly one of the first headstrong, independent female characters in the show's history. She worked alongside the incomparable Jon Pertwee and Tom Baker for three and half years. She reprised her role in an episode of the new Doctor Who series, which led to a new spin-off show. Sladen became an icon for a new generation of children, and sadly, now she is gone.

I shall miss them both.

Sunday Movie: The Red Spectacles

When you think of surrealist films, Mamoru Oshii's name probably doesn't come up. Known more for his animated adaptation of the Ghost in the Shell series, Oshii's films focus more of the complex political/technological themes. "Kerberos Panzer Cops" is a series created by Oshii about an elite team of soldiers who work for, and above, the law. The series is most known for the iconic armor worn by said team.

"The Red Spectacles" is a live action film that works within the "Kerberos" series, but it's much different than the political/philosophical ramblings of "Jin-Roh," an animated film that mostly embodies the "Kerberos" series. "Spectacles" is about Koichi Todome, a somewhat bumbling character who does not seem like the same character, clad in that iconic armor, stoically escaping Japan and leaving his comrades behind to cover his escape. Years later, Koichi returns to Japan, seeking his old comrades and possibly more...

While the summary of the film seems straight forward, the actual film is anything but. Koichi's journey through his homeland is filled with bizarre characters and almost parody-like antics, all filmed in sepia colors. The heady mix of contemplation and slapstick humor keeps the film interesting, even if it never bothers to answers any of the questions it puts forth.

Who is the Red Riding Hood, whose face is plastered all over the city? What happened to Koichi's armor? What are the Red Spectacles? It doesn't really matter, because the journey is more interesting than the destination.

Doctor Who's New Season

I've decided to cautiously optimistic about the new season of Doctor Who, as I am of most things. I like Matt Smith as the Doctor, though his interpretation is much more light and innocent than his predecessor's incarnation. The new season starts around Easter, which makes me wonder why the new series is fixated with Christian holidays.

I had watched the first couple episodes from the previous season, Smith's first, but I wasn't terribly happy with them. I'm willing to give the rest of the season a second chance, but BBC America has decided not to show them prior to the new season. Either case, the opener two parter sounds interesting (I guess) with the Doctor bouncing around Monument Valley and Area 51.

Neil Gaiman is also on tap to write a story about the Doctor's wife. Why him, but not Stephen Fry, I don't know. Fry was too busy, unfortunately, and season three lumbered on without him.

Well, how bad could it be anyway?

Only Human Chapter 10: Eperdu

“You aren’t serious, are you?”

“Why not?” replied Zoey. “I think you owe me big time for everything, especially listening to you go on and on about your delusions.”

Zeitgeist fell silent. Zoey could make out air bubbles gurgling behind that reflective surface of his brain bin.

“Go ahead, then. If you can,” he said at last.

Zoey lowered the weapon. “Yesterday, I might have done it. Last week, more than probably. But today? Right now?” She turned her head, trying in vain to conceal her half grin. “I mean, just look at you. You’re like a toy that’s been played with too much.”

Zoey shook her head. “You’re practically immortal, but what’s the point? When’s the last time you took a walk in a park or spontaneously went out for lunch? Or stayed up late to watch a movie you’ve never heard but desperately wanted to know how it ended? Talking to a friend you hadn’t seen in years, or feeling someone’s lips pressing against yours? Being young and feeling unstoppable?”

“Sentimental drivel.”

“But that’s the whole reason for living. These things make human existence bearable. How can you claim to being able to rule over everyone when you can’t even relate to them anymore?”

“The things you described are but children’s playthings. I put them away a long time ago. My mind must always be focused on what’s important. I cannot entertain such distractions.”

“For what?” asked Zoey. “Because you cling to your abstract totems of power and control. The thing is you aren’t in control, Zeigeist. Look around you. You’re dependent on these drones and even kidnapped slaves to maintain your body. You’re even dependent on whatever it is you put in your body. Without them, you’re powerless.”

“Silence!” It was the first time that Zoey had ever heard him raise his voice.

“I spent every moment of my life, for better or worse, trying to accept the decisions I have made and hoping that tomorrow I’ll make better ones. That is how I became the person I am today, and I don’t need you or anyone else to tell me otherwise.
“In other words,” continued Zoey. “You have no power over me.”

“You have no right to talk to me like this. I could have you killed at the flip of a switch.”

“But you won’t. I’m one of your ‘creations,’ remember? I’m too valuable to kill.” Zoey smiled brightly, her heart thundering in her chest. “And even if you kill me, you’ll never be able to hurt me again.”

“Brave words, but I don’t need to kill you. I can still have you lobotomized. After that, you’ll happily strap Sara down while I do the same to her.”

Before Zoey could reply, a shrill alarm filled the air. Zeitgeist pressed a button on his controller, and a flat screen lowered itself from the ceiling. It displayed images of police officers in heavy gear swarming the once-vacant hallways above.

“So, it wasn’t a bluff,” said Zeitgeist.

“Was it?” Zoey suppressed her own surprise.

“Oh, well. The droids will make short work of them. Once I re-arm them….” Zoey ran and snatched the controller out of his right hand.

“I think this is where we part company,” said Zoey, giving him a half salute. “Let’s not do this again sometime. Hope you enjoy prison.”

Zoey ran out into the hallway, already greeted by the sounds of muffled gunfire. Hopefully, the police could handle the drones with their lethal firepower disabled. She tossed the controller down the hallway.

Had the inspector followed me here? Could my parents have told her where I went? Was there some other connection that the police made and I missed?

She made her way back to where the captives were being held. There was a lone drone still outside the door. It was easy for Zoey to take possession of its primitive mind. She led it inside where the captives were unsettled by the noise they heard.
“What’s going on out there?” demanded McDonnell.

“Everyone relax. That’s the police. They’re here to rescue you, I hope,” said Zoey. She nodded to the drone, and it obediently floated over and started to cut away their chains.

“I have to leave before they get here, and it’d be best if you all just forgot about me,” said Zoey. “Don’t worry about this little guy. I enabled his weapons package, but programmed to protect you until the police get here.” She was feeling a little self-conscious, because she still had the gun in her hand.

Please don’t think I’m some sociopath that’s working with Zeitgeist.

As she left the room, Zoey turned to see two police officers racing toward her. Already? Their helmets obscured their faces, but the slender form of the one in the lead was definitely female. The broader man behind her was carrying a large backpack.
“Zoey…,” was all the policewoman got out before Zoey charged her. Zoey tucked her head in and her shoulders out. The man, despite his size, managed to step out of the way, but Zoey clipped the policewoman setting her off balance.

Zoey didn’t stop to look back. She kept running down the hallway. Eventually, she found the elevator. As she waited for the door to open, there was a horrible screeching sound that filled her head with pain. For what she could tell, the noise was coming from where she had just been. And it was just her who was affected.

All the drones flocking in the opposite directions like a group of spooked bats. As the door finally opened, Zoey slid in and hit the top button. As it rose silently, the noise became dimmer and dimmer, and the pain eventually disappeared.
A little lightheaded, Zoey stumbled out of the elevator and walked up the same quiet hallway she went down what seemed like a year ago. Had the gunfire stopped or is it just soundproof? Was it all over? The secret doorway opened in front of her, leading her into the same dim garage.

Zoey walked around looking for the ramp out of the garage. When she saw the exit was covered by two police officers, she quietly went back the way she came. Zoey climbed up onto a car and proceeded to slide through the opening that she had squeezed through previously.

Dusting herself off, she slowly walked to the nearest bus station.

Click here to read Chapter 11

Written by J M Emmons. The story and all characters are copyrighted by J M Emmons.

Only Human Chapter 9: Wolf in The Breast

“I’m not afraid of you.” said Zoey.

“Of course not.”

“And Sara will have this place swarming with reinforcements at any time.”

“I’d be surprised if she doesn’t.” Zeitgeist pressed a few buttons on the controller clasped in his right hand. Reality flickered around the two individuals until it was replaced by swirling patterns of light. “Now we can have a quiet conversation in a nice corner of cyberspace without any unwanted listeners.”

Zeitgeist still had his skull-shaped fishbowl-for-a-head, but he appeared whole again in a dark suit and tie. It took time for Zoey’s digital mind to process the shift in perception.

“I haven’t been here in ages, so I don’t know who could be listening in,” continued Zeitgeist. “The drones are supposed to take care of everything, but they are only moderate A.I.s at best.”

“This is your laboratory, huh? Dissect any good humans lately?”

“You make it sound like I’m not human. I’m every bit as human as you are.”

“That’s what worries me.”

“Don’t sound so bitter, Zoey. I improved you. You would have made a wonderful assistant. Once I lobotomized you, of course.” Zeitgeist reclined in an invisible chair.

“Actually, a lobotomy would be a waste on you. All that spirit and energy, I could put that to good use. I could just have edited your memories, add a few false ones. It’s not as hard as you’d think. Then, you’d work for me, willingly, passionately. What do you think?”

“Why didn’t you do it?”

“Now’s not the time to bring up the past.”

“I asked you a question,” replied Zoey, dead serious.

“I preferred doing my work on Mars, because it was far easier to get people to turn the other way. Sure, I had my main lab here, as well as many other planets in the galaxy, but Mars had a more affable atmosphere, wouldn’t you say?”

“Answer the damn question! Why did you leave me for dead after playing around with my brain?”

“Unfortunately, some people still think that they’re righteous, and those people who should have turned a blind eye didn’t, and I had to leave you before I was arrested. It was the closest anyone had ever gotten to capturing me, except Rick Daring, of course.” He let a bitter laugh, rattling its way out of his throat.

“I really regret leaving you too,” continued Zeitgeist. “You were my one success in that experiment. The union of technology and the human brain. It was your will to survive, I think. We would have made such a wonderful team.” Zeitgeist tilted his head. “Don’t you think?”

Even in the abstraction of cyberspace, Zoey could see her reflection in his “face.” “What does Zeitgeist mean anyway? Metamorphosis or something?”

“No, Zoey. It means ‘the spirit of the times.’ One day, I will be your president and your god.”

“I find that unlikely.”



“How old do you think I really am? I perfected ways to suspend death, prolong my life, and I am willing to give this gift to likeminded individuals who are geniuses of their own accord. When there are enough of us, we will form a technocracy, where us immortal geniuses rule over the drones and workers, dictating what they do and what technology they’re allowed.”

“So, it’s like the Cabal but on a grander scale. What makes you think people would let you take over?”

“Because with the technology I could offer them, I would like a magician or a god with the miracles at my fingertips. I could promise them all the same life-saving technology as myself.”

“You would actually give them eternal life?”

“Zoey, I said I would promise them. I didn’t say anything about actually giving it to them.”

“Speaking of eternity, just how much of there is left of you?”

Zeitgeist let out another laugh. “My brain is preserved, and as long as it’s alive, then my memories and thought processes continue uninterrupted.”

“And I thought you were going to say ‘soul’ for a moment there.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” replied Zeitgeist. “When was the last time you were in a church?”

“I don’t think that the two are mutually exclusive to each other. Just because I’m not religious doesn’t mean I don’t believe there’s a God.”

“Maybe we wouldn’t have made a good team after all.” Zeitgeist arched forward where he sat. “Maybe I should blame this all on Sara. That infernal mother hen attitude of hers.”

“If she was here right now, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You’d be rotting somewhere in jail.”

“Yes, I’m still waiting for your reinforcements to show up. I hope my drones didn’t give you the wrong impression when I deactivated their defense systems to let you into my laboratory.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I didn’t ask you to believe. Just exit our little conversation and stick your head out of the door and see what happens. You see, I am in control. I was always in control, Zoey.”

“That does sound like you, all right, but I’m not intimidated. I’m not buying into your god act. You’re just a half-dead man lying on a gurney.”

“What an unfortunate circumstance that led me to this. It was rather unlucky that I didn’t escape Daring as unscathed as I wished. But I have friends everywhere and arranged for my body to be transported to one of my far-off laboratories for repairs. I couldn’t resist the irony of going to the one on Earth, Daring’s home planet.”

Zeitgeist turned to look Zoey in the face. “What I don’t understand,” He continued. “Is how you found the place.”

“The beacon.”

“Ah. The sublight transmitter would have caused some interesting feedback with some of the components in your head. And by interesting, I mean painful.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“But why did you come, my dear? What could you have hoped to accomplish?”

“I don’t know, really. I ran away from my family, my friends, even Sara. I couldn’t run away from this. It just felt like something I had to do, like no one else was going to.”

Zoey rubbed the corners of her eyes before continuing, “Why is it that I’m only comfortable talking to you about this?”
“Because whatever my faults, I am honest, Zoey, to you. You don’t have to worry about me judging you.”
“Is that because you’ve done far, far worse for no reason at all?”

Zeitgeist chuckled, a heavy, wet sound. “So, you will judge me? You’re not Sara. No, you’re like me, just a survivor.”
“You’re trying to say that painting our actions grey will justify them, but I believe that there is right and wrong. Even if it is because I made so many poor choices in the past.”

“Righteousness doesn’t suit you, Zoey.”

“Cut the knee jerk reactions, okay? How can you live for so long and only be interested in playing games? Games that involved human beings’ lives. My life!”

“Beware the patient man. Hundreds of years pass before he sees fruition come to past. I am working at a goal that will move humans into a higher plane of existence.”

“You just want everyone to put you on a pedestal, because you think you’re better than everyone else. When you and your elite chosen have ascended, what about the masses? You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

“Do you think you’re any better? Who do you think you’re trying to run away from? You have no right to look down at my goals just because you lack my vision.”

“The truth of it is I don’t understand how you can live so long. I mean, I know how you can live so long, but why do you? The five years I was with Sara, the things I witnessed and survived.

“I feel so old. Those five years stretching out, the weight of them filling me with a strange mixture of sadness and relief. Relief that the universe has someone to watch over it, to protect it from people like you.”

“So, you don’t have what it takes to live with hard decisions,” said Zeitgeist. “The weak serve the strong and then perish. What you think is unsubstantial.”

“Maybe I am weak. There are times when I wonder if there’s anything left of me inside. Those five years slowly eroded my soul, like a weathered mountainside, leaving me hollow inside. Maybe that’s why I’m here today.”

“And why’s that?”

Zoey snapped her fingers. Their cyberspace link broke instantly, and they found themselves looking at each other again in real time.

“I didn’t come here to talk,” said Zoey as she pulled out her gun.

Click here to read Chapter 10

Written by J M Emmons. The story and all characters are copyrighted by J M Emmons.

Only Human Chapter 8: Pandora

Zoey was taken back by the size of everything. The declining hallway was high, made to fit someone at least three times the height of her. The smooth, bright walls were made in a minimalistic design with no trace of individuality. She just noticed that the hallway was longer than the column she entered just moments previously, and Zoey was trying to figure out how that was possible when she heard the droid returning.

Zoey slipped back to the corner so that she would be in the drone’s blind spot as it crossed the threshold. She watched it silently as it floated down the hallway. The opening had already shut itself, and Zoey was trying to find where the lighting in the room was coming from.

She cautiously started down the hallway. The stark walls offered her some relief as there was no place for the drone to ambush her. The hallway curved, indicating a large tube going downward. Was this how the spacecraft went down the center of the building?

The hall dead-ended with a smaller tube, which turned out to be an elevator. The door automatically opened as she stood in front of it. The drone must have gone down to a lower level. As she entered the equally sterile elevator, she saw there were five buttons. Unsure of what to do, Zoey pressed the next button down, assuming that she was on the top floor currently.
The elevator smoothly moved downwards. Zoey counted for ten seconds before the elevator stopped and opened the doors. Zoey stepped out into a glass enclosure. Central glass doors spread apart before, and she stepped up a small pair of stairs that lead to a semi-circle of monitors and computers, all darkened and disused.

Zoey found the power switch encased in a metal box on the wall. She opened the box and pulled the level. The computers hummed to life. Walking up to the complex setup, she sat down in one of the chairs. The inclusion of chairs meant there had to been humans here at some point. But where had they gone?

She watched an hourglass icon appear as the system booted up. Simultaneously, the various monitors flickered with different images and data. Zoey had to mentally brace herself from the all the data going between all of the equipment. She sat in front of the largest monitor. There was a thin layer of dust on the controls.

Arms crossed, she flipped through the CCTV screens. Most of them showed long, vacant hallways with the occasional drifting drone. Most of the rooms looked like laboratories, long neglected. There were only two areas of major activity that Zoey could see, both on the lowest floor of the facility.

The first was where a majority of the drones were swarming. It looked like they were carrying off a large container or casket. Was this what was in the shuttle? None of the other camera angles showed her where they had taken the mysterious package.
The other tantalizing view was of the compound’s only other living residents, not counting the drones. The view only showed her their backs, but there were four people working at a long table. She could see what they were working on, but she got the impression they weren’t there of their own free will. If it wasn’t the slumped shoulders or ragged clothing that gave it away, then it was definitely the ominous drones floating in the background.

Most of the rest of the facility seemed abandoned. But what was its purpose? How long had it been here? Why was no one here anymore? She tried accessing the databanks, but there was some serious encryption, and Zoey didn’t want to waste time trying to hack into it when she could be discovered at any time.

Instead, she went back to the elevator and pressed the button for the lowest floor. It started to descend, but, to her surprise, it stopped on the very next floor. She stood absolutely still as the door opened, and a drone floated into the elevator. The drone stared out ahead of itself, seemingly oblivious to her. Zoey didn’t dare move or call attention to herself.

The elevator seemed to move at a crawl, but it stopped at the next floor. The drone left unceremoniously. Zoey stepped out of the elevator, only to find herself in another hallway long abandoned by humans. The drone made its way leftward. It stopped before turning a corner. Suddenly aware that there was nowhere to hide, Zoey turned to find that the elevator’s door had already shut. Panicking, she quickly went into the room closest to the elevator before the drone turned around.

The room was dark, and Zoey couldn’t find anything that resembled a light switch. She dug into her backpack and found her flashlight. Its LED bulb cast a bluish hue onto the eerily quiet room. It looked like it was once a testing room of some kind. The far wall was lined with cramp animal cages, now empty. There was a long table going across the middle of the room. All of the important-looking equipment that once lay on the table was spread out on the floor, mostly in pieces.

Zoey pressed her ear against the wall in futile attempt to hear the drone outside. She started to count to ten, in the hopes of it being gone when she reached ten. She got to four before she heard something behind her, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

She didn’t move, but slowly turned her head to try and glimpse into the darkness of the room. There was the sound again, something crushing pieces of glass from a broken beaker. Zoey immediately turned off the flashlight, plunging the room into total darkness. She kept deathly still, but the sound continued, and was it her imagination, or was it coming closer?

Not waiting to find out, Zoey rushed out of the darkened room and right into the drone. Without hesitation, Zoey dodged past it and right into the awaiting elevator. As the elevator doors shut, she swore that she heard a strangled scream. Zoey just lay there on the floor of the elevator, heart thundering in her chest.

She was waiting for an army of drones to burst the door, through the infrastructure, all of them targeting her. Her brief stretch of existence wiped out by an intense light.

But nothing happened. Zoey wearily got up and pressed the button sending the elevator to the bottom floor. In seconds, the doors opened again to reveal an almost identical set of vacant corridors. As she stepped out of the elevator, Zoey couldn’t help wondering if this was all some sort of mind game.

Was she really on another level or the same one, over and over again? One could get lost in the maze of featureless walls. It was not a prospect Zoey was looking forward to.

If it was the lowest level, where were the drones? Were they all busy with the casket, or were they waiting in the ambush she feared was inevitable? The silence was unbearable. She peered cautiously down the hallway.

No one. Not a soul. But there were four people here somewhere, and she was going to find them. She started to open doors, slowly at first, and then finally stuck her head in when she was sure no one was there. There were storage areas, offices, even examination rooms. But she hadn’t found anyone yet, but at least no more darkened rooms like on the previous floor.

Zoey paused at one room in particular. It was a patient’s room with a tidy row of four beds. The sight of it reminded her of when she first woke up after the operation. Alone in an empty room like this with not even Doctor Zeitgeist himself to explain what he had done to her. Even though her other friends did not survive like her, she did not even find out about their deaths until much later, and she never did see their bodies again.

Zoey remembered the first time her mind, her new hybrid mind, reached out to communicate with the invisible data around her in the abandoned complex. She thought she was going insane as a flood of random images and words drowned out her own thoughts. There was maybe a short time when she was insane, convinced her own body had betrayed her, and she was scared and confused.

And then Sara found her, took care of her. Together, they learned what Zeitgeist had done to her and how she could cope with it. Zoey never asked Sara why she had helped Zoey. She was too grateful to question Sara’s actions or too afraid of what Sara’s answer might be. Just like she was afraid to actually see what Zeitgeist had done to her. She had flat out refused to have herself x-rayed or scanned in any way.

There were some things she was happy to not know about.

The thought of what she was now broke her reverie of the past. She closed the door and moved on. She continued down one hallway, but she felt convinced that it was a dead end. Frustrated, she went to the elevator and chose a different corridor. She found more of the same, but now, she heard something like raised voices, muffled behind closed doors.

The door slid open and she saw a table with four disheveled people working there. There were two drones floating overhead. For the first time since she entered the facility, Zoey tried to make contact with the drones. She projected urgent messages requiring the drones to go two levels up.

They moved silently, unquestioningly. The four captives noticed this and turned their heads as one. They all became silent as they watched their unlikely savior enter the room. Zoey took a deep breath and tried to think of something impressive to say.
“So, you’re the missing, um, people, right?” she said. That wasn’t quite what she had in mind.

“Who the hell are you?” asked a burly man with dark hair and bushy eyebrows.

“Me? I guess I’m here to rescue you,” she said with a smile. “Who are you guys anyway?”

The burly man let out a deep sigh. “And where have you been lately?”

“Up there actually,” Zoey replied, pointing upward. “I know who you are. I just don’t remember your names.”

“My name is Professor Robert McDonnell,” said the burly man. “This is Samanvaya Patel.” McDonnell indicated the tall Indian who, despite everything, had nicely trimmed hair and a matching mustache. “Across from me is Roger Brown, and that’s Alicia Dallas next to him.” A stout man with broad shoulders and a short woman with dusty-brown hair nodded their greetings.

“So, what happened to you guys? Why are you here?” asked Zoey.

“We don’t even know where ‘here’ is,” remarked Patel.

“We all got kidnapped the same way. There was a robot, but not like these little ones babysitting us. It was larger and looked a panther,” said McDonnell.

“Yes, its overall design was very aerodynamic. Its structure was based on feline creatures, I agree. I’d have given anything to see the internal mechanisms that made it so lithe. We’ve yet to perfect a humanoid robot that moves so natural,” said Brown.

“He’s the robotics expert, if you couldn’t tell,” remarked Dallas. “However amazing it was, it gassed each of us and carried us back here.”

“And if you somehow avoided the gas?” asked Zoey.

“The sharp claws weren’t for show, I’d imagine,” remarked Patel dryly. Zoey frowned at this but didn’t say anything.

“You’re the first living being we’ve seen since we’ve been kidnapped,” stated McDonnell.

“The first living human,” corrected Brown.

“So, what have you been doing all this time?” asked Zoey.

“The robots have been giving us diagrams and parts to assemble the most advanced pieces we’ve ever seen,” said Brown.

“Both Patel and I have experience making artificial limbs for amputees, and we’re both convinced that’s what we’re making,” stated McDonnell.

“Repairing,” said Patel. “It’s my belief that we’re repairing something, or else why not give us the whole device to make? Why these bits and pieces?”

“It doesn’t matter, because I’m getting you all out of here.” Zoey made her way to the captives when a voice came out of nowhere.

“Will Ms. Walker report to the casualty ward? Ms. Walker to the casualty ward.” The door opened, and a swarm of drones entered. “And don’t do anything funny, will you?”

“Who was that, and who is he talking about?” asked Dallas.

“I know that voice,” said Zoey to herself.

The drones led her down to the ward. She stepped into the sterile room, but the drones did not follow her in. In the corner was the remains of the discarded casket she had see earlier. Inside the casket were hoses and tubing attached to oxygen tanks. There also looked like the remains of an IV drip.

The chrome owl was there, sitting on its perch. “Do you like it? It keeps an eye on all of my creations,” came a familiar voice. Zoey turned away from the casket to take in the rest of the room.

There, on one of the slabs, was a man with torn clothes and torn skin. He was missing his left leg. The slab turned on its axis so that the man could see her face to face. His face was not familiar, but his voice sent chills down her back.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve had a chat,” said the man. He waved her closer. Underneath the torn skin, Zoey could see mechanical pistons moving like muscles. He was also missing his pinky finger.

“Zeitgeist.”

“We would have had this reunion sooner if not for certain circumstances.”

“Not long enough.” Her every instinct told her to run. Her stomach turned awkwardly with anxiety. She was nowhere near as ready for this than she thought she was.

“Rumors tell me that you were actually looking for me.” As Zoey got closer to him, his face seemed less and less real. Zeitgeist noticed this and said: “Go on.”

She hesitated and slowly reached up and took a hold of his face. She slowly peeled it off; his hair falling off onto the floor. It revealed a skull-shaped transparent jar. Its reflective surface made it hard for her to see details, but Zoey could make out that the skull was filled with a liquid, and his two eyes pressed against the surface of the container, peering into her soul.

She looked down into the inside of his facemask. Thin metal plates moved as he talked, giving the illusion of facial expression and that his jaw worked. His voice actually came from somewhere in his neck.

“Now,” said Zeitgeist. “What would you like to talk about?”

Click here to read Chapter 9

Written by J M Emmons. The story and all characters are copyrighted by J M Emmons.

Sunday Movie: TRON Legacy

The greatest irony about the twenty-something-years-late sequel to Disney's "TRON" is that it will be someday as dated as its predecessor. And that time is coming sooner than most would think.

Let's look at the film itself:

Slow-mo Matrix fighting: been done for the last decade.

The impressive soundtrack by Daft Punk: a product of its times as much as Wendy Carlos' score was in the '80s.

Computer graphics: "Legacy" is beautifully rendered, but nothing beyond what we're capable of nowadays. In fact, the all digital effects of the original "TRON" were groundbreaking, and, even now, the graphics are stylish and "retro"-ish.

The movie is available in 3D, which I saw, but there was no shot that was too impressive using this technology. I was more blown away by the 3D trailer to "Tangled" than the whole of "TRON Legacy."

The film itself is a nice nod to the original while being a fairly strong film on its own. It's borderline re-make/sequel territory that "Superman Returns" hovered around years prior. I feel that Bruce Boxleitner should have been given a bigger part, especially considering that he portrayed the title character in both films. Do we really need a story revolving around Old Jeff Bridges fighting Young Jeff Bridges? No one asked if David Warner wanted a cameo?

It's definitely "TRON" for a new generation, which may have been Disney's goal in the first place, but sometimes stories operate better in simplicity, and that, for me, describes the original "TRON."

Only Human Chapter 7: Persephone

Zoey was close to losing her mind, but the old fashioned television went a long way to deadening the pain. The beacon was still broadcasting; she could see it from the window of her low-rent apartment. The skyscraper the tower sat on was pristine but empty, hallowed out during one of many waves of economic turmoil.

Zoey could just barely keep out the eternal buzzing of the signal, like a migraine that wouldn’t end. All of her training was able to do was keep her conscious. The pain and nausea had killed her appetite and made sleeping impossible. The two days she had been there seemed endless.

She lay sprawled out on the dilapidated couch. Seemingly random images flickered across the small television. Zoey couldn’t concentrate anymore; she could only watch the sea of pixels dancing around, unaware of the larger picture or storyline.
Her own personal storyline had become a jumbled mess in her head. Delirious, on the second night, she tossed and turned on the couch. Sleep had again slipped through her fingers, and now, with bleary eyes, she turned and looked at the television to see Sean’s pixelated face staring at her.

“Hi,” the television said.

“You’re dead,” said Zoey. “I threw up at your funeral.”

“Don’t say things like that. It’s not funny.”

“Go away.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Leave me alone,” said Zoey. “Everyone else has left me.”

“That’s why I came back. So you wouldn’t be alone.”

“You’re dead. You’re dead.” She shut her eyes tight.

“If I’m dead, why can I hold your hand?”

Zoey felt something warm envelope her hand.

“If I’m dead, why can I listen to your heart?”

Zoey felt something press against her chest.

“If I’m dead, why can I…?”

Zoey awoke with a start. The small room was dark. The television was either off or burnt out. She stumbled off the couch, trying to find a clock. It was two thirty in the morning, but which day? How long had she been suffering under her delirium?

Had everything been a dream?

The first thing she noticed was that the beacon was off. Her head was clear, like when a head cold finally broke. She walked over to the window. In the dead silence of the early morning, a silver halo hung over the building in question. The upper section of the building itself split into four parts, spreading out from the center. The machinery creaked like the inside of a clock tower but was surprisingly quiet despite the massive transformation.

Zoey looked at the streets below and saw not one soul who could have witnessed this strange sight. The silver object silently started to descend into the building. When it disappeared from sight, Zoey could feel it in her mind as it continued downwards. The building started to close up, creaking back into place.

Zoey grabbed her backpack and quickly changed into a pair of dark clothing that she had brought with her. Slinging the pack over her shoulder, she left the apartment and never looked back. She slipped an envelope of money under the door of the landlord and walked out onto the quiet streets.

She was reminded of the twilight hours that she spent on alien planets, wandering around and getting her bearings. Saving the world with Sara had allowed more free time than one would think, and Zoey would take in the sights whenever she could, despite the odd hours. Now, the abandoned streets of Downtown, America were now even more alien to her, and it was not lost on her.

She walked the street cautiously at first. She turned as a lone car drove by. She watched it until it disappeared around the bend. She continued on to the building in question. Not surprisingly, the doors were locked. It was a sturdy bolt lock and not an electric lock. She stepped back from the door and took a look around.

Around the side of the building, she noticed an opening between the side of the building and the cement sidewalk. She crouched down and tried to peer into the darkness. Failing that, she pulled a flashlight from her bag. She flashed a light through the slit and found an underground garage amid the shadows. The lot formed around a central column, probably housing the building’s elevator system. Or maybe the extraterrestrial craft.

Zoey got on her stomach and squeezed through the small slit. She grabbed her bag as she finally pushed her way into the garage and found herself on top of the hood of a car. As she got off of it, she lit the inside of the car: pristine except for a layer of dust. Were the cars just window dressing?

Then, Zoey came across a much, more sobering sight. Lying flat on its back was a dead body. Judging from his clothes, Zoey assumed he was a homeless vagrant just looking for somewhere to sleep. There was a small hole in his chest that went clean through his body. He had probably no idea what attacked him and was dead within seconds of the searing laser that pierced his vitals.

Zoey turned away in silence and headed toward the central column bathed in the scant lighting afforded by the garage. As she came closer, she felt a sudden impulse and ducked behind one of the cars. She glanced ahead and saw what she had felt. There was a small motion detector on the wall, hiding in plain sight.

Zoey could feel the signal dart out of the detector. The wall before her unfolded like a Chinese box being opened by invisible hands. Out of the opening came an armless and legless robot, hovering in the air. Zoey, hiding behind one of the car, glanced at it. Its long head came to a point, and its cyclopean eye scanned its surroundings.

Zoey stayed where she was, too scared to move. There was no question in her mind what caused the unfortunate death of the vagrant. After a tense ten seconds more, the drone went back into the hidden tunnel, and the wall closed up behind it. Zoey waited even longer before getting up from her hiding spot.

She kept low, edging her way farther and farther from the motion detector. She made her way around in a semi-circle until her back was against the column wall adjacent to the secret doorway. She pulled out the gun and pointed it at a trash bin conveniently within the motion detector’s range.

She took aim and fire. The recoil made her hand jump, and her shot went wide. Somewhere, a car alarm quietly beeped to itself. Placing both hands on the gun, she widened her stance and aimed at the bin again. The second time she fired and the trash bin jumped like someone had kicked it.

Zoey watched from the corner as the wall opened again, and the drone drifted out, searching for movement. Slowly, Zoey edged herself along the wall. Every second she slid by, Zoey’s eyes were glued on the drone. If it turned around too soon, she would have to make a break for it. Not that she thought she was quicker than the drone’s laser.
But she made it to the opening and slipped into the depths below.

Click here to read Chapter 8

Written by J M Emmons. The story and all characters are copyrighted by J M Emmons.

Sunday Movie: Broadcast News

This movie basically boils down to two outstanding qualities: dialogue and acting.

The script for "Broadcast News" is that rare blend of honesty and humor, infusing the story with a real human element. I feel, as I watch it, that I know these people, and that their lives are real. Maybe that's because Holly Hunter, William Hurt, and Albert Brooks bring these characters to life with such conviction. (Not that the rest of the cast is inferior in any way.)

In truth, if the story was not centered around the newsroom, I might not be interested in the film. Rewatching the film, I wondered how people today, who viewed this film, would discern the clunky VHS tapes, small analog screens, outdated reporters' morality, and corporate massive layoffs?

Certainly, watching the anchor sit straight-faced and reading the news would confuse young viewers. Why should Holly Hunter's character be upset with how Hurt's character faked his reaction during a piece on date rape? Isn't the news fake to begin with? When Hurt's character ad-libs at the end of the story, stating his opinion, why does the news chief say, "Like anyone cares what you think."? Isn't "news" and "opinion" synonymous?

Whether the movie is well-made or not, it represents an important time for "broadcast news" where facts are slowly traded for theatrics. As the director says in his commentary, for better or worse, that is where the news industry is now.

Make of that as you will. And enjoy this wonderful film.

Only Human Chapter 6: Rilkean Heart

Both Harold and Alice looked across the table at their daughter, taking in what she had just said.

“What?” asked Zoey, continuing her meal.

“What do you mean that you’re leaving?” asked Harold. “Isn’t this a bit sudden?”

“It’s only for a couple days, Dad.”

“Where are you going?” asked Alice.

“Just up north. Visiting some friends.”

“You don’t have any friends,” remarked Alice. “You’ve been on Mars for the last five years.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t know people,” snapped Zoey.

“Just calm down, the two of you,” said Harold. “We’re just worried about you. You show up out of the blue, and then you collapsed, and…”

“I don’t need your permission or anything. I’m an adult.” Zoey got up and stalked up the stairs.

“We just want to know where you’re running off to, that’s all,” said Alice as she followed Zoey up the stairs to Zoey’s room.

“You were just in the hospital the other day,” continued Alice as she passed the threshold of Zoey’s room.

“I told you that was just heat stroke or something,” replied Zoey, pulling some clothes from the drawers and stuffing them into a book bag.

“How can you have heat stroke in October?”

“It’s not important, Mom. I’m fine. The doctor said I was fine.”

“Anyone can tell that you’re not fine,” said Alice. “We don’t mind that you just dropped in on us out of the blue, without a word for years…”

“I get the idea. Skip to the point.”

“My point is that ever since you’ve been here there’s been, I don’t know, like a wall between you and us. There’s something you’re not telling us. I don’t what happened to you these past years, but you don’t have to hide from us. We’re your parents.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” replied Zoey as she folded up a shirt. “I went to Mars with my friends because of a job opportunity. It didn’t pan out, but I managed for awhile.”

“But your ‘friends’ all died.” At this, Zoey turned to her mother.

“You knew,” said Zoey.

“Did you think that when you went to another planet and never wrote me, that I wouldn’t start reading the obituaries?” Alice sat down on Zoey’s bed, quietly placing Zoey’s book bag on the floor. “And they weren’t your friends. They were punks, punks you hanged out with. We never understood why.”

“Because they were cool,” said Zoey. “Because I thought they were cool.” Zoey sat down next to her mother. “And I thought you weren’t.”

Zoey looked down at her hands. “I couldn’t see past my youthful romanticism and a yearning to escape, from Earth, from, maybe, my family. We were all used by this man who discarded us when he was done.

“I know I’ve had a lot of time to look back, to see how much I’ve acted out and been such a pain in the butt. And I know I’m still am, but I love you and Dad, and I just need you to trust me. Just a little while longer. I swear when I come back, I’ll tell you everything. I just need to do this one thing, and when I come back…”

Alice’s hand lovingly squeezed Zoey’s.

Alice looked into her daughter’s eyes and saw her for the woman she was. “I was always worried that you’d never see those people for who they were or that your father and I only wished to help you, because you’re our daughter and that we love you.” She choked back a tear. “But somehow you’ve grown up without either of our help.”
Mother and daughter hugged, without another word needed.

Later, Zoey went into her parent’s room. It was a poorly kept secret that they owned a gun. Her father bought one when there was a string of break-ins, robbers who habitually raped and killed females found in the houses. At the time, he had a beautiful wife and a five-year-old daughter that he loved more than anything in the world.

As far as she knew, her father never used it, not even to practice using it as he promised his wife that he would. He kept the gun and the ammunition in two separate places, which weren’t too hard for Zoey to guess where.

She took a handful of bullets and slipped them into her pocket. The gun was heavier than she imagined, even though she had held a gun before. It felt even heavier pressed against the small of her back; her shirt draped over it. Its cold metal surface sent a chill up her spine, or was that something entirely different?

She hugged her parents goodbye, saying her farewells and making empty promises that she would return. It was not that she didn’t want to come back, but she knew her chances were slim if the beacon was alien in origin and secret by nature. But she kept a brave face for her parents.

She didn’t need to as she waited at the bus station with the other human driftwood. She sat there in the quiet terminal, hugging her bag and hoping no one noticed the bulge in the back of her jacket. Some were too wrapped up in their digital handhelds, but most of them looked like they were carrying everything they ever owned.

Waiting, Zoey couldn’t help thinking about her own hurried departure not so long ago. In her righteous indignation, Zoey had refused to talk with Sara before stepping onto the space shuttle and leaving for Earth. She regretted letting her emotions get the better of her, and it did not escape her how history seemed to have repeated itself without Zoey being any the wiser.
Everyone avoided eye contact with each other as they quietly boarded the bus. Zoey sat at a window seat. She leaned her head against the cool glass and closed her eyes until the bus jerked into motion.

She couldn’t stop the random images flashing in her mind. They weren’t random information from the Ethernet. No, they were memories, which seemed a lot less substantive than the data that flowed through her head. She couldn’t stop thinking of the day she met Sean and his big lopsided grin. The same one she had just seen the other day.

The evening lights blurred by as the bus moved north. Zoey could still feel the beacon in the back of her mind. It grew as they moved closer and closer to it. Zoey wondered if she could still block its dizzying pain as she got closer to it.

I’ll know soon enough tomorrow.

High above, the strange owl soared, watching the bus intently. The nightlights glimmered off its chrome feathers as it flew off ahead of the bus.

Click here to read Chapter 7

Written by J M Emmons. The story and all characters are copyrighted by J M Emmons.

Only Human Chapter 5: Essence

Zoey knew she was in a hospital room even before she opened her eyes. She automatically shut out the electronic periphery, trying to maintain the silence in her mind. Far off, she could feel something stabbing at her mind. It was the same dull pain that had caused her to collapse in the first place.

She opened her eyes to find that she wasn’t wrong in her assumption. Her parents were sitting in chairs by her bed, worried looks on their faces.

“Hey, pum’kin,” said her father.

“I’m sorry,” was all Zoey could think to say.

“It’s okay,” said her mother. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” replied Zoey, though her head still ached. “I don’t know what came over me. Some kind of bug.”

“The doctor examined you and couldn’t find anything wrong with you. They could do more tests if you wanted,” said Alice. “These things happen sometimes with interplanetary travel.”

“No, no tests,” snapped Zoey as fear crept into her voice, a fear of what they would find if they looked closely enough. “I said I was fine. Please, I just want to go home.”

“We just wanted to make you okay. You collapsed right in front of everyone,” said Alice. “And you were vomiting.”

Harold took Alice’s hand. “Honey, let’s just give her a moment to reorient herself.” After her parents left, Zoey covered her face in frustration. She hadn’t meant to snap at them, and they had no idea what was happening to her. In fact, she didn’t know what was happening to her.

The pain in her forehead was returning, but it wasn’t coming from within. Again, there was that sense of something in the distance, piercing her mind. She screwed her eyes shut, hoping it would go away.

It didn’t.

Zoey saw some clean clothes and her small mp3 player on a chair near her. Her mother must have thought Zoey would be in the hospital longer than a day.

She started to reach for the player. She paused, then simply turned on the player, and then left it on the chair. She lay back in the uncomfortable bed and closed her eyes. Going through a couple of breathing exercises, she calmed her mind and emptied it of irrelevant matters. Slowly, she started letting in the data surrounding her.

Her focus was on her mp3 player. Its small CPU was devoted to playing the mp3 files saved in its memory. Set at random, the song Zoey heard in her mind was an up-tempo song with a soft female voice and a heavy techno influence.

While letting the music continue, her mind searched throughout the hospital’s internal mainframe until she came across their phone lines. The term “phone lines” was, of course, archaic, since all of the hospital’s calls were handled by wireless networks. She found a way to dial out and searched out the connection to the police station. In the corner of her mind, the techno song was still playing; its singer crooning on about love and dancing.

Suddenly, there was a voice. “Jacksonville Police Station.”

“Can I speak to Detective Fairborn?” asked Zoey by transmitting her thoughts through the phone connection.

“One moment.” Zoey toned out the police’s on-hold musak in preference to the song playing on her mp3 player.

“This is Fairborn,” came a crisp voice.

“This is Zoey Walker, Detective.”

“Yes?” came the impatient reply.

“I was wondering if you made any progress on this missing persons case? The one that killed my friend?”

“As you well know, Ms Walker, I am unable to discuss current investigations with the public, especially one who is potentially a suspect.”

Zoey realized that without Sara and her credentials she couldn’t blame Fairborn’s reluctance to divulge information. “I know, it’s just…”

“I also don’t tolerate amateur detectives. If you get in my way, I will arrest you.”

“Thanks,” Zoey thought back and disconnected the line. The techno song was over by now. The silence was soon replaced by the slow stirring of an orchestra. Zoey extracted herself from the hospital’s phone system and again felt something piercing her mind.

In her mind’s eye, she saw, far away, a burning light not unlike an eye. Its gaze drilled into her mind, causing her unbearable headaches. She reached out to it and felt herself stretching out, for untold miles, away from the comfort of her body. The orchestra in the back of her head erupted with string ostinatos and brass flares as she took off across the digital map in her mind.

There, at her destination, she discovered the “evil eye” was nothing more than a simple transmitter on top of the tall building. The “image” of the building in her mind was created from a choppy montage of images taken from satellites and stored in numerous Internet-based map sites. The music had quieted, except for the rising tension of the ominous string section.
Why was the transmission hurting her? Was she receiving some sort of feedback from it? She tried to access the building’s system, but she found nothing within. Either the building was a derelict with no electricity, or it was using a closed system that was heavily encrypted.

Going from the antenna to its source, Zoey followed the trail down below the building, but her mind could not penetrate whatever was underneath it. She then listened to the transmission itself, but could not decipher its code. Instead, she blocked it from her mind, so that it would not harm her again. Slowly, her mind’s pain seemed to fade, but Zoey was not done.

Reaching high into “the sky”, she felt herself lift again. Distantly, the orchestra was reaching a crescendo as she saw the Earth through the eyes of a satellite. Using the satellite, she focused on the building she was just examining. She took the coordinates that the satellite gave her and burned them into her memory.

She was already starting to feel disoriented, being so far from her body for too long a time. She plunged “downwards” retracing her steps. The orchestra was becoming quiet again as she felt the familiar presence of the hospital she had just left. She was soon reunited with her body and the darkness within her mind. She struggled upwards towards “the surface” until her eyes opened.

There was a stillness in her room, and her parents had not come back yet. Zoey wasn’t sure how long she had been under and absently reached for the mp3 player.

It was still playing, but instead of displaying the name of the song, it listed a series of numbers. Numbers that Zoey recognized instantly as coordinates.

Click here to read Chapter 6

Written by J M Emmons. The story and all characters are copyrighted by J M Emmons.

Obsolescence

Not far from where I am sitting, there is a paper bag filled with floppy disks, leftovers from my father's past. These are true 8" long floppy disks here, not the 3-1/2" ones. What is it about floppy disks or cassette tapes or VHS tapes that are so interesting to me?

Don't get me wrong. The future's here and now and downloadable to your nearest computer. Everything will be digital, from novels to homework and everything in-between. I am happy that this means we'll be cutting down less trees and manufacturing less plastics, but something feels missing.

It's okay to pick on five year olds, because they don't know any better, but there seems to be a divide between them and us (or me.) Growing up, I was aware of what came before, but nowadays kids are only interested in things beginning in "i," and there is no willingness to learn about the past. Maybe I'm different, because I was born in a time of media flux: records to cassettes to compact discs to digital files.

In any rate, what I'm groping for is ignorance. There seems like there's too much willful ignorance about the past, about technology. It's a dangerous thing, ignorance. But I don't envy them. They'll never experience that feeling I had as a child: feeding in the floppy disk, closing the drive's slot, and booting up the computer.

It was like magic.

Only Human Chapter 4: Evangeline

Zoey Walker stood rigidly among her fellow mourners, strangers all. Her mother and father were there, beside her. Their support, unspoken but immense, had given Zoey the strength to put on a simple black dress and step out of the door.

The minister’s voice did not reach Zoey’s ears. Her mind was miles away, but not in the strange digital mindscape that only she could access. The cemetery was devoid of technology, filled only with death. In the prior evening, Zoey had surfed the news for the related disappearances the inspector had mentioned.

Four individuals had gone missing over the span of the last month. All of them were professors or doctors in varying degrees: biology, prosthetics, engineering, and programming. There were no correlation between the four individuals and no relation to Sean. She had asked herself over and over: Why him?

Waves of frustration and confusion smothered her thoughts. There had to be something she could do. It was so easy for Sara to step in, take charge. But Zoey was not Sara, and she didn’t know what to do. On her desk, back at home, was her easy way out: a transmitter to the stars. One call to Sara, and she would clear up everything for Zoey.

Zoey didn’t want Sara to do anything. How could she ask for Sara’s help after Zoey so blatantly turned her back on her? She was on her own. Whether she liked it or not.

After they lowered the casket into the cold ground, Zoey found herself drifting back to the church. Her parents were talking to Sean’s parents, but Zoey couldn’t stand the thought of talking to anyone else. A more modern affair, the church looked more like an arena than a place of worship. Through the glass double doors she went, only to be met with the quiet humming of the building’s heating system.

The room was a large semi-circle, slanting downhill with the altar at the bottom. The altar was surrounded by rows and rows of ascending pews. Zoey sat nowhere in particular and rested her head on the back of the pew in front of her. She closed her eyes and tried to silence her mind, an exercise Sara taught her long ago.

Her mind quietly mapped out the church’s electrical skeleton, but Zoey dug deeper until she could block out her mind’s unnatural talent. Until the stillness of her mind matched the stillness of the room. There, she found a serenity that she was sorely missing in the strenuous last few days. All of her anxiety and tension was gone along with the rest of the world. She was not so lucky in keeping it though.

The creaking of a door echoed throughout the vast room. A humble man in black stepped out and placed something on the altar. He looked up and noticed Zoey sitting in the pews. He walked up the ramp towards her. He had white hair and blue eyes. The wrinkles of time could not hide his honest face. His voice was quiet but commanding.

“Elizabeth? Elizabeth Walker? I haven’t seen you since you were so tall.” He held a hand perpendicular to his waist.

“Father Peter? Is that you?”

“I’m touched that you remember me.”

“Mother always spoke kindly about you.”

Father Peter sat down next to her. Silence had swallowed their conversation, until the priest said, “I heard about Sean. I’m very sorry.”

“Why do people die?”

“Why do people live?” returned the priest. “None of us knows the answer to either of these questions, except God perhaps.”

“Perhaps?”

“Yes, well, there’s a great amount of uncertainty in our existence. I just rely on faith to see me through.”

“But why faith?” asked Zoey. “If there was a God, why not just tell us our purpose so we can fulfill it easily. Why do we have to stumble around in the dark? Why do we have to question the things that happen to us?”

Father Peter shrugged. “Another excellent question.”

“I guess if we knew why they had happened, we could accept it easier. Unless there is no reason.”

“And what would randomness accomplish?” asked the priest.

“How else can you explain the suffering and the tragedies?”

“How can you say that after everything you’ve seen?” Zoey turned and looked at the priest; her heart skipping a beat. “You’ve seen the sun rise. Trees changing colors every season. The strange complexities of life. How can you believe in randomness?” His blue eyes sparkled in ambient light. “The Earth and everything on it is an impossible work of art.”

“I don’t know what to believe,” Zoey admitted. “If God was responsible for all the beauty in the world. Then why is there so much hatred and death? Why are there people randomly kidnapping and killing people?”

The priest sat back in the pew. “Poor choices, I guess. Free will. We aren’t given a purpose, because we have to choose our purpose.”

“That sucks.”

Father Peter smiled. “I think you’re getting the idea of it now.” Zoey rubbed her forehead; it felt like a headache was coming.
“Why the ordeals? The suffering? I’ve seen what people are capable of,” she said.

“And I know what people are capable of too. I’ve listened to the members of my parish. Some wake every morning to quietly, courageously get out of bed only to face a grueling job or an abusive spouse. Being a hero doesn’t mean you’re Saint George slaying a dragon. You just have to persevere to be better.”

“And what happens when you run out of strength? Do you just let the world walk all over you?”

“I don’t know. We just keep going and do the best we can. We’re only human, after all.”

“If only it was that easy. Nothing’s changed since I’ve left. Talking heads, signifying nothing. No one knows anything, not about the important things.” The pain in her forehead was not going away, and sweat started dripping down her neck.
“And there’s an answer you’re looking for, isn’t there?” came Father Peter’s quiet voice.

“What?” asked Zoey furtively.

“It’s in your eyes,” continued the priest. “There’s something there, burning intensely. What are you looking for?”

Zoey stood up. “It was nice talking with you, Father.” She pressed her temple as the throbbing increased. Nausea clouded her thoughts, as she suddenly felt hot, and the sweating continued unabated. She was vaguely aware of her stomach feeling heavy and uneasy.

“There’s no need to get agitated. You can talk to me.”

“Thanks again,” said Zoey as she walked up the ramp. She opened the door as a cool breeze flowed through her.

The pain in her head continued to get worse as the increasing nausea made her lose her balance. She did not even remember throwing up in the green grass. The intense disorientation quickly brought her to her knees.

Zoey vaguely heard the voice of her mother before she passed out.

Click here to read Chapter 5

Written by J M Emmons. The story and all characters are copyrighted by J M Emmons.