Senator Jones merely
wanted to be left alone. He inhaled mist and looked out a plate glass, bedroom window (floor to ceiling). A far western
edge of the city, from this height looking at the 40 story statue of Kaaler, like a resolute figure amid waist high structures
downtown Senator Jones wanted nothing to do with anything. And he kept hearing schizophrenic voices. They wanted him to
focus on The Project. However, Jones believed age 89 was a time to relax. The Project. Ok. One more. However, Jones planned
to live to one hundred. If he cared anything about health, he might have Robertson or somebody seek out the vagrant with
AB negative blood. After all, the city was not very big. Jones relaxed, inhaled mist, and admired the view.
On the large space ship 45 years from Earth, Kaal
enjoyed coffee, looked out at the night, and contemplated. He saw recent Earth activity concerning Tammy, a historian 500
years after the war. Kaal was already middle aged by that time. He refused to contact Tammy. That was a human admired by
many of her era but disdained by Kaal. He would never contact her with telepathy although Tammy was enlightened in many regards
and could have heard Kaal's voice. Years later he never remembered Tammy or how she finished. Nevertheless, thousands of
pages of Tammy material survived on Earth. Blue Pages, (legally restricted, the beings were not completely insane) reported
numerous facts disturbing to the species.
Kaal was 10 years old and a genius at thought projection
when the Earth had its excoriating war. 8 billion creatures were reduced to 3 billion, and they again began building towards
peace and prosperity. At age 10, centuries away from the huge space ship's destination, Kaal developed the ability to mind
contact Earth. He could see events. He could enter the minds of some humans, at one point monarchs then later others could
feel the mental connections to space. The tastiest of species, human beings who tended to grow their own side dishes, would
be abundant and maybe replenished to eight or even ten billion when the space ship arrived. The lead ship with Zenon as the
pilot traveled ten times faster than Kaal's.
Kaal, now 1000 years old with the space ship due to hit
Earth in 45 years, enjoyed sitting at his desk looking out at dark space. He sipped coffee. He mind contacted one of his
favorites, an old friend 89 years old, Senator Jones on Earth. It had been 1000 years since the war. Except for history
studies by Tammy five hundred years ago, human beings realized nothing about their position in the Universe.
"I'm not crazy," Senator Jones easily strolled downtown
like any other privileged citizen and many were one third his age. "I've always heard voices. I know what schizophrenia
is, and I have always controlled it."
Senator Jones headed for his chauffeured vehicle, practically
a luxurious office on wheels that would meander through beautiful downtown while the Senator contemplated. That's what his
life exposed itself to be, he contemplated. That was his job. He philosophized. Worried. When anxiety caused Jones to
hear voices or talk to himself, he disguised his insanity by talking into his phone. He recorded his rantings. Later, he
could listen and analyze himself. He could keep schizophrenia under control, Jones joked to himself, unless he needed a brain
transplant. In the vehicle, gentle mist from a blend of alcohol and marijuana soothed the setting. Constant calls and messages
he did not care about bothered Senator Jones.
"The Project is what matters now," said the voice.
Jackson signaled Paul, a co worker here perhaps higher
in rank, somewhat. Seventeen Elvises today, and Jackson waved that the Masters of Opulence bus was ready to leave downtown.
"It's noon, Paul," Jackson realized Paul lived by a daily
routine which was fine for him, Jackson thought. But he wanted more, election year or not. 3126 did not impress young Jackson
much. Next year would be better. Something bigger should occur....
Paul wanted to watch Robertson's speech. Dozens of floors
above in this pristine part of downtown, Robertson watched the fools ready to go to their fate. He chuckled.
"Chumps," Robertson said to the plate glass. "I hope
you voted for me."
Coincidentally, Candyce studied the street below; the
moment repeated that odd day when Q got off the bus to save a stray cat. Candyce wondered where the cat was now. Or, for
that matter, where was the young man who had missed the bus?
Robertson inhaled mist, felt himself suitably high to
proceed, and entered the elevator. He went to the top floor broadcasting center. No doubt, people like Senator Jones had
spies here, but Robertson did not care. He did not need to hide what he was talking about.
"Good evening, citizens."
"Hey," Paul noted the time -- precisely noon as the MOO
bus left. Jackson stood nearby. "Jackson, here's the speech."
"It's all phony," argued Jackson.
"He appears sincere."
"Citizens, there is too much lying in public. Even thinking
about lying should be a crime," said Robertson.
"I agree," Paul watched on a screen in his office.
"It's phony," Jackson offered. "Robertson will get elected,
threaten to put liars in jail, and none of it will affect us. We'll still have an increasing number of talented aspirants
arrive to the agency every day."
"I believe Robertson will try to improve conditions..."
"Citizens," Robertson continued. "Lying is like violence.
Think about it. During the course of your own lives, did you ever get caught in a lie? Did it lead to possible violence?
That is the reasoning. If I want to keep you from the sugar, I can do it with a lie or a gun."
"So what," argued Jackson. "Nothing will change or improve.
Nothing happens around here. It's boring."
"Something will happen, probably war. Until then, enjoy
today because the end is coming anyway," Paul reckoned he had said the phrase more poetically previous times. "Something
is in the air, Jackson."
Q trod on a solitary dirt road through a four foot tall
wheat field. He smelled the fragrance. He sensed slight warmth in the atmosphere but the climate remained clear, calm, and
pleasant. Alone, he walked. He remembered the happy, successful day when he approached the MOO bus, met the attendant who
welcomed and congratulated Q; he also met a pretty girl also a guitar player. Q wondered where she was now. He remembered
the cat. He blundered to get off the bus because that began his life of stress. He never wanted to see an innocent animal
like that run over for no reason; therefore, Q got off the bus. Everything encountered Q as a puzzle, something he could
not figure out. He heard a voice that day after getting off the bus. Nobody knew that fact. Q kept it to himself. It sounded
like a little girl's voice. What could that mean?