THE THREE SET OFF in the morning using the rental car to drive to the police department. A harsh easterly wind was blowing in, too cold for September, and Ears had to run inside to grab another jacket. Cold winds irritated him, amplifying the pain of his inner ear muscles as they contracted in response to the weather.
Molli was visibly upset, and the conversation didn’t go well with her boyfriend the prior evening. He wanted her to come back to their apartment. She felt he was being insensitive to her desire to be more cautious. He then vaguely referred to a previous girlfriend, a not-so-subtle threat.
“You seem quiet this morning,” Ears observed.
She shook her head in disgust. “Men. I’ll exclude you two, for the moment. Pig-headed and self-centered, the lot of them.”
“What? Only for a moment?” Peter frowned at her in the rear-view mirror.
“This moment. All men are guilty until proven innocent, ruled by gonadotropin and impulsiveness. I can’t understand why women haven’t revolted. You know, the tech exists today to create whatever Y-chrome features and spermatozoa we desire, so why do we need you guys any longer?”
“I’m pretty nice,” Peter asserted. “Ears is a decent guy.”
“Guilt by association. You boys are on Molli’s short leash. My ribs aren’t happy today, and I’m not able to do my kung fu so well because of them. Enough right there to rile me.”
“Hmm,” Ears replied. “I’ve seen you do it, but how often do you exercise?”
“Four hours a day.”
“Whoa! How do you find the time?”
She looked at Ears in the front passenger seat and placed her hand on his shoulder.
“I don’t sleep, sweetie, not much. Between martial arts, meditation, the podcast, two jobs, and the boyfriend, life gets filled-up fast. But meditation reduces the sleep I need. After six hours or so, I’m up. My choice is to lay there longer, if I can, and experience euphoric waking, or to avoid that pleasure and get something done.”
“Euphoric waking? What’s that?” Peter wondered.
“I didn’t tell you? It happened around year six of kung fu, long ago. I meditate twenty minutes before bed. When I awaken six hours later, my entire body feels euphoric.”
The conversation sparked Peter’s interest because he always felt tired when he got out of bed. “Euphoric? What does that mean?”
She finally smiled. “Hard to describe. The closest thing to it is, well, a post-orgasmic feeling that extends for however long I stay in bed.”
Peter’s jaw dropped, and Ears turned to gaze at her. “I want some of that!” he exclaimed.
Peter slowed the car. “More on orgasmic euphoria later, team, as I am also very curious – but not now. We’re here.”
They parked and were ushered into a classic police station meeting room. The walls were industrial beige with hard tile flooring. On one side was a mirrored window, and on the other was a white board and markers. The light fixture was an old fluorescent which cast an abrasive and blinking bluish-white tone everywhere. In the middle of the room was a single, small metal table and four cushionless metal chairs.
“Do you guys bring the criminals in here to interrogate them?” Molli questioned her friend as they sat down.
“You bet, but don’t feel bad for the criminals. Feel bad for us. I’ve been in here many hours at a time, knocking heads in a verbal sense.”
They chuckled. “Again, I’m Officer Sal Gracelli. Molli and I attended high school together.”
“Was she as tough back then as she is now?” Peter interjected.
He nodded. “That’s why we got along so well. Our Chief Detective will arrive in a minute. He’ll cover what we found on your kidnapping, Molli.”
He then directing his eyes to Peter. “We’ll also review the vandalism of your house and car. And I can’t leave out the nasty emails and texts.”
“Do you think they’re interrelated?” Ears wondered.
“Let’s wait for the detective.”
A few seconds later, the detective barged in the door. He was overweight, mid-fifties, in a short-sleeved white shirt that partially hung out over his belt. He had thinning salt-and-pepper locks, and a similar blanket of hair swept across his arms and up through his collar, nearly reaching his chin.
“Why doesn’t he cut that chest hair?” Molli wondered. “The guy could even be attractive, but he’s a veritable ape.”
“Detective Brandon. I know who each of you are and what you do, so no need for further introductions. Let’s get to business.”
Grasping a black marker in his thick hands, he drew three circle as he talked.
“I speak in pictures since it provides a different dimension. Here is our varint community. Your clippers are here, chippers, then grippers. I won’t draw the hybrids of those, as you can assume they’re living in the margins. And here,” he drew another circle, just barely overlapping the grippers, “are the mechs. You know who they are.”
He turned to them. “With me so far?”
They nodded.
“Molli, about this guy who kidnapped you. We investigated and found a solid lead.”
Molli sat up attentively.
“But let me preface this before I discuss our leads.” He set the marker down and placed both of his large hands on the table, uncomfortably close to them. “Understand how volatile things have gotten in the last few weeks since this obelisk announcement. If this was the only kidnapping or vandalism or hate mail we’d seen, then Sal and I could go home at night and enjoy our lives. These weeks have been special, though, and not in a good way.”
He pulled back and grabbed the pen again, facing them. “We’re doing the best we can, but we’re not staffed for this level of disruption. Been a much higher degree of social unrest and even revolt in some varint communities, and I’ll get into that. But it doesn’t stop there. People are being lifted from core beliefs about who they are and how they should act. It pushes them off balance, and that includes non-varints, too.”
The detective turned back to the board and pounded his marker against the mech circle. “These mechs are extending farther out on the edge. I don’t know what is egging them on and probably need one of those Harvard psychiatrists to figure that out. But we’re looking at it, taking note of threatening social traffic and crazy discussions about generations.”
“Can you explain that term?” Peter inquired.
Since Ears was in touch with the varint community, he added, “It means successive generations of mech tech. Kind of like software revs. The next generation is superior to the previous.”
“Got it,” the detective continued. “Not to get too technical, but mechs are focusing on these generations to continually upgrade their physical capabilities, using successive sequences of augmentation to obtain the next version of arm or leg or whatever. Consider the latest integration of geedee tech, where the skin and tissue adapt or congeal in a superior way to the metal. Well, it’s persuading the community to perceive they’re the superior technology for a survivable, post-obelisk species.”
Molli was impatiently waiting to understand how this related to her captor. “The guy I took out. Where was he in this, and why was I his target?”
The detective folded his arms. “Wish we had that figured. He was tied to these more radical mechs, part of the culture, but he himself was not vocal on the superiority front. He knew people but wasn’t a captain or even private in the legion they appear to be recruiting. We’re doing what we can to ensure this legion doesn’t get off the ground and take over Rome, if you will. But you need to put that in context with the resources we have right now, including the Boston PD and others. They’ve got their own troubled groups in the city brewing a nasty cup of joe.”
Molli was frustrated. “I get that. But why me?”
“As far as we can tell, the man was intrigued by your presence on the show. Could be a run-of-the-mill kidnapper or stalker who liked the sound of your voice or the pictures he saw of you on the web. We hope that’s the case since you pretty effectively eliminated that trouble. However, we have another line on this. Gets to your instances of vandalism, Pete.”
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“Are these interrelated?”
“We can’t rule it in, but we can’t rule it out. Our data guys found social media traffic among the mechs. They are hypersensitive to anyone or anything exposing alternative solutions to our new alien threat. Their credo is that we will not win against the invading hoards if the only thing we have going for us is good old skin and bones. I’m not saying they’re suggesting everyone augments to full robotics and only robotics. They definitely are suggesting far more robotics, well over fifty-fifty, and they don’t treat kindly those who expose competing alternatives.”
Ears raised his hand. “You mean Molli’s kidnapping, the texts and emails and social media, and the vandalism – is because mechs think they’re the answer, and they’re pissed that our podcast is suggesting other options? We’ve heard that elsewhere.”
The detective nodded. “Read those texts and emails. Certain people don’t want you to continue the podcast path you’re headed on. The higher your listener counts go, the more danger to you is implied. How many more of those shows are left to play?”
“About a dozen left in the series,” Ears responded.
He nodded his head with concern. “Letting you know the facts. If you proceed, understand there’s considerable risk to your collective well-being. Let’s be sure you stay safe. We can’t keep an officer posted to one of you, much less each of you, due to too many pressing priorities of increasing intensity. That damn obelisk! It was difficult enough before with our miniscule budgets, but now it’s impossible to run this department.”
“We have my friends, sir, my martial arts friends. I’ll keep a few of them hanging around.”
“Good. Good. And I’d counsel you to avoid going out alone since you are stronger in numbers. Do any of you carry firearms?”
“No,” they responded.
He clasped his hands and sighed. “Then keep your eyes open. We’ll watch as closely as possible, though most of our squads are out on active crimes at this point and can’t monitor. Molli, we understand you are employed in a few jobs. Can you peel any of those back?”
Molli grinned, remembering her new bank balance. “That problem is resolved for now.”
“Good, good. Power in numbers. Just remember it may save your skins. Any cellphones or trackable devices?”
“We’ve been keeping them at home when out on interviews. Don’t want anyone tracking us,” Peter disclosed.
“Tech, damn tech. You know, there was a time when having a cellphone was a good thing, and now it’s just an excuse for criminal activity with hackers who are either one-upping the data companies, or those cell providers are selling your active location data to marketers, presumably.”
The brief meeting concluded and they left the station, humbled by the news.
“Guys,” Molli confided as they entered the rental car garage to change vehicles. “I’m feeling unsettled. Nothing like being naked and afraid. Anymore, I trust my senses – except when I stupidly parked my car in the dark. But that’s not the point. Despite what I said about taking a week off, I feel we need to accelerate these interviews. If we do them faster, we can edit and queue them. And if we get additional heat from the unknown threats, be they mechs or otherwise, we’ll just limit our external exposure and keep below the radar for a while. Peter, your parents are now in Minnesota, right? That’s the type of place I’m considering. Smaller risks, less chance someone in town will want to confront us. In other words, we can go incognito in Toledo.”
“Uh, that’s in Ohio,” Ears pointed out.
“Needed something that rhymed, my dear. What do you boys say?”
Peter stopped the car. The car rental people were approaching the vehicle.
“God gave me no sense of intuition, so I’m game to go with yours, Molli. Ears, where are you?”
“Still buzzing with a million-plus in the bank. Right now, I have no worries beyond risking our lives. With this social disarray, I’m in a time that will never happen again, and I don’t want to be sleeping through it or sitting in front of a screen at home, afraid to get our job done. Let’s hammer through and finish the series. I’ll do the schedule rearranging, and most people have a better idea of their next few weeks than their next few months, anyway. We’re on a roll, big time. Wonder what our Texan friend will do for our ratings? Also, we need to consider changing advertisers now that the numbers are in the stratosphere. I’m getting nonstop pings on my nets. They’re now asking me if they can advertise on our show, not vice versa.”
When they arrived at the condo, a note was on the front door to pick up a package at the front office. Ears ran down to retrieve it. The return address was titled ‘Control Freak.’
“I’m hoping it’s two things,” he panted, out of breath after climbing the stairs with the package. “I forgot to mention Polly needed to return the Sony with our BioEthel interview.”
He opened the package. Enclosed was the Sony and a thumb drive that instructed him to go online to get the access code to Stu’s interview. Ears played the recording aloud in the kitchen as Molli listened in.
“Peter, come hear this!” Molli demanded.
Peter trotted into the kitchen. “Wow,” Ears declared, “a perfect recording. Amazing how they masked his voice. You can’t even hear the accent, and they even changed his colloquialisms. One of his helpers must have been up for hours working this.”
“Maybe that Polly girl you took a liking to,” Molli joked.
“I did not! How could you tell? She seemed sensitive, like someone else I know, and very polite. So what? I can take an interest. If she wasn’t tied to Stu, who knows what she’d say about hanging with me? I’m a decent gent.”
Polly placed her hand on his. “Ears, buddy, you’re far more than decent. There will be a woman, varint or non, who’ll come around to that soon enough, though not while we’re slopping up your place.”
Ears looked up at Peter who had grabbed a glass of juice. “Yeah, Ears, give us a few years here. We’ll eventually be out of your way.”
He then paused. “No complaints, my friend, as your place is great. I’m even getting accustomed to the sofa bed, though I do miss my house.”
“Peter, I’m okay to use the sleeper. We can trade,” Molli offered.
“No, please. With your hour-long showers, you’ll make better use of the bath in the bedroom than I will, and I have this half-bath out here for most of my needs. Let’s stick with the status quo. It’s working. And I’m with the best podcast team in the business during these waening times.”
“What do you mean ‘waning times?’” Molli wondered.
“Do you remember that misspelling of soap on my car window? Waening with an ‘e,’ spelled improperly. A day or two later, I saw Dirksen, my buddy who sells papers on the Square. An article in his paper also spelled the headline story like that. Something about the obelisk being a waening from aliens. I cut the article out and put it on my wall in the studio. Thought you’d seen it.”
Ears looked perturbed. “Some connection, perhaps? That paper is run by varints, probably mechs more than anyone else. Makes you wonder.”
“I’m guessing it’s a coincidence. Nobody is that blatant or stupid.” Peter argued.
Molli grabbed the drive. “I’ll load this and get it ready to rock. We run Control Freak day after tomorrow at four. We should run BioEthel on Friday, same time. It can be a special edition, then we can work the others as fast as we can get them. I don’t mean to always do two a week, but we may want to see how that works since the weeks ahead will be unpredictable given the city curfews being imposed. I prefer to get them ready to go and not worry about having weeks of dead air. We could always replay these special runs in regular time slots, shifting them around to make sure everyone hears them.”
“I like it,” Peter concurred. “Ears, you have ten or so lined up, right?”
“Yep.”
“Twelve more weeks and we’re right into the holidays,” Peter added with glee. “We might spread these out and do a few more reruns than usual. If we slam and jam and run revised stings at the front and back, then we can cruise into the holidays and enjoy ourselves in lovely Minnesota with my parents.”
Molli pulled her hair up to pin it back. “It will be so much fun to be with your parents for the holidays, Peter. I met them, and they’re sweethearts. They’ll love the three of us arriving in incognito in Toledo. Reminds me of ‘White Christmas’ eighty years later.”
“Getting old,” he smirked. “They’re in Bemidji. Given the weather that time of year, at least we won’t need to use tennis rackets to swat away the mosquitoes or keep them from mating with the birds.”
* * *
“Numbers!” Ears yelled excitedly, staring at his screen in the bedroom. “What numbers.”
Peter and Molli were each listening to the Control Freak interview in different parts of the condo, and they ran upstairs to view his vidscreen.
“Texas-sized!” Peter exclaimed with surprise.
Ears was ecstatic. “Yeah, approaching the state’s population.”
“We should prep for this, guys,” Molli advised, pacing the carpet in her bare feet. “Ears mentioned the advertisers, and you’re running that down, but seven million active streamers? Can you see the distribution by country?”
He clicked his laptop screen. “Right there,” he pointed out. “Over eighty percent in North America.”
Peter was shaking his head in disbelief. “You don’t suppose Stu juiced it that much, do you? Nobody can hold that kind of swagger, y’all.”
“Oh, Peter,” Ears bellowed, “I haven’t bothered you because you seemed too busy. Word is out everywhere. I’ve seen ads placed for the podcast the last few days. They weren’t our ads, so they must have been Stu’s doing. We’re talking Madison Avenue, baby!”
Peter tried to calm himself. The idea of rocketing from four thousand regular streamers and downloaders to millions within a few weeks was mind-boggling. He tapped his foot nervously against the bedpost.
“You’re making me crazy, Peter,” Ears complained, “and I’m usually the one with the motor foot. What are you conjuring? Aren’t you happy?”
“Not to burst our bubbles, folks, but I listen to those other podstars who carry on their shoulders a whole different set of considerations. Big teams, admins, virtual assistants, ad agencies, press interfaces, web teams. We’re three people compared to them. Tiny.”
Molli interjected, “I don’t see how the numbers matter anyway, not right now. We need to put our eyes forward and walk the path we laid out. If we get distracted with fame and glory, we’ll fall off the face of the planet when the next run gets delayed. We can’t afford that, and we’re doing something positive right here. Good karma. Let’s press on.”
Peter still looked concerned. “That’s what I’m worried about. My head is not wrapped around fame. We understood our audience at four thousand, but we need to analyze the new demographics and psychographics and social data. There’s just not time, given our schedule.” He paused for a second and rubbed his chin. “And don’t let me get an oversized head, you two. This stuff doesn’t simply happen. Someone or something is juicing us. Clearly our Texan friend in part, but it must be more than that.”
“Great engineering?” Molli jabbed.
“I’m with you, Peter,” Ears admitted. “I’m seeing angst, lots of angst everywhere. People are stirred incessantly by the intentional agitation of our mega media. Nobody is covering the content that we are – a thoughtful view at what’s being suggested as alternatives to the threat. Hell, the network news is still arguing about where the obelisk might have originated and when they’ll arrive, which is irrelevant. If it got here, someone may be following regardless of planet of origin and time it takes to arrive at our whistle stop.”
“But with that many people listening in, we’re only releasing more murder hornets into the sky after our Texan friend finishes talking in a few minutes,” Peter observed. “More hornets and more deadly little stings.”
Molli continued pacing. “And more reasons to put our noses to the grindstone. We need to limit our interfaces to anyone not associated with the interviews. After we get them all queued and ready to go, we can deal with the paparazzi and advertisers and anyone else who wants a piece of us. Sound like a plan?”
They both nodded their heads in agreement.