All Greek To Me
once we start down that road? For we are talking about displacing or derailing the New World Order, which is in fact a very Old World Order. But the point is - most people are not awake to the catastrophe that has been prepared for them, much less ready and willing to begin the world again.”
From the broken grill to the left of the stage where the pipe organ used to be, a woman called a warning, “They’re coming!”
“We’ve already angered ‘the gods,’ the Powers-That-Be, by exposing bits and pieces of the truth - and that work must continue. But absent a Vulcan mind-meld on a global scale, absent some means of communication that can instantaneously transmit our understanding of reality to every sentient human on the planet and at the same time short circuit the propaganda machine of the ruling elite, simply revealing all we have learned may not be enough. And that is why we are here. I have been asked to present two proposals for augmenting our current rules of engagement. Proposal Number 1: Given that we are not in a position to single-handedly unseat the global ruling class, are we prepared to do what we can to identify and block significant incursions and attacks aimed at ordinary people by our own governments? No’s only, show of cell phones, please.”
Not one Anon moved.
But the woman called out again. “Closing fast!” The Anons shifted a little on their risers, but otherwise remained seated.
“Proposal Number 2: If blocking proves insufficient, are we prepared to take it to the next level and go Star Trek on their corporate and military asses? Are some of us prepared to try, in extreme cases, where there is a threat of physical harm to innocent civilians, to intervene and reverse the polarity? No’s again, please.”
There were none.
“That’s it then. We’re out of time in more ways than one. Spread the word.”
The spinning grinning heads morphed into grinning skulls. Which crumbled into dust and darkness.
“We may never meet this way again. Don’t forget to exit through the gift shop.” He paused, then finished with a benediction: “We are everywhere.”
They were already on their feet and they replied as one. “Expect us.”
At which point the hologram collapsed like a telescope and the background music swelled to become a techno version of Delibes’ “Flower Duet.” The woman stationed in the organ space fled her lookout post, shouting as she sprinted for the balcony, “They’re here!”
With a whirring sound, a series of batlike shapes dove through the doughnut hole. They buzzed the room, zooming wildly in all directions, before gathering in midair to begin advancing toward the balcony in tight formation. Meanwhile, the Anons, rather than dispersing all the ways they had come, emptied their rows neatly and noiselessly in one direction, toward the rear of the theater, as if according to drill. Jane watched as they filed hurriedly into an upper hallway that led via two grand curving staircases down to the lobby where the plywood sheeting intended to keep out trespassers swung back as if on hinges to permit their orderly escape. The music grew louder and Jane realized it was playing outside as well as in. She turned back to look for John and saw him at the end of the line, bringing up the rear, behind the last Anon, Well not quite the last, for two Anons, a man and a woman, had held their ground near the very front of the balcony and stood facing the reconnaissance drones, arms extended.
“Immobulous,” the woman said. And, magically, the drones stood still.
“Expelliarmus,” the man said. And, magically, the drones stopped whirring. And crashed, in perfect synchrony, to the ground.
John and Jane hastened to join the duo. “Harry Potter. Really?” Jane said.
“GPS jamming and spoofing. Really,” the Kid grinned, displaying then pocketing the handheld gizmo Jane was beginning to recognize and respect.
“Feeling obsolete yet, Prom Queen?” Jen inquired, blowing on her spoofing device as if it were a smoking six-gun. Last-seen-in-Iceland Jen.
“Cute. Got anything for the giant economy size?” Jane asked tartly. And everyone followed her gaze, which was directed toward the hole in the roof. There, silhouetted against the peaceful moon, a Blackhawk helicopter hovered like an angel of death, fast ropes descending. “I feel so underdressed,” Jane remarked peevishly.
“I know, right?” John said. “The invite did not say black tie and rocket launcher.”
“Are we holding or folding?” Jane asked, coolly chambering a round.
“We are un-assing,” Jen said, heading for the stairs. “Dee dee mau. In case they -”
A couple of flashes, a double explosion, and a cloud of smoke finished her sentence. John ducked instinctively, but his attention was fixated on Jane’s pistol. “I thought that was the new 1911. Sweet! How’s it handle?”
“I was just about to field test it,” Jane said, holding it out. “I passed on the laser sight. Kicking myself now.”
“Who knew?” John asked, pulling out his own P226.
“Speaking of lasers,” the Kid cut in, as black ninja figures began dropping down the ropes like so many spiders, “Could you guys get it in gear? The show’s about to start and it’s going to be a whole lot better from the cheap seats.” He stood in one of the exits and, peering at the glowing screen of his jammer, began to count backwards. “3-2-1.”
Outside the theater a massive roar went up. The sound of a million voices crying out, but not in terror. Casting a last look through the doughnut hole, John could see that the Blackhawk had become part of a laser light show. Bright bursts and arrows of colored light painted its unmarked hull and rappelling commandos in dizzying hues and psychedelic patterns. The strobe effect and intensity must have dazzled the retinas of those on the receiving end. The copter dipped drunkenly forward, then jerked sharply back before settling into a wobbly spin. For a heart-stopping minute the ninjas swung like wind chimes and it seemed a crash was imminent. Then, just as the Flower Duet reached its technobeat crescendo, the Blackhawk righted itself and, escorted by four MH-6 Little Birds, beat a hasty if uneven retreat toward the nearest air base, disappearing with the last ecstatic note of the song. Victory was theirs.
Outside, ten thousand ravers cheered.
“Ever been to a rave before, Blondie?” Jen asked, as the four of them stood on the sidewalk beneath the theater’s busted out marquee and watched ten thousand electronica aficionados, armed with ten thousand points of lime green light, chase Orwell’s worst nightmare back to its military-industrial hidey hole. Apparently the Powers-That-Be did not care to have their operations witnessed by ten thousand impressionable young minds, many with parental strings and Youtube attached. At any rate, not yet. Jen reached into a cardboard box stacked with laser pointers and offered one to Jane. “Souvenir?”
“Gloating,” Jane sniffed, “Is such an unattractive quality.”
“Our work here appears to be done,” John said. “Though damned if I know what it was.”
“Au contraire, mon frere,” the Kid said, watching Leo exchanging Bruce Lee moves with three candy ravers in neon fur. “We’re about to kick it up a notch and take things to a whole new level.” The Kid jerked his head and began hoofing it toward the waterfront. “Walk with me,” he said puckishly. Jen followed without skipping a beat. Leo deftly disentangled himself and fell in beside Jen. John and Jane faced one another, hands in their pockets, undecided.
In the distance a dozen cop cars began to wail. Like Pavlov’s long-suffering pooch, Jane and John responded as one and on cue. They walked.
15 Ghost in the Machine
They did not go far. A couple of blocks on, the Kid led them up a network of metal stairs to an el station where they boarded the automated train that circled downtown Detroit night and day. The car disgorged young people who did not seem to distinguish the flashing blue lights of cop cars from the visual effects produced by the DJs for the rave. They ran toward the chaos shrieking with excitement as John and company boarded and were silently sucked a
way, passing directly over the festivities and those assigned to quell them.
“What up with dat?” one rider asked another, pointing at the scrum of police and sheriff’s deputies below. “You can call 911 all day and never get an answer.”
“They must of went and tried to have them a good time, or something. Lord knows,” his friend said, “we can’t be having us none of that.”
The train was thinly populated but nobody sat down. Aside from red, yellow, green traffic lights, the city was largely in eclipse. No money to pay the light bill. The windows of the People Mover turned into mirrors.
“You look terrible,” John said to Jane’s image. He meant it sympathetically. But still.
“As an ice breaker, a pick up line, or an apology - that’s a great little buzz kill,” Jane replied.
“Did you do something to your hair?” he asked, more puzzled than critical.
“Nice of you to notice. Got a few stitches in Athens and had to do a comb-over to hide them. The cradle of democracy is rocking some serious authoritarian shit.”
“Partying like it’s 1941.” John nodded.
“And 1967. I think I saw Kissinger,” the Kid said.
John frowned. “Wait. You came with this guy?”
“I’m here. You’re here. Not at your mother’s,” Jane pointed out in mock astonishment.
“Mom says hi,” John said