All is calm

This record is for you. The software will transcribe my short voice clips. If you’re reading it, you’re a scofflaw like me. Scofflaws have to stick together. We’ve all been taught how things work and how lucky we are. In the Before Time there were conflicts of all kinds: between people, between groups, and between countries. Then came the Peacemakers. They took over everything, made a new order, a social compact, though it’s never been clear to me who agreed to it. No more war, and they’re working their way down to the individual level by testing. At age ten I was flagged as having too high an Emotional Quotient. Emotions are discouraged, so at age sixteen I was prevented from reproducing and discouraged from fraternizing, a kind of eugenics to weed out people like me who feel too much. When I go out, I have to wear a chain with an F so that normal folks know to avoid me. No point in corrupting their unemotional lives, I guess. They check on me once a month at a kind of program. We get homework in making apologies and extra courses in logic. Actually, turns out I’m no good at apologies, but I’m fairly good at logic, and that’s useful. I have to look co-operative or they’ll flag me as a scofflaw and I don’t want that. I’ve been an idiot, but I’m not stupid.

Hypothesis: If you’ve been an idiot, you can sometimes get a second chance, but don’t be stupid.

I met her at a program meeting. Her logic was superb, and that was already attractive, then she fingered her locket (flagged males wear Fs, women wear a heart-shaped locket to remind them not to feel) when she looked in my direction, and that made me wild. We had to play it cool in the meeting of course, but afterwards I slipped her a note and we met on a patio. My dorm room would have been risky. I ought to know—my job is to sort the mountain of cell phone tracking data to see who meets whom. Boring as hell, but unnerving that the Peacemakers are watching. When I don’t want to be tracked, I leave my phone at a dog park. I don’t have a dog, but I pretend to.

She asked me if I dream and I said yes (few do). She asked me if I hear inner sounds. That surprised me. I always have. I was foolish enough to admit that as a child and they checked me for tinnitus. It wasn’t that. Another flag on my file. Over the years the sounds have become a friend. They make me feel not alone. I told her yes.

She opened her locket and took out a coin. Her grandfather had bought it from a coin dealer in Old Paris. It was Roman, and it had been sitting at the bottom of the Black Sea (which is dead) for centuries. I admired the coin. She said look at the expression. It dawned on me. I said, “It looks like me.” She said she thought we had been lovers in that lifetime. That suited me.

A shadow passed in front of the scanner. I got up to kiss her. She said no wait, let her guide me in a meditation first. She explained this was her gift, her talent. She didn’t do the official long, mindfulness meditations, she called what she did Travel. She imagined a destination and left her body behind. She talked about states of consciousness, planes of reality. I said no, not ready for that. Still we agreed to meet a week later.

Then something happened. Everyone around me seemed more dull and sluggish than usual. More significantly my inner sounds stopped. For the first time in my life they just stopped. There was a tiny story in the back of the newspaper, “Peacemakers new initiative to enhance social stability.” No explanation.

In logic they used the example of theories of the extinction of dinosaurs. Good science is verifiable and socially useful. Bad science not. Theory 1: dinosaurs became extinct because of a nuclear autumn when a really big meteor hit. You can measure the radiation, and it warns us not to destroy ourselves in an all-out nuclear war (we’re doing a good enough job of that already). So it’s good science.

Competing theory: dinosaurs became extinct because their testicles melted. Not so good. We don’t even know if they had external testicles. Might be correct, but bad science.

Fact: Something has happened.

Question: Do I have a theory that is not just Dinosaur Testicle Science?

Question: Are those planes of reality and meditative travel Dinosaur Testicle Science?

Answer: Not to her, not if she’s experienced them. A sobering realization.

The night before our second meeting, I dreamt of Ancient Rome, argued with a woman, and she left. Did I take it as a warning? Nope. You can tell someone to beware the Ides of March but they go anyway. That was me. The morning after, a stain like a Rorschach test in front of my dorm room. I took a photo to show her.

Another patio, another meeting. I said what does this shape remind you of? She said ancient ruins, I said no these are wings. So, she said, a bird? I said no, it’s an angel of might. She said, “You’ve dreamt of Rome and you seen angel of might in front of your room. These things are in my wheelhouse. Meditate with me now. Figure it out.”

I said I don’t believe. She said I didn’t have to, just try it. I said no. She was frustrated. She said she needed me to try it, right then. Here comes the idiotic part. I called her a flake, said I wanted nothing to do with her hokey new age spirituality. Why’d I say that? I have no particular beliefs. What would it have cost me to try that meditation? Five minutes. Idiot. Pure idiot. She got up. She said “I can’t stay here, and I think you know that you can’t stay here either. I was going to ask you to turn a sector of the tracking off for one night and to come with me. But I can’t trust you enough to tell you any more, and you’re just not open to me.” She walked away without another word.

Fact: I am an idiot.

Hypothesis: She and others have a plan, want not to be tracked while they go somewhere.

Question: Where and why?

Question: Why can I not stay here? Because I’ve lost the sound, and I’ll unravel?

I went to my room and tried to sleep, eventually managed it. I told you—I suck at apologies.

The next morning there was an envelope in my box. Her locket and a note: KAz ShoL.

Hypothesis: This is an idiot’s second chance!

Hypothesis: KAz is Kingman Arizona.

I dressed quickly and went to work. Everyone was even more catatonic than usual. An easy matter to go into the control room. I wanted this solution to work for a while, not be found out, and when, it would be discovered, to look like a mistake, not sabotage. I linked the tracking of the whole state of California under Arizona. The tracking data went berserk, but quietly. It would take hours and hours to sort that out. I left quietly.

There’s one motel in Kingman right off the highway and I went there, one clerk at reception. She asked if she could help me. I said I was meeting a friend, and I fished the locket out of my shirt (ShoL must mean Show Locket, I reasoned). She said “You’ve missed the event and the party you are looking for is no longer registered. I’m authorized to ask if there is something you did before leaving.”

I said yes I did my part. That will last for several hours. “Good, she said,” but I can give you no details as to destination.”

I went to the parking lot and reviewed.

Fact: Something has happened. My sound is gone.

Fact: The PMs track cell phones

It Follows that: The PMs control satellite communications

Hypothesis: If Kingman is the rallying point, the destination must be nearby.

I re-entered the motel to try again to pry information out of the reception person, but stopped at a quotation overhead: “One can live without the light, but not without the sound.” I headed back to my car.

Hypothesis: the PMs are controlling emotions directly.

Hypothesis: If they take away my inner sound it could affect me and others

Question: How could they do that?

Wild-assed-Guess: With a masking frequency: broadcast their own sound at the right frequency to cover up individuals’ sounds

Question: Is that possible?

Answer: Maybe, and it’s the first thing that makes sense.

Question: If so, what would the solution be?

Answer: To get under the radar. I jumped into my car and headed north on the freeway.

Obviously not Vegas—we scofflaws stick out like sore thumbs there. No, if it’s satellite signals that matter, it could only be--

And minutes later the GPS cut out—no signal at this elevation. Entering the park, no signs of people. Where exactly? I decide to try the Amargosa Inn, just inside Death Valley. There’s a van at the motel!

It’s about a mile of empty rooms. Freak myself out with a mirror in the hallway. No sign of anyone other than the van. The whole place smells like that laundry detergent “Fab,” but then it would. For years it was used by Borax miners. There’s a theater built for one-woman opera performances. That’s not why she came here; she said she can’t carry a tune.

Tune. Music. Realization: The sound. It’s come back!

Behind the desk… an envelope, her hand, my name…

I wish you had practiced with me at least once. You will have to do this on your own. Wait until you are calm. Best to go to a very low elevation. The simplest way is to imagine an arch you remember in every detail. Close your eyes. Make a picture of it with as much detail as you can manage. Try to include the different senses. Imagine the colors, light, sounds, anything you can remember about the arch. Ride on your outgoing soundwaves if you can. Don’t get distracted. If you do it right it won’t take long. Good luck.

Well then, this will be it. I’ve rested. I’m not going to get any calmer. Time to take the plunge. One more dose of logic.

Fact: There are waves of many types around us all the time.

Fact: most don’t reach the low elevation of Death Valley. Fact: My internal sound is back.

Hypothesis: A wave of some kind that masked my inner sound doesn’t reach here.

Probability: She knew all of this.

Fact: She was here and no sign of struggle or conflict.

Fact: She left instructions.

I hold the locket in my hand, cradling it, looking out over The Devil’s Playground. It doesn’t get much lower than this.

I truly wish I had practiced with her. Idiot! I’ll leave the recording going. That way, if I do succeed… Okay an arch, a memorable arch. Got it! I’m imagining the Airport security check. That’s an arch. The line. The little conveyor for luggage. The people. The noise… Oh!

BUFFER EXCEEDED RECORDING ENDED

PM Patrol Day 11 of Operation Calming

After-Action Report & Threat Assessment Sector SSW-C3

Follow-up on Drone Scan showing 2 abandoned vehicles. No targets found. Infrastructure non-functional. Conditions do not favor survival. Threat level to operations deemed zero.