Working Title:
Cypher
Dedicated
to my wife Julie.
My
Inspiration for thinking outside the box.
Cypher
Friday, February 26, 1999
Chapter
1
{Opening scene of Mayan priest on El
Castillo}
By most measures it was a typical
University Campus. The building had undergone very little change in the 40
years since it was built, but some modern technologies had to be introduced to
keep the curriculum up to date. Computers were introduced to the school around
1994 and shortly thereafter ISDN lines were required to keep the school in pace
with changes in Internet technology. The lines had been fed into the walls with
surgical-like precision and were, for the most part, concealed. Updating the
campus on a technical level ensured a high admission rate but didn’t do much to
add to the cramped spaces and claustrophobic feeling some of the students
experienced in these older, musty buildings. What you then had was the paradox
a 40 year old cramped and dingy building loaded with modern technology.
The droning of the professor at the
front of this particular class didn’t do much to distract the occupants of the
course from their musty surroundings. The class was ARCH2.3 which was the University
coding for Archeology, Class 2, Level 3. An advanced level course for students
wishing to do one of two things; Add an
“easy credit” to their résumés that sounded more impressive than it actually
was, or they had a genuine interest in the history of other cultures and wished
to pursue it further. Those that assumed the latter were richly rewarded, as
the professor was unparalleled in his knowledge of ancient cultures and was
able to pass on that knowledge to his students. Those assuming the former were
greatly disappointed and usually dropped the course after only a few weeks,
unable to keep up with the reading requirements or the many assignments
required. The only people that thought the course was a no-brainer were those
that had not taken it. The professor was a tough teacher and the course was not
as easy as some thought, and he took a secret delight in weaning out the
slackers early in the semester, leaving only the interested students to occupy
his valuable time. The hard line he took with the students that enjoyed his
course only seemed to increase the respect they had for him, which he felt was
a typical response when intelligent people found themselves tested.
Professor Trevor Hume was well liked
by the students of the University. He often sat with some of them in the campus
cafeteria and was known to down more than a few beers at the local pub when he
stopped by. Students he had befriended would often seek him out for advice on
schooling, career decisions and even for a bit of advice on how to proceed with
their love lives. He was not as “stuffy” as some of the other teachers and was
considered by the female students to be one of the better looking professors at
the university. He was aware of this reputation and took pride in it. After
all, he was only forty three, worked out three times a week and watched what he
ate, and it was only human nature to be glad to know that those efforts did not
go to waste. He discouraged casual relationships with his students and it was
an unusual year if he did not have to rebuff several advances from the young
girls in his classes. He had experienced
a few flings with some of the more persistent and comely female students in his
years on staff, and was continuously grateful that all ended amicably and none
had backfired to cost him his career as had been the case with colleagues. He
still felt young though by the criteria of his young students he knew he would
be considered by some as ancient as the cities he excavated. He was
frighteningly intelligent and more than willing to take a few risks to make
sure he enjoyed himself and that his life remained interesting.
His popularity did not extend into his teaching voice in the classroom.
His trademark monotone-for-a-lecture was the only sound that could be heard in
the room. Hume was actually quite excited today for reasons that his students
would never learn about, and he was concerned that that excitement might creep
into his voice and give him away. It didn’t.
Several students were asleep behind dark sunglasses, secure that one of
their classmates would be able to catch them up after the class and let them
know what reading was required for the next day. Hume would be less than
friendly to students he found sleeping, but the monotone he lapsed into when
reciting a lecture was more than some could bear and they felt it worth the
risk. Besides, it was still early in the semester... plenty of time to wean
them out. Occasionally the shuffling of feet or the sound made by the
re-adjustment of a chair caused Hume’s monotone to waver ever-so-slightly in
its steady plod. Some students were known to make noises as a bet to see who
could make him break stride in an effort to interrupt the monotony. The
professor seemed in a bit of a foul mood this afternoon and evidently no-one
was in a betting mood or was willing to risk his wrath. It was known that he
did not tolerate many interruptions or disruptions in his classes and his drone
proceeded unchecked. He prepared to move into the final phase of his lecture
for the day and began to turn towards the board at the front of the class.
Today’s discussion followed the past few days worth of their studies of
the ancient civilizations of Central America. In particular the Mayan cities of
modern day Mexico, Belize, Honduras, El Salvador and Guatemala. Today had been
a discussion of the odd “writing” that the Mayan’s used. A collection of
syllabic glyphs representing the sounds of their language. Thanks to the
efforts of a psychotic Spanish friar named Landa in the mid 1600’s, most of the
Mayan writing, and over a thousand years of history, were destroyed in a matter
of months, and with them the key to the whole language. The irony of this story
was that the friar considered himself a scholar and attempted to copy some of
this language before he destroyed it by translating some sounds and words with
literate Maya at the time. It is Landa’s own notes that have allowed us to
decipher the Mayan code as his attempts at learning this language left us with
a working code-key as a base. Fate sure dealt that bastard a kick in the face.
But progress had been made slowly since the 1950’s when Yuri Knorosov
first proved that their writing represented a phonetic, syllabic system. The
many stories left on the more durable stone monuments found at the city sites
were, day by day, becoming more clear, but there was still a long way to go. It
was some of these known and unknown glyphs that the professor was presenting to
the class today.
“Excuse
me sir... but I think you got that wrong.”
Hume
seemed to be on auto-pilot as his voice continued for a few seconds after the
voice from the back of the room broke his train of thought. He didn’t stop
speaking, his voice trailed off like someone turning down the volume on a
radio. People stirred in the room, woken by the change in the flow of sound in
the room. It wasn’t as much the sound of someone else speaking that woke them,
it was the sudden absence of the professor’s droning that caused them to wake
in the same fashion someone can fall to sleep in front of a loud TV and only
wake up because someone else turns it off and the sound disappears. Whatever
the reason, the sound that had lulled the class to half-sleep (what felt like
hours ago) stopped, and the room became a flurry of soft noise as people
re-seated themselves in their chairs and turned to look at the person who had
disturbed the class (and their rest) and had dared to cross-examine Professor
Hume.
Sitting at the back of the room was
Aaron Reese . Aaron was one of the students in the class who was taking the
course out of an actual interest for history and the ancient past. His grades
in earlier pre-requisite courses were the best that the university, or
Professor Hume, had ever seen. Reese had always been a quite student, happy to
simply soak everything in and relate it back on an exam.
He sat there now, a little uncomfortable with the reaction his comment
precipitated from the room. He never really fit in with the other students that
now glared at him. Browner, teacher’s
pet, apple-bringer. He had been
called all of them at one time or another in his school career. He was old
enough now that his intelligence did not typically result in a beating from
fellow students as it had in grade school, but he still felt that familiar pang
of guilt for being... what?, Smarter than
everyone else? Nothing to be ashamed of, except that he knew that everyone
in the room would have been happy to listen and just write down whatever the
professor said and then regurgitate it later on a test. Aaron had rocked the boat and woken some of them
up because he thought he had found something wrong in the professor’s lecture.
This would not add to his popularity, but he found something so glaringly
obvious in the professor’s lecture that it was something he could not overlook.
“I beg your pardon Mr. Reese?” Hume’s voice was calm, and controlled.
Interrupting with an intelligent question was one thing, he was happy to teach
these kids, on his own terms, but to interrupt to tell him he was wrong! That didn’t happen very often.
Clearly upset that someone had broken his rhythm, Hume glared at Aaron. He knew
him to be a bright student, but he simply hated
disruptions in his class and his train of thought. As with most people, Hume’s
estimate of himself in the eyes of others was a bit amiss. He was aware of his
popularity and how the other kids found him “cool”, or at least not to far off
the cool scale to be rejected with the majority of the university staff. But he
always believed part of his popularity was due to the high level of interest
his students had in his lectures... after all, why take a class you weren’t
interested in? He believed himself to be a superior public speaker and no-one
had ever dared tell him otherwise. And
now this student had insulted him as he interrupted his class. Aaron had broken
Hume’s stride, and not just with a question, but to tell him he did something wrong! HIM, Professor Trevor Hume
PhD, Curator of no less than a dozen museum exhibits, who, thank you very much,
actually specialized in this particular subject for most of his adult life. He
had personally broken the code for dozens of glyphs in his studies with the
National Anthropological Institute in Mexico. He was named in many modern
text-books and had authored over 200 papers on the subject in most of the
peer-reviewed journals He was a God-dammed expert and here this little brown-noser was telling him he was wrong in front of his own class.
“I’m sorry sir,” Aaron began, “But we’ve been looking at these for a
couple of days now and I think you told us the wrong translation of this one.”
Several glyphs were being presented and discussed at the moment as
examples of the portion of the language that modern science actually
understood, since the majority of their language was as yet not translated.
They had been discussing some of the known symbols and standard formatting that
ran through the Mayan language regardless of what city they originated from.
Archeologists have been able to determine that regardless of the city, or the
period where the glyphs originated, they were all of the same “language”. This
language, called Chorti, seemed to be
a language used by the elite class to tell the stories of the rulers in stone.
It was elite in the same way that rich and educated Europeans would use Latin
in their communications. Sure made things easier for the archeologists than
having a dozen different cities use a dozen different languages. These glyphs
were on the top of the screen at the moment, photocopied onto a clear plastic
transparency for projection with the overhead projector. Italic sub-titles were
under each glyph showing their English meaning. At least the glyphs at the top had sub-titles under them, the ones
at the bottom did not seem to be translated at the time the book was published.
There was a glyph in the upper left corner with a title indicating it as
representing the number “four”, followed by a glyph that indicated a “gift” or
“giving”. Professor Hume had just indicated that this particular arrangement of
glyphs indicated that four gifts had been given to a man, likely a king
according to a partially visible third glyph, who’s name they could not discern
but they concluded it was a king due its position and the known glyphs that
preceded it.
“O.K. Mr. Reese. Why do you say I’m wrong? If you review your notes,
you will see that this configuration has a specific context. In this case it is
a gift of four items being made to a king upon his ascension. You have a
problem with this translation?” He was quite irritated now and wanted to get
back to his lecture before the class lost interest.
“Well sir.” Aaron began nervously, “In this case, does it not mean that
the objects are being offered rather
than given?”
“What do you mean? If something is ‘given’ as a gift it has to be ‘offered’ correct?”
“Yes sir”. Aaron briefly considered shutting up and just
letting the lecture proceed, but he realized a better way to explain what he
meant. “...but I mean, in this case it
looks like the gifts were not gifts, but were actually something that the
producer of the glyphs sold or traded.”
Professor Hume was beside himself, but managed to contain his anger. They are just children he thought. They rely on me to teach them what it is
they are doing wrong. He addressed Aaron as he might have spoken to a small
child that asked how airplanes flew or why brown cows don’t give chocolate
milk.
“There is no indication here that the objects are anything other than a
gift. Why you seem to think that they are referring to something being sold and
not given is a mystery to me. Now... if I may proceed.” He turned his back to
Aaron and began to walk back to the projector. His meaning had been clear. Case closed.
“But sir, there are glyphs there that show several items are being
offered, but for trade. Not as gifts.”
Professor Hume had clearly had enough. There were only four glyphs on
the screen at the moment that anybody other than himself or another
archeologist could understand and to him they clearly indicated an object was
being presented as a gift. Certain glyph collections he could now read as fast
as if he were reading English. He usually did not resort to humiliation as a
teaching tactic, but this little snot had asked for it. There were only ten
minutes left in his lecture and there was no way he could re-capture this
audience in that time period. He may as well make the offending student pay for
costing him the spectacular conclusion he had been leading up to with the first
hour of his lecture.
“OK, Mr. Reese, please come up here and point out the glyphs you are
referring to and let me know your interpretation of each.” This should be good.
There were only four glyphs Aaron could possibly recognize, He would simply ask
him to translate one from the lower portion of the screen. Aaron would be
stumped, his momentum lost, he would skulk back to his seat and Hume would
regain control.
Aaron was a little nervous, he didn’t particularly like being in front
of a classroom full of people that he knew either disliked him or were totally
oblivious to his existence (and he didn’t know which was worse) but he was
somewhat confused that given everything the professor was supposed to know
about these glyphs, he was telling the class the wrong thing. But he thought he
had it figured out.
Maybe it was a test. Yeah.. that was it. Just as if this were a math
class and the teacher had put “1 + 1 = 5”
on the board, Professor Hume was testing the class to see if anybody had been
paying attention and would point out the glaring mistake. Aaron was always one
to go for the “bonus” questions offered on exams and he decided to proceed with
this one. Confident that this was a test by his professor that he was
determined to pass, he found new confidence and began to speak as if he were
teaching the class himself. He grabbed the laser pointer offered by Hume as he
walked past his professor on the way to the front of the class.
“These glyphs here represent the objects, they appears to be a
combination of chocolate, jade, rubber and livestock, but it’s a little hard to
tell because of the erosion on the wall where the glyphs came from.” Aaron
circled a section of the paper sometimes called the “context area” that was a
section of blurred lines meant to show that there was originally more to be
found than what was shown on the screen but that it had been lost to erosion.
“The ‘four’ glyph... here” He pointed again “refers to the four groups of
objects. But the glyph that tells us this is a trade is right ... here” And
with that Aaron pointed to a small sideways glyph near the end of the group
that looked like a stylized “F” with some dots in it. This is the glyph that
means ‘Un’k” which I think means
trade or exchange or something like that”. “The royalty reference is correct,
but only because it’s a king who’s offering these things for trade. The king’s
name...here...” He pointed to one of the glyphs on the lower portion of the
page, “reads as ‘Shield-Fire-Jaguar’, and the main reason we can tell this is a
trade is because of the other listings... here ...” He again swept the pointer
to circle a group of glyphs near the bottom of the page, “...is the rest of the
list. It’s almost like a shopping list of several items offered for trade.
Different livestock, flint, corn, quetzal feathers... that type of thing... it
looks like the king either needed some items to re-stock his coffers, or he had
an excess of something else and wanted to get more of what he needed. It’s hard
to tell because the picture here only shows part of the whole wall. Kind of
like trying to guess the story in a book by looking at a single page.” With
that Aaron turned off the laser pointer and placed in on Hume’s desk as he
returned to his seat.
Hume was silent. He was taken by surprise and did not know how to
react. He stood with his arms half crossed pondering the brightly lit screen in
front of him as his right hand slowly stroked his short cropped beard. He was
past worrying about his image from appearing to be corrected by a mere student,
he actually wanted to hear more of what Aaron had to say. He finally managed to
stammer out:
“A king wouldn’t need to ‘advertise’ or request the things he needs
would he? He’d just take what he needed, or are we wrong about that as well Mr.
Reese?” Hume already knew the answer to that but wanted to see if Aaron knew
why.
“No...” Began Aaron. The professor was really milking him for this test
but Aaron was up to the task. “..But we do know that as powerful as kings were,
they were not ‘all powerful’ all the time. They couldn’t just take things they
wanted at certain times in their history without causing an uprising. Imagine a
king today just taking a huge supply of food from his subjects who were
starving without giving anything back. There’d be a revolution! No different
back then. The long count date... indicated here” He pointed again with the
pointer to a group of glyphs that represented the date, “indicates this trade was conducted near the
end of the terminal classic period, not the greatest time in their history and
it wasn’t uncommon for the people to overthrow nasty kings. This king needed
more of what he didn’t have and was offering what he had in excess. He
obviously thought it was important enough to have his stone-workers record it
in stone. Maybe it was the beginning of a dowry or something, its kind of hard
to tell without having the whole inscription to look at. This is probably even
more likely to be a record made after the
fact of a trade the king set up that saved the city or something”.
Hume’s stunned silence was cut mercifully short by the
electronic shrill of the alarm that signaled the end of the period. Students
began filing out into the corridor glad that the day was over. The rest of the
students didn’t care either way what was going on between Reese and Hume. They
couldn’t make out the glyphs without a pre-printed legend so Reese must have
been trying to show off. Stupid brown
noser.
“...You can go.” Hume managed to get out by the time most of the class
was already out the door. Aaron among them, almost skipping with pride at
having just aced a test. Hume didn’t
hear students saying goodbye. He was focused on the overhead projection.
He finally blinked his dry eyes and rubbed them with the palm of his
hands. He picked up the phone and dialed a number and waited until he knew he
recognized the voice at the other end.
“We may have a solution to our problem.”
Chapter 2
Hume locked the door to his lecture
hall from the inside. No class needed it this time of the afternoon. He had
made his call and spoke briefly with the voice on the other end of the line,
now he had a few more things to look into. He returned to his desk and pulled
out several reference texts to the Mayan glyphs and the translations that had
been done to date and laid them on top of his desk. He had received a bulletin
just a few weeks ago from the research group he belonged to and laid this next
to the pile of textbooks. Several specialists like himself, did the constant
field work needed to locate new glyphs and translate them. As with any
translation, the process was a long and impatient one for the researchers. They
knew that even a small breakthrough tended to cascade into the knowledge they already
possessed. Solving a glyph code, even a small one, put all of the other known
translations into greater context, made them more accurate, and improved their
overall understanding of the language and the people. But it was a slow, and
expensive process.
A large portion of his salary had gone towards financing his own small
research group for the past three years, along with sponsorships and grants
from various companies and corporations. Some of whom had a genuine interest in
sponsoring academic pursuits for their own reasons, while the larger donations
came from those who ultimately hoped to profit from his research. He pulled a
letter from his pocket he received today from LanceCorp who were making a bid
to become the sole sponsor of his group and their expeditions. A very serious
bid. The tone of the letter was unsettling, but it was an offer he doubted he
could refuse LanceCorp was best known as
a pharmaceutical company. Known for helping the people of the world with
wonderful drugs that made them happier and healthier and products that made
them smell nicer and made their lives easier. It did not take Hume long for his
contacts to discover that the parent company of LanceCorp was remotely linked
to a company in Central America that specialized in weapons manufacturing for
the highest bidder. The link was faint, and not everyone would have been able
to track it as his “friends” had, but it was there and it explained the letter.
Hume was not a foolish man, and a letter of this magnitude inspired him to check
on the background of the source.
At one point in the past, Hume had begun his translation project with
the most noble of intentions. To add to the knowledge of the world and perhaps
earn himself enough recognition to allow him to obtain further funds to
continue his research in a field he truly enjoyed. Things had changed since
then. The world was now a harsher place (at least that’s what he told himself
when his conscience sent him a pang) and other groups were more than willing to
sabotage his digs to get results first. These days hitting the key for a
translation, or finding a lost tomb before another group could translate into
some big bucks in book rights, lectures and salary expectations. But the money
he thought he was working for was nothing compared to the money offered by
LanceCorp for the right to oversee his work. For all his connections he could
not find out why they wanted control. He would have to reply to their letter by
today as this was the deadline indicated in the letter.
But first thing’s first.
He pored over his notes with the overhead transparency in his hands.
Several thoughts ran through his mind as he reviewed the texts and the bulletin
he received from his research group in Mexico. The bulletin detailed how elated
the group was to have had a breakthrough in their translations. They had been
reviewing the un-translated portion of the same glyph set that Hume had
detailed for his class today and had been able to conclude that the name of the
king in the glyphs had been translated to “Shield-Fire-Jaguar.” This was done
by cross-referencing the glyph in question with similar glyphs from the
surrounding areas in Mexico and Central America. Proper names like “Fred” or
“Steve” had no direct translation or meaning and Mayan names were equally
difficult to interpret because they didn’t always represent something. A sign
can be a cigarette with a line through it and even foreign people know what it
means, but show them the name “Phil” and it can’t have meaning for them... they
would simply have to know that Phil was a name.
These days a lot of the comparisons were done by a computer that the
group had on site to speed up the process. The computer was expensive, and with
their combined skill at translating these glyphs it had taken them 6 months to
finally understand this once since the day it was uncovered. They had only made
that discovery two weeks ago and had not told another living sole. How had Aaron known the name of the king in
the translation? Why does he think it was a trade list rather than a list of
gifts as me and all me colleagues believe? Reese must be guessing on that
last part. He had done his pre-reading and was just trying to show off to gain
favor. There was no reasonable explanation for it. Had Aaron broken into Hume’s
desk and read the bulletin? That didn’t seem likely, besides, Hume always kept
his important papers locked up tight or on his person. Had someone leaked the
information and it found its way into the main stream media like a newspaper or
the Internet?? Neither seemed likely. Aaron was a skilled student but he was
not likely big on the break-and-enter scene, and certainly not for something as
mundane to the rest of the world as a glyph translation. He doubted that two
weeks was enough time for a leaked document in South America to have reached
your average university student. But with the Internet these days... it was
possible.
What disturbed Hume the most, was HOW Aaron had known so much about the
glyphs. The group was working on the whole wall and knew that the name of the
king was a particular glyph because of its location. They focused on that glyph
and were able to crack it in six months with the help of computers and a
network of friendly researchers in Central America. But the rest of the wall
was still unknown, and Aaron had known
what the wall said! At least... what HE thinks it means. And there was also
the question of the date Aaron had known. For all his expertise, Hume still had
to use a calculator to make sense of the Mayan long count. It was a more accurate
system than what we use today, but it involved a complex series of grouped
days. He knew the formula by heart. One Baktun meant 144,000 days, one Katun
meant 7,200 days, one Tun meant 360 days, one Uinal was 20 days and one Kin
translated into one day. The Maya listed a date with glyphs that represented a
sequence of numbers, like the one that appeared on the board today, as
10.0.4.15.6 Meaning 9 Baktun’s, 18 Katun’s, 17 Tun’s, 13 Uinal’s and 4 Kin. The
archeologist (or the computer) added the number of days together and counted
forward from the beginning of the Mayan calendar which was 3114 BC (Hume was
always amused that the Maya calendar had a start AND an expiration date!) and
it corresponds to a day on the calendar we recognize today. Today we know that
this date, with the formula used appropriately, translated into a day in the
modern year 834 AD. Aaron had glanced at the glyphs on the wall and known they
occurred at the end of the classic period, a term coined by archeologists to
show the period that the Maya began to lose their political and military power.
How was Aaron able to read this date so quickly? There was only two real
possibilities. One possibility was that Aaron was a young man with a fanatic
interest in the Maya, who knew that the majority of the wall was un-translated.
He had simply guessed at the meaning of the wall hoping that Hume didn’t know
enough to contradict him. The other possibility was the reason why Hume had
made the phone call. Option one just didn’t stand up. Even if Aaron was
guessing at the meaning of the wall, how had he been able to get the name of
the king and the date correct? That could not have been co-incidence. Or could
it?
Hume was well familiar with a woman in North Carolina who, during a
Mayan glyph workshop held by the local university, had successfully deciphered
a glyph that had eluded Archeologists for years. This woman had had nothing but
the two day basic course and the list of known glyphs and syllables and she had
broken one code. The instructor was quite embarrassed, but Hume had heard of
similar oddities. Fresh minds, fresh perspectives. Maybe the same had happened
with Aaron today? His gut told him no, and Hume’s gut was something he listened
to when it piped up. What Aaron knew was too specific, and nothing from any
pre-recorded texts.
Hume quickly typed a message on his computer, encrypted it and e-mailed
it off to his team in the Yucatan. His question appeared simple. He told them
Aaron’s version of the wall and asked them to use the computer on site to see
if the translation “fit”. He would have to wait a while for the reply.
In the meantime, he placed a call with the main office of the
University. He had no idea how to contact Aaron outside of school, but the
guidance office could add a note to Aaron’s schedule asking him to meet with
Hume the next day. He wanted to have a little talk with Mr. Reese.
* * * * * * * * *
Aaron Reese concluded the remainder of his courses for the day and
headed home to his small one-bedroom apartment for some dinner. Once he had
left Professor Hume’s class the incident was soon forgotten. He did wonder
briefly if he passed whatever test the Professor had in mind for him, but as
nothing was said after class he assumed all went well and forgot about it.
Aaron often wondered what all the fuss was about when it came to school. He
knew, or at least he thought, that he was intelligent and his test scores
seemed to reflect that. He rarely had any problem with any of his courses, and
he knew he had a gift for languages. He couldn’t speak many of them, being
limited to the smattering of French and Spanish he had picked up from School or
in his general day to day dealings with other people. But his comprehension of
written or spoken languages was something he knew he was good at and when he
made fun of other languages people told him he did the accents great!. He never
really wondered why... there are many people in the world who read AND could
write many more languages than Aaron could understand... People rarely wonder
why they are able to do something and others aren’t. He chalked it up to simply
having more natural skill when it came to understanding languages than the
average person... and left it at that. No one, least of all meek little Aaron
Reese suspected the truth that was soon going to become clear.
Aaron jumped into his nine year old car (with only a touch of rust on
the door frames) and cranked the stereo as he headed for home. AC/DC was
wailing “Back in Black” as he drove the twenty minutes to his apartment. He
thought about smiling and waving at some of the cute girls that walked home
from the campus after courses. Maybe even asking one if they wanted a ride. He
usually thought about doing this, and came to the same decision he did every
time his mind took him down this road. He made himself happy by simply looking
at the girls as they walked and decided not to risk one of them flipping him the bird in response to one
of his feeble waves, as had been known to happen. He parked in the upstairs
visitor parking, knowing it to be uncrowded this time of day, and took the
elevator to his apartment on the 12th floor.
His apartment was small, but as his immediate family consisted of just
him and his cats (four of them in all) there was enough room for everyone to
live comfortably. He dropped on the couch and was about to turn on the TV for
some mindless entertainment when he noticed the “Message Waiting” light on his
phone was blinking. He had no idea who would be trying to contact him as he
typically didn’t get many calls at home as most of his friends used e-mail for
their discussions. He dialed in his codes and a voice identified itself as Mrs.
Aubery from the Campus guidance office. She spoke matter-of-factly as if she
had hundreds of such calls to make today and could not take the time to make
the message sound pleasant. She simply informed him that he was excused from
his morning classes tomorrow as he was scheduled to meet with Professor Hume in
Lecture Hall 4 at 10 AM. There was no number to call in case he couldn’t make
it, and no reason given for the meeting. He was simply expected to be there
when he was told. He would of course. He had always had an annoying need to conform to authority and even a
guidance counselor he had never met was someone he would listen to.
His jaw clenched as he realized the reason that must lie behind the
meeting. He had pissed off Hume this afternoon – had actually gotten the glyph
thing wrong- and now he was going to
get yelled at for disturbing the class. His jaw un-clenched as he then realized
that the Professor was never reluctant to chew out a deserving student in the
middle of a class so perhaps the meeting was good news. He was being picked for
some new project because he had passed the professors test. Well.. that too
could have been discussed during class. He didn’t know whether to clench or
un-clench his jaw regarding the meeting so decided to not worry about it until
tomorrow. He was usually pretty good about not letting things bother him that
he couldn’t do anything about. He had good grades, had not really done anything
that wrong other than ask a question to the professor. He guessed the meeting
was related to today’s class and would leave it at that.
Chapter 3
Aaron was grateful for the sleep in that this mornings meeting allowed
him. Without it, he would have had to be at his first class by 8:30 and would
have been awake hours ago. As it was he was able to stay up later than usual
playing Quake III with Steve Darby,
one of his friends since grade school who now lived in Australia. The Internet
was such a cool thing. Thankfully he didn’t have to worry about a job like a
lot of other students. His grandmother died six years ago and in her will she
left him enough money to live on as long as he spent some of his inheritance on
a higher education. Hey... for the two hundred grand she left him he knew that
he could spend a little on school and have more than enough left over for a
house, or a car, or a new computer anyway. But until he finished school the
money only came to him through a trustee in dribs and drabs.
He shaved, showered and drove to the University and was just about to
open the door and walk into Lecture Hall 4 when Professor Hume appeared from
nowhere and reached out to open the door for him.
“Morning Aaron. Hope I didn’t startle you.”
“Not too much.” Aaron answered. Hume appeared in good spirits so at
least a screaming session seemed out of the running.
They walked into the room and Aaron was a little put off by the silence
of it. He had been in this room hundreds of times in his years at the
University, but the room was always full of noisy students. Now all that could
be heard was the slight hiss of the cooling fan of the overhead projector that
Hume had obviously been in earlier to set up. He glanced at the screen to see a
single glyph, obviously Mayan, projected on it. Hume was looking at him and
smiling as he walked back after taking some papers out of the desk at the front
of the room. He motioned to Aaron to have a seat in the chair nearest the desk
while Hume sat on the corner of the desk itself.
“Thanks for coming Aaron. I hope your not missing an important class.”
“Naw... just physics. Mr. Skalics won’t miss me much. I’m doing pretty
good in his class.”
“Yes you are. In fact, you’re doing rather well in all of your classes
aren’t you?” Hume glanced down at the papers in his hand and Aaron realized it
was his grade transcripts. Why does he
have those?
“Yeah... I enjoy school and the classes I take are all
things I’m interested in, so I sure hope I’m doing well in them” He tried to
keep the conversation light but was a little worried at where the conversation
might lead. Did they think he was cheating? And why would they send Hume to ask
him that?
“It would save lots of time if all students only took what they liked in
school wouldn’t it? Rather than the types who take courses to either stretch
out the time before they have to get a job or because their parents make them
take a course.”
Aaron had no idea where this was leading. “Yeah... I guess it would.”
Hume put the transcripts down on the desk and laced his hands over his
crossed knees. “Why did you take archeology Aaron?”
There was no reason he could see to lie, so he told the truth; “I
really like the idea of ancient people that lived lives almost as advanced and complex
as our own.” He blurted this out. It really was the reason he loved these
courses so much. “At some point after University I’d like to go on a dig, find
some new cities or artifacts, maybe even teach it one day like you do.”
“And you seem to have a special interest in the Maya.” Hume knew this
from the previous courses that were on Aaron’s record. No less than four
earlier courses on archeology with two of them focusing on the early natives of
Central America. Hume also knew that Aaron had scored rather highly on those
final exams.
“Well yeah. I like most archeology. Egyptian is also a field I might
specialize in. Its just so much older than the Mayan society, by about three
thousand years, that a lot of the information is lost. At least the Maya were
recent enough that a lot of the records still exist. We just have to learn how
to read them.”
Hume smiled at this and added “And how to find them.” An odd smile that
Aaron wondered what it meant but was still a little afraid to ask.
“What do you mean about the societies being as advanced as our own?”
Hume pressed with a little too much interest. Aaron thought Hume knew the
answer to that one and that this was just another test. But why?
“Well..” Began Aaron... again more than willing to rise to the challenge.
“A thousand years ago, the Maya built a pyramid called El Castillo in Chichén
Itzá. This pyramid was an architectural masterpiece that combined all of their
beliefs in a single structure. Their worship of the stars and the cosmos, their
calendar, their religion everything was integrated into this building. But the
coolest thing was the shadows the pyramid cast through the year. Each year, we
know we have two equinoxes, where day and night are the same length. About
three months of either side of the equinoxes we have the solstices, the winter
solstice on December 21st when we have the longest night of the
year, and the summer solstice on June 21st when the night is the
shortest and we have the longest daylight of the year. El Castillo is oriented
in such a way that on each of these dates it casts specific shadows related to
Mayan astronomy that it doesn’t cast at any other time of the year.”
Aaron was sure the professor knew all of this. It was available in any
textbook or website dedicated to the study. Aaron continued:
“Two years ago, in Professor Trant’s class, he set an assignment for
two of the top students in the class. He asked them in March to reconstruct a
working model of that pyramid. They could use any tools they wanted to make the
model, but they had to have it operational by April 6th which was
the date that the actual building in Mexico casts the most shadows. He thought
it would be an interesting project for the class to study the movements of the
sun and all that. But they couldn’t do it.”
“Why not?” Hume asked though he was familiar with this story.
“They had drawings, calculators, one of them even made up a computer
program to help them plot the positions of the sun and where the pyramid should
sit to cast the right shadow, and they couldn’t get it to work. Professor Trant
ended up changing the assignment because he didn’t know how difficult it would
be, but the point was made. I’m sure there are mathematicians around somewhere
that could build it correctly, but I couldn’t help but conclude that if
intelligent students at a university, with access to all our data on the
movements of the sun, textbooks, telescopes, calculators and computers couldn’t
make it work, then how could ‘ancient’ people a thousand years ago with none of
our ‘technology’ make it work as accurate as it does? Even their calendar is
more accurate than the one we use. They took leap years into account each year
rather than once every four years like we do. Our calendar was adopted because
it was easier to understand, yet these stone-age people used a calendar that we
couldn’t understand. They seemed remarkably advanced considering their status
as ‘ancient.’”
Hume knew exactly what Aaron was talking about, and shared the boys
admiration for those ancient people. Wasn’t that why he had started in this
field so many years ago, before it became a business?
“You’ve obviously done your homework.” He quipped. He was impressed
with the level of the boys knowledge and interest in the subject.
“Yeah... I built a website where
I track most of what I’m able to learn about it all. I’ll be going down for my
first visit to the area later this year when school lets out for a while. I’d
like to get some picture of the place that I took rather than just looking at
someone else’s pictures.”
I understand” responded Hume as he stood and walked over to the
overhead projector.
Aaron followed his movements and turned in his chair to see what was
happening next. He didn’t think this meeting was anything to worry about
anymore, he enjoyed talking about what he knew, but he was getting more curious
by the minute. Hume adjusted the transparency and walked towards the screen
where the single glyph was still waiting patiently. The upper portion of the
professor’s body was now bathed in the white light from the projector, with the
glyph projected across his chest and face.
“How much ‘homework’ have you done regarding the Mayan writing system?”
He asked plainly.
“You mean the glyphs? None really. I’ve seen lots of them in the
textbooks and drawings of the stelae found at the sites, but I haven’t gotten
around to actually studying them yet. Other than in your class. Why”
“In class yesterday, you read the glyphs that were on the screen and
corrected me on their meaning, right?”
“Yeah... I thought you were testing us or something. Putting up
something that was wrong to see if anyone would catch it.” Voicing it like
this, it now seemed like the dumbest idea he had ever had.
Hume smiled again. He seemed to do that a lot lately. “Well... If it
was a test, you passed it with flying colors. How did you know what the glyphs
actually meant?”
“I don’t know exactly, I must have read the translations somewhere.
Weren’t there translations on the screen? The ones they put under the pictures
of the glyphs in italics, I guess I remembered what they meant.”
“Right. That must be it.” Hume answered. He was convinced Aaron was
telling the truth and that made things even more interesting. “Do me a favor
Aaron. See this glyph on the screen? Have you ever seen it before?”
I don’t know... I might have. They all kind of look alike after a
while. Why?”
“Can you tell me what it means?”
Aaron looked again at the glyph. Hume noticed that though Aaron had
looked at the glyph at least a half dozen times while he had been in the room,
he was now looking at it as though he had not seen it before this moment. His
head tilted just a little off to the side and his eyes squinting slightly as he
concentrated on what he was looking at. He looked like someone concentrating as
they might do when calculating the tax on a dinner bill. After a few quiet
moments where Hume was afraid to interrupt, Aaron spoke:
“Witz right? The Mayan word
for mountain?”
Hume adopted an odd posture following Aaron’s answer. He clicked off
the overhead projector, folded his hands behind his back and paced up the
center of the classroom with his head down, deep in thought. His hand again
stroking his beard. He reached the back wall and just stopped with his head
down and his brow furrowed in deep concentration on what to do next.
Aaron wasn’t sure if he got it right, or if he had disappointed Hume by
getting it wrong. Aaron was aware of plenty of cases where students were taken
out of the regular curriculum to help professors with important projects. He
was now convinced that this was what Hume had in mind for him today, but was
now afraid that he had blown it with a wrong answer. He thought the glyph meant
“mountain”, that’s what he remembered it meant from when he last read it. When
had he last read it? He couldn’t recall. Maybe even as early as the day before
in Hume’s own class.
Hume walked back to the front of the room and turned his chair around
so it was facing Aaron directly. “How could you know that?” It was a simple
question, but the meaning behind it was clear. Hume was agitated. “How could
you know what it meant when nobody knows
what it means?”
Aaron was caught off guard. He couldn’t tell if he was in trouble or
not but something had excited the professor. “What do you mean? Your a
professor! You must know what it means if I do?”
“Remember when you interrupted my class yesterday? Correcting me on
what the wall meant? I made a call to some associates of mine in Mexico. I gave
them your translation for the wall Aaron. The wall that we’ve been working on
for the last eight months. That’s right. No
one knows what the whole wall means Aaron. We have a few pieces of the
puzzle, but no one had all the answers until yesterday. I told my associates
what you said was on the wall, and they plugged it into their computer. It fits
Aaron. I don’t know how you did it, but your translation fits with the other
glyphs on the wall, and on a similar wall found in the same city. Even if you
guessed what you told me yesterday, there is no way it would fit into the
context of the other carvings. We took some of the pieces you gave us yesterday
and applied them to other cities with similar carvings. So far, all of them are
making conceptual and logistical sense. Everywhere we plug them in, they’re
solving large portions of hieroglyphs that we didn’t know yesterday, but today
make sense.”
“That’s not possible.” Aaron insisted looking like someone just told
him he’d won the lottery and didn’t know whether to believe them or not. “I’ve
never understood glyphs. I’ve never even tried
to understand the glyphs I have seen. I’ve only glanced at them in
textbooks with the translation underneath them!”
“I wanted to rule out that you somehow got a look at some of our
earlier work Aaron. Sometimes even the most secure site can have security
breaches and the results of our hard work get stolen by those not as discerning
as ourselves as to where the answers come from. The glyph that was on the wall
when you walked in was the last glyph we translated. It was only confirmed last
week and I didn’t know about it myself until I called my colleagues in the
south after class yesterday and asked them to send me their progress report a
little ahead of schedule. That glyph was the most recently translated glyph in
the study of these writings. There is no way anyone could know what it meant
other than my associate in the south and I would trust him with my life.” He
moved his face to within a few inches of Aaron’s and repeated: “How did you
know what the glyph meant?”
Aaron was dumbfounded. He wondered if this was someone’s idea of a joke
but the look on Hume’s face answered that for him fairly quickly.
“I... I don’t know. That’s the truth. I’d never steal from you
professor, honest. I looked at the glyph and remembered what it said the last
time I saw it I guess?” It was an odd question. How did anyone “know” anything?
They either figured it out, or they remembered it from seeing it before. He
expressed these ideas meekly to the Professor.
Hume was patient. He didn’t want to scare Aaron... not yet anyway. “I’d
like you to look at another one Aaron. Only this time, please try and describe
to me how you know what it means, or
where you remember it from. Or... if your ‘figuring it out’ try and tell me
how. Ok?” Hume didn’t wait for an answer. He appeared much more agitated than
Aaron had ever seen him. Hume turned on the overhead and placed another
transparency on the lighted surface. Another lone Mayan glyph occupied most of
the white projection screen. “I know it’s confusing, but look at the glyph and
try and tell me if you know what it means, then how you know what it means. Describe what your process is.”
Aaron was nervous now and was starting to get a headache, unsure of
what was going on or what he should do about all this. He glanced at the glyph
on the screen and its meaning became clear at once. He didn’t even have to
squint this time. He looked at the Professor as he waited expectantly for Aaron
to tell him what he knew. It couldn’t hurt to tell the professor could it? He
is a teacher after all... just a little excited at the moment, but Aaron was
soon learning that he really did want to know how he knew something that maybe
he hadn’t seen before. He had a
memory. Something long past. Something... an argument? His father screaming at
him for something he couldn’t remember now. One of those foggy childhood
memories where context and detail are lost, but the emotion of the memory was
strong. He shook it off as irrelevant for the time being and looked directly at
Hume.
“That one means flower.” He turned again to the image. He frowned at it
and tilted his head slightly as if listening to some far off voice.
“No...actually... ‘Magic-flower’”.
“OK.” Hume prompted as he turned off the projector. The room was again
quiet with only the sound of the professor’s breathing. “Now... think about
it... how did you know?”
Aaron was still nervous and a little off guard. But he liked the
professor and he wanted to know what was going on himself.
“Its frustrating... how do you ‘know’ anything. It just seemed... I don’t know... familiar. When I read from a book I skim over the words I know
because my brain fills in the meaning of the word and where it goes in the
sentence. I read ‘The boy went to the store’ but I don’t picture a real boy or
any store in particular unless the story tries to go into more detail. They’re
just words that I know. If I hit a
word I don’t know I concentrate on it and sort of sound it out until I
recognize it. Break it into smaller parts that might make some sense. I might
not understand ‘cardiovasculitis’ right off the bat when I first see it, but I
can reason out that ‘cardio’ relates to the heart and ‘vasculitis’ means an
infection of some type, then I know what it means. It feels the same with these
glyphs. I have to think for a second or two, almost like I know the ‘parts’ of
the whole word and suddenly my brain
puts them together and it makes sense. It becomes ‘familiar’. That’s really the
only way I can think to explain it. That glyph is made up of two syllables. “Itz and “K’acn’ magic and flower...What’s going on here professor?”
Hume sympathized. It was not easy to explain to someone how you “know”
something... especially when it was something that technically, you weren’t
supposed to know in the first place. He smiled at Aaron, trying his best to
look like he had all the time in the world to help his pal Aaron figure out
what was going on. In reality he wanted to throttle the little punk for keeping
this to himself for so long.
“I may have an explanation for you Aaron. But one last picture if you
don’t mind.” Hume placed a final transparency on the glass surface and
hesitated before turning on the power. “Try not to even think about this one
Aaron. I’ll flip on the power for just a second. You keep looking at the screen
and you try and let me know what it means when you can. Ok?”.
He didn’t wait for an answer. He turned towards the empty screen and
waited for a few seconds until he thought Aaron would be looking where he told
him. He flicked on the power switch and stepped out of the way.
Aaron wasn’t sure what he was looking at right away. It took a moment
for his eyes to re-adjust in the dim lecture hall to the briefly flashed symbol
on the screen. It disappeared after about five seconds and Hume sat down in the
chair next to Aaron again.
“Well... what do you think?” He prompted.
“Witness.” Was all Aaron said. Then he thought for another second or
two and added: “Or ‘look’. I’m not sure which”. He was about to go into a
further analysis of how he knew what
it said as he wanted to make the Professor happy, and he was eager to learn
what was going on, but Hume wasn’t listening.
Hume stood up by the chair with a deep satisfied sigh and collected his
papers and transparencies. “Sorry to have taken you away from your classes this
morning Aaron. Thanks for coming by. I’ll definitely be in touch. There’s a…
special project I’m working on that you might be able to help me with.” He
added this last sentence after a short pause during which he obviously became
concerned that Aaron would simply walk out the door now that everything was
finished.
Aaron extended his hand for a brisk shake offered by the Professor, and
Hume was out the door to the hall before his hand dropped back to his side. Did
he get it right? Did he tell Hume what he wanted to hear? He had a nagging
feeling that he should know what was happening here. He wasn’t scared, he was
curious, but he felt like he had the answers and that he just couldn’t remember
them. Rather than stand alone in an empty lecture hall, Aaron collected his
books and headed off to what was left of his physics lab.
He figured the professor’s “explanation” would have to wait.
Chapter 4
Aaron was walking down a street that he hadn’t seen in over fifteen
years. Shops and people were vaguely familiar as he caught their eyes while
speeding down the street, having little choice in the direction he traveled as
he realized he was being directed by a huge giant. He looked at the hand of the
giant that was holding his as they walked, his feet almost scurrying to keep up
with the giant’s strides. Though huge, the hand that held his was soft and
carried a familiar fragrance. Some type of perfume that he hadn’t smelled since
the same time he last walked this street. He glanced up at the running giant to
see the face of his mother, her face concentrating on the street ahead as she
navigated her and her child through the morning rush of people who were also
late for work. Her arm urging him along as he was not able to walk as fast as
her.
It dawned on Aaron that he was dreaming. His mother had died (been killed) nearly fifteen years ago.
Not long after the moment his dream was now re-creating for him for that
matter. He realized he was walking down one of the last streets he would ever
see with his mother before she died (was
killed) and he tried to wake up before he realized he was not going to be
able to. Whatever was happening to him he had no choice but to see it out. And
in some small way, he didn’t want to wake up. He surprised himself with the
realization that he had not thought of the specifics of this day since the day
itself actually happened fifteen years before, and he was overcome with a
desire to see it all unfold again. He was surprised at the level of detail he
was seeing. He didn’t know if it was accurate, or if he remembered only the key
events and locations of the day and his mind filled in the rest with whatever
happened to be floating around his sub-conscious at the time.
His mother looked down and smiled at him. She slowed down a few steps
when she realized she was walking faster than he was able to comfortable
handle. He remembered that he loved his mother very much for the short time he
was able to spend with her, but found that he couldn’t cry as it was not part
of the day he was re-living. On this day he was happy. It was a sunny fall day
when it was not too hot and not too cold. He was off school for the afternoon
because his teacher was sick for the day and his mother didn’t approve of
substitute teachers. It was her opinion that a substitute was always out of
synch with the rest of the class. The simple act of role-call to an unfamiliar
teacher could take up most of a class and they could never control students
that they would not be around later in the week to see through their threats of
discipline. She simply felt a school day with a substitute teacher was a waste
of time, and whenever she received a call from the school advising her that
there would be a change in the teacher for that day (as she insisted the school
call her to inform her) she would keep Aaron at home and have him help with
chores and errands rather than have him waste the day with a sub. It was an
opinion Aaron carried with him to this day, if he walked into a class and it
was a substitute teacher, he usually turned right around and went to the
library to study for the period, and before this dream he had no idea where
that practice had come from. But it had come from his mother.
He and his mom were on their way downtown to meet his father, known to
his mom as she called through the house as “Bill”. Bill had forgotten his lunch
when he left for the shop this morning and had insisted that his mother bring
it down to him so it would be fresh for lunch. Aaron remembered things about
his dad as the dream unfolded. Like the street itself and the memories of his
mom, he hadn’t thought about his dad much in the last fifteen years either. He
still couldn’t bring himself to cry, but as the thoughts of his father began to
surface he became worried. He could only guess that that was because he was
also worried on this day fifteen years ago as his mom sped up to her former
pace, and Aaron realized why. There was just no way she was going to make it to
her husbands work in time for the start of his lunch hour, and dad was not
someone who he or his mother ever disappointed if they could help it.
Bill Reese was a large man. Not so much muscular, as he was tall and
“well built” as some of his friends described him. He was roughly six foot
tall, and his weight of 220 pounds was packed solidly on his frame. He worked
in an auto shop owned by Sam Marcus, a local hero of sorts that tried as best
he could to help friends and those down on their luck find work. Bill Reese had
started working for Sam nine years ago when he came down from a weekend long
drinking binge to find himself in a jail cell with a simple choice put to him
by the judge. Either he agree to work for Sam Marcus for a period of one year,
or the judge would throw him in jail for the vandalism he performed, while
drunk, to eleven new cars in a lot near the center of town. His salary would be
garnished for the year to pay for the damage he caused to the cars, and he
would not be left with much to live on (or
to drink on reasoned the judge) but it was better than three-to-five in
jail. Ever the type of man to look after his own best interests, Bill agreed to
the working sentence imposed by the judge, and Sam Marcus’ Local Auto Repair
had itself a new employee for one year along with the existing ex-cons and
delinquent youths Sam Marcus had currently on the payroll.
Nine years later, Bill was still working for Sam. He hadn’t advanced
much in that time, not really being qualified for anything other than general
labor and doing some general clean up and fixing duties around the place. Sam
took pity on Bill and let him stay on after his sentence was up. It was a
steady job, enough pay to live off, once the garnishing had ended, and in that
nine years he had met, fell in love with, and impregnated Susan Horrowitz,
though not necessarily in that order.
Aaron felt his mom slow down all of a sudden and realized why when he
followed her eyes. Sitting on the curb outside the Local Auto Repair was his
dad, looking not very pleased at having wasted an entire twelve minutes of his
lunch hour waiting for his sandwich and yogurt to make it fresh from home. He
stood up to meet her as she got closer.
If he thought his mom was a giant in this dream, his dad was enormous.
His scowling face was a good foot above his mothers as he glared down at her,
daring her to speak first as he knew she wouldn’t.
“Where the hell were you?” was the first thing he said, not even
glancing down to greet his son, and Aaron felt (remembered) his good mood slip away like his mothers hand did from
his as she reached across to hand Bill his lunch. As it did most times, all it
took was the tone of his fathers voice to instill fear in the rest of his
family.
“I’m sorry Bill...” She began. Aaron knew his mom was scared of his
dad, but his mom always seemed to be able to hide it pretty well. “I was held
up at the drug store getting the prescription filled for Aaron’s ear
infection”.
Now his dad’s glance aimed even further down to meet his son’s eyes,
but the scowl on his face didn’t change. Up until this moment in the dream
Aaron had never considered that Bill Reese had married out of a misplaced
notion of gallantry towards Aaron’s mother when he got her pregnant. My fault? He looked back up to his mom
as Bill snatched the paper bag from her hand that she was able to keep from
trembling. Bill decided that whatever lesson he had to impart on his wife had
been completed, and the scowl slowly melted away as he took the first bite of
the sandwich.
“I need a drink to wash this down”. Was all he offered as he headed
away from the sidewalk toward the small row of stores nearby.
His mother looked down at Aaron and gave him a warm smile as she
squeezed his hand. “It’s all right honey...” She whispered. “Daddy’s just a
little over-tired today”. Dad seemed to be over-tired a LOT lately. And she
smiled at her son to comfort him and let him know that everything was OK. Aaron
knew it wasn't... but he didn’t have the heart to look into his mothers face
and tell her that. Besides, his mothers smile did make him feel a little
better.
Susan Reese smiled at her son as she rested her hand softly on his
shoulder. Aaron couldn’t bare to look at his mother’s face in the dream, but he
had no choice as it was what he had done at that moment fifteen years ago. It
was the last time he ever saw his mother smile.
They walked after Bill as he walked into a variety store. Next to the
Local Auto Repair was a small convenience store run by a very nice man with the
unfortunate luck of being named “Ping” in a time where he would have to deal
with the narrow minds of the bigots, racists and Bill Reeses’ of the world of
fifteen years ago.
“Hey there Ping!” Remarked
Bill as he walked by the front counter where the small Chinese man was sitting
on a stool. Bill spoke the man’s name in a fast high pitched voice, doing his
best to make it sound like a bullet as it ricochets off a wall. Susan pressed
her lips together in a tight grimace as her eyes met Ping’s. I’m sorry was what she tried to get
across, hoping Mr. Ping could read the shame in her face on behalf of her
husband. He smiled back, telling Susan that he knew not all people thought like
Bill Reese. In truth, Mr. Ping didn’t know half of the things Bill Reese said
to him, as he was not very good with English yet, and relied on his wife for
most of the translations.
Aaron missed all this when he lived through this the first time, but
his dream-self caught everything and filled in the blanks from what he learned
in the days that followed. At the time, his attention was caught by the
commotion at the far end of the service counter. His dad wouldn’t be back for a
few minutes as he was all the way at the back of the store. His dad always took
his time looking for what he wanted to drink like it was a major decision, and
invariably came back with a Coke.
A small boy about the same age as Aaron was playing with a strange
board game that Aaron had not seen before. It was an odd collection of colorful
cards, a playing board with several different colored squares on it, some
wooden colored board pieces and a pair of dice. Now that Bill Reese had passed
by, Mr. Ping resumed his discussion with this boy, who turned out (would turn out) to be Ping’s grandson.
Aaron listened in as Mr. Ping told his grandson how to play the game.
“It’s very simple . You roll
the dice...” He
rolled the dice to demonstrate and a total of six appeared. “And you move your piece the number of places the dice says. If you
land on a colored square, you have to read the card of the same color and do
whatever it says to do”. Ping picked up a yellow card and read it for his
grandson. “Go back three places”. He
announced and moved the wooden figure back three places. “The player who gets to the end of the board first, wins!” Saying
this, he made a great showing of picking up the wooden figure and placing it on
the winning square. Both Mr. Ping and
his grandson smiled and clapped at this mock victory and Aaron smiled and
clapped his hands as well.
Susan was watching her son through all of this as he appeared to be
listening to the conversation between Mr. Ping and the boy. She was always
happy to see Aaron smile, and she watched as he smiled and clapped at the same
time Mr. Ping and the boy did when he moved one of the board pieces to the end
of the board, which made her curious. She had met Mr. Ping and his wife several
times in the past when her husband was not around, and she knew that Mr. Ping
spoke Mandarin Chinese and little else. He appeared to be speaking to this
small boy in Chinese (she hadn’t the
faintest idea if it was Mandarin or not), and wondered why Aaron looked
like he was following what they were saying. That couldn’t be it, she told
herself. He must be just curious of the language they were speaking as she was.
A truly fascinating collection of harsh syllables with softer sounds mixed in,
so unlike English or any other language she had ever heard. She had read once
that Mandarin Chinese was the hardest language to learn for anyone other than
those that were brought up with it as their mother tongue. She watched Aaron as
she listened to the tone Mr. Ping adopted as he spoke to the boy. When Mr. Ping
sounded deliberate and slow, Aaron appeared to concentrate more on the
conversation. When Mr. Ping said something that must have been funny, she could
have sworn that Aaron began laughing at the same time the boy did. Was he just
listening to the “funny” sounds Mr. Ping made? He was listening. No... more
than that, he was understanding what Mr.
Ping was saying in Mandarin Chinese!
In his dreaming world, Aaron heard this realization from
his mother. He didn’t quite register it as fact yet, after all this was a
dream, but he would remember later and understand that it did explain a whole
hell of a lot.
There had to be another explanation, thought Susan. She was over-tired,
whatever the reason there must be something wrong with her to think that her
son was standing there listening and understanding as a man spoke in Chinese, a
language she doubted her son had heard before in his life other than in this
store. Susan Reese was about to perform that wonderful trick that all people
are prone to do at one time or another. She was going to convince herself she
was imagining things, and was about to forget the whole thing and find Bill and
get them out of here. Had she been able to do that, it might have saved her
life. As it was, Mr. Ping realized she was preparing to head towards the
counter to pay and he quickly stood up to serve his customer.
In the process of standing, Mr. Ping knocked over a glass of water he
had given to his grandson. He spoke a curse in Chinese that made his grandson (and Aaron, Susan noticed) giggle and
turn a little red at the same time in embarrassment. Water from the glass was
beginning to run towards the end of the counter and was inches away from
dropping onto the stack of daily papers on the floor beneath. Mr. Ping did what
many people do when forced to react quickly.
“Quick…. hand me that can of
rags..” Mr.
Ping asked Aaron who was closest to the shelves behind the counter. In his
panic, not realizing how he had asked, Mr. Ping had spoken to Aaron in classic
Mandarin Chinese. Aaron, eager to please, quickly reached behind where he was
standing and handed Mr. Ping a large tin can. As he handed it to him, Aaron
flipped the lid off to reveal the rags inside. Mr. Ping thanked Aaron as he
whipped a rag from the can and managed to soak up the water before it could
ruin the papers. Continuing to curse silently as he did so.
Susan was dumbfounded. Aaron had only been in this store a few times,
and every time with her. She knew from the way things had happened that Mr.
Ping had asked Aaron to hand him the can with the rags in it.
There’s no way Aaron could have known that clean
rags were in a closed can that he had never seen before. He laughed before the
boy laughed, and was listening to Mr. Ping speak to the boy about the game.
How? Well, there was an easy way to find out wasn’t there?.
She pulled Aaron around to face her and tried to keep her voice calm.
“Aaron, why did you hand that man the can with the rags?”
“He asked me to. Why?” Susan could tell by her son’s face that he truly
had no idea what he had just been doing or that he had heard anything other
than English.
Well dear, you were just
listening to a language that takes University professors years to learn, and
you’ve never even heard it before that’s all. “Aaron. This is very
important to Mommy Ok. Where did you learn to speak Chinese? Where did you
learn to speak the same language as Mr. Ping??” The words sounded ridiculous as
she heard herself speak them.
Aaron began to laugh. He thought his mom was playing a game. “I can’t
speak Chinese mom, don’t be silly!” He was about to laugh himself but the look
on his mothers face stopped the sound in his throat.
“Aaron, I mean it all right. Do you have a friend at school that taught
you some words? Have you been in to Mr. Pings store when I’m not around? You’re
not in trouble dear, I just need to know how you know what Mr. Ping asked you?”
“What do you mean Ma? He just asked me, and you always say we have to
be polite and listen to grownups when they speak to me. Why?”
She was about to answer her son when she felt a heavy hand on her
shoulder. At first it was almost re-assuring, but the grip on the hand
tightened on her shoulder until it was hard enough to force a weak cry from
her. She stood up from where she was stooped to speak to her son, which wasn’t
difficult as the hand was lifting her as it squeezed. To no surprise she was
forced to turn and came face to face with Bill Reese, back from the store’s
fridge with an unopened bottle of Coke in his right hand. She didn’t know how
long he had been standing there, but the look on his face told her it was long
enough for him to decide he didn’t like what he saw.
“What the fuck’s going on?” He demanded with the familiar scowl
returning to his face. Susan long ago learned that Bill didn’t care if he swore
in front of Aaron, but she still hated to hear it.
“Nothing.” Was all she could answer. She wasn’t lying after all… what was going on? “Mr. Ping spilled a glass
of water and Aaron was helping him clean it up.” Which was, in fact, the truth.
“I was standing right here you dumb bitch. I saw how you looked at the chink when he spoke to the kid.” Not “my son” or “Aaron” but “The Kid.”. “I
heard him speak to him in that fuckin’ chink
language and Aaron jumped right to it like he understood it. And I heard you
askin’ him… so don’t tell me there’s nothing going on here…”
The dreaming Aaron knew what was about to unfold and tried his best to
wake up. OK, OK I remember now OK,
there’s no need to make me see it again because I remember, now let me WAKE UP
WAKE UP WAKE UP! But whatever switch in his sub-conscious had been thrown
to make him see this tonight, it was determined to make him see it through to
the end.
He watched as his father picked up his younger self by the arm, forcing
him to cry out. Bill pulled his son closer to his own face and grabbed him by
one shoulder with his strong hand, and squeezed as he spoke. The other hand
still holding the cold Coke bottle. The waking Aaron would later recall that
with everything that was going on, he couldn’t help but marvel at the detail of
this dream as he remembered seeing a drop of condensation fall to the floor
from the cool bottle.
“Let the chink clean up his own fuckin’ mess.” This was for the benefit
of Mr. Ping who stood there watching what was unfolding and hadn’t a clue what
Bill had just said. He may not speak English, but anhyone with eyes could see
the way that this man treated his family. An asshole is an asshole... even in
Mandarin Chinese.
“How did you know what he said
to you?” Bill asked of his son as he squeezed Aaron’s arm tighter.
Poor Aaron he had no idea what everyone was talking about. First it had
upset his mother, and now his dad was yelling because he had... what? Helped
Mr. Ping clean up some water? He started to cry out of sheer frustration and
was feeling that familiar fear of the coming punishment that usually followed
this type of prelude.
“I...I don’t know. He just asked me... that’s all... I won’t help him any more if that’s it.. now let me go let
me GO!” With this last word he twisted away from his father and ran out of the
front door.
Mr. Ping had collected his grandson and ushered him behind the apparent
safety of the main counter. The child was crying after seeing what this man was
doing and was upset by all the yelling, and Mr. Ping, though unsure of the
specific words that were being spoken, could certainly make out the tone and
the intent of the large angry man in his store.
Bill was frozen for a second by what just happened. Bill Reese was not
one to brook any back-talk from anyone, least of all his own little snot-nosed
brat. He would be sure to let Aaron know that when his father asks him a
question you simply do NOT yell an answer (especially if that answer is NO) and
run out the door. As a matter of fact, he was just in the mood to give that
particular lesson today... He decided he could spare a few minutes from his
busy lunch to teach his son that lesson. He breathed deeply as he stood from
the crouching position that enable him to “talk” to his son and began to walk
toward the door.
A hand landed in the crook of his arm. By strength alone it was not
enough to stop him, but the action of it was enough to shock him into turning
around. He turned and faced his loving wife, her jaw clenched and her face set
in determination.
“Let him go Bill. He didn’t do anything wrong. He was just talking to
Mr. Ping.”
“Yeah... I know...” He said as he easily pulled Susan’s hand away from
his arm, not caring if it hurt her fingers. “In fucking CHINESE and I want to
know how much time he’s spent skipping school and talking to these chinks.” He
began walking towards the door again.
Again, the hand landed on his arm and tried to stop him. He didn’t even
think twice about how to react to the third such show of disrespect he had in
the last few minutes. The hand with the Coke bottle swung around in a wide arc
and smashed against the head of Susan Reese. The gas in the bottle reacted to
the jarring action of the swing (and the subsequent impact on Susan’s skull)
and exploded, showering everyone in sticky dark liquid and small glass
particles. The remainder of the shattered bottle fell to the floor in larger
chunks. Bill didn’t even spare his wife a second glance, turning away from
Susan almost as his hand completed the arc to her head. He wiped his hands on
his pants and headed out the front door after his son while his wife slumped to
her knees in a widening puddle of Coke and glass fragments.
Stars and smears of blackness swam before her eyes as they attempted to
focus. Susan had been hit by her husband before but always out of view of Aaron
(as often as she could manage it), but nothing like this. Either in the new
level of force he had decided to use, (Bill preferred his hands over any
weapon) or in the also recently acquired habit of doing such things publicly. She
never lost consciousness, but the impact did force her to her knees, examining
the blood mixed with coke that was covering her hands, her dress and the floor
of Mr. Ping’s store.
She heard a child’s voice to her left and had to concentrate for the
effort required to move her head to look. The effort and the shooting pain than
ran up her neck almost caused her to pass out and finish the job started by her
husband, but she managed to regain control. Through a haze of pain and blurred
vision she saw Mr. Ping walking towards her and saw his grandson on the phone.
The boy obviously knew more English than Mr. Ping who must have asked him to
call the police or an ambulance for her. Thank
you She thought as she tried to look up at him. Mr. Ping was obviously
concerned and helped her to her feet. Susan could not even remember having felt
this hurt or embarrassed.
After a few moments she believed she regained her composure enough to
take a step or two away from Mr. Ping, who was unsure what to do. He headed
back behind the counter to make sure his grandson was giving the correct
information to the ambulance. Susan stopped suddenly. Not due to the pain in
her head, but when she regained her stability enough that she remembered why
the store was so quiet and so empty. If Bill was in enough of a mood today that
he would do this to her in public, what would he do to their son? “Aaron!” Was
all she managed to say as she realized the danger her son was in from Bill, and
began to stagger her way towards the front door. It was the last word anyone
would ever hear her speak.
* * * * * * *
“Get your little ass back here right NOW.” Bill’s booming voice could
be heard above the sound of the busy lunch time street as he attempted to get
Aaron to stop running. Bill wasn’t in bad shape but he was no match for a
scared kid whose legs had just started that pre teen growth spurt.
Aaron was far ahead of his dad, and considering the ramifications of
his actions. His father would not be happy that he had run away, but Aaron was
all to familiar with the progression of his fathers temper. Aaron’s shoulder
still hurt from where his father had grabbed him, and he knew that the beating
would not be too far behind. He didn’t like leaving his mom at the store, but
had planned on circling around and going back to the store if he could lose his
dad. He could hear his dad’s voice from the street, but his dad couldn’t see
him running in the alley behind the strips of stores. He knew he was due for
a punishing for running away, but he
would wait for his dad to calm down and for his mother to talk to him as she
seemed to have to do quite often so the hitting might not be too bad. He turned
a corner near the convenience store and walked up the smaller alley towards the
street again and expected to come out right between the Local Auto Repair and
Mr. Pings convenience store.
A scream that Aaron heard drowned out the noise of the street, more so
than the bellowing of his father, and the three seconds that followed seemed
stretched out in the dream, allowing Aaron to see every detail that he had kept
suppressed. The dream appeared to be making up for Aaron forgetting all this
for the last fifteen years by making sure he had a good long look now. The
child-Aaron glanced up just in time to see his mother in the middle of the
street at the end of the alleyway he was looking out of. It took him a few
moments to piece everything together... but that was OK, the dream was allowing
him plenty of time. The adult Aaron knew that stunned, dizzy and disoriented
from the blow his father had dealt to his mother’s head, (With his wife as an
interpreter, Mr. Ping explained everything to the police afterwards) Aaron’s
mom had made her way out of the store and into the street in an effort to find
him and divert some of the wrath of his father. She had wondered out into the
street like a drunk (some witnesses would testify that they thought she WAS
drunk the way she was staggering) and there was blood on her head and on the
top of her dress near her neck. The adult Aaron knew that was from the hit with
the bottle, but the child Aaron left his mother in perfectly good condition,
and now here she was in the middle of the street with blood on her dress.
“What happened to my m....”
The adult Aaron saw it all again, both through the
eyes of the dreamer and the eyes of the child he had been fifteen years
earlier. The grill and front tires of the truck appeared to his left, almost
seeming to peak out from behind the portion of the street that was blocked by
the walls of the alley. Aaron screamed for his mother but it was no use. Slowed
by the power of the dream, Aaron saw his mother’s face as she looked up to find
him. She was still very disoriented, and tilted her head in recognition when
her eyes met his as if to ask Aaron! There you are... Are you OK?
Fortunately, in her delirium, susan was blissfully
unaware of the source of her doom, she had wandered into the path of a large
cement truck speeding down the main drag of their downtown. The last word she
spoke was her son’s name, so it was fitting that his face was the last thing
her eyes saw before the grill of the truck hit. The coroner had said, when he
didn’t know that Aaron was listening at the hospital, that due to its speed,
the truck began to crush his mother’s body where she stood before her inertia
surrendered and what was left of her would be thrown almost forty feet and,
fortunately, out of Aaron’s view.
The blaring of the truck horn was nothing compared
to the scream of horror that exploded from Aaron’s young throat, echoing off
the walls of the alley, echoing louder and louder until he thought his throat
would burst, louder still until....
...Aaron awoke with
the scream still in his throat. His eyes were wet and stinging from his tears
and his throat was raw from the force of his own scream that finally woke him.
He curled into a fetal position and would continue to hear that scream in his
mind for the rest of the night, not knowing if it was his mothers or his own.
Chapter 4
Professor Trevor
Hume was now “a man with a mission”, which was how he thought of himself when
the drudgery of a day was broken up by an errand he simply had to do. And after his little morning meeting with
Aaron, he definitely had something to do today. All that waiting. All that
wondering what to do with his future and his career... it had all been decided
in a fifteen minute meeting with Aaron earlier that day. Aaron was going to be
a part of that, he just didn’t know it yet.
It was an odd
feeling to suddenly find himself free. Free of all his former debt and free of
the university. Technically, he wasn’t free yet, and he was careful not to burn
his bridges with the University until he completed this mornings meeting.
LanceCorp had made him a simple offer in their letter. They would assume full
financial responsibility for Hume’s dig in the Yucatan. They would pay for
every expense incurred in the dig (with an impressive budget pre-approval
already in place). Every member of the crew, formerly under the limited employ
of Hume, would now be employees of LanceCorp, not to mention a sizable raise
and benefit package that came with the new association. Hume himself would
retain control of the dig, at least in an immediate sense. Anything discovered
while on the dig became owned by LanceCorp. This idea was a little troubling
for Hume until he read the final line of the letter. It amazed him how these
few lines of print might forever change his life.
LanceCorp was
offering to pay Hume ten million dollars for the full rights to his dig. This
was over and above the sponsorship of the dig itself, and was roughly 20 times
the figure Hume first had in mind when he first thought about selling the dig. Twenty
times! He knew, of course, that for that kind
of money LanceCorp must have something in mind for the results of the dig
itself. He didn’t know what though. Why would a drug company, even one with
some shady behind the scenes dealings, pay over ten million dollars for an
archeological dig? He had used his contacts earlier last week to look into the
background of LanceCorp. He discovered some interesting and little known facts
about the company and its associations, but nothing he learned could explain
what they wanted with his site. He decided he didn’t care. He loved his work,
but for ten million dollars he could work the required two years stipulated by
LanceCorp if he took the offer, and start another dig from scratch. And he
wouldn’t have to work at a university half a world away to help pay for it
either. There was also another possibility running through Hume’s mind.
Archeological work can be tiresome, thankless work. People digging in the hot
sun for hours to uncover a simple tool used a thousand years ago. It had been a
passion for Hume once. A genuine interest and goal to learn and share as much
as he could about ancient peoples. Somewhere along the way his real love for
the science of it all was lost. He would probably deny it to himself, but he
had been thinking about selling the dig for a while now as it wasn’t generating
the kind of recognition or cash flow he found he required. He was considering
moving sites until he received the note from LanceCorp. The short of it was, if
LanceCorp was interested, there must be something more here than he thought. He
knew that looting, sabotage and competition went on between digs and
industries, and he long suspected that
someone in his group down south was reporting to someone other then him, and in
his mind this confirmed it. Something he had uncovered at the dig, or was close
to uncovering, was worth ten million dollars to LanceCorp. And he wanted to
know for himself what it was. After all… if Lancecorp was willing to pay ten
million, it was probably worth twenty.
He jumped into his
car and sped off towards the University parking lot exit. By the time he waved
to the gate security guard he was on his second cell phone call. The first call
had gone to the main campus office to tell them he was going home sick and
would Kevin Davis mind covering his classes for the rest of the day. The second
call was just going through when he turned out of the paved driveway of the
University and on to the main artery that connected the University with the
highway. His right hand held his phone while the edge of his left hand operated
the steering wheel. Between the thumb and fore-finger of his steering hand he
quickly re-read the letter he received the day before from LanceCorp.
Professor Hume.
My sources have told me that you are a man who is capable of
accomplishing much of what he sets his mind to. I am aware of your credentials
and the advances you have made in Mexico this past season. I am also aware of
your asking price for sponsoring your efforts.
I am offering the sum of ten million dollars for these rights. This is
far above your initial asking price but I have several amendments I wish to
make to your proposal. The main point being that LanceCorp will, of course,
retain all rights to the findings at the dig with appropriate bonuses based on
the significance of any new discoveries. You would remain in the employ of
LanceCorp for the first two years after which you may do what you may. We can
work out the details when we meet.
My secretary will be able to book any appointment you find convenient
if you contact her at number on the enclosed card.
Regards:
Miguel Samuels.
He had called the
number indicated on the card and by the second ring it was picked up.
“Mr. Samuels office
how may I help you?” answered a painfully efficient sounding voice.
“Hi. It’s Trevor
Hume. I needed to make an appointment with Mr. Samuels please.”
“Certainly
Professor Hume” Professor? Were they expecting my call? He didn’t tell her he was a professor. “When would
you like to come in?” Inquired the friendly yet efficient voice.
“Uh... I know it’s
short notice... but would today be too soon?” He was sure a mogul like Miguel
Samuels would need weeks of notice for meeting with Joe-public.... but it
couldn’t hurt to ask. He would be turned down for today but at least they would
know he was inter...
The secretary
barely missed a beat. “Would noon be O.K. for you professor?”
“Sure. That would
be great.” He wasn’t sure why, but that call left him a little creeped-out.
It’s unnerving to call someone who you expect won’t know you from Adam, and
have them call you by your title. And a meeting with Samuels this quickly was
somewhat akin to getting in to see the President for a quick lunch on your way
to work. They were obviously concerned enough that he would phone that they
primed the reception desk with his name. And to get in with an hour’s notice to
see a man like Samuels... he might have to hold out for more money if they
wanted him this badly! Again the thought occurred that if they were willing to
pay ten million up front then the place must be worth more... no businessman
worth his salt ever opened with his final offer. He was just afraid that if he
questioned it too much that the offer would be withdrawn, and his future would
pop like a balloon. “I’ll see you at noon.” He told the voice and she hung up
without a word.
By 11:45 he was in
a large office building in the heart of the downtown core. There was no chance
that anyone could make a mistake as to who owned this building, everywhere you
looked there were “LanceCorp” logos adorning every surface. As far as he knew,
only the McDonalds “M” logo was more recognized in the world. And even that was
only due to LanceCorp being directed more to businesses and corporations than
the general public. A rather large man at the security desk walked Hume to an
elevator that, apparently, was not for the general public. Hume pressed the
button for the floor indicated by the guard (who also knew him and called to
him by name when he first walked into the lobby) and just before the doors slid
quietly shut the guard slipped out into the main lobby without a word. Hume realized
he would be making the trip to the 45th floor by himself as per the
instructions included with the letter from Mr. Samuels.
The trip was brief
in the dedicated elevator. Hume had time to admire the opulence in something so
mundane as an elevator on the brief ride to the top floor of the largest
company in the world. Finished oak panels, plush carpeting, paintings and
mirrors on the walls. The elevator probably was better decorated than his own
apartment!
When he reached the
top, the door opened and he walked out to face a beautiful receptionist sitting
behind a huge polished mahogany desk that he guessed was worth more than his
salary last year. His old teaching salary
he had to remind himself, this year’s income should be a bit more substantial
if this deal goes through. Never one to count
his chickens, Hume would feel a whole lot better once something was signed or
he had the money in the bank. If Samuels turned out to be a crackpot, which was
in the back of his mind as a possibility, he’d hate to go back to his old job
now, after believing he was soon to be the recipient of ten million dollars. He
found himself staring at the woodworking of the office and turned his attention
towards the secretary.
“Hi... Professor
Hume to see Mr. Samuels.” He risked a quick peak at the ample cleavage offered
by the receptionist as she bent to stand behind her desk. Her eyes caught his,
but he didn’t think she minded him looking.
Without a word she
led him to a large double door that he didn’t think she could have the strength
to open at first, but the huge doors swung inwards and she motioned him in. He
walked a few steps in to the dimly lit office and was preparing to turn again
to sneak another quick peak at the receptionist’s figure, but he turned just in
time to see the doors close and to hear the click as a lock was thrown from the
other side. A lock?
The office was
obscene in its obvious attempt to instill awe into the people that visited.
Hume caught himself with his mouth open as he looked around and decided that the
office had served its purpose... he was impressed. Huge wall-height paintings
of grizzled old men adorned the walls. He assumed them to be family members or
employee’s of the month he joked to himself.
And he wondered if any of them were of Miguel Samuels himself. He had no idea
what his benefactor looked like, for that matter, no-one he knew could find a
picture or any record of the man or any personal information other than the
well known fact that he was the owner of LanceCorp. He walked the not inconsiderable
distance towards the large desk on the far side of the room. Again mahogany was
the material of choice for the desk, for moldings and for anything else made of
wood in the room. Nothing but the best for Mr. Samuels. He realized he had been
left alone for a few minutes, either to intimidate him with the waiting or
because Mr. Samuels was too busy to jump at his arrival. He wondered briefly if
he was being watched by a surveillance camera hidden in the walls. There were,
in fact, nine fiber-optic cameras recording Hume’s every move at this moment.
Each Camera was no larger than the tip of a ball-point pen and was concealed in
the surrounding woodwork of the office. Samuels was not a man who took anything
for granted.
As he came into
full view of the desk Hume saw the paintings that surrounded it. Where the
pictures closest to the main door were of grizzled old men, those closest to
the huge desk were of landscapes and forests. No... not just forests Hume
realized, jungles. The jungles of Central America to be exact. Hume now
recognized some of the paintings to be from his area of study. They were aerial
views of the Mayan ruins in Palenque, Chichén Itzá and Uxmal. He recognized
these sites from some of their largest structures that were barely visible
through the jungle. The painter had painted these sites in a time after they
had been abandoned by their inhabitants, but before they had been re-discovered
and cleared by modern man. So... Samuels was either a fan, or he studied the
Maya on his own. That would at least explain his interest in Hume’s dig.
He was about to
take a peek out the window near the desk that he assumed was Samuels due to its
size and surroundings. Who’s else could it be? He noticed a final painting,
directly opposite the desk itself. It had been obscured by the variety of
partitions and plants that filled in the nooks and crannies of the office, and
walking towards the desk Hume had been too taken with the size of the desk to
look behind him at this painting... but he saw it now.
It was a huge
painting, easily the largest among the large paintings in this room, and its
content was far more disturbing than the typical office art he was used to
seeing. The center point to the work was a Mayan Indian, strung up by what
appeared to be hooks embedded in the upper portion of her back, as the naked
figure was obviously female. Blood could be seen running down her body to a
pool beneath her suspended feet. The size of the pool was no doubt being aided
by the many small cuts all over the surface of the body that were bleeding as
well. The face of the hapless woman was frozen in the painting in a grimace of
pain, the teeth bared in an attempt to be stoic and stifle a scream, or in a
grim determination at the realization that this was her final hours. Hume had
thought the figure was a dead body at first (had hoped so for the figure’s
sake) but the artist had countered this possible perception by having the
figure raising one arm behind its back in a fruitless effort to remove one of
the hooks embedded in her back. Standing next to the helpless woman and
slightly behind her was another figure familiar to Hume from his studies. A
bearded Franciscan friar held what appeared to be a book. A large gold cross on
the cover indicated to Hume that it must be a bible. The bible was in one hand
as the figure stroked his beard with the other as he read from the book. There
were several artists depictions of cruelties the Spanish inflicted during the
fifteen to sixteen hundreds in their attempts to conquer the Mayans. Scenes
like this showed how the friars would torture the local people in their
attempts to “convert” them, and some were tortured for minor legal infractions
or simply as examples to the others that may resist. Hume knew of no other
paintings that were this large or done with this type of realistic quality to
them. He could not help but think that the artist had intended the friar to
appear to be almost ignoring the woman
hung in his presence, as if despite what was happening to her, it was not worth
him taking notice to help or condemn her.
Hume walked closer
to this painting as it certainly set itself aside from the others in the room
and despite its unnerving subject it commanded further attention. Every line,
every button, every wrinkle in the forehead of the friar as he concentrated on
his bible and ignored the woman was shown with stunning realism and accuracy.
What upset Hume was the accuracy that the painter had shown the terror and pain
of the suspended woman. The look on her face was haunting. Whoever had painted
this had been a gifted artist, and Hume looked for a name or a signature and
could find none. Likely it would be found somewhere on the back of the canvas
as some artists didn’t like to deface their own works with something so mundane
as a signature.
When he approached
the painting he also noticed an odd smell that he couldn’t place. There was one
brazier placed on either side of the painting. They were empty at the moment,
in fact they looked clean enough to eat out of... perhaps incense? He
considered this as his eyes were drawn back towards the painting.
He finally decided
that he didn’t want his host finding him gawking at such a disturbing painting,
he was about to worry what impression it would leave on Samuels when it
occurred to Hume to wonder what kind of man commissioned such a piece of work
in the first place? Or hung it in front of his desk at work so that it stared
him in the face every day? The painting was so well done, Hume could see the trunk of the tree that suspended
the woman. The leather sandals worn by the friar. The tall grass in the
background with more trees and... was there something else in the
background? The grass was shown to be bending in certain places that might mean
something was trying to...”.
“Exquisite isn’t
it?”
Hume almost cried
out loud in surprise at the voice that suddenly sounded behind him. “Christ...
you scared the hell out of me!” He clutched his chest in a mock heart attack to
offset the embarrassment he felt at being “caught”, and at being scared. Where
the hell had this guy come from anyway? There were no other doors to the office
than the one he had come in and that door had not opened.
“My apologies
Professor Hume. I saw you looking at my painting but did not realize how... distracted you were by it. My name is Samuels. Miguel Samuels.”
And he extended his hand with a smile.
They shook hands
underneath the huge picture as Hume sized up the man who very few people seemed
to know anything about. This close up, there was no doubt as to the background
of Samuels. The color of his skin, his eyes, the long dark hair, the accent,
all told Hume that Miguel Samuels was a native Mexican. Short by modern
standards, he noted that Samuels suit looked tailor made and was probably worth
more than the desk in this office. His grip was strong and the smile on his
lips did not touch his eyes as his eyes met Hume’s while their hands clasped
together for a firm handshake.
Samuels had no need
to size up Hume at all as he knew everything there was to know about the
Professor. A man with the resources of Miguel Samuels didn’t get to where he
was by learning “as-he-went” about the people he dealt with. Samuels had been
watching Hume on the hidden monitors since he walked into the building. He knew
Hume’s personal financial information including the mortgage on his house and
the balances of his multiple accounts throughout Mexico and at home. He knew
that Hume was never married but had dated no less than five of his students
since he became a professor and had slept with all of them though he kept it
all quiet. He knew all about the dig that Hume oversaw in the Yucatan... and
Samuels now also knew about Aaron Reese.
Hume would have
been surprised to learn that one of the many subdivisions of LanceCorp had
manufactured the air conditioning units that were used at the university, and
that, when needed, several of these units could be equipped with electronic
monitoring devices. In the summer, they were nearly useless due to the noise of
the units themselves (and they were working on that) but for the rest of the
year it was one of many ways that Miguel Samuels kept tabs on every dig that
was currently underway in Mexico. Most rooms in the University were clean,
after all, what interest would Samuels have in the majority of classes? But he
knew Hume’s reputation and talent for translating glyphs. Whether it was a
“volunteer” student at the Aztec ruins near Mexico City, or a paid equipment
carrier in Belize, Samuels had a net of surveillance that would have made
“James Bond” nervous. He knew about every advancement in the study of the
ancient Maya or their related cities as it happened or very shortly thereafter.
Samuels knew about the recent translations Hume had developed in recent months.
Hume would have been surprised to learn that his driver in Mexico made an
additional thousand pesos a week to make a weekly call to another agent of
Samuels that collected all these bits of information and put them together for
his employer. Within hours, Samuels knew about the interchange that had
happened between Hume and his student, and had listened in eagerly the
following morning at the second meeting between the two. Hume had called a
comrade in the Yucatan with the news of his hopeful discovery in Aaron Reese
(intercepted by the computerized LanceCorp phone server at the University) and
Miguel Samuels had verified the translations suggested by Mr. Reese and had
found them to be flawless.
Had Hume not
decided to take him up on his offer for the dig, Samuels would have called him
again this morning to give him a final offer before he took things into his own
hands. A relatively peaceful man at heart, or so he believed about himself,
Samuels would usually give others a fighting chance to play ball before he did
what he wanted to anyway. He had enough money to make the offer to Hume
relatively inconsequential, and Hume would never know that the underlying
decision he had to make was to sell the rights to his dig or to have Samuels
assume the rights to his dig in other ways after Hume was reported killed in an
“accident” somewhere down the road.
So the two men
shook hands and Hume was stunned at the strength he felt in the hands of the
man standing before him. How would a desk-jockey pencil pusher get such
a strong grip? I guess he works out but when would he get the time? Samuels knew all about Hume and his petty little
secrets, and Hume had no idea that the man who was shaking his hand and smiling
would have killed him if he had not taken him up on his offer.
“’Distracted’ is an
odd word to describe how this painting makes me feel.” Responded Hume finally.
“Who painted it?”
“I did.” Answered
Samuels flatly. “Many years ago.”
“It’s… wonderful...
if a little...”
“Disturbing? To be
honest Professor, that is exactly the sentiment I was hoping to evoke from
those that see it and I would be somewhat unnerved myself if anyone felt
otherwise after seeing it. It’s meant to show the callous lack of respect for
simple human dignity that the Spanish had for my people as they tried to
“convert” us to their ways.” He walked over to the painting and had not looked
at Hume since he started speaking. “You see how he is reading his Holy Bible to
the woman as she hangs in her death throws? It is the ultimate affront is it
not? She has been raped, beaten and now is hung where it will take her hours to
die simply because she did not wish to assume the same beliefs as the friar,
who considers his cause to be the ‘kind’ and ‘holy’ path.”
It was a little
more than Hume had expected for their first exchange, and he wondered if
Samuels was provoking him deliberately. He was obviously a Mexican, and had
called them “My people” in his answer. “I know of no-one in my field who feels
that the treatment of the Maya by the Spanish was anything less than genocide.”
“You’d be surprised
Professor.” Said Samuels flatly. “On to business. Might I assume that your
presence here indicates you are going to take me up on my offer?”
“Well... I’m
thinking about it. I was curious as to what it is about my dig that makes it
worth the kind of money you’re offering?”
“Your dig is
outside Chichén Itzá. I have been able to trace my ancestry to that city as far
back as the mid fifteen hundreds. I hope to find more information related to my
personal history. You see... for a man of my means the Mexican government can
be... difficult, and expensive to deal with as they know they can get away with
exorbitant fees and taxes. The Mexican officials are one of the most corrupt in
the world. You already have the permits and everything set up on site. Applying
for a duplicate permit for a second dig at the same site is something the local
government frowns upon and will cost me more than the permit is worth, and more
than I am paying you. I would be hiring you and your crew with all their
expertise already at the dig and that saves me money and time in planning the
dig. Everything is essentially in place for what I need and doing it this way
is just... easier... than starting from scratch.”
A certainly
plausible set of reasons thought Hume, but he still has the unnerving feeling
that Samuels was not telling him the whole truth. No one has ever reported that
the Maya kept any type of birth records other than those reserved for their
rulers that were carved in stone. The colonization of the Yucatan by the Spanish
did introduce the modern day concept of “paperwork” and everyday record keeping
and bureaucracy. Some of the Mayan tribes such as the Pech and the Xiu are
known to have allied themselves with the Spanish and adopted their ways and
became “conquistadors” of their own people. Perhaps it was possible that
Samuels had the resources (and the luck) to find some four-hundred year old
birth certificate or mention of his family name in an old town writ somewhere.
“What will you do
with the information we find?”
“Anything related
to the glyphs I would retain ownership until they have been translated. Once I
can confirm they are not related to my own lineage, then they would become
yours as they were before I took over.”
Again, Hume
thought, plausible, but the story seemed too simple. Enough to satisfy an
expert in the field such as himself, yet with enough holes that he couldn’t
call Samuels a liar. “But the Maya only recorded significant royal visits and
up-scale meetings in their art, not everyday common people.”
“Professor Hume,
you are quite correct. However, visiting dignitaries and foreign families were
also greeted and celebrated on the pottery paintings. I believe my family was
of sufficient note at the time that their interactions with Chichén Itzá would
have been captured in some small way. Maybe not in the stones, though I
wouldn’t rule that out, but in the paintings. Besides... what have you got to
lose? If they are not directly related to me or my family name then you are
free to do with your discoveries what you will. Publish them, sell them, teach
them... whatever. ”
“What about other
artifacts. Statues, buildings that type of thing?”
“Professor Hume.
For an intelligent man you seem to have trouble grasping what I am offering
you.” Hume was surprised at how quickly the tone of the conversation had
changed, and was also unsure exactly why. “In the next thirty seconds I expect
an answer otherwise the offer is withdrawn and will not be repeated. I am a
very busy man and have no time for this bantering. I will have a cheque for ten
million dollars deposited into your GIC-32 account at the local National Bank
branch as this will provide you the most favorable return. In return for this
money you and your existing crew will work for me for the next two years with
all the same benefits as a LanceCorp employee anywhere in the world. I will
provide to you with what I believe to be my family name and glyph. Anything
related to my name is mine to do with as I will, everything else is yours. Do
you understand?”
Hume didn’t want to
feel rushed into this even though he really had made up his mind before he
drove out of the university parking lot. So much for my idea to hold out
for more money. Samuels was certainly pissing
him off by rushing him like this. Playing the arrogant rich guy is probably
what works for him. Then a disturbing though occurred to Hume that caused a
chill to run up his spine.
“Hang on…. How did
you know I had a GIC-32 account at the National Bank?”
Samuels had walked
around to the Mayan torture painting and was standing with his back to Hume.
“Professor Hume, you have now have 12 seconds remaining.”
Hume was tempted to
reject this man on principal. Principal is an odd thing he thought. Oscar Wilde, it has been told, once asked a
woman if she would have sex with him for a million dollars.
The woman had asked
him simply: “When do we go?”
When Mr. Wilde
amended his offer and asked the woman the same favor for only five dollars the
woman was insulted and asked him
“What do you think
I am?”
Oscar replied:
“Madam... we know what you are, now we’re just haggling over the price.”
Three seconds...
two... one.
Samuels turned to
face Hume who said simply: “When do we go?”
Chapter 5
Aaron was unable to
sleep after the dream he had about his mother’s death. When the sun finally
came up he managed to get out of bed and moved to the couch in the living room
where he stared at a blank TV screen for an hour or so while he reviewed the
happenings (and revelations) of the past twenty-four hours.
It had been fifteen
years since Aaron had thought about any of the events from the day his mother
died (was killed) and now that the dream
had brought them to the fore he was forced to deal with something his mind had
blocked out so long ago. He recounted the facts as much as he could while still
trying to separate them from the emotions. His Grandmother had told him what
was going on in the papers in the old town where he grew up, and she had called
him one day to tell Aaron when his father’s death had been reported in that same
paper. Between what he witnessed himself and what his Grandmother filled in as
an attempt to bring Aaron out of his shell, and the dream from last night,
Aaron knew the whole story and was reviewing it in his mind for the first time
in almost half his lifetime.
It was a common
conclusion for a child that had been through what he had been through. Aaron
blamed himself for the death of his mother. If he hadn’t played with Mr. Pings
grandson, or if he hadn’t ran away when his father had started to hurt him,
then his mother wouldn’t have had to go looking for him and she wouldn’t have
been killed. It was his fault. Period.
His father had hit
his mother in the head with a Coke bottle (not one of the modern plastic
two liter bottles either, that might have left his mother alive, but one of
those old thick glass bottles) hard enough to
break the bottle and knock her senseless. So senseless in fact that she had
staggered into the middle of the road and had been hit by a speeding truck in
her efforts to find him and save him from his father after he ran away. AFTER
HE RAN AWAY echoed in his mind once the thought
had been formed and it would not go away. His conclusion was obvious. To him
anyway. Any competent grief counselor could have seen Aaron’s conclusion coming
and “headed it off at the pass” fifteen years ago, but no one ever got the
chance. Aaron shut down for the next three months, not speaking a word to
friends or family and all but tuned out the outside world. Doctors told his
grandmother that this was something children did sometimes when faced with this
type of crisis and that, hopefully, he would come round on his own.
Through a
translator, Mr. Ping was able to tell the whole story of what had happened to
the police. They then began an extensive manhunt for the man who had caused the
death of Susan Reese, accident or not. It seems Bill Reese knew he had gone to
far and was going to be in it deep this time and had decided to make a run for
it.
Bill Reese was
located twelve weeks later in a donut shop about twenty kilometers from his
house. To this day, the police are unsure if he was on his way home for some
reason or if he had just not gotten very far. He was reported to the police by another donut
patron that recognized his picture in the local papers and called it in. In an
effort to capture Bill Reese the police surrounded the donut shop. Bill Reese
was shot and killed he tried to rush an officer in what they believe was an
attempt to steal a cruiser to make a getaway.
After the
“accident” as they began to call it, Aaron’s grandmother sat him down in her
musty living room and slowly explained to him that his dad would not be
bothering him anymore because the police had “taken care of him”, was how she
put it. She had kept quiet as Aaron seemed to reflect on what he had just
heard, and was just about to head into the kitchen to make some tea when she
was startled by the small voice that came from her Grandson – the first words
he had spoken in the last twelve weeks or so.
“I’m hungry.” Was
all he said. His grandmother decided it was best not to make too much of a fuss
of these things smiled and made Aaron some soup and grilled cheese.
After that, he had
lived with his grandmother as a relatively normal child. No one from his
mother’s side of the family went to the funeral of his father, and apart from
some perfunctory answers to the doctors once he started speaking again, he
would not discuss what had happened that day and would not think of it for
fifteen years.
He was brought out
of his personal flashback by a sharp pain in the big toe of his right foot. One
of his cats had an annoying habit of biting any exposed flesh in an attempt to
garner some attention when it was feeling ignored. Aaron reached down and
stroked the cat’s head. It was its favorite spot and the best way to ensure
there would not be another bite forthcoming. The cat purred while Aaron
pondered one of the other questions that had risen in the last day. How had he known what Mr. Ping had been saying when he
explained the rules of that game to his grandson? And how did it relate to his
recent run-in with Professor Hume? He wanted to get to the bottom of what had
been going on lately. He was fine when he woke up two mornings ago, and until
Professor Hume had begun throwing those stupid glyphs in front of him, he had
not been reminded of the horror he felt at watching his mother being run down
in the street because he was too much of a coward to stand up to his father.
Looking at those glyphs in such a concentrated fashion had... awakened something in Aaron. He could feel it. He felt
different. Not just because he was now forced to deal with the guilt that been
suppressed many years ago, but because he was also forced to face that he had a
gift with languages that he didn’t consciously realize he had. OK, so he was
not going to be called to join the “X-Men” anytime soon, but he could not
remember ever hearing something in a foreign language where he wasn’t able to
glean something about the conversation or the topic of conversation. He just
thought he was picking up on words and phrases that everyone picks up as they
go along in life.
But after what
happened with Professor Hume, and with what he now remembered happened with Mr.
Ping’s grandson, he was a little scared, but he wanted to know what was going
on.
Ever the analyzing
type, Aaron thought about the best way to proceed with this. What I’m
trying to find out is if I have some “power” to understand languages that I
don’t know. Even the premise seemed
embarrassing once he thought it. For now, he would keep this to himself. So
what I need now, is some foreign languages to look and see if I can tell what
they’re saying. It seemed logical, and safe.
* * * * * * * *
He decided to start
his experiment by visiting the local library. He found himself a seat in the
back and set up his school books (he did have to go to class later this morning
no matter how tired he was). He sat in a high backed chair and opened his
notebook and drew a line down the center of the page. On the top of the left
column he wrote “French”, and at the top of the right column he wrote
“English”. He decided to start by writing all the French words he knew on the
left with their corresponding translation on the right, this way he could find
out what words he “knew” outright.
He jotted the word
“oui” on the left, and “Yes” on the right, which he felt was a good start. Then
he wrote “non” and “no” just because it was another easy one and came quickly
to his mind. He continued with “Chien” dog,
“Chat” cat, and “Stylo” pen. He continued this way for about fifteen minutes,
writing down every French word as it popped into his head and the translation
that accompanied it. Other times scribbling an English word and then recalling
it’s French translation. After this time it began to take him longer and longer
to come up with the French words. A word would jump out at him from something
he remembered, and he would write it down. Finally he set down his pen and
re-counted what he had written. Roughly twenty-five words filled the left side
of the page with what he believed was the correct translations on the right. He
expected some great revelation to hit him as it had when Professor Hume showed
him the glyph for “witz” and he had known that
it meant mountain. But nothing came. Every word on the left hand side was
something any high school kid would have known with a few semesters of basic
level French or from being exposed to bilingual Sesame Street. He looked up at
the ceiling of the library and willed himself to remember the French word for
ceiling... but nothing happened. If someone placed a gun to his head right now,
he would not be able to tell them the French word for ceiling if it saved his
life. He looked again for something “random” and settled on a water-cooler in
the corner of the library entrance and, again, willed himself to know what the
translation was as he had read the glyph for the Professor. And he drew a
blank.
He was ready to
pack it in, feeling silly and embarrassed
for having thoughts that he had “powers”... acting like some school kid
who ties a towel around his neck to pretend he’s Superman. He had no idea how
he had known what the glyph was other than the likelihood that he had read it
somewhere and the Professor was yanking his chain or was just plain wrong. And
as for Mr. Ping? Hey... that was fifteen years ago and the “translation” had
come in a dream, what did he expect? He was traumatized by the death of his
mother when he was seven and expected himself to know what the hell Mr. Ping
had said to his grandson fifteen years ago. He felt foolish and decided to head
to his first class a little early.
Aaron closed his
books and headed towards the library exit. As he did so he walked through the
huge periodical section that the University library offered, and as he walked
he glanced at some of the newspapers on display. Past issues of papers and
magazines from all over the world were stored on their wooden dowels further
back in the large racking system, but the latest issues were folded in half
like any local tabloid and on display face-out on the slanted wooden shelves. A
large headline caught his eye:
“Quake Rocks
Southern Italy” was easily visible on the paper visible on the top shelf of the
rack, just about at Aaron’s eye level which was why he figured he noticed it.
The word “Quake” jumped out to Aaron as he was quite fond of the computer game
of the same name that he played through the Internet. He had almost walked past
the exit turnstiles when he realized something was not quite right with the
paper. He walked back to the rack of papers and picked up the one with the
article on the earthquake. He scanned the headline and the body of the text
when his hands suddenly felt cold. His eyes widened in shock and his hands
began to crush the paper as they formed fists as he realized what the problem
was with the newspaper.
It wasn’t in
English.
The newspaper he
picked up was an Italian paper and, guessing by the age of the story that he
had heard about on CNN last week, was about a week old. Typical for a
university, he thought, for the papers to be a week old by the time they work
their way to our own country. He couldn’t believe it and stood in the middle of
the periodical section with his mouth hanging open in disbelief. He returned to
his high-backed chair where he worked on his French translations and dropped
into the chair, his eyes still focused on the paper in front of him. Anyone
watching him would have wondered what the great story was he was interested
in... but no one was paying attention.
Quake Rocks Southern Italy – Italy is still reeling
this morning after a late night earthquake. Experts have measured the quake at
4.5 on the Richter scale which was severe enough to destroy buildings and
highways alike. Measures are being taken this morning to recover survivors and
the bodies of .....
The whole story was
in Italian. Aaron had to close his for a minute to try and calm himself and
stop his heart from racing. He glanced up again and tried to remember the
French word for ceiling. Nothing came. He glanced again at the paper: “Local
merchants expect to files for insurance claims amounting to over 18 million…” This
is it He thought. It only seems to work
when it is something I see with my own eyes. It’s not something I know, but something I know how to DO. He managed
to gather himself together enough to look up at the library ceiling and again
tried to think of the French word (or Italian for that matter) for ceiling, and
could think of nothing. He quickly looked back to the paper in front of him and
for a few brief seconds the words were unintelligible. Then, with no conscious
thought the words all just seemed to... To what? To change? No... that’s
not it. The words didn’t change, his understanding
of them changed. His ability to decipher them simply kicked in and he
was able to read the Italian paper as easily as he would an English one.He glanced away again, focusing on the far wall of
the library and decided to think of the Italian word for Earthquake. He didn’t
know.
He thought he
understood how to explain the mechanics of what was happening. It was kind of
like those “Magic-eye” puzzles that were all the rage a few years ago. A
seemingly meaningless collage of smaller pictures and designs in no logical
order, that when viewed with the eye and the brain in a certain focal point a silhouette picture
suddenly appeared of a boy playing
baseball, or the outline of a car. So real and three-dimensional you would
swear it was a model and not a picture. He could do these “puzzles” from the first
time someone showed him one and told him there was something there to see.
Part of the same language ability he wondered? And
it was as good an explanation as any as to how he was able to understand these
languages. You could explain how you see a Magic-eye puzzle to someone who couldn’t until you were blue in the face. But for the most
part it just happened. One minute you
had a headache from staring at the puzzle too long and the next people were
screaming from across the lunch room “I can see it I can see it!!!” as if they had discovered something important for
the first time. And I guess in a way, they had! He doubted anyone could explain
exactly what biological occurrence allowed them to see the images. It was
simply something they could do, while others could not. And, he remembered, that
once they were seen and the brain knew what buttons to push, more images popped
out almost instantly with every new puzzle that was published. He was pleased
with the simile as it helped put what he could do into perspective. He was not
a monster, he was not a mutant, he could simply focus his brain to such a point
that it allowed him to understand another language.
He had read that
there was some genetic trait that certain people lacked and no matter how hard
they tried their brain would never be able to flick the switch that made the
Magic-eye pictures appear. Whatever it was, his brain had that trick for
languages it seemed.
He looked at the
cover of an English magazine someone had left near his chair. A headline
announcing the breakup of Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman stared out at him from
the cover. Big deal. Aaron opened the magazine and scanned the pages. Every few
seconds or so he stopped at a page and read a paragraph in an attempt to
capture just how he knew what “English”
was. What was the process his mind went through in reading familiar words? He
tried to focus on a word in an article at the bottom of the page. The title of
the article was “Famous Pets” and the moment his eyes took in the word “Pets”
he knew what it was. Pets were animals, domesticated, lap dogs, cats etc. He
didn’t know the biological principals behind the process, but assumed that his
mind simply searched in its database of information and stored recognized words
and relayed the proper context and meaning for the words his eyes saw. He
picked up the Italian paper and glanced at the earthquake article again. For a
few brief seconds he could make out only the letters, and suddenly, as before,
their meaning became clear. Just like the Magic Eye 3-D puzzle. Once seen the
first time, it always seemed easier to see the shape again. Was there a genetic
reason for that? Or was it a conscious effort on the minds of those people that
they gave up before their minds threw the switch? He didn’t know.
The human mind is
remarkably adaptable. And, it is believed, even more so with younger people
than with older minds that have become set in their ways. Children presented
with a flying saucer would stand in awe and tell their friends about what they
had seen. Events are simply accepted. Older people tend to try and fit this new
vision into their life-long paradigm that such things did not exist. What
simply “is” to younger minds is something to drive a more closed minded adult
into the nearest therapist. Though not a child, Aaron Reese was not an adult
yet, or at least, his upbringing and personality was more open than most to
that fantasy world where things simply are.
So after much reading of his Italian newspaper, he came to the conclusion that
he had been given a gift. By God? He wasn’t willing to go that far. He didn’t
even know if he believed in God or not. But in the same way some people could
see the “Magic Eye” easier than others, his brain was able to read something
and understand it even if it should have been foreign to him. It wasn’t a gift,
or a “power” like x-ray vision, he told himself, it was a skill and just
something he was able to do that took others longer.
He couldn’t have
been more wrong.
He had this ability
all his life, though the actions of his father and his guilt for causing, so he
believed, the death of his mother caused him to reject this skill. If I
hadn’t understood Mr. Ping and upset my dad so much... none of that would have
happened. It had simply taken this length of
time for his mind to open itself up to his “skill” after his childhood trauma.
But what had triggered it?
Professor Hume.
Hume had met with
him just yesterday morning and gone through much of the same process as Aaron
had today in the library, trying to figure out how he knew what he knew. It
also dawned on Aaron ( or he was finally able to be honest with himself) that
that was how he had known the translation for the glyphs that Hume had shown in
his class. I can read glyphs too? Cool! Professor Hume knows that? Why
wouldn’t he just tell me what he thought? He
didn’t have an answer for that.
But he was going to
find out.
Chapter 6
With the “official”
signing of some papers that Miguel Samuels had already prepared, Professor Hume
signed away all legal authority and all rights associated with his dig in the
Yucatan. It pained him briefly, and he paused – but only for a second – before
he signed the paper and placed his copy in his pocket. The same pocket that
contained a receipt for ten million dollars that had been placed into his
GIC-32 account at his branch minutes after he had agreed to Samuels’ offer. He
might decide to move that money around when he got the chance. Maybe open
another account and be a little more cautious as far as security of his
accounts went. But his mind was temporarily stunned with the realization of the
amount of money that was now in his possession. Ten Million Dollars as a
lot of scratch he told himself. Where
should I live? Should I get a new car?
Hell... I’ll get a dozen new cars! I’ll have to at least call the university
and tell them I won’t be back. I’ll certainly pay off the mortgage on the place
I’m living now. Or... maybe I’ll just sell the damn place and live it up in a
fancy hotel for a few weeks while I think of what to do with this!
“Professor Hume...”
Began Samuels, interrupting Hume’s thoughts. “I understand that I have just
given you what you no doubt think of as a lot of money. In return for that
money I am going to insist that you live up to your end of our agreement. As an
employee of mine I will offer whatever resources you require to complete your
task. You may make use of my secretary
if you wish to sell your house, or establish a new home closer to your dig. If
you require travel arrangement you may also consider those a benefit of working
for me. I am somewhat...anxious to uncover more information on my family
history and I believe it is only fair to give you one week to get your local
affairs in order before you head to Mexico to supervise the dig yourself. I
will also leave it to you to inform your current employees of these recent
changes, and will be sending down a handful of my own men to assist you in your
work.”
“Your own men? Why
do we need more men than what I already have down there?” Hume really didn’t
object to the extra hands, but he didn’t like the way that Samuels was laying
down the law. The shine of the money was already dulling a bit at the
realization that he had just switched one boss for another, even if it was for
a shit-load of money. Meet the new boss... same as the old boss.
“Oh... there won’t
be many. I’d like to send an associate of mine who has designed a computer
program for deciphering the glyphs that is much faster and much
more...intuitive than the one I believe your using now. I’d also like to send
some extra equipment and men who are more experienced at operating it than your men would be. There will also be
a small team of men who will guard the site for you as I have no desire to lose
valuable objects or information to looters.”
“Are you coming
down to Mexico as well?” Asked Hume.
Samuels had already
sensed the tension in Hume’s voice. “No.” He decided. “I have more than enough
to occupy me here. Though I am sending some additional men, they will have
strict instructions that they are working under you. Should you have any problems with my men, let me
know.” With that, Miguel Samuels extended his hand for another quick shake. “It
will be a pleasure working with you Professor. I look forward to your first
report.”
Hume had taken this
as his clue to leave. He was still somewhat stunned at the events of the past
few days. Now, here he was. A multi-millionaire, standing in an office atop the
largest office building in the city. He found it hard to accept that if he
planned things carefully he would no longer have to worry about money for the
rest of his life, and he could concentrate on his work. Though he had his
faults, Hume was dedicated to his studies, and working for Samuels would allow
him to follow whatever plans he wished. He began to walk towards the huge exit
door to the office.
“Oh. One final
issue Professor?”
Without knowing
why, Hume tensed up at hearing these words. Here it comes, bend over the
desk, I need your first-born son, I need you to get a sex-change operation... “Yes?”
“I am a firm
believer in on-the-job learning, and training the young people in our field.
Though I don’t require a huge throng of clumsy students cluttering up my
site...” My site! “..I would appreciate it if you selected the
most gifted from among your students and offered them a six month opportunity
to live at the dig and be ‘taken under your wing’ as it were. LanceCorp would
foot the bill for the student’s living expenses and would arrange for the
appropriate credit to be applied to his... or her... school transcript. Would
this be acceptable to you Professor?”
Hume felt a cool
unease settle over him. Immediately he had thought of Aaron Reese, and given
Samuels offer it certainly was.. convenient that he could extend this offer to Mr. Reese. He had considered Aaron
becoming a central part of this dig anyway Assuming what I suspect about
Mr. Reese to be true. And Samuels philanthropic
offer allowed Aaron to come on the dig and not cost Hume any of his recently
acquired riches. Yes... it certainly was... convenient.
“I’m sure I’ll be
able to think of someone Mr. Samuels.”
“Please... call me
Miguel. And... I’m sure you will.”
* * * * * * * * * *
Aaron sat in his
small apartment with his four cats surrounding him on the couch. For someone
with a new-found skill at understanding languages, the cats would have felt
that this skill didn’t extend to their owner grasping the current concept that
it was SUPPERTIME.
Aaron was currently
trying to decide what to do. He had sat in the library for an hour or so after
reading the Italian paper. For fun he picked up a French magazine and, with the
usual second or two for his mind to throw whatever switch it did, he was
reading its entire contents. Articles, adverts, even the small classified
section at the end of the magazine. Being able to read something today that he
didn’t know he could read was like
tapping into some secret code or some government document that he wasn’t
supposed to read and he couldn’t resist. What had eventually stopped him was a
splitting headache that hit him all at once. He had been reading the French
magazine for the second time and a sharp pain ran up his temple and settled in
the front of his head. Too much reading for one morning He thought. Time to pack it in and head to
class.
But he had not
headed to class. Partly because of the excitement of his new discovery, and
partly because his headache was not letting up and he began to feel nauseous.
He made it to his car and drove himself home after popping several Tylenol and
sitting here on his couch he was beginning to feel better. After calling in to
the school to tell them he was sick he now needed to decide what to do.
But what should he do? Go on a game show and win some money? Hire
himself out to a local embassy as an interpreter? He felt like he should phone
somebody-tell somebody. But... who would
he tell and, who would care? Wow... great news Aaron, you can read
French. I know of several million other people in the world that can read
French and none of them can get rich off it.
Plus, if he told them the story of the past two days who would believe him?
Again the question haunted him of what to do now that he knew what he could do.
“Ouch!” His thought
process was interrupted by a sharp stinging pain in the big toe of his right
foot. His insistent cat had decided that it had given Aaron more than enough
time to cooperate regarding this dinner matter and needed to take matters into
its own hands... or paws in this case... if it wanted its supper in a timely
manner. A sharp bite on the big toe or the ankle always worked wonders. Aaron jumped
up in time to see the tail end of a cat heading into the kitchen in order to
better direct Aaron to where the food was. The other three cats soon followed
this lead and scurried into the kitchen.
“How the hell do
you know to bite the same friggin’ toe every time?” But no answer was
forthcoming. Only a series of yowels from the cats intended to relay just how
hungry they were and to get on with it. “Well I can certainly understand YOU”
he said to his brood. Aaron glanced at his watch and rubbed his temple as he
headed into the kitchen to feed his gang, ever cautions that he might not be
fast enough and would warrant another bite on the toe as an incentive.
With his menagerie
now all munching noisily on their dinner, Aaron swallowed two more Tylenol to
take the edge off of the headache that was threatening to return and was headed
back to the couch when the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Reese...”
Aaron recognized the voice of Professor Hume... but why was he calling him at
home??
“Yes Professor...
sorry I missed your class today but...”
“Don’t worry about
that Aaron... if you had made it to class I wouldn’t have been there today
anyway!”
If it was not for
missing his class, Aaron was unsure why Hume would be calling him again. Just
then, through the nagging edge of his headache, Aaron remembered his meeting
with Hume the previous day. The Glyphs, the test the Professor had put him
through in his class... the Professor knew.
He had figured it our before Aaron did!
“So... what can I
do for you Professor?”
“Aaron, I need to
meet with you. I checked with the school and they told me you were home. There
have been some... changes in the last day or so Aaron and I think you’ll like
to hear what they are. Are you sick? Are you able to meet with me this
afternoon Aaron?”
Aaron still didn’t
know that Hume had left the school... no-one really knew that officially yet...
so as far as he was concerned this was still one of his teachers and he wanted
to do as he was asked and look good and make a good impression. “Sure... where do
you want to meet?”
“You know where I
live Aaron... my house... say in about an hour?”
“I’ll be there.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Most kids on campus
knew where Hume lived. In keeping with his reputation as a “cool” teacher the
Professor had held a few parties and bar-b-cue’s over the years. Aaron had
never been invited to any of them but he still knew where the house was. Shortly after Aaron arrived they went through
the usual awkward pleasantries when a young student finds himself in the
personal home of a teacher. Out of the usual school element it felt odd to be
speaking to the professor... kind of like when you’re a young kid and run into
your math teacher grocery shopping on the weekend. Just... weird. Out of context.
Aaron was sitting
on the Professor’s couch holding his hands in his lap. He thought he knew what
this was about but until he knew for sure he was going to feel nervous.
“Aaron.” Began
Hume, pacing almost nervously across his living room. “I know.”
“...You know? Know
what?”
Is it possible he doesn’t know himself? thought Hume.
“I know what you
can do Aaron... I know how you read the glyphs in my class and I know how you
read the other glyphs the next day.”
Aaron felt like he
had been caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing. “I didn’t... I mean... I
thought you were testing me Professor... I didn’t mean to get you angry.”
“Calm down Aaron
calm down. I’m not angry... quite the contrary in fact. I have some great news,
but first, do you mind talking about this? I’d like to know what you can tell
me about this. How long have you been able to do it? What other languages can
you interpret?”
Aaron paused... he
had always liked the professor and Hume was talking to him very kindly. He was
a professor after all, maybe he could help or tell Aaron how he did this and
what he could do with this ability. He started slow, but once begun the words
spilled from his mouth for almost an hour as he explained everything to Hume.
He began with that day in Hume’s class and not knowing how he knew what the
glyphs were. Then he explained the dream, and what had happened to his mother
when he was very young. He explained about his father and his earliest memories
of him. He finished up by telling Hume about his experience in the library that
morning. How he had picked up Italian and French magazines and newspapers and
within seconds he had been able to read them and skim the articles as easily as
he did English.
Hume didn’t say a
word as Aaron spoke. He only nodded his head in understanding and occasionally
refilled Aaron’s water glass and offered an occasional Kleenex as his former
student unfolded his life. When he thought Aaron was finished he let the room
sit in silence for a minute or two as Aaron composed himself and relaxed. He
obviously was not prepared for what he let spill out and, as Hume knew from his
many dealings with people, likely felt better for getting this story off his
chest. Hume was also planning how to handle this information. He was now in a
position of trust with Aaron which he wanted to maintain in order to exploit it
further should he need it. He finally broke the silence in his most
understanding and fatherly-like voice.
“About 10 years ago
Aaron, I was working on a dig between my studies. The dig was in the city of
Copan in the Yucatan. We were cataloging glyphs and hoping to find some other
hidden tomb similar to Pacal’s. We hired some of the local people to help us
clear the sites and remove rubble. I had a close... friend at the time named
Rolando who spoke both English and Spanish in addition to some of the local
Maya dialects and it was Rolando’s job to recruit locals for the dig. One day
Rolando came to me breathless, and told me to follow him. What he showed me was
an old man, that the locals named Jojo, who was running his hands over the
Glyphs and speaking. I couldn’t understand what he was saying as it wasn’t
English or Spanish he was speaking. Rolando said he understood because it was
close to a Maya dialect he spoke. Jojo had been hired as a cook and we had set
up a tent near one of the stone walls that had glyphs covering it. Evidently,
during supper, the old man had glanced at the wall and yelled out in surprise.
He wondered over to the wall and began speaking as he ran his hands over the
glyphs one by one, that’s when Rolando came to get me. Aaron, the old man was
reading the glyphs, just like you did in my class. Rolando repeated what the
old man was saying and he was listing a royal lineage, listing names and dates
and such, just reading it off the wall as easily as you or I can read a
newspaper.”
Aaron was
mezmerized. “Perhaps he had been taught how to read them? You know... handed
down from generation to generation, that type of thing?”
“We thought of
that. Later on we checked with his family and Jojo had never learned to read,
not even local Spanish. He could barely recognize his own name if someone
showed it to him and his parents were the same. Even if there had been a
history to pass down, that wouldn’t mean he could then read it off a wall if he
couldn’t read. We asked him. There had never been a history handed down, much
less the ability to read the glyphs. We wrote down everything the old man said
and, as you can expect, it all panned out. Numbers, dates, everything. All
things the man could not have known. We had to learn more, so even though the
man was a little shook up by what was happening to him, we asked him to look at
some of the other glyphs we were having trouble with. He read them off to us as
easy as he had on the first wall. The man was what I started to call a Cypher,
Aaron. Someone born with the ability to read and understand languages even if
he did not speak them himself. That’s what I think you are Aaron. Or at least
you show some similar abilities”
Aaron was scared,
even Hume could see that.
“Aaron, you have
nothing to worry about. There have been others like you, born with this
ability. It’s no different than when some kids are able to play Beethoven
without even having read a note of music. Or kids that can calculate “pi” in
their heads... its an ability you were born with... nothing more.”
Aaron had picked up
on something Hume had said. “There were others?”
“Yes. Because of
the type of work we do you can probably appreciate that it’s in our best
interests to find people who can do this for us. The problem is, anytime we
have followed up on people with this skill it seems to be limited to only one
or two languages, and never before has anyone other than the old man ever been
able to read the glyphs.”
“What happened to
Jojo... the old man?”
Hume paused here.
Only for a second, but Aaron felt a warning in it and wondered why.
“He died. He was
old, and I think the excitement was just to much for him. He was reading some
things for us and grabbed his chest and simply keeled over. I think it was the
stress of it all. We rushed him to the hospital but he died later on. A loss to
his family and a great loss to us as he could have translated more glyphs for
us, really launched us ahead in our understanding of the Maya.
“Why didn’t I know
I could do this before yesterday?”
“Aaron, I know this
is going to be hard, but I need you to try and understand this for me ok? I
think you had this ability all along. I think when you were in that variety
store all those years ago that you understood exactly what that man was saying
to his grandson in Chinese and I think your parents saw it. I think your father
was a bigoted, petty man and that he was threatened by anything different.
Especially if you could do something that he couldn’t. I think your dad had
some personal problems Aaron, and that what he did to your mother was
inexcusable. I also think you need to understand something Aaron... what your
father did to your mother was not your fault.”
Aaron said nothing,
he simply sat there looking up at Hume and said nothing. His hands began to
tremble and without warning he buried his head in his hands and began to cry.
“It WAS” He
shouted. “Don’t you see? It was my
fault. If I hadn’t been able to do this, my dad wouldn’t have been angry with
me and he wouldn’t have hit my mom and she wouldn’t have run into the street. I
started it! Isn’t that obvious?” Aaron lapsed into more sobs. “If only I hadn’t
run and just let him smack me there in the store my Mom would still be alive.”
Hume sat next to
Aaron and put his arms gently around the shoulders of his distraught student.
Bringing up his best fatherly voice again, Hume tried to calm Aaron.
“No... you’re wrong
Aaron. I know you think it’s your fault, but it’s not. Did you know I have
several years of psychology in my training? I have seen this many times before.
The victim begins to feel guilty and finds some way to accept the blame for his
own trauma. Aaron, your father was abusive. No matter what you did there is no
excuse for him hitting you or your mom. Your fathers violence picked that
moment to escalate. Happens all the time in abusive relationships. Had he not
done I then, he might have done it later that night because your mother handed
him the wrong plate, or gave him the remote without batteries. It would have
happened anyway. You did not do any of this, you were there, but you father
made his own decisions and your mom made her own decisions when she stayed with
him. Do you know what happens in abusive relationships Aaron? If your mom
wasn’t killed by accident that day it sounds likely that your dad may have done
it a day later, or a week later, or a month. He would have done it Aaron, and
if your mom didn’t intervene that day he might have killed you both.”
Hume hadn’t had a
day of psychology training in his life, but he had read about abusive
relationships and his speech to calm Aaron down was fairly accurate and, most
of all, was positioned to calm the boy, win his trust further and position
himself as the savior by helping him. Hume did believe what he was saying
though.
“Aaron, you were
very young when this happened. I believe you took the blame, however misguided
that was, and you blamed your ability for starting the chain of events that
caused the death of your mother, so, your sub-conscious mind shut out the
ability so you wouldn’t have to think about that.”
“So... what brought
it back out?”
“I think, like
riding a bike, you never forgot how to do it. I’d say puberty usually brings
these things on, but you’re too old for that and you had the ability before
puberty which means its not hormonal. Perhaps your mind decided you were old
enough to deal with this emotional baggage now and wanted to bring it out so
you could deal with it and move on. Kind of like it wanted you to heal yourself
and get over it. I also have to take some of the blame… and I apologize. But
there was no way for me to know. I think my testing you in such a focused way
on those glyphs may have contributed.”
Aaron sniffed and
rubbed his eyes, embarrassed at having cried in front of an adult he respected.
“It’s ok. Well, I think it helped a bit. I mean... what you say makes sense,
its just that I haven’t thought about any of this for years and suddenly
everything comes rushing back in a couple of days... it’s a little
overwhelming.” He appeared to be calming down finally.
“Its also intended
to heal Aaron. I hope you’ll see this for what it is and let me help you get
through this.”
“You’ve been a big
help professor. Thanks. Thanks a lot.”
Hume smiled
inwardly. “No problem Aaron. Glad to have been able to help.”
“Is that why you
wanted to see me? To tell me you knew I was a ‘Cypher’”
Partly. Aaron... I
have some news. Great news, but I don’t want to add to your brain overload
today if you don’t think you can handle it. Do you want me to tell you later?”
Despite his recent
upset, Aaron was curious and welcomed the distraction. Especially if it really
was good news.
“I’d like to hear
it.” He said.
“Aaron, I quit the
University this morning. I found a large company to sponsor my Yucatan dig and
I don’t have to work anymore, except on the dig. They have allowed me to bring
a student with me for six months, and I’d like that student to be you. You’ll
be paid a nice salary for your time down there, living expenses are covered,
and you’ll receive full credit for your courses while your gone. Kind of a
work-exchange thing”
“Wow.” Was all
Aaron could muster for the moment. “When would we have to leave?”
“Within the week
Aaron. I want to start work as soon as possible and from my standpoint I have
no reason to stay behind any longer than necessary. The only thing I would add
to this Aaron is that I would want to ask your permission for two things. One,
I want you to use your skill in helping us read the glyphs and inscriptions.
You’ll be given full credit in any publications that come from the dig. And
two, I want to learn more about your ability. How you do it, why you have the
ability and others don’t, that kind of thing. Hume concluded with a brief
explanation of what type of money he could pay Aaron, and what bonuses he could
provide for successful work. It was, of course, the barest fraction of his own
rewards.
“What do you say
Aaron?”
“Can I think about
it?”
Again, Hume paused.
Only for a second but it was a change from his previous helpful tone and Aaron
was unsure what to make of it.
“Of course. I don’t
want to rush you Aaron, but I will be leaving next Monday, and unless I know
your coming by Friday I’ll have to make this offer to another student before I
leave.” As today was Tuesday Aaron figured three days was plenty of time to
come to a decision.
“I have pets...
cats at home. Four of them... I...”
“If that’s all
that’s stopping you, you can hire a pet sitter for the six months to come look
after them and the company will cover it.”
“Ok.” Aaron was
truly overwhelmed by the happenings of the past few hours and he did want some
time to think on it. “I’ll let you know by tomorrow... is that ok?”
“That’ll be fine.”
Answered Hume with a smile. “You take your time Aaron, and let me know what you
decide.”
Aaron stood and headed
for the front door, stopping to extend his had to Hume “Thanks professor. I
mean it. You helped a lot today.”
“Aaron, stay
healthy and let me know what you decide. Here’s my card.”
With that, Aaron
headed down the walk to his car and headed back for his apartment. Hume peered
through the net curtains in his living room and watched Aaron drive off. I
sure hope he agrees to come, he thought to
himself, the things I want to learn from that lad would be better
obtained with conscious testing... but if it has to... then a dissection would
work almost as well. After all... they had learned quite a bit about the
process from Jojo before he died.
************
Aaron didn’t get
much sleep that night. Not because of the army of cats that slept in every
spare nook and cranny of space on the bed, he was used to that, but because he
was unsure why he had not snapped up Hume’s offer. He loved his cats, but for
an opportunity like this he would have them stay with a relative or something
for 6 months. He was sure his grandmother would take them. His main concern was
why he didn’t completely trust Hume. He should, Hume had provided some much
needed insight into his personal troubles, it would take a while to settle in
but Hume was right, Aaron was not responsible for the death of his mother. It
would take some time but he would be able to “unlearn” that long-standing
belief given the time, and he was grateful to Hume for that. But it just seemed
that Hume was hiding something. He didn’t know what, or why, but twice Hume seemed
to stammer from his helpful self into a more guarded attitude.
Oh well. Not every
employer tells the pee-ons what they are doing do they? That’s essentially what
Aaron would be for this trip, a worker drone, but he had pretty much made up
his mind at Hume’s house that he was going to go. How could he not? The chance
to live rent free in the Yucatan for six months, expenses paid and a salary on
top? And all while working and digging at a real archeological dig! Even with
his reservations about Hume he could not pass this up. He would call around and
find someone to look after his cats, and he would trust Hume to clear the
things he said he would with the University. How could he NOT go? Archeology
was his first love and it was something he was good at... better than all the
people who used to make fun of him. None of them had ever gotten an offer like this and he would be stupid to turn it
down. None of the “cool kids” had an ability like Aaron did, and he took some
solace after all these years that while some of the kids he knew were football
jocks, or in rock bands, or doing SOMETHING that set them apart from the rest
of the crowd, Aaron finally felt special. It was a shame he didn’t have anyone
to tell about it. Technically no one would know he was special, but then he felt he was beyond seeking the approval of
his peers, although it is something that most teenagers strive for. Acceptance.
This at the same time he thought about how great it would be to rub their noses
in the deal he got and the work he’d be doing for the next six months. That
none of the other kids would likely not want to do the job he had agreed to
hardly entered his mind.
It had been a busy
day. Bursting the bubble of his guilt regarding his mother’s death was
significant in itself. He would be thinking that one through for a while, but
thanks to the professor he felt he had made a step in the right direction. And
to thank the Professor he would do everything he could to help him in his
translation work in Mexico.
He’d call Hume in
the morning and confirm his decision to go and started to think about what
arrangements he could make for his cats. With these thoughts in his mind he
finally drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 7
The following
morning he phoned the number on the card Hume had left him and told the
Professor he was going to accompany him on the dig. The Professor was pleased
to hear Aaron’s decision, and told him that later that day he would e-mail
Aaron the particulars of the flight he was to take, and concluded his
conversation by advising Aaron that the total amount he was to be paid for his
six months on the dig would be put into his bank account that afternoon. “Just
in case you need to do some clothes shopping or pick up a few things before you
go” was the reason.
Aaron hung up on
that call with a sense of nervous anticipation. He had taken the first step and
resigned himself to what he decided he would view as an adventure. With that,
he began to make some more calls.
It had taken most
of a day, but Aaron was able to track down a not-to-distant aunt that he
remembered loved cats. She had always had at least a dozen crawling around her
when they went to visit her when he was a child Before his mother had
died. Hid Aunt only lived an hour or so away
and Aaron did trust her. After all... he didn’t want just anyone to take care of his small family. His Aunt Sarah was
pleased to hear from him, and they talked for a good hour before he got up the
nerve to ask her to cat-sit for the next six months. He explained what a great
opportunity this was and that he normally wouldn’t bother her with this except she was the best person to deal with
cats that he knew of. This softened Aunt Sarah up enormously and, when Aaron
mentioned that that new company he was working for would pay her for taking the
cats in for the time he was away she declared that she would happy to have some
company for a short while. All her many cats had died over the years and she
had never replaced them.
With that done,
Aaron hung up the phone and sat back in his couch. That’s it, he thought to
himself. All my life up to now has been taken care of with a single phone call.
He had no friends to call, (he would send an e-mail from Mexico to his Quake friend Steve Darby. Given the facilities he imagined Hume had set up down
south he imagined he could still continue to play Quake over the Internet... assuming they had it set up
down there. But he was sure a man as technically adapt as the Professor was
sure to have computers and Internet access. How else would he keep abreast of
going’s-on in the world? It saddened him a bit that after making sure his cats
were taken care of that there was nothing else for him to close up. No
girlfriend to say goodbye to... no house to sell, no goodbye party from any
local friends that was for sure. His apartment would be checked weekly by an
agency hired by the Professor (or the company the Professor worked for... he
wasn’t sure where that line was drawn just yet) and the bills paid, according
to Hume, so that light, heat and water would be ready and working for him when
he got back. He could pick up today and get on the plane and doubted anyone
back here at home would notice, and the thought saddened him a little. He sent
a few e-mails from his computer telling some of the faceless acquaintances he communicated with online where he was
going and what he was doing. But that was the extent of his ties to his home
town. Well, he thought, it won’t
be my home town much longer!
He thought about it
a while longer, and spent a few hours thumbing through some of the many books
he had on the subject of Mayan archeology. He paid particular attention to the
sites in the area of the Yucatan he was going to be visiting. He knew the area
and knew there was more than just Chichen Itza in the vicinity. Even if the
trips weren’t “sanctioned” he was sure there would be some down time where he
could take a drive on his own to see some of the other sites.
He was excited
about the trip. Having made all of his phone calls and organized what there was
of his life he could see no reason to wait for another five days before it was
time to leave. He called Hume again and asked if he could take an earlier
flight.
“I was hoping you’d
ask that” was the reply. “I kind of want to get an early start myself”
explained the Professor. “Tell you what. I need a little more time to wrap
things up here. Instead of leaving on Monday, why don’t we leave this Friday?
To tell you the truth Aaron, I was only waiting until Monday because I was
hoping to have that extra time to talk you into coming with me. Aaron, it’s
going to be great, you won’t regret it.”
Within an hour
there was another e-mail waiting for him. This e-mail, it advised, superseded
the previous one and told him he would be picked up by a car on Friday. There
was no flight information on this one, just a note from Hume to ask him to be
downstairs at ten AM, Friday
morning ready and packed, and Hume would
meet him in a car to take him to the airport.
Professor Hume also
had some of what he called “Training instructions” included with his e-mail. In
this short paragraph he simply asked Aaron to review at least an hours worth of
material for the next few days, in a variety of languages. It shouldn’t be
difficult to get the material Hume reasoned. He knew Aaron could get it from
any library, or simply download the appropriate language support files from the
Internet and view web pages from other countries in their native language. Hume
thought this would be good practice ready for Aaron’s time in Mexico when he
would be asked to read several such language papers as they studied his
ability.
With this e-mail
Hume had also sent a graphic attachment along with a note that someone from
LanceCorp wanted to give Aaron a little test and that he had the whole week and
plane ride trip down to see if he could translate the page attached. When he
opened the file and printed it he could see why it came as a graphic. He had
been able to read the letters of the Italian and French newspapers even before
his ability asserted itself and allowed him to read the meaning of the words
they represented. This page was an odd collection of symbols, scratches and
dots that he had no idea what language they came from, he couldn’t even see any
letters he recognized. No wonder they came as a graphic... there was no way he
had any fonts on his computer that would be able to reproduce the structure of
this language. It was a little known computer fact among the non-technical,
that if someone sends you a letter in a specific font your reader had to have
that font installed on their system for you to see it the way they intended. He
stared at the printed sheet for a few minutes with nothing coming to him as to
its meaning, and quickly became discouraged. Had the ability left him? Just a day ago he was reading entire Italian and
French newspaper, and now he couldn’t read this one page! His first fear was
that for whatever reason his brain had forgotten how to do its trick. He had to
test that.
Going to his
computer, he searched out a news service Website site that was entirely in
French. He stared at the screen for a few seconds and without any fanfare or
warning he found himself scanning the page reading a story on a French
politician that had been found in a compromising position with one of his
secretaries. With his brain at the correct “focus point” as he was coming to
call it, he quickly picked up the file from the Professor and scanned the full
page.
Nothing. He glanced
back at the French news article and flipped down one screen and began to read
the second news story, this one about a rise in oil prices that, for some
reason, was causing a great deal of argument and debate among the industry
types in Europe. Again he quickly flipped back to the file from the Professor
and became lost in the scratches and symbols that filled the page. He tried
flipping the paper upside down and sideways as he knew not all languages were
left-to-right like English, but it was no use.
“I guess I need
more practice” he mumbled to himself, somewhat discouraged but thankful that he
had not lost his ability, only that he was being tested with something that was
a little more hard. Well... always up to a test and eager to please and impress
Professor Hume, Aaron searched out more sites and began to download the files
that allowed his browser to view sites in their native language.
Once completed and
installed he was up until the early morning
reading a myriad of pages. As is typical of the Internet in any
language, Aaron found himself reading news stories, movie review, personal web
pages and, he discovered, pornography was not limited to the English language.
He had no reason to get to bed early. The Professor assured him he had cleared
everything with the University and Aaron had no need to go back to his classes
until just over six months from now.
Aaron discovered
two things that first night. The first was that despite the excitement of
discovering his new found ability, reading page after page of useless, mundane
material on the net was BORING. The excitement of reading a site published
entirely in Arabic quickly wore off when the content of the site was a detailed
analysis of a movie Aaron had never heard of and would never see. Arguments
over which actor was the best in a certain role. As in the English Websites,
just because something was published didn’t necessarily mean it was good or
interesting.
The second thing
Aaron learned was that the more he used his ability, the easier it was to read
what was on the screen. At one time he had a Chinese, Russian and Indian page
on his computer, and as fast as he could scroll between the pages he was able
to switch back and forth seamlessly. Where he initially had to wait a few
seconds for his mind to focus on the page, by the time his evening was
completed his comprehension was almost instantaneous.
In the Library a
few days earlier, a good half hour of reading was enough to give him a
splitting headache. Tonight he had read for at least four hours straight and
was only now beginning to feel the tell-tale signs of another head-ache coming
on. Was it his ability that was causing this? He had read books for almost a
day straight before with no ill effects. If it was his ability (power) that was causing the headaches he decided that they
were coming farther and farther apart the more he utilized it. That was the
good news. He didn’t want to let the professor down, so Aaron decided that he
would swallow a handful of Tylenol tonight and get a good night’s rest, and
tomorrow he would work the ability again for as long as he could. Just
like working out a muscle he thought. The more
you use it, the less time you need to let the muscle recuperate. It also leaves
the muscle stronger that it was before, and Aaron wondered what would things be
like after he had been “exercising” his ability for a month? A year? His head
didn’t even feel as bad as it had in the library and he was sure that the
Tylenol would kick the ache in the ass (sell THAT to Tylenol for their
next ad campaign!) and he’d be better in the
morning. Tomorrow was his last full day in this country for the next six
months!
Just before he
drifted off to sleep, his mind still racing from the pages of information he
had read, Aaron had a last look at the graphic file Hume had sent to test him.
He looked hard, and try as he might to throw that switch in his mind that would
reveal the puzzle, all he could see was odd little symbols and scratches Well, he thought, it’s a pretty good test. I
haven’t got a clue what it says! No idea... wonder what it is?
************
Far away, and a
little earlier in the evening, Hume had also looked at the graphic file Samuels
had instructed him to pass on to Aaron. Hume did not even bother to ask how
Samuels knew he had picked Aaron for the student position. He stared at it for
a good half hour and could not make any sense of even a single word. He was a
smart man, and had traveled the world. He didn’t have Aaron’s ability but he
figured he would be able to catch a word here, a phrase there, but this did not
look like any language he had seen before. Swahili, Arabic, they all had a
similar “chicken-scratch” appearance compared to the smooth English alphabet he
was familiar with. He thought about looking into this further and finally
decided it would be a waste of time. A man with the reach of Miguel Samuels
might have pulled these symbols from a cave painted by the Kalahari Bushmen, or
some other such obscure tribe. It might take days to find the right language
and, if the page was “secret” Samuels wouldn’t have sent it to him anyway just
in case he recognized the language. He decided he would just have to be
patient, and to keep one eye trained on Samuels.
************
The following
morning Aaron awoke fairly early due to his excitement. The headache that
threatened from last night was nowhere to be found and he hardly gave it a
second thought. After feeding his furry-family he showered, dressed and spent
the next half hour trying to get his four large cats into two medium sized
pet-carriers. They had all been to the vet one by one over the years for
vaccines, neutering or what have you, but he kicked himself. For not having the
foresight to buy enough carriers for each of them. What if there was a
fire? What about if he moved again? He was
paying for his lack of foresight at the moment as he tried to fit his largest
cat, Joshua (the same one that liked to bite if the food was not coming quick
enough) in the carrier with another of his larger cats, Slater. Slater did not
want to be in the carrier to begin with, much less share it with this new
tenant that was being dropped in from the open mouth of the carrier, and was
not shy at vocalizing his displeasure.
Within thirty
minutes, Aaron had four cats in two carriers. He was sweating from chasing
them, as one would escape when he opened the door to introduce the second cat,
and was sporting several scratches and wounds from the more opinionated of the
group. On retrospect, having only two Band-Aids for the mornings exertions he
considered himself as having gotten off easy. Low growling sounds issued from
each of the carriers, unhappy in their predicament.
He imagined himself
as looking quite a site as he walked them down to his car carrying them like
luggage (only luggage never made noises like this). One at a time when they
went to the vet, even Joshua hadn’t made any particular fuss over the carrier.
But all four in the same vicinity began to sense the despair of the others and
added their own protests to the total cry. He gently loaded them into the car
along with a bag full of dry food, canned food, toys and anything else he thought
they would need for their stay at Aunt Sarah’s. He would be sure to send her
some extra cash so he could be sure his aunt would be able to buy them food,
litter etc. and that they would have enough to eat while he was gone.
They finally
settled after the drive got underway and Aaron was able to get them into his
Aunt’s house with a minimum of fuss. One by one he took them out of the
carrier. It always struck him as odd that they kicked up a fuss when going into
the carrier, but once accepted, the carrier became a safe haven they refused to
leave causing him almost as much pain as they did when he forced them in. He
kissed each of them on their heads and gave each a cuddle as he told them
goodbye. His aunt was in the kitchen getting food and water bowls set up, she
was quite excited at having cats in the home again after going without them for
so long. His aunt would have understood how upset he was at having to say
goodbye as she was an animal person herself, and more importantly she was also
a cat person, but he was still glad that
this scene was between him and his gang. Aaron was surprised at what he
remembered as he hadn’t thought of it for some years. His mother always had a
saying when someone was being fussy or cranky, even a cat. She would always say
“their nose was out of joint” and it was an ample description of Aaron’s cats
at the moment. As he dropped them gently on the carpet after saying his quiet
good-byes they would circle each other with their back arched in typical
pissed-off-cat style and hissed at each other. There were no fights, and
eventually they would settle. Of the four, only Joshua nuzzled Aaron back and
purred as he dug his claws a little harder into Aaron’s shoulder as if to say don’t
go. It was something Aaron would not be comfortable
sharing with anyone else, but only an animal person knew the level of emotion
that gets mixed up when people own pets. Several winters ago there was a man
that had fallen through the ice trying to save his dog that had done the same
thing. As tends to happen in those cases the man drowned as the dog managed to
scamper to safety. Aaron would have done the same for any of his pets, and
there was no convincing the “non-pet” people who could not understand that
emotion and thought the man insane. Finally prying the purring monster from his
shoulder Aaron watched as Joshua ran to the nearest mantle and began knocking
things to the carpet as he examined them. There was no need to warn his Aunt,
she would understand. She was a cat person.
With tears welling
in his eyes (and after he sat and visited with his Aunt for a while so she
could feed him) Aaron began his drive back home. He stopped off at a bank
machine on the way to check his balance so he wouldn’t be embarrassed in the
store when he went to pay for something. When the dull-green screen told him
what was in his account Aaron couldn’t believe it. He was not rich by any
means, but he felt like it at that moment. It was more money than he could have
earned with two summers of full-time work and here it was just plopped into his
account overnight by the Professor. How had Hume done that when he never
did ask for Aaron’s account number... or even what bank he used! He was going
to be sure to ask the professor that the next time he saw him. Or so Aaron thought. He withdrew $500 as a good start
and within minutes he was heading for the local mega-mall with his mind racing
over what he would need to buy for his time away.
He decided to stop
at a local outrigger shop. He didn’t know exactly what they were called but he
knew them as the place where die-hard campers and outdoors-men went to buy
their supplies. He liked to camp, when he could find someone to go with, and
had a few odds and ends in his apartment, but decided with his new “salary” he
would but new items. He would not be living in a tent he knew, but he was
assuming he would be out in the sun when he visited a dig and he would need a
hat, shorts, a belt and a good knife. He didn’t know why he needed a knife but
the cities he would be visiting were in the jungle and in the jungle you needed
a knife just in case. Never know when you may have to kill an offending
alligator or rhino in the wilds. That these jungle cities also were modern
enough to have washrooms and small gift shops didn’t seem to enter into the
equation.
By the end of the
day Aaron had what he thought he would need as a start for his trip. Clothes,
industrial strength shorts and shirts, a hat that he felt made him look a
little like “Indiana Jones” and a book for the plane (The latest hard-cover by
Stephen King). He also managed to buy a knife that would fit onto his new belt,
just in case.
************
Across town,
Professor Trevor Hume was making preparations of his own. Although he had a few
more financial loose-ends to secure away for the near future (most of his
investments and accounts could be managed via the Internet while he was away)
Hume had no more personal contacts to sever than Aaron did. Less in fact as
Hume had no pets. He made a call to his real-estate agent and surprised the
poor woman with his directness. He would
courier the keys to his home to her. He made a rough estimate of the
value of the contents of his small home. His stereo, the furniture, even the
car in the garage. He told his agent what he owed the bank on the home and told
her that in addition to her commission she could keep anything she got above
the amount needed to clear the debt on the house. This struck the agent as odd
since she knew the home itself was worth double at least what was outstanding
on the mortgage. She had dealt with Hume previously when he first purchased
this particular home four years ago, and remembered him as a frugal man who
would gripe about every penny he was losing in his move to his new home. He
even haggled with her about her commission at the time, and now here he was
writing her a blank cheque. Oh well, she rationalized. She was not taking
advantage of him. He was obviously aware of the value of his home and simply
didn’t care. Must be nice!!! He was
packing a suitcase when she came to photograph the inside details of the house.
Was he running from the law? Likely not, as someone on the run wouldn’t leave a
real estate agent with a forwarding address and a method of contact. They had
signed an agreement where Hume had outlined the details of the sale of his home
and personal affects.
Hume knew the woman
was curious but was afraid to ask any questions for fear of upsetting her
client and possibly losing the financial plumb he dropped in her lap. He was
not worried about the money. He had in fact considered simply abandoning the
house entirely but the old money-manager in him would not allow it. He didn’t
want to be bothered with the details of the sale and finally settled on his
agreement with his real-estate agent. If he could break even on everything as
he left his current life then he would consider it an even trade. The money
paid by Samuels would allow him to live quite comfortable in Mexico and after
that, he would be able to go anywhere he wanted. He continued to pack a few personal
belongings into a suitcase knowing that the agent was just dying to ask him what he was doing. She would know where
he was going as he had left her with a place to contact him in Mexico should he
need to sign any papers or close any legal dealings, but that was all she knew.
Well, he thought,
let her wonder!
************
Still further
downtown, Miguel Samuels was also making preparations unique to his own needs.
Though he had told Hume that he would not be present at the dig, Mr. Samuels
would not miss it for the world. But there were things to do first.
Preparations to be made.
Professor Hume
would certainly be surprised if he could see Samuels at the moment. He was
again standing where Hume had first met him, with his arms behind his back as
he studied the large painting that overshadowed his office. He stood unmoving
except for a small tear that ran down his cheek as he stared up at the painting
of the tortured woman. He was wearing only cut-off shorts at the moment, with
an elaborate design on his muscular chest, legs and face in white and yellow
paint. A large knife hung from a scabbard at his side, its exposed blade
gleaming as it reflected the lights from the braziers as they were the only
source of light in the room. The sweat on Samuels back threw the light back at
odd angles as it too reflected the light of the flames.
For almost an hour
he looked at this painting, whispering something to himself that only he could
hear. Then he closed his eyes and on the occasion they did open all that was visible
was the whites. He was in a trance caused by the training of his own mind and
helped along by the items burning in the braziers on either side of the
painting. He breathed deeply, inhaling the smoke as it rose and curled in the
air, almost seeming to seek out his nostrils. Finally, without warning, his
eyes opened and he stared blankly at the painting. Where before there was naked
emotion there was now only a single minded purpose. He walked over to the first
brazier and without hesitation he held his forearm over the small flame. In a
single sweeping motion he took the knife from its scabbard and cut a three inch
gash along his arm. He sheathed his knife and for at least a minute he used his
good hand to massage the wound, allowing the blood to drop directly into the
brazier and watched uncaring as it caused the flames to flicker and waver with
renewed intensity. Then, he lowered his arm onto the brazier and allowed the
heat from the flame to cauterize the wound and blister his skin before he repeated
the process with his other arm on the second brazier. His face never changed
through this part of the ritual. He seemed not to feel the cut of the knife or
the heat of the flame.
The only time his
face changed was at the next part of the ritual. He closed his eyes again and
when he opened them he began to examine the painting again before glancing
briefly at his own arms, almost in wonder at the wounds he found there and the
pain that must be caused by them. There was no reason in his mind why later he could
not get the wounds tended, but for now there was one more part of the ritual to
complete. The most important part.
He turned around
and where earlier in the day there had been a large mahogany desk there was now
a low wooden platform about four feet high and wide enough to comfortable hold
the two prone figures that were strapped to its surface. Both were men in their
late fifties and well known to Samuels. Before yesterday they had been high
placed employees of a competing firm to his own, although if asked, they
themselves would have doubted that they posed any real competitive threat to a
company with the size and scope of LanceCorp. But they were working at cross
purposes to LanceCorp and had gone as far as to challenge a patent applied for
by LanceCorp on a new genetic resequencing procedure for modifying human
vaccine products. Their companies had teamed together to challenge LanceCorp on
this patent and, as Samuels decided that LanceCorp would benefit from this
patent had decided to remove the source of the challenge. Samuels the
businessman was gone now, as was the man Hume had met earlier in this same
office. No obvious signs of that earlier man were left at all and all that
remained was this feral wild-man who was worth more than most countries. All
that remained was the more primal version of that same man. The logic for the
selection of the two men laid out before him had been, oddly enough, based on
the mechanisms of the modern business world. The end result of that selection
was to take part in a ritual older than the country on which they all stood.
The irony of it was lost on Samuels at this moment.
The men themselves
were in no position to argue, having been earlier injected with a tranquilizing
substance that would ensure their quiet cooperation. They were laid with their
backs bent painfully over the curved surface of the platform, the better to
offer up their breastplates for what was about to come. Their mouths hung open
with spittle dripping from both of them as the platform held their heads in an
almost upside down position. Their eyes were wide open however and reflected
the terror behind them. Samuels had been assured that the drug they were
injected with would leave them fully aware of their situation, just unable to
do anything about it. Perfect. After all, what is the point of sacrificing an
enemy if they were asleep and not able to appreciate that they had been beaten,
or that their sacrifice was to be used for a greater good? There was no honor
in sending a drunken idiot to the lords of the underworld.
Samuels walked
around the men with his knife again out of its scabbard and began to cover
their bodies with short deep cuts on their legs, arms and torsos. Each cut
would be punctuated by a prayer in a language that neither victim could
recognize. Before long they were covered with their own blood which ran down
their bodies and was collected in grooves in the platform designed for just
this purpose. Eventually the blood was pulled further down by gravity until it
was collected in a large wooden bowl beneath them. The men could feel every cut
and, try as they might, they could not move against the ropes that held their
bodies of the drugs that held their minds.
Samuel’s eyes
closed and showed only the whites when he opened them again. His chanting and
prayers increased in volume and suddenly stopped. One of the men, unable to see
what was happening, had a few moments where he thought his ordeal might be
over, when he heard the wet sound of the knife as Samuels plunged it into his
stomach. The last sounds he heard was the labored breathing of Samuels as he
began to work the knife upwards through the skin and bones of the man’s torso
towards his throat.
His victim was dead
long before Samuels reached the throat but it didn’t matter as he had served
his purpose. Samuels reached into the open cavity he had opened and with one
motion he grasped the man’s heart and tore it out of his chest to hold it over
the corpse. Blood was flowing down the grooves in the platform in rivers now,
towards the large wooden bowl on the floor. The heart, which normally should
have stopped the moment it’s owners blood loss was great enough to kill him,
was still beating erratically. Another favorable side effect of the drug these
men had been injected with. It pulsated in Samuel’s hands and with every beat
more blood poured out of the torn arteries and veins and spilled on the
platform to be collected.
Samuels walked with
the beating heart in his hands to one of the braziers. He closed it in both
hands and began to squeeze his prize, the muscles of his powerful chest
gleaming in the firelight as they helped squeeze every last drop of blood into
the brazier.
Normally, a thick
substance like blood would put out such a small fire, but not in this case.
From the moment the first drops hit the flame they rose in intensity and only
increased as Samuels dropped more blood onto them. The blood may have been
stove fuel for the effect it was having on the flame.
Once the heart was
drained of blood, Samuels unsheathed his knife and cut it in half. Even before
the blade first cut into the muscle of the organ it beat one final time, driven
by whatever incantations and drugs Samuels has affected it with to keep it
alive long past the demise of its donor. These two halves he dropped into the
brazier with a final prayer and he seemed not to notice the explosion of flame
as they rose past his face and licked at the ceiling of the office. Though he
knew that Hume had scrutinized this office on his earlier visit, Samuels
doubted that Hume would have noticed that there were no visible fire detection
devices or smoke detectors.
Samuels was
breathing heavier now, and was immersed deeper into whatever state it went when
he was performing this sacrifice. His chest heaving and his blood-covered hands
flexing with each breath, he cleaned his knife on his shorts and began to walk
towards the second offering.
Perhaps the drugs
had finally begun to wear off, but the second man was, though still unable to
escape due to the ropes that bound him, able to turn his head slightly and see
the dark form of Samuels as he walked towards him with the gleaming knife
making his intent obvious. He managed to look into the other direction and was
able to now see what had become of his colleague. He thought he knew what those
sounds had meant, but now he could see the side of his friends face, his mouth
wide open and blood still dripping from the portion of the wound visible in the
upper part of his chest and throat.
No doubt the rush
of adrenaline from the terror that followed brought him even more out of his
drug-induced stupor. But being more aware of what had happened to his friend,
and what was about to be repeated on himself was a mixed blessing to be sure.
If Samuels had any
doubt that the drugs left his offerings aware of what was happening to them, he
was pleased to see that his second subject was aware enough to try and escape
his bonds, and a small pleading sound escaped from the second victim’s lips.
“Wh... Wh... Why?”
“Ah... so you have
started to overcome the drugs... no matter.” Samuels circled the prone form of
his second offering and knelt beside the head of the man so he could see the
terror in his face. “My name is Fire-Shield.
That name I know means nothing to men like you. Your death will serve me well
for my coming trials. Your sacrifice will bring the favor of the gods upon me
in my time of need. I have finally found a way to avenge what you and your kind
have done. Soon, your death here will not matter as when I succeed in my quest
you will likely not have been born at all! It was your people who stole from me
my right to the throne of Mayapan You
tried to steal my language, my religion. You killed thousands of my people.
And...” with this Samuels grabbed the heir of the man and pulled his face painfully
over to meet his own, “When I thought the horror was over, you people still came and took the life of my mother in the name of your false gods. But I can take that
all back. Soon... very soon.”
The names and words
spouted by this insane man meant nothing to the doomed figure on the platform.
He knew he had been drugged but this man was not even speaking English. He was
lying on some back-breaking table, his colleague and friend had just been
killed right next to him, and this insane man painted like some animal was
yelling at him in a language he couldn’t understand. Meaning he couldn’t even
reason his way out of this. The absurdity of that last revelation only threw
him further into a panic and served to suit the needs of his captor.
Regardless of the
situation, no matter how bad a situation seems, as long as people are alive
there remains a small part of the brain that insists that things are going to
be all right. That you are going to get out of whatever situation you’re in and
you will be rescued at the last minute. Where this man had know terror at
knowing what had happened to his friend, his mind had now given up on any hope
of rescue and lapsed into a state of utter panic. He could taste his own blood
from his own wounds as Samuels began the same ritual of small deep cuts on the
second victim. He began to vainly thrash about in his ropes and tried to scream
to someone, ANYONE, for help.
“No....NNNNOOOOOOO”
“So now you deny
any wrongdoing?” Samuels asked in a language that his captor still could not
understand. How could he? The language was over 500 years old. “At a moment
like this, when I was THERE and SAW what you did, you try and deny your actions? We have
a way of dealing with liars...”
With this, Samuels
reached under the platform and pulled out what looked like a large pair of
pliers, only much older and crudely fashioned. He reached into the open mouth
of the screaming man and pierced the tongue as he grasped it with the metal
tool. He extended the tongue a few inches and, with a skilled flick of his
knife, carved the lying man’s tongue from his mouth.
The man stopped his
screaming, almost in surprise from what had just happened. His mouth and throat
began to fill with blood and he wanted to scream but the position he was in
started him choking on his own blood. He would be spared such a prolonged death
as choking.
Samuels threw down
the tongue and the pliers and rose to the side of the platform. He raised the
knife above his head and, as he had done with his first victim this evening,
plunged it into the stomach and in a single frustrated motion opened the man’s
torso to the neck. He removed the still beating heart and threw it on the
second brazier, more in anger than with any ritual reverence as he had with the
first one.
The flames rose again
to the ceiling. Samuels stood panting, and, with the dripping knife still in
his hand, he walked back towards the huge painting. For a few seconds his face
remained impassive, then, slowly, it changed. Softened. He dropped the knife and fell to his knees
with his head buried in his bloody hands. He fell to his side and lay there
crying almost in the fetal position, his body covered with the blood of his
sacrifices and the braziers smoking as their flames slowly subsided.
“I’m sorry...” was
all he whispered, and he lay in that position for most of the night.
Chapter 8
Aaron met Hume in
the foyer of his building and with a last glance and a small pang of melodrama,
Aaron said goodbye to his old life. He only had one suitcase and loaded it into
the limousine next to the three already there that he assumed belonged to the
Professor. Aaron had never been in a limo before. The ride to the airport was
short, but the professor was somewhat amused that Aaron had managed to press
every button and open every compartment before the car pulled up to the
departure terminal. The few times Aaron had traveled, he knew that you had to
wait in line to get your ticket stamped, wait to get on the plane, wait to get
off the plane and then line up to try and pick your luggage off the carousel
before some else managed to do it for you. He was unprepared for what he
encountered on this trip.
The car took them
to a part of the airport he had never been before. No sooner had they pulled up
than several men rushed to the car. One to open and empty the trunk, another to
open the door for him and the Professor and guide them into the small building
near where they had parked, and another to change places with the driver who
Aaron would later find out was also their pilot. Can they do that? He wondered.
He couldn’t see why not, but it was odd to fight traffic with a guy who would
soon be in charge of your plane at thirty thousand feet. Aaron sat in a
high-back comfortable leather chair while the Professor spoke with some men
inside the building. He could see papers being passed back and forth and the
airport guy calling someone on his phone with the Hume’s papers in one hand.
The next thing they
knew, Aaron and the Professor were being led outside to a small plane that had
pulled up near the building. With none of the usual fanfare or problems usually
associated with boarding an international plane, Aaron walked the short
distance to the plane, walked up the stairs and picked a seat without anyone so
much as even asking him his name.
Cool!
“Our employer”
Offered Hume, on of the few time he chose to speak on the trip to the airport,
“...wants to make sure we have a comfortable trip and that we arrive safely. He
loaned us one of his jets so we wouldn’t have to mess around in customs or the
crap that commercial airlines force on us.”
The truth of the
matter was that Miguel Samuels left very little to chance and did not wish to
trust such a valuable cargo to the random events associated with commercial air
flight.
It was a
twelve-seat jet with only one cabin crew and a pilot on board with them. Aaron
was led by a smiling lady who he wrongly assumed was the stewardess, and after
asking what seat he wanted (Aaron picked a window seat in front of the wing)
she promptly sat one row back and on the opposite side of him. The Professor
was not on board yet as he was still outside talking about something with some
uniformed men on the ground. Tarmac he corrected himself. What was the
difference? He would have to ask someone.
“Are you part of
the flight crew?” He asked the woman nervously. She was rather pretty and he
was always nervous when he spoke to a pretty girl. He was afraid they would
think he was trying to pick them up even if he wasn’t..
“No Aaron. I’m your
bodyguard. My name is Sylvia” She stood up and extended her hand to shake his
own.
“Body..
Bodyguard!?!” He returned the handshake as the questions became clear on his
face. He also noticed how smooth and cool her hands were and there was a faint
lingering odor of some perfume when she sat back down..
“That’s right
Aaron. But don’t be afraid. We’re not expecting any trouble on this trip. But
I’m here just in case.”
“In case of what?”
Sylvia dropped her
voice to a whisper after making sure they were still alone in the cabin.
“Aaron, How much has Professor Hume told you about the man he works for?”
“Just that they
bought his dig and they want me to... to go on the trip with him.” Aaron
decided he would keep his ability a secret from others unless Hume told him it
was OK to let it out. With Sylvia he needn’t have bothered.
“Aaron, it’s ok. I
know what you are and I know what you can do. I think you’re underestimating
your importance to this dig Aaron. In some ways your more important that the
Professor. That makes you an important person and a very valuable employee of
Mr. Samuels.”
“Who’s Mr.
Samuels?”
“Mr. Samuels is a
very nice and very rich man. He’s the one who bought the professor’s dig and
wanted you to come to Mexico to help translate the glyphs.”
“So that’s why the
Professor asked me to come. I thought it was because Professor Hume wanted me
to come, not because of some guy I’ve never met.” Aaron’s suspicions about the
professor were appearing to be validated.
“Listen Aaron, I
may have said too much... but I have my orders to protect you and make sure
you’re safe and happy on the way down. I doubt Professor Hume meant to hurt
your feelings, but the dig is owned by Miguel Samuels and it’s Mr. Samuels that
knows what you can do and wants you down there.”
Aaron was a little
unsure what to feel about that. Part of him knew there was something up when he spoke to the Professor two nights ago,
but he didn’t know exactly what. The Professor had really done him a big favor
by letting him unload like that, and because of that he was unwilling to totally
abandon the friendship he felt for Hume. His mind soon began to rationalize.
Big deal. The Professor’s boss tells him to bring me and he does but makes it
seem like it’s his own idea. Maybe he did it because he likes me? Maybe because
he would have brought me anyway?
Sylvia could see
the thoughts churning in the young mind of her charge. “Don’t be upset, please
Aaron. I’m sure the Professor did what he thought was right and wouldn’t do
anything to hurt your feelings.”
Aaron was about to
ask how this Mr. Samuel’s knew about his ability when Hume and the rest of the
crew came into the plane.
“Later Aaron OK?”
Sylvia whispered as she sat back in her seat directly behind Aaron.
"Ok. And
Thanks.”
The Captain who
also drove them here gave a brief safety talk similar to other planes. Where
the seat belts are, where to find life jackets, how to tune the radio on or
watch any of a dozen movies available on command. He did it in about 2 minutes
and there was no need for the bilingual translation Aaron had experienced on
other flights. With this out of the way
everyone took their seats and the plane began its move towards the runway. Hume
spoke briefly with Aaron before picking his own seat at the back of the plane,
covering himself with a blanket and seeming to fall asleep before the plane had
even left the ground.
“Will you sleep
Aaron?” Sylvia asked, leaning forward between the seats.
“No. I don’t know
where I heard it, bit someone once said ‘Any traveler who has missed the
journey, has missed the point’ and I always kind of remembered that. I like to
see where I’m going and be aware the whole way. Besides, I got plenty of sleep
last night”
The flight to the
Yucatan would be about three and a half hours and uneventful. The sensation of
movement was much greater on a smaller plane Aaron noticed, and, until he got
used to it, a little unnerving. The larger planes, though able to maneuver much
more nimbly than they were allowed for fear of upsetting the passengers, seemed
to almost lumber clumsily in their flight. While the feeling on this private
jet was one of speed, and efficiency.
Aaron had brought
his book and after exploring every square inch of his personal space on the
plane, he read for most of the way down. It was bright day and he could see
land through the clouds and wondered what was going on in the places he could
see as he flew over them.
Aaron enjoyed using
binoculars and took out his new compact pair he had bought the previous day to
look down on the land below. He became immersed in his land-watching and
thanked his luck for remembering to buy the binoculars in the first place. It
wasn’t that they were that powerful. At
the moment Aaron was simply looking at the a small schooner docked in a harbor
or at the snow on some of the mountain peaks. His eye-site was pretty good, but
at this height he could still not read the name of the ship, Gemini, without the help of the binoculars. And only then
because the owner had painted it in enormously large letters on the ships
largest sail. There also about thirty people on the stretch of beach at that
moment, and it gave Aaron a certain power to know something that they didn’t.
He was able to see them and they didn’t know they were being watched. He used
his binoculars and swept over the horizon of the mountains that surrounded this
particular bay below him. Pine trees he guessed, and again, something the
general populace of the beach couldn’t appreciate without binoculars or from
his particular vantage point. It was a small victory over those around him… but
he would take those victories any place he could. He also thought it was
because of his “explorers” blood that he liked to think he had, that meant he
like to see what he thought others missed. It would also explain the knife
strapped securely to his new belt. No one knew that was there either though he
would have turned it in without hesitation had customs inquired about it. But
there had been no customs. And he was on a private jet on his way to work on a
Mayan dig in Mexico. What could be better?
He was overcome
with an unnamable gratitude and appreciation of his current situation. He
couldn’t explain it other than he thought some people called it an epiphany, or a sudden understanding. He was doing what he had
always wanted to do and often dreamed of doing. And now, here he was. And it
was not because of a lottery, or because of something else outside of his
doing. It was because he had an ability that no one else had, and someone had
realized that and seen it in him and found him useful and was rewarding him for
it. Whether it was Hume or this other man, Samuels, didn’t matter. He was as
proud of himself as any one person could be at that moment. And it was a
feeling that Aaron was not accustomed to. He then realized that, were she
alive, his mother would be proud of him and at that thought he started to cry.
“Are you ok Aaron?”
It was Sylvia.
“Yeah.” He answered
rubbing his eyes but surprisingly not embarrassed at having this cute girl see
him crying. “I’m fine.”
He read his book in
silence after that, peeking out the window occasionally in case he should miss
something.
************
Sylvia Coleman
watched Aaron from her vantage point behind him. Her keen eyes missed nothing.
She had a complete file from Miguel Samuels on Aaron and had studied it as was
her job. She had told the truth when she told Aaron she was a bodyguard. And
she was in fact assigned by Miguel Samuels to watch over Aaron on this trip.
But she was far more then met the eye. Though only 32 she has risen quickly in
the ranks of Samuels employ. Her loose fitting and feminine clothing hid the
hard muscle she trained so hard to obtain and she liked it that way. It made
her enemies underestimate her. Her soft and feminine outer appearance left
people who crossed her unprepared for the results. She had killed before. Her
position with Samuels often called for self defense in the name of her client,
and sometimes with lethal force. But she would not kill out of pleasure or on
an arbitrary whim of her employer. She was not a murderer but was good at her job.
Samuels paid well and paid for her physical training and martial arts
instruction as part of her perks. Her job had been not only to protect Aaron
from this point forward, but to gain his trust, hence the open admissions and
story after she first met aron. Samuels had told her it was very important that
Aaron trust her, though he didn’t say why.
She would see to it
that Aaron reached Mexico safely and then ask for further instructions once
they arrived. Professor Hume had looked at her when he got on the plane,
perhaps because of her looks, but also likely as he probably wondered who she
was. There was no secret here, she would tell him if he asked, but he seemed to
prefer to sleep on this plane trip and that was fine with her.
Chapter 9
The landing of the
plane was just as casual and hassle free as the take-off. The landing strip was
a private one owned by Samuels no doubt. No one bothered them as the plane
taxied to a small building on the south end of the runway and they disembarked.
In leaving the plane Sylvia had run into Hume and introduced herself.
“Hi.. I’m Sylvia
Coleman. I was sent by Mr. Samuels to ensure your trip down was a comfortable
one” she lied as they shook hands.
“Trevor Hume”
answered the professor, looking suspiciously at this latest addition to the
group. He had noticed her on the plane among the entourage he expected from
Samuels. It would take some getting used to but this was Samuels show now and
he would have to get used to someone with the resources of Samuels to be able
to hire people as he saw fit. What was Sylvia? Travel Agent? Hooker? She was
heavily perfumed and very pretty, she could be anything. A friend of Samuels
here on a free trip? He would make a point of asking her later once they
settled in. He set off to make sure the bags were unloaded and everything ready
for the car ride to the site.
Aaron was
overjoyed. The heat of the countryside hit him like a wall as he stepped out of
the controlled confines of the private jet. But he didn’t care. He was here.
HERE! In Mexico! Making good money and completing his school year doing
something he had always wanted to do. He closed his eyes and lifted his face to
the sun and simply basked in it while others unloaded the cases and prepared
them for the next leg of their journey.
Sylvia was always
within about ten feet of Aaron at any time and she smiled as she saw Aaron
enjoying himself so thoroughly. Despite working for Samuels she had never been
to Mexico either and the sun was refreshing after the cool and overcast days
they had left behind only 4 hours ago. It was like landing on a different
planet. She envied Aaron his innocence and his freedom to enjoy the trip so
completely. So innocently.
The next step of
the trip was the car ride to the dig. The airfield was only about 30 minutes
from the dig itself. Hume turned and spoke to Aaron who was in the back seat
taking in the countryside.
“Had they landed us
in Cancun this would have been a two hour drive. Did you enjoy the flight
Aaron?”
“Very much”
answered Aaron without taking his eyes from the window. Hume noticed that
Sylvia was also in the back seat and though she was looking out her window, he
would swear she was making mental notes on everything that was said. She just
seemed so aware.
“So what exactly is
it you do Ms. Coleman?”
“I work for Mr.
Samuels… Like you do Professor Hume. I was hired to make sure everything went
smoothly on the trip down here.”
“So you’re kind of
like a travel agent?” He prodded.
Sylvia smiled. “No…
I’m a bodyguard Professor. My job is to make sure Aaron makes it to where he’s
supposed to be.”
Aaron continued to
look out the window but was also listening now to this exchange.
“Bodyguard?” Said
Hume. “Why would he need a bodyguard? From me?”
“No not you
professor. But there a lot of people who
would like to have Aaron… to have Aaron
working on their projects instead of Mr. Samuels.”
“A lady
bodyguard..” Quipped Hume. Not wanting to cause a scene in front of Aaron.
“Very rare.”
“And very
qualified.” Her eyes never left his until Hume turned around to face front
again.
The rest of the
short trip was uneventful. They passed through some older dirt roads and came
to a large gate in what looked like the middle of the jungle. Aaron noticed two
armed guards in front of the gate who waved them in after speaking briefly on
their walkie-talkies and recognizing Professor Hume. A few more minutes of
rough road and they came to a clearing where the car stopped.
They all stepped
out of the car and began collecting their personal effects from the trunk. Hume
was genuinely please to be back where he felt he belonged and decided to put on
a small show for Aaron’s ake but to also let that bitch Sylvia know that this
was his territory.
“Welcome to my dig
ladies and gentleman. You are now standing on the north-west corner of the
ancient city of Chichén Itza”. Announced Hume. He noticed a look from Sylvia
and added “Which is now Mr. Samuels dig I suppose… But for the moment I am in
charge. The main part of the city is to the south of us. The tourists and
general public are not allowed in this section of the city. The overall city
was much larger than the area that tourists see. There are literally hundreds
of smaller sites which we believe were smaller towns or villages that circled
the larger city. They are all, of course, buried by jungle which is why the
general public would never even know they were here.”
“What we have
discovered in more recent years is that although the majority of significant
findings are located near the larger structures, we have been finding a great
deal of other works in these outer villages. It is our assumption that these
villages are where the craftsman lived and did their work. The completed works
were then transported to the appropriate final location.”
Aaron was
fascinated. “So you’re finding works that weren’t moved to the final site yet?”
“Exactly. We also
have a theory that in order to ensure survival of the lineage of certain clans,
they deliberately stored their histories and family trees outside of the
central city. Quite a smart strategic decision also. If an enemy force were to
capture a city with all the paperwork in one place it would be a simple matter
to destroy what they find and wipe out the history of an enemy tribe.”
Sylvia didn’t like
Hume much already. But his knowledge was impressive and the subject matter
interesting. “Kind of like keeping a copy of important files in a safety
deposit box in case your house catches fire” She added.
“Exactly. It’s a
relatively new theory in our study on the Maya but it appears to be panning out.
Other digs have started searching the outlying mounds of the greater cities
with greater scrutiny and are finding valuable information.”
“Like artwork and
books?” Asked Sylvia.
Aaron thought he
could handle this one and the professor let him. “No Ms. Coleman. Artwork and
paper hardly ever survives this long. Too fragile and too easy to rot or
disintegrate. Occasionally a vase or some type of sturdy ceramic might have
survived this long, but mostly they find stone carvings.
“Precisely.” Added
the Professor. “In short ladies and gentleman, some of the workman took their
work home with them. Either as a security effort or to complete the work
itself. We’re not sure which. My job is to find as many artifacts as possible
in the hopes of filling in some of the historical blanks.”
He then clasped
hands in greeting with a few of the men who he knew from the dig. “Aaron, this
is Jesus. He will take you to your room. Please everybody, feel free to look
around but try not to get in the way or to touch anything.”
“Is my room near to
Aaron’s” Asked Sylvia.
“Well I wasn’t
expecting you but I’m sure something could be arranged.” Hume was not liking
this level of interference so soon. He whispered instructions to Jesus to set
up an adjoining room for the lady. “Aaron, please enjoy yourself but try to get
plenty of rest. We’re hoping to be at this bright and early tomorrow and you’ll
need your rest.”
Aaron followed
Jesus to a small row of buildings off to the west end of the site. As he walked
Aaron could see small man-sized stone monuments Staella, most of them with several men either clearing them
with a fine brush or digging them out of the earth. There were also large
umbrellas over them which he knew was to prevent the rain from eroding any more
of the features on the stone as well as to protect the workmen from the sun as
they did their work. Aaron could see the shapes of larger buildings to the
south which he figured were the main buildings of the main tourist section of
the city.
In a few moments
Jesus stopped at the door of one of the rooms and motioned Aaron to enter.
Aaron opened the creaky door and stepped into what he assumed would be his room
for the next few months. This small collection of rooms reminded Aaron of a strip mall hotel. One of those long single
lines of rooms, only these rooms were a little more rustic than any hotel. But
the roof appeared solid, his room had a comfy bed and he had his own bathroom.
The test
“Come on in Aaron.”
Hume was already in the testing room along with Dr. Stephens. Aaron walked into
the room and Sylvia followed behind.
“You ready?” She
asked to Aaron.
“I’m a little
nervous” answered Aaron, “But I want to know what makes this thing work as
well.” As he said “this thing” he tapped the side of his head. Sylvia knew he
meant his ability.
It was amazing what
type of facilities a man with the resources of Miguel Samuels could set up in
so short a time. Diesel generators produced the power needed to run the bank of
computers and equipment in the room. It has obviously been a large tent at one
point as the sagging flaps could be seen over head. Samuels had shipped in
glass walls like those in an office cubicle. Hume had seen these types of items
before. The modular walls were designed to drown out noise and filter out any
random ambient electromagnetic signals. Not as big an issue here in the Yucatan
as the generators of that interference, radios, computers, cars etc. were much
fewer here than in a large city, but a wise precaution nonetheless. The high
ceilings also made sure no rain or moisture made its way into the climate
controlled environment to disrupt any electrical signals. The computers were
top end with shielded cables to prevent interference with any readings they
might pickup. Despite the size of the assembled room there were only a few
technicians operating the equipment.
Aaron looked around
in awe. All the wires from all the equipment in this room, when he traced them
with his eye, sooner or later ended up linking to a large metallic chair
stationed in the center of the room.
“Please Aaron”
motioned Dr. Stephens. “Have a seat.”
Dr. John Stephens
was a small balding man in his late forties. His rounded glasses sat atop a
bulbous nose and framed the obvious intelligence in his eyes. For the most part
he looked like someone favorite uncle in a lab coat. Stephens had worked for
Miguel Samuels many times in the past. He was a well respected and trusted
member of Samuel’s organization as well as a remarkably analytical and thorough
scientist. His specialty was the human brain. What made it tick, where memories
come from. He had done research and proposed several successful treatment to
aid the suffering of Alzheimer’s patients and had assisted in the development
of several revolutionary Parkinson’s therapies, with LanceCorp of course,
publicizing the data. Working for Samuels provided much needed grants for his
research and allowed him to do a lot of good. Samuels not only paid well but
allowed him to publish several peer reviewed papers. He was a good man, and an
honest man. Stephens had supervised the shipping and arrival of the equipment
and the portable laboratory they were standing in now and he had been given a
full briefing on Aaron and what he was supposed to test for. Samuels had
insisted on updated daily. Stephens also liked Aaron. He seemed a bright and
energetic boy and if what the file said were true, Stephens would get a first
hand look at a phenomenon that was so rare as to be almost non existent. A
natural mutation that allowed spontaneous interpretation of other languages?
Incredible. And in one so young!
Aaron glanced
briefly at Sylvia as they walked into the structure, not wanting to look the
coward but feeling a little overwhelmed by it all. All this is for me?? He made his way through the glass walls and sat in the chair. Dr. Stephens explained
that he was going to attach some electrodes to him. To his arms, some to his
chest, others to his head. Even to the soles of his now bare feet.
“None will hurt.”
Assured Dr. Stephens. “We don’t use glue
anymore, they are all attached with suction cups!” He licked one and stuck it
to his own forehead to demonstrate. Aaron chuckled. He had liked Dr. Stephens
from the moment he first met him.
Dr. Stephens then
proceeded to attach a myriad of wires, clips and suction cups to odd locations
on Aaron’s body… He even had a metallic crown with smaller suction cups ending
at his temples and at the base of his neck. But Dr. Stephens hadn’t lied.… none
of them hurt. When he was all set up, Aaron felt a little bit of a fool, sitting
in a chair with several dozen wires leading to and from his body and Sylvia
watching him from behind the glass. Dr. Stephens handed Aaron a binder and
asked him not to open it until he was asked to, then he left the test room,
closed the door to the chair room and stood outside the cubicle alongside Hume
and Sylvia. Aaron sat the binder in his lap and could see the others in the
room through the mostly glass wall.
Stephens thumbed a
switch that opened an intercom to Aaron. “OK Aaron, the equipment you’re sitting
in the middle of is a very sensitive collection of monitors. I’m going to ask
you some questions, play you some sounds and have you look at some of the
pictures in the binder in front of you. Nothing will hurt… Just relax, take as
much time as you need and answer honestly with whatever you feel is the right
response. What we’re going to try and measure is your brain activity, heart
rate, respiration, brain wave activity. We’re going to try and see how your
brain reacts in ‘normal’ functioning, and then see if there is a measurable
difference when you apply your… um, talent.
We’ll also measure the time between questions and answers, body
temperature, everything that might give us a clue as to the source of your skill.
Any questions?”
“No… I don’t think
so.”
With this, Dr.
Stephens threw another switch on a panel in the outside room and Aaron felt the
equipment around him spring into new life. Buttons and dials were flashing,
tape began turning. Showtime! His mouth was dry.
“All right Aaron”.
Said Stephens through the speaker, “State your name.”
“Aaron Raymond
Reese.” He said hesitantly in no particular direction. He assumed the chair was
wired for sound.
“Phone number?”
“555-1212.”
“Favorite color?”
“Yellow is my lucky
color, I don’t know that I have a favorite.”
“Favorite food?”
“Bangers and mash.”
Sausages and mashed potatoes. A meal his mother used to make for him and still
his favorite.
“What country are
you in right now?”
“Mexico… In the
Yucatan.”
There were a
variety of other simple questions. Age, height, birthday. After these the
questions progressed to simple math. 1+1, 2 x 5, 100 + 100. Nothing to taxing.
Aaron could see Dr.
Stephens making notes and watching gauges and printouts in the observation
area. Sylvia looked intently at the readouts not knowing what they meant. Hume,
notably silent through most of this so far, was more intent on watching Aaron.
“Ok” Hume asked,
“Do you have a baseline for him yet?”
Dr. Stephens typed
a few commands into the computer and looked over the readouts so far.
“Yes. I believe I
do. And everything so far is normal. His brain activity jumps a small
percentage as you would expect with easy questions.” His finger pointed at a
few small jumps in the line on the screen that resembled a heart rate readout
from a hospital. “Things that are stored in long term memory or things that are
second nature to us do not tax the brain when it retrieves them. Straight
regurgitation versus any complex calculations or thought processes. His brain
doesn’t re-calculate 2 x 5 whenever it hears it. As an adult such mundane
answers are remembered more than actually performed.”
“Interesting.” Said
Hume. “So lets move on to the binder.”
Dr. Stephens asked
Aaron to open the binder in front of him and to look at the first page. All the
pages were stiff and laminated and clearly numbered in the top corner so there
would be no miscommunication. There was an identical binder in the observation
area. On the first page was a picture of a horse.
“Monkey.” Said
Aaron and Hume almost visibly jumped. “Just kidding Dr. Couldn’t resist. It’s a
horse” Aaron instantly regretted his attempt at levity.
From her vantage
point slightly to the rear of the two men, Sylvia noticed that Dr. Stephens
smiled at Aaron’s joke while professor Hume was clearly not amused. Geez…
Lighten up she thought to herself. He’s
just a kid.
Hume toggled the
speaker switch again. “Very funny Aaron… But please stick to the program ok?
Jokes will mess with the way we time your answers. You’re second guess was
correct. It’s a horse. But what kind of horse? What breed?”
Aaron hadn’t a
clue. He knew there were different breeds of horse, Percheron, Arabian,
Kleisdale, and others that he couldn’t think of. He stared at the picture but
couldn’t make an answer come. The people in the observation room could see the
puzzled look on Aaron’s face.
"You see
there?” Dr. Stephens pointed to a much larger spike on the screen with the
readout of Aaron’s brain activity. “We’ve given his mind some work. Like a
computer it’s searching through his memory for an answer. More activity means a
larger spike. His heart rate and respiration are normal for someone under his
current degree of stress. He’s nervous about performing adequately in front of
a pretty lady as well as his professor. Those should normalize in a few minutes
as well.”
“I don’t know Dr.”
Answered Aaron meekly.
“That’s perfectly
ok Aaron, I told you to answer honestly.” That horse is a XXXX if you wanted to
know. Now, please turn to page 2.”
By the time Aaron
was on his way to Mexico, Samuels had his people generate a full analysis and
history on him. Likes, dislikes, preferences in school and in his limited
social life. The next several pages were specifically meant to be filled with
pictures of items that Aaron would likely not know the answer to. Yes, that
picture was of a plate. But based on the design on the plate, who manufactured
it? A picture of a bird was easy, but what breed of bird was it? All were
seemingly simple items but with a seemingly impossible level of knowledge
needed to answer a specific question about the object. The binder had been
compiled by Samuels with advice from his own team of experts and Aaron was
performing exactly as expected, though visibly upset and feeling a fool for not
knowing what the answers were.
“I’m sorry Dr.
Stephens. Maybe I’m jet-lagged or something and the power won’t come?”
“Aaron, please
don’t worry about your ‘power’” Said Stephens with a smile. Stephens had read
Aaron’s file as well and honestly didn’t believe such a power existed at all.
He had heard of it, more in theory from the work of colleagues, but that work
was rather old and it had not been seen since. “I think I’d be correct in
stating that no one on this side of the wall knew the answers to all those
questions either. The test is a measure of how your brain functions under
different stimuli Aaron. Your not supposed to know all the answers.”
That made Aaron
feel a little bit better.
“So he doesn’t have
any power?” Asked Sylvia.
“Too early to tell”
answered Stephens. Knowledge is not ability. If he had never seen a “Cleo” design on an antique plate, there is no reason why
he could know it even if he had a power. Language is different. Language has
context, sometimes undetectable flows of logic, pattern and structure. In my
opinion, they are too closely related. If Aaron doesn’t know what a Cleo plate
is, he shouldn’t know any languages without prior exposure either. I am not
expecting to be surprised today Ms. Coleman.”
He turned back
towards Aaron. “Next” He announced. “Page 24 if you please Aaron.”
Aaron turned the
page and saw a large black splotch smeared in the middle of the page. He was
relieved to say he recognized what it was.
“That’s a Rorsarch
blotch” He said proudly.
“Indeed it is
Aaron.” Said Stephens.
Hume flipped off
the speaker to the observation room.
“Why the hell are
you giving him a Rorsarch test???” he demanded as he flipped through his copy
of the binder to see the many other splotches in the binder. “What does that
have to do with his ability to understand languages?”
Stephens didn’t
like to have his methods questioned, least of all by someone who knew nothing
of his processes.
“The test is
necessary for analysis of brain function.” He explained patiently. “We’ve
analyzed the fact and retrieval section of his function, now we need to have a
little peek into the creative side. There are no right or wrong answers to a
Rorsach test. It’s needed to stimulate the imaginative and creative processes
of his brain.”
Still clearly not
happy, Hume flipped the speaker back on and stepped away from the board. The
next several pages were all Rorsach blots. Aaron took a few seconds on each and
saw a variety of standard shapes and images that any sane person would see.
Looking at their own copy of Aaron’s binder, Sylvia looked at the same blots
and once Aaron gave his interpretation of the shape she could see it also.
There was also a page in the book that was not laminated and had a stubby
pencil in a small clip where Aaron had two minutes to draw a picture of
anything that came into his mind.
“What’s he
drawing?” asked Sylvia not knowing if there was a way for them to see it.
“Irrelevant” Said
Stephens. It’s the effect that the creative process has on his brain that we’re
interested in.”
Sylvia looked at
the screen and could see the same series of spikes and grooves that reflected
whatever was going on in Aaron’s head as he drew. By Dr. Stephens lack of
response she assumed it was as normal as the first part of the test had been.
Aaron finished his
picture and waited for Dr. Stephens to tell him it was ok to turn to the next
page. The next series of pages were words that Aaron recognized as French and
Spanish, but they were words he knew from every day life in a multicultural
society. Oui, Si, Non, L’Auto, Papier, Hola, Agua. All were simple words that
any tourist might have picked up. Yes, Yes, No, Car, Paper, Hello, Water….
Sylvia noticed no
change in the spike on the screen and Stephens seemed unimpressed. She could
see Hume leaning against the console in the observation room, staring at Aaron
in anticipation. What was next? She
thought.
When Aaron did turn
the page he was greeted by a familiar glyph. It was the exact same glyph that
the Professor had shown him during their morning meeting at school. “Witz” he
announced. “Mountain.”
Sylvia noticed the
spike on the computer screen jump a little higher than it had before. Until now
she was beginning to get a little bored with this test and she watched the
monitors with renewed enthusiasm. Even SHE knew a lot of the rods Aaron was
faced with, and saw that Hume knew some of the glyphs by the way he nodded in
agreement with Aaron’s responses. So far she was unsure what all the fuss was
about.
“All right Aaron,
next page.” And Hume turned his at the same moment.
Another glyph
presented itself. An interesting composition of a head, with a hand under the
chin, and other lines and dots places at seemingly random locations.
Aaron concentrated
on this image. He hadn’t seen it before. Sylvia noted the look on his face and
also noticed that his breathing and respiration had returned to what the
computer indicated was a normal level. She also noticed the spike on his
monitor shot up to the same level as it had with the other glyph but stayed
there a little longer this time. A wider spike.
“Land” he answered.
“Next page”
prompted the professor without further comment.
Aaron flipped the
page “Passage or tunnel.” Aaron wasn’t sure which.
“Next.”
“Smoke.”
“Next.”
“Jaguar.”
“Next.”
“Lord.”
“Just keep working
Aaron, turn the pages at your own pace.” Said Stephens as he turned towards his
bank of readouts and monitors.
“Is he right about
the glyphs?” Stephens asked Hume as he had no clue. Most of the other pictures
had an answer legend on the back of the page but the glyphs did not. Strange
that…
“I… I don’t know”
Said Hume making notes of Aaron’s answers. “I’ll have to run these through our
translator program and see if they pan out.” Sylvia could see he was visibly
shaken and struggling to keep up with Aaron’s answers. Furiously making notes
as Aaron flipped through the pages and read out the words he found there.
“I saw the spike
jump” Said Sylvia to Stephens, pointing to the screen where the new activity
was taking place.
“Not just a jump”
answered Stephens with a smile, “But a different spike.” He pulled up a split screen to show Sylvia the difference.
Hume was still wrapped up in making notes of Aaron’s answers as he read through
the binder.
Sure enough, for
most of the test the spike that seemed to be generated when Aaron’s mind was
forced to work was on the left side of the screen. When he started on glyphs he
didn’t know, the spike on the screen was on the right side.
“A different part
of his brain?” Asked Sylvia.
“Undoubtedly” Said
Stephens as his fingers worked over the keyboard calling up analysis after analysis
of Aaron’s brain activity. “And not just that, but a part of the brain that in
you or I is primarily dormant”.
“Dormant? You mean,
we can do this as well if we learned how???”
“Oh no my dear”
said Stephens, “If it were just a matter of training then anyone could do what
that young man in there is doing at the moment. There’s a part of the conscious
brain that humans have not used for many years. A part that responds now only
to immediate threats of terror or life threatening events, and even then all it
all it seems to do is dump adrenaline into the body to deal with a
flight-or-fight threat. But in Aaron’s case, it seems to have less of a physiological impact on the body as it does a psychological impact.
And there’s another
thing….. It seems to be getting easier for him.” Sure enough, Sylvia noticed
that the spike on the screen was not as pronounced or as large as it had been
at the start of the test.
Stephens pulled up
a graph of Aaron’s answer times and explained what he saw to Sylvia. “For the
first part of the test, when the answers had been from looking at pictures of
horses, birds and flowers, the timing was pretty even. But once we stimulated
the portion of his brain that dealt with languages and the spike changed, look
at his timings”
Sylvia noticed a
definite decrease in the time between Aaron’s answers. The bar graph pulled up
by the computer showed his answer now were coming at almost half the speed of
his original answers. They both looked up at Aaron, still sitting in the big
chair on the other side of the glass and flipping through the binder in his
lap. Hume had obviously given up on trying to record Aaron’s translations
manually and would have to settle for an analysis of the tapes once this
session was over.
With only one glyph
and one word per page, Aaron was now casually turning pages as fast as he
could. Sylvia noticed an odd calm on his face as he flipped pages and called
out single words and then quickly turned to the next page. Land, bird,
feather, wife, sky, time, Venus, moon,… Faster and faster Aaron read off his
translations of the pictures and glyphs, scarcely aware of the looks on the
faces of those studying him. If anyone of Aaron’s age had been watching him
right now they would have described him as being “zoned out”. His eyes focused
on the binder in front of him as he methodically flipped through the laminated
pages.
Without warning he
came to the last page and was almost surprised when his fingers sought an
additional page that was not there. He blinked his eyes as if coming out of a
stupor and looked up and through the glass.
“How’d I do?” He
asked with a smile.
Hume had already
left the lab.
END OF CHAPTER
The test part 2
Aaron found himself sitting again in the large comfy
chair in the middle of the glass bowl of the portable lab. Within minutes he
was wired and ready to go for another round of Doctor Stephen’s tests. He was
beginning to enjoy the tests! They always seemed to please Professor Hume and
Sylvia was always there smiling at him through the glass, and for the same
reasons he enjoyed getting good marks on tests, he enjoyed the feeling of
accomplishment he got from pleasing those who had placed such faith in him.
The speaker near
his ear crackled as the circuit was opened. “Forgive me if some of the
questions are a bit repetitive Aaron”. Stephen’s voice. “But results from the
other day will be compared to today so its important to have some questions the
same to test for validity of the results”. Aaron nodded that he understood.
Back in the
observation area, Sylvia looked over Stephens shoulder to the answer binder.
She noticed that the pages weren’t laminated as they had been before and asked
Dr. Stephens about it.
“Ahh my dear…. If I
am right about our young friends abilities, this test will be much different than
the one from the other day. That binder was from a set of standard and
pre-determined tests for this sort of thing. This next binder is of my own
design.”
“What’s so
different about it?” She asked.
But Stephens would
only smile at her and began turning on his recording and analytical equipment.
“Ready Aaron?” He
asked through the mike.
“Ready Dr.
Stephens.” Responded Aaron as he got ready to open the binder in his lap. The
equipment around him hummed to life once again.
“You can start any
time Aaron”.
Aaron opened his
book and immediately noticed the difference in the binder as Sylvia had done.
This one seemed a mix of pages, some laminated and some not. He could see some
of them only by their frayed edges and wondered what was going to be different
about this test.
The first ten pages
or so were almost the same as last time, but in a different order. Horse,
flower, dog, bird, cat, all very simple pictures. After a short time of these
pictures the binder seemed to jump right into the same glyphs from last time.
Some familiar, some not. He paused at the first one, and then began rattling
off his interpretation of the symbols with only a slight pause while his
fingers turned the page. The glyphs went on for about twenty pages, then he
suddenly stopped. Only for a moment, and called out : “144.”
Sylvia noticed
Stephens stop the furious activity of his hands when he heard Aaron’s answer,
his eyes widened in obvious surprise.
Sylvia looked at
her version of Stephens binder and saw the page Aaron had stopped at. To her it
appeared to be a page filled with nothing more than dozens of numbers and
symbols arranged in a grid like this:
2
3 4 5
4 3 5
4 3 7
8 6 5
6 7 8
5 6 7
4 3 5
6 9 8
0 9 0
1 3 4
5
4 5 6
5 4 5
6 + 3
5 4 3 2 1
5 7 6
5 9 8
4 6 7
5 4 7
3 2 4 5
2
6 4 3
4 5 3
4 5 4
5 1 +
1 3 2
4 3 5
8 9 6
+ 3 5
6 8 3
5 4 3
6
5 4 3
6 5 4
3 8 6
5 3 4
5 6 5
4 1 2
1 2 0
8 9 1
3 2 5
0 8 7
9 1
3 4 6
5 4 3
6 5 4
3 6 1
3 1 3
2 4 6
9 + 4
3 6 5 7
4 3 5
for the full length of the
page.
“What is that?” She
asked Stephens.
“It’s a
mathematical algorithm.” He answered slowly, not looking at her but tat the
same page she was. “Essentially, every number in the sequence is related to the
one before and after it by a fixed mathematical formula. I did this one several
years ago and I believe this one I did by using the value of pi calculated to
the 12th power of the third digit of each line.”
“Once you have the
result of each line, they condense into a series of twelve numbers added
together to give a final total. By design, all the numbers are 12, so the
question posed by the page is 12 x 12.”
“144” She
whispered.
“Exactly” Said
Stephens, turning his attention back to the recording devices to make sure they
were capturing Aaron’s answers and correlating them to his metabolic stats.
“And every page in that section of the binder is a similar problem. Solved by
interpreting the algorithm, or the equation built from the diagram.”
Sylvia flipped
through the pages in Stephen’s home-made test binder. The next twenty five to
thirty pages were all mathematical in appearance. Diagrams, theorems, spatial
dynamics, evidently all of which could
be boiled down to a much more simple equation that had a single answer…. The
answers, she assumed, that Aaron was calling out loud almost as fast as he
could turn to the page.
“But how could he
know these answers?” She asked. “I thought his ability was for languages, not
math?”
“Mathematics is a
language Ms. Coleman” Explained Stephens calmly. “All languages have a syntax,
a contextual component, some type of key or reference. The same can be said
about mathematical equations. I can show you a picture of ten apples, and you
might say ‘ten’. Or I might show you two groups of five apples to get the same
answer from you. Or I can write two times five, or ten times one, or the square
route of one hundred. They all mean the same thing as far as the brain is concerned.
Just a different way of getting to the same answer, image or word.”
“Is this normal?”
She asked. “Have others you’ve studied been able to do things this was as
well?”
“Only the higher
functioning ones, and even then they haven’t done it as quickly as Aaron just
did. There are some autistic and idiot savant children now that can do this
with the same level of ease. But they seem to pay for their higher brain
function by sacrificing the ability to perform every day actions.”
As if to emphasize
the point, they glanced at Aaron who was now working his way through the
algorithms in his binder as quickly as he had the glyphs a few days before. He
seemed unaware that this new discovery in his ability was such a shock to
Doctor Stephens. Ever eager to please, he simply continued reading the answers
as he found them.
Just a few short
days ago, Aaron had no clue of the extent or importance of his skills. Now
conscious and being exercised with deliberate vigor, his talent emerged in ways
no one, least of all Aaron himself, had conceived. Even the geographical layout
of the sites had a meaning which he found hard to relate to others.
Archeologists re-created a structure near the observatory that obviously didn’t
belong where they thought it did. There was a purpose and a design to the
layout of the city itself that he could now see but that no one else could.
Stephens, though very helpful and very close in his summation of Aaron’s
abilities, had also seriously underestimated them. Aaron’s ability went far
beyond simple context and interpretation of structure and context of a
language, spoken, mathematical or otherwise, though that was part of it. His
ability went deep enough that he could interpret the underlying intent of a
selection of writing
Samuels had seen it
however. The translation of that piece of paper that Samuels had Hume deliver
to Aaron in his old apartment was all the proof he needed. Samuels had sat down
at his desk and cleared his mind of all thought. He then began to conjure up
scenes of abuse to his home, his friends, his family, his mother, at the hands of the murderous, slaughtering
Spanish. He forced his mind to view these acts again and again and as he did so
he allowed his hand to begin making marks on the page. Not writing per se,
because these were not words, or any known language that was growing on the
page. These dark, jagged marks on the page were the physical manifestations of
his rage, his anger, his outrage. No one could translate the words themselves
because there were none. But Aaron had seen the emotion behind those words and
was able to read them as easy as if they had been actual words. The ploy had
been risky. There was no way to know just how deep Aaron’s skill went into
decoding the secrets of the writer. Could he tell the sex? The age? Whether the
writer had eaten that day or had sex that night??? Aaron might have been able
to tell just what Samuels’ intent was for him all along. But it had been worth
the risk. There was no way to tell exactly
what the boys ability could decipher. In its most rudimentary form, it allowed
him the relatively basic ability to understand the meaning behind words, both
written and spoken. But there was another layer beneath that. A layer that
Samuels had hoped for and that Dr. Stephens didn’t even suspect existed. The
ability to discern information on the writer of those words and symbols. But at
least for now, his ability had shown itself to go far beyond simple words and
printed symbols, regardless of the language.
My God….. thought
Samuels. If Aaron could tell this from simple writing, what results would he
see if Aaron used his ability consciously on an actual person?? He could very
well be the best lie detector money could buy! If he did apply his talent to a
person directly, could he uncover that person’s secrets? Pull all those
skeletons out of the closet so to speak? And what would be required to do that…
Would the person have to speak? Or would it be something Aaron could pick up
from simply being in the same room as the person. Something from their “aura”
as the hippies would say. Again Samuels imagined the power this would grant him
over his few enemies. The ability to almost read their minds just by having
them in the same room as Aaron. But power over his enemies was second on his
list. First and foremost, was the plan. But he forced that thought out of his
head. There would be time for that once the boy had proven himself.
The ability didn’t
seem to work on Video. Stephens had proved that. Video didn’t capture whatever
was needed for Aaron to read a page or a person. It had to be something he saw
or witnessed with his own eyes. It also didn’t work when a page was translated
or re-written, unless the translator knew the meaning behind the words. Aaron
then seemed to only pick up the emotion of the translator at the time or noting
at all. Samuels had an assistant copy some of the series of angry symbols he
had written himself and all Aaron picked up was the desire of the translator to
go home and take care of her sick child at home as well as her feeling that
this exercise was a complete waste of time.
Was this
omnipotence? Was this the upper limit of Aaron’s ability or was it only the tip
of the iceberg??? How deep did it go??? Well…He would extract whatever use he
could from the boy and then, assuming there was time, he would have Aaron Reese
dissected to see if there was way to duplicate or breed the ability in a more
cooperative subject. One of Samuels’ own choosing of course.
Revelation
Aaron was having
the time of his life. He wondered if he could possibly feel more happy. For the
last few days, he had spent most of free time at just that. Being free.
Professor Hume would occasionally ask him to look at a glyph or two, maybe
comment on some carvings or artwork stored in transparent vacuum sealed
containers. Most times he was able to provide an answer that seemed to please
the Professor. The rest of the time he got to spend exploring the ruins of
Chichén Itza on his own.
During the day,
tourists crowded the majority of the site. At first Aaron welcomed the
distraction and the stimulation offered by the inflow of hundreds of visitors
each day. He assumed most shared his fascination with the city and knew the
money would be eventually, and slowly, filtered back into the local depressed economy.
He assumed, that is, until the day he walked around the base of one of the
smaller structures not long after the park opened to see a man taking a piss on
the back of the building.
Aaron knew the
building was called the Steam House from his studies of the city. And this man
was not just urinating behind the
building, but actually on a corner of
the building itself. Leaning one arm up against the old stone for support, eyes
closed as if the process required a great deal of effort and concentration on his
part. All Aaron could do was stare at the man. A large, overweight man further
loaded down with cameras and other appliances that a tourist may carry.
Overweight with age, but with large arms to go with his large
no-doubt-beer-inspired gut hung over his adventure shorts. An oddly feminine
straw hat covered his head but Aaron could still see the red marks from too
much sun too quickly. He instantly recognized the type as he had seen them
before in his time on the dig. Away for a week, cheap hotels and cheap tours.
All you can drink package deals and had nothing better to do during the day
(between drinking binges) than to come on one of the hotel sponsored tours of
the ruins. Aaron was aghast at the audacity of someone to think they could just
piss anywhere they felt like it ion a place like this. There was a whole jungle
of trees ten feet behind the man but he chose to do his duty on one of the
buildings. Aaron didn’t consciously notice it, but the man in the girly straw
hat carried the same swagger, the same attitude as that of his father, Bill
Reese. Both men were the type who could have just easily pissed on Mickey Mouse
at Disney World with the same lack of interest. Both men were drinkers, and
both were the type who did not like to take shit from anybody else… Least of
all some kid like Aaron.
The man had been
drinking from a water bottle and as he emptied his bladder he emptied the
bottle and tossed it against the side of the building and began to zip up his
fly when he turned and noticed Aaron.
“C’n I help you?”
He asked with a sneer.
Aaron didn’t want
trouble. Least of all from a much larger man behind an ancient building with no
one else in sight. But he was angry, and couldn’t quite put his finger on why.
Here they were, in an ancient city, a thousand years old and already succumbing
to the whims of erosion and time, and here was steam from this man’s urine,
still visible coming off the corner of one of these buildings. He was furious!!
“They have
washrooms by the front gate you know. And there are garbage cans all around
this place” Was all he could meekly offer.
“Fuck off.” Said
the man nonchalantly as he turned to go.
Aaron, mad but not
willing to risk a confrontation, offered no more in the way of a verbal
barrage. But he did walk forward to pick up the empty water bottle as he
intended to drop it in a garbage container himself. As he turned his back to
the man he heard the mans voice raise an octave.
“What the fuck are
you doing?” Asked the man in obvious disbelief.
Aaron turned to see
the man walking (swaggering) back towards him. “I’m taking this to the
garbage.” He said flatly and turned away, intending to walk a little faster.
“No… no… no... I
don’t need a little holier-than-thou-snot-nosed-brat like you cleaning up after
me. Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“Nobody” said
Aaron, wishing he were elsewhere. “You just shouldn’t litter… that’s all.”
“Tell you what”
offered the man as he came closer. “You put that back exactly where you found
it and we’ll both be on our way.” Aaron wondered how something could go so bad
so quickly. And him being in the right didn’t do a lot to make him feel better
at the moment.
The large man stood
with his hands on his hips, waiting for Aaron to respond.
“Fine.” said Aaron
as he dropped the bottle. He decided he would come back to pick it up, simply
on principal. Later though…. when this man was far away. As he dropped the
bottle he glanced at the label. Bottled locally the label was in Spanish, he
noticed. Before it hit the ground and bounced Aaron noticed the words Agua
Purificada in large white letters on the blue
background of the bottle.
“I don’t like your
attitude sonny.” Announced the man, looming over Aaron. “I work hard all
fuckin’ year, pay good money to bring the wife and kids to this cheap, sleazy
little country. Only to be lipped off by some fuckin’ fag kid who wants to give
me a hard time because of where I take a piss.” The man was upset, but seemed
the type who enjoyed it. Anything that gave him a justifiable excuse to unload
on somebody was ok in his books.
Aaron wasn’t paying
attention. All he had done was glimpsed the words on the bottle and something
had happened. He knew the feeling, he had felt it with Dr. Stephens in the lab
where they were studying his powers to try and help him. He was in the
zone, as Professor Hume had started to call it.
But this time it felt a bit different. He had been staring at the bottle on the
ground, but slowly raised his head to stare at the man who was a few feet in
front of him and still in the midst of his tirade. He squinted and looked at
the man quizzically as if seeing him for
the first time. He didn’t notice that he was no longer afraid.
“Your name is Barry
Nolan.” He said plainly.
The man stopped in
mid-sentence and glanced down at his own chest. Mr. Barry Nolan was convinced
he had a name tag or something similar with his name on it.
“How the fuck do
you know who I am?” He asked.
Aaron didn’t
answer. His eyes were roaming over Barry Nolan’s body in the same way a child
might examine a new-found bug. “Your name is Barry Nolan” he repeated. And then
slowly added: “You once broke your son’s arm by pushing him down the stairs.”
The boy had been 5 at the time and had simply not moved quick enough for Mr.
Nolan who was in a rush to get to work that morning.
Barry’s mouth gaped
open. “What? How did you…. Fuck you… What could you know about anything? He
fell… He’s just a kid and kids fall…. Who the fuck are you ya little shit?” And
Mr. Nolan took another step towards Aaron who didn’t seem to notice that he was
only an arms length away from the hulk that was Barry Nolan.
Aaron’s eyes
stopped when he got to Barry’s face. “You cheated on your wife last night.” He
added quietly, that odd squinting, disjointed look still on his face. The
zone! “She told you she was going to bed early
because you both had too much sun yesterday. You said you wanted to stay up a
bit longer to watch TV but went to the pool bar instead. Her name was Sharon
and she was drunk and thought that you were funny. You went up to her room
and…..”
An open handed
smack from a large hand landed on the side of Aaron’s face and brought him out
of his stupor as he landed on the ground in a puff of dirt. A look of almost
comical surprise on his face. What was I doing? Was I reading him the
same way I read a page? He thought. His mind
returning to more pressing matters as he remembered where he was and who he was
up against.
“You little fuck”
said Barry as he advanced on Aaron, his fists clenched. “Were you spying on me
you little bastard? What did you do, follow me around?” Barry Nolan clearly
intended to extract some more information from Aaron. “You hired by my wife?
Are you supposed to tell her or did you already….” He didn’t finish the
sentence. Instead his words trailed off to a high pitched moan that erupted
from his throat.
At first, Aaron
didn’t know what happened. From his vantage on the ground he didn’t notice
Sylvia behind Barry. But as Barry turned to see who was behind him, Aaron saw
what had made him yell. Sylvia had gripped a handful of hair from the base of
Barry’s neck, the most sensitive area of the neck, and pulled it tight. It hurt
like a bugger and had stopped Barry cold.
Sylvia released his
hair as he turned to face her, his hand already going up to rub the hair on his
neck that still stung. She stepped a full pace backward but never took her eyes
off Barry.
“You ok Aaron?” She
asked, still watching Barry.
“Yeah.” He said
meekly, hands rubbing the sore spot under his eye that had taken most of the
blow.
Sylvia knew there
was no way she could out-muscle a man like Barry Nolan. She was fit, and
strong, but in sheer brute force there are few women who can stand up to the
likes of a man of this size. She couldn’t out-muscle him, but she could think
of roughly six ways to incapacitate him, three ways with breaking bones and one
way to kill him from her current distance. More if she moved closer.
Barry, still
rubbing his neck, sized up this new threat. Ever the bully, Barry had had
enough. One little snot nosed kid was one thing, but now there was this woman,
and who knew who else would be coming around the corner at any minute. He
decided to call it a day.
“You just tell your
fuckin’ kid to mind his own fuckin’ business.” Was all he could think of to say
in his own defense.
Sylvia didn’t like
doing it, as it went against her better judgement, but she took an extra half
step towards Barry. Before he could react her hand snapped up and slapped him
hard across the face. He had barely seen her move.
“Apologize to the
boy” she said. Barry could tell she meant it. “Do you often go around hitting
young boys you don’t know??”
Barry looked at
Aaron. Pure hate filling his eyes for the insult that he now placed on him. For
a moment he debated putting this bitch in her place and then making the brat
apologize. He glanced at Sylvia who stood confidently no more than s few feet
from him, standing defiantly with her arms crossed. No other woman had ever
stood up to Barry, and like a typical bully he wasn’t sure how to handle it now
that one had. For many years, Barry had a friend named Mike Small who was
heavily into guns. Mike had taught his friend Barry what to look for to tell if
someone else was carrying a concealed weapon. Barry noted the small bulge under
Sylvia’s left armpit. A bulge that wasn’t present on the right side. A
gun? Mike was also kind enough to inform his
friend that with arms crossed, a persons hand is only inches from the handle of
a gun in a shoulder holster. Sylvia noticed his eyes and allowed her hand to
creep ever so slightly deeper into her armpit.
“Sorry” he managed
as he began to walk away, allowing a wide berth between him and Sylvia.
“Don’t forget this”
Aaron shouted after him as he picked up the bottle and tossed it lightly to
Barry. Almost by reflex, Barry caught the bottle. He glanced at Sylvia,
wondering if he should protest, or say something to salvage his pride, but
decided against it and tucked it into his leg pocket and walked away without
another word.
Aaron stood up and
walked towards Sylvia.
“I’m glad you were
around.” He offered with a smile. A red welt already appearing under the eye.
He was trying his best not to cry with the frustration and shame of the
situation. He didn’t want to cry in front of Sylvia.
“I’ve been near you
since the day we landed Aaron. It’s my job. I just think it’s wise to give you
your space once in a while. I was only a few buildings back when I heard that
asshole talking to you and thought I’d better come take a look.”
“You were following
me?” He asked with surprise.
“Yup.. all morning.
It’s my job Aaron.” She repeated by way of apology for what he must perceive as
spying on him.
“Well.. I’m glad
you did.” Aaron was clearly smitten with Sylvia. She had seen it from very
early on and understood her own prettiness and its effect on young men.
She walked closer
to Aaron. “Aaron”, began Sylvia cautiously. “How did you know all those things
about that man?”
Aaron had almost
forgotten. He thought about it for a minute. “I’m not sure. But it kind of felt
like it does when I’m working on one of Dr. Stephens math or glyph puzzles.
Only a little different. It was kind of like I could see who he was, the things
he had done. Almost like I was dreaming them up by looking at him. Like a
flashback in a movie.”
Sylvia slowly converted against Samuels secret
plan.
Sylvia gets
involved.
ALSO READS THE MAN.
Impressionist art.
Stephens though
nice underestimated Aaron;s ability and limuted it to math or language… not
emotion etc.
Made up glyph by
Hume reveals siomething about his inner character.
TIME GLYPH
SAME SHEET AS IN
HIS APT
Would understanding
of meaning allow manipulation of those surroundings?
Samuels knew Hume
would attract the trust of Aaron and used Sylvia to drive a wedge into that
trust.
I don’t think you
realize the potential of the power that is locked up inside that boy’s head.
Bad Maya vs a Good
Maya?
Page from Samuels
was meant to test ESP perception of random meanings. He understands intent of
symbols, not strict meaning. “Dear John” Dear I thought of the antlers of a
dear, and I know a man named john with a large nose and that resembles the next
figure. I think your mind had at least been familiar with the Mayan glyphs
Why not have him
work on the glyphs right away?
No... I want to
learn how he does what he does. Teach a man to fish... Professotr hume. I don;t
want one fish from your Mr. Reese... I
want him to teach us how he does what he does.
We quickly walked
him over to the Castillo, as you know one of the more significant structures in
that city. Old man refused to tell Hume what the glyphs meant so they killed
him. Was supposed to be torture but it went to far.
Samuels was on that
dig? Or in charge or it and it was samuels henchman who killed the old man.
Hume didn’t
understand that deception had its tells, body language, attitude, voice intonation
all were give-aways that Aaron was able to pick up on.
“Of course” Hume
now realized “You’re the worlds perfect lie-detector!”
Typical cat
language would vary between food, sleep, or play.
* * * * * * * * * *
* * *
jojo didn’t “die”
he was tested. Good time for goose with the golden eggs story.
Samuels knew Hume
would be the bad guy in forcing Aaron to translate.
If I can understand any language then why
would I not be able to see your motives?
Understand Animals?
Samuels family name is fake and really refers to the time machine.
A man years ago could read them that easy... where is he now... no
answer.
Now able to read encrypted codes and math puzzles.
How much ‘raw’ data have you seen?
Translates codes and mathematical formulas.
Subtle slants and curves in the lines told him why.
The person who wrote this was not the person who had the idea.
Understanding animals?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Direction
of the story
De
Landa books destroyed to prevent modern man from learning of the machine. Tortured
Mayans who would not tell him how the machine worked.
Aaron
finds a glyph with his own name and “knows”.
“Your
just like my father, he controlled people and didn’t care what it did to them
as long as he got what he wanted”
Favorite
knife somehow factors in to save him.
The
goose with the golden eggs – open Aaron’s head to learn the secret.
Omniscience???
What
if that boy’s understanding can reach wide enough to give him an understanding
of God? If God exists, and put us here for a reason, they who’s to say his
ability isn’t the one to understand and comprehend it?
Great
for psychoanalysis. Imagine a man who like “Joseph” can read your dreams and
tell you accurately what they are supposed to mean!
Ransom
notes
