Foray to the Future: Chapter 3

3

            Nathan was awake- well, if you could call it that. His eyelids felt weighed down by several metric tons, his muscles wouldn’t respond, and he still could not talk, but he was conscious, somewhat. He was aware of what happened to paralyze him, but he could not understand how. He had never seen that level of technology before, and the language that the men spoke sounded like nothing he had ever heard before. And that building, that majestic, glowing building, what was it? Something of that magnitude would have cost the state the entirety of its budget plus all the revenue the state could possibly make by selling all of its citizens into servitude. And the pod, the way the pod seemed to appear out of thin air behind Nathan, noiselessly and without alerting him with external lights, how was any of this possible? Theories upon theories began formulating within Nathan’s mind, every one seemingly more implausible than the next.

            Nathan was unsure as to whether or not he was asleep due to the effects of that forceful light. He could see himself in a setting, or landscape, and suddenly, it would change. He went in and out of dreams, re-living the past day in a million different forms. His father cried and understood why Nathan didn’t want to inherit the farm, and so Nathan went about his normal work, but began researching various employments outside of Montana; his father struck him, making Nathan strike back; a random, kind citizen lent Nathan a car; Mr. Gene gave Nathan a bottle of whiskey and a can of pineapple; Nathan rode a tractor through town with a sign saying “just emancipated” on the back; going through the blue oval caused Nathan to freeze in a giant block of ice; a rather attractive actress happened to drive by Nathan on the highway, stopping to give him a lift, ending with them getting married two years later; instead of a blue oval, Nathan tried to walk through his own mother, who disappointedly smacked him on the back of his head, took him by the ear, and brought him home.

            All at once, Nathan’s dreams faded as the weight on his eyelids vanished. He found himself blinking in the whitest room he had ever seen, his eyes attempting to acclimate themselves to the light that seemed to come from the ceiling itself. If not for the shadows cast by the room’s objects, he would have had a hard time telling anything apart. Nathan raised his head a bit; his neck muscles were sore. He was in a rectangular room on a white bed several feet above the ground. He looked around at the five other beds; they were all occupied and none of them had floor supports. They all appeared to be hovering over a spot marked by a glowing, blue circle. Opposite the exit of the room was a large window without any noticeable curtains; apparently it was later (or early) in the day. His clothes had been replaced by a spotless, white robe, which felt almost nonexistent against his skin. Looking behind him, several screens appeared to monitor his vital signs, though they weren’t actually screens; what Nathan at first thought were multiple computer screens were instead projections of light. They had no supporting frame or cables attached, so what else could they be? And how were they actually monitoring him without the typical assortment of cables?

            Nathan attempted to raise his hand to get someone’s attention, but he couldn’t; it felt physically restrained, though there appeared to be nothing stopping him. A man wearing (or painted in) a white skin-suit with a facemask (Nathan thought it was a facemask, though it just looked like everything on his face below his eyes was white) entered Nathan’s small ward. Nathan raised his head as high as he could.

“Hey!” he shouted at the man. The man turned his attention on Nathan, his thin frame walking slowly towards Nathan’s bed. About five feet away, the man seemed to pass through some kind of electrical disturbance; when he walked through whatever it was, it  crackled around his skin like a million tiny bolts of lightning. The man made no notice of it, as if he felt nothing when he walked through. He reached towards Nathan’s head and Nathan instinctively jerked away, though there was no place he could go. The man, with strangely fast reflexes, grabbed Nathan’s head, lifted his eyelids, looked into his eyes, and muttered something into some kind of elongated wrist bracelet. He turned his attention back to Nathan.

“Benum meern! Teco est istas?” he asked with an implied smile. Nathan simply looked at him with a befuddled grin. His slicked back white hair and almost wrinkle-free forehead contrasted strangely, one indicating more age than the other. The man’s facemask even covered the inside of his mouth, so that when he talked, all Nathan saw was the outline of lips covered in white. The man blinked his green eyes a few times emphatically.

“Bingle bongle, dingle dangle, zippity doo-da,” replied Nathan sardonically, the corners of his mouth extending into a big, sardonic smile. The man stared at him.

“Bingle bongle?” the man asked curiously.

“Yeah, bingle bongle. Do you speak English? Please tell me you speak English. Or do you know someone who speaks English? I really don’t want to start being that guy who speaks really loudly, as if that will help you understand what I’m saying, but I’m really close to doing so.”

The man stared at Nathan some more, and then raised an eyebrow.

“Yuvot ensin terra?” the man asked, leaning his face closer to Nathan’s.

“Oh! That guy who shot me with the thing asked me that! Or was it the other guy? I can’t remember.” The man got closer, peering into Nathan’s eye very strangely. Nathan looked back at him, slightly worried.

“Are you trying to kiss me?” Nathan pulled his head back as far as possible. The man finally stood up straight, pressing some buttons on the monitor that both was and wasn’t above Nathan. A new screen display wiped away the old one, showing a diagram of a brain. The diagram was oddly vivid, and the man continually pressed buttons until a giant, illuminated, spinning diagram of a brain appeared hovering over Nathan’s bed. Nathan let out a small yelp.

“What the hell? Whose brain is that?” Nathan yelled, looking at the man frantically. The man pressed some more buttons on the monitor, causing the giant, floating brain to stop spinning and focus on the stem. Suddenly, the area enlarged itself and the rest of the brain disappeared as if it went off-screen, if there were one. Several tags with words unknown to Nathan appeared, labeling themselves to different portions of the stem; this process continued as the stem moved up and around and even through the different portions of the brain, with labels popping up everywhere as the man continually said “hm.” Nathan felt like he was on the most disgusting and fascinating rollercoaster ride of his life, going through the different sections, seeing the internal structure, until finally the entire brain was again floating above Nathan’s bed. The man pressed a few buttons and the brain disappeared. He gave Nathan a quick look, then walked through the electrical field and out of the ward very hastily.

“What the hell was that all about?” said Nathan aloud.

            Several hours passed as Nathan lay there staring at the ceiling. It, too, was pure white, no imperfections, no breaking for ceiling tiles, nothing but white and light. The man finally returned with another man, dressed similarly, in tow. They both passed through the electrical barrier, talking to each other heatedly as the first man pressed buttons on Nathan’s monitor to bring up, once again, the giant brain diagram.

“Encreb tempor remitte en joral. Corpo delt cull manest pinar,” said the first man as he pointed to various sections of the brain. The second man looked on, perplexed and, from what Nathan could surmise, somewhat surprised.

“Yeah, it’s the great big brain. I think it’s mine, right? It makes sense.” The two men looked at Nathan for a second, then disregarded him and continued to look at the brain.

“Corpo delt cull iner tempor gratuer! Seram quisto zera,” said the second man, the sound of amazement in his voice. He was much younger than the first man, his hair a light shade of brown. It was slicked back like the first man’s, but several hairs wiggled their way onto his forehead. He also was not as thin or as tall as the first man.

“Requis dez nintoberats. Utir pex en corpo vir lang, pengato entidoner,” the first man told the second. The second nodded and walked through the electrical barrier, out of the ward. He returned a few moments later with a small, cylindrical, silver tube, about the size of Nathan’s thumb. Nathan noticed that one end of the tube had small black dots, almost like a peppershaker. The second man gave the first man the tube, and the first placed the dotted end against Nathan’s neck. Nathan looked around for a second awkwardly, wondering what was supposed to happen. Without warning, a stabbing pain shot through Nathan’s head as his brain felt as if it were going to explode. He closed his eyes and began screaming in agony, feeling as if his head were being split open with an axe. Tears formed and began to fall as he jerked his head to and fro, almost wanting to break his own neck to stop the insidious sensation. The men looked at each other, and when they looked back at Nathan a moment later, the pain had subsided. It was only a few seconds, but Nathan wouldn’t have been surprised if that feeling had gone on for days, months, years; it certainly felt like forever. He opened his eyes, the last of his tears running down his face. He looked at the first man.

“Why did you do that? I thought you liked me,” he said half-jokingly, breathing heavily. The man leaned in.

“Vuzet redion yourself, I did not understand you.”

Nathan looked at him, wide-eyed and surprised.

“You just spoke English. What happened to Italian?” The man gave Nathan a strange, white smile.

“I am Doctor Baker. This is my colleague, Doctor Rousseau. What is your name? And do you know where you are right now?” Doctor Baker asked Nathan. Nathan looked at the other beds, his monitors, and the two doctors.

“Nathan, Nathan Berringer, and I can’t be too sure, but I would have to say that I’m in a hospital. Never seen a hospital like this, though. Is it safe to assume that I’m in Helena?” asked Nathan.

“It is.” Doctor Baker looked at Doctor Rousseau. “Can you go get the officers, please?” Doctor Rousseau nodded and left the ward. Doctor Baker looked back at Nathan. “You must have questions. However, I believe that I have some more prudent ones; first, how old are you?” Nathan looked at him quizzically.

“I’m twenty-two. Why?” Doctor Baker touched some buttons on the monitor above Nathan’s head. The giant brain appeared once again with the labels. Doctor Baker stood upright and looked right at Nathan.

“Your chromosomal age is, indeed, twenty-two years past birth; however, the delta fluctuations in your temporal lobe were not functioning as a typical human’s would. In other words, you could not understand the Human language that I was speaking to you. I corrected for that by injecting you with a series of nanites to alter your delta wave functions. It took a few seconds, but you picked up the language.”

“But, you’re speaking English! And, nanites? What?” interrupted Nathan.

“It might sound that way, but to me, you’re speaking Human. The nanites modified the auditory and sensory receptors in your brain to coincide with the average human’s. Also, just in case, DNA scans show that you are completely human, unless you had genetic re-mod done recently?” He looked at Nathan seriously. Nathan had no idea what genetic re-mod meant. He answered with an unsure “no.” Doctor Baker continued.

“What also struck me as curious was that your entire body was bathed in neutrino energy, though it was very difficult to find at first. I’ve never seen someone so engulfed by neutrino energy. It’s, well, unprecedented. The only way that you could be so saturated with it is if you somehow traveled at the speed of light through a star, though that’s impossible, as anyone would know.” He paused and began walking slowly around Nathan’s bed. The floating brain partially blocked Doctor Baker. “What’s more, the neutrinos seem to have a decay rate of approximately three thousand years. I only took two years of verifiable quantum physics, and even I know that’s impossible. So, I decided to measure the age of your belongings. When we measured their atomic isometric age, they all registered as approximately three thousand years old. Your clothes and technology are reminiscent of those I’ve seen in museums, and your telescope is very, very myopic. I considered for a second that you might have robbed a museum, but with the items that you had, you’d be lucky to rob a cow.” Doctor Baker was still serious. He paused on the other side of Nathan’s bed, looking down at him.

“Uh…” Nathan trailed off.

“What year is this? Rather, what year are you accustomed to?”

Nathan gave him a quizzical look.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. 2012?” Nathan replied. Doctor Baker raised an eyebrow.

“Hm, 2012, old calendar. It would probably mean nothing for me to say that it’s the year 18k243.”

“No, it doesn’t mean anything. Why is there a ‘k’?”

“The modern year calendar was revised approximately two-thousand years ago during the Reformation to account for the beginnings of organized civilization. I suppose that means that, in your terms, this is the year…” Doctor Baker looked up, calculating in his head. “…5046? I think. Don’t quote me on that. As far as I know, we, in this century, do not have any kind of temporal displacement technology, seeing as research on it was banned several decades ago. Was there temporal displacement technology in your century? I don’t recall ever reading anything about that in history class. That’s the only thing I can think of that would leave behind such a strong neutrino signature with that long a decay rate.”

“No…” Nathan looked distraught. “You can’t be serious.”

“Completely.” Doctor Baker looked sternly at Nathan. The white facial mask accentuated the doctor’s green eyes. All at once, his demeanor lightened.

“That being said, you brought a host of unfamiliar bacteria and viruses, which is why we’ve had the energy field surrounding your bed. We’ve sterilized you and we’ve also inoculated you against the common sicknesses we have. We’ll have to feed you specially treated food so that you don’t get immediately sick from eating the local cuisine.” He suddenly looked around. “Well, where are those officers? You’d think they would be excited about this whole mess.” Doctor Baker exited from the energy field in a rush, leaving the ward.

“But…” Nathan trailed off. He sank his head down onto his bed and stared into the emptiness above him. Three thousand years… thought Nathan. The words seemed to rattle around in his ears, drilling themselves into his brain. It was unbelievable; Nathan not only missed making a new life in a time when he could have been so much, but he missed the smaller moments. He never got in contact with his aunt, he never told Mr. and Mrs. Gene that he arrived safely; they must have been worried. He would never have the chance of becoming employed, possibly working in a lab somewhere, making new discoveries and learning more and more about the world. He would never have the chance to attempt to reconcile with his father after becoming successful; he would never be able to return the book Mrs. Gene gave him. He would never have kids that he could introduce to Mr. and Mrs. Gene; they would never have grandkids. Nathan’s eyes began to well up. He sniffled and wiped his eyes, trying to erase the possibilities of his past from presenting themselves.

            The two men whom Nathan met on the highway entered the ward accompanied by Doctor Baker. They were without their helmets this time and, unlike Doctor Baker, their mouths were not covered by anything. Now that Nathan could see their faces, though, he became slightly anxious. Both of the officers were around the same height, reminding Nathan of his father, though these men were not nearly as Herculean. The officer on the right had black hair with dark eyes and little less-than-square jaw, but the one on the left had, in no simpler terms, gills. A set of gills protruded from both sides of his neck, though a small apparatus containing what appeared to be water covered them. His skin was dark and seemed to be covered in navy blue scales, though if they were scales, they were not very prominent. His face, though looking slightly human, had a nose similar to a pig’s, though slightly sharper. His auburn hair and grass-green eyes, though vividly colored, retained a common human form, though the color itself was unusually strong. Nathan stared at the officer, his inhuman form, in both awe and slight terror. He had never seen anything so…different.

            The officers stood before the energy barrier, looking at Doctor Baker. The Doctor was pressing some buttons on his wrist-bracelet, though Nathan had only ever glanced at it once. It was an odd thing; it went halfway up his forearm, and it seemed to have a rounded computer display, active on all sides of the bracelet. Doctor Baker would press buttons on one side and the display on the other side would change, causing the Doctor to flip his arm over to interact with the new display. Nathan’s eyes moved back and forth from the strange inhuman to the wrist computer, unsure of which was more astounding at the moment.

“Hang on, I’m ensuring that there are no foreign contaminants within the energy barrier. You don’t want to get sick, do you?” Dr. Baker said to the officers while he worked on his wrist computer.

“No, I suppose not,” said the human officer flatly. Finally after several beeps and boops, Doctor Baker seemed relieved.

“Lowering the energy barrier now,” and with a press of a button on his wrist, the barrier fizzled out, seemingly disintegrating into the air as pure nothingness. The officers, unfazed by this, walked to Nathan’s bedside. The inhuman stood closest to Nathan.

“I am off…” started the inhuman officer before Nathan interrupted him.

“Are those gills?” he yelled out suddenly. The officer looked shocked and upset, his face frozen on his last word.

“Yes, they are. I am one-quarter Pompilian. My name is Officer Eolas Ka’arin; this is my partner, Officer Tyrian Denorus. If you do not remember, we are the ones who found you on the road. Do you remember us?” His voice resonated somewhat through his water apparatus, though only enough to make it sound like he slightly gargled when he spoke. Otherwise, his voice was as deep as the ocean.

“Gills!” Nathan yelled again, laughing slightly, staring transfixed at Officer Ka’arin’s inhuman neck. “Can I call you Gill?” asked Nathan. Officer Ka’arin simply stared at Nathan.

“Right, no forget that. This is so cool! How are you an alien? What is it like being one?”

Officer Ka’arin furrowed his brow.

“Oh, right, um… Yeah, of course I remember you, you shot me. Or you,” Nathan nodded to Officer Denorus, “you shot me. I don’t remember who it was; you guys all look the same when you’re under your big black helmets. Why did you shoot me?”

“You were unintelligible. We had no way of knowing whether or not you would be violent, so we stunned you,” replied Officer Ka’arin.

“You could have killed me!” yelled Nathan, rather uncontrollably. His head jerked up and veins seemed to erupt from his placid forehead when he yelled.

“Actually, no, the stun setting is perfectly harmless,” interjected Doctor Baker, “though I hesitate to wonder why you would use it on someone who looks rather innocuous.” Officer Denorus turned his black eyes to Doctor Baker, his face seemingly cut with indignation. He had been fidgeting slightly in place, as if eager to speak.

“Hesitate to wonder or not at your own behest, Doctor. What we did secured a possible biological threat, however innocuous he might be. Now, you,” he turned to Nathan, pressed some buttons on his wrist-bracelet, and began reading off of it, “Nathan Berringer, aged 22, born 12 April, 1990, old calendar, reported missing 20 August 2012, old calendar. Father, Henry Berringer; mother, Carinne Berringer; sister Dorothy Berringer. Was the aforementioned true?” Officer Denorus looked up at Nathan, his stony expression unchanging. Nathan gawked at Officer Denorus for a second.

“Yuh, yeah. Yeah, that’s me.” Nathan’s mouth suddenly felt dry. He almost envied Officer Ka’arin. Officer Denorus turned to Doctor Baker.

“I’m going to file a request to move Mr. Berringer from this ward to a secured facility in order to question him thoroughly. He presents a possible security threat. You will receive the transfer materials in the morning, I expect you to approve and sign them. If you do not approve and sign them, then I will be forced to remove Mr. Berringer from this ward as per defense law fifteen, paragraph eight, subsection two, and if you do not approve and sign off this transfer, Doctor Baker, then you shall receive a rather blunt end to your medical practice. I hope this is clear to you.” Officer Denorus took a step towards the exit of the ward, but Doctor Baker spoke up.

“Defense code of ethics, paragraph fifty-two, subsection nineteen: in cases where a possible enemy combatant has contracted any unknown illness, a condition unsafe or unprecedented, or is critically injured, the attending physician has unanimous control over the proceedings of the patient in all aspects of handling. Should the question of a military injunction to remove the patient arise due to an interest on behalf of the military, the attending physician shall, and with full support of the law, have the final word with regards to the handling of the patient. In other words, Officer Denorus, medicine reigns supreme in this case. You may question Mr. Berringer here in the ward, but at no point can you move him without my authority. If you do so, Mister Denorus, I shall bring the full weight of the law down upon you, and I am quite sure it would bring a very blunt end to your service within the Solar Confederation.” Doctor Baker, with his thin frame and white hair, seemed to radiate with the glow of fire as his eyes pierced the stony face of Officer Denorus, making small cracks in the otherwise inscrutable expression. The Officer’s left eye began to twitch for a second before he turned and walked briskly out of the ward. Doctor Baker, staring at Officer Denorus’ back until he was no longer visible, turned then to Officer Ka’arin, who remained speechless during the entire verbal boxing match. Officer Ka’arin looked back and forth from Doctor Baker to Nathan, eventually resigning himself. He gave a slight smirk.

“We’ll return tomorrow with questions. I’m sure you realize how strange your appearance here is. We have much to ask you. Good night,” he gargled. He turned and left the ward. Doctor Baker, still burning with a force one might not expect from a man of his advanced years, watched Officer Ka’arin leave before finally letting his brusqueness fade. He exhaled and seemed to relax, his eyes closing for a second.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Berringer?” he said, his eyes closed.

“Well, you can let me move my arms and legs,” replied Nathan. Doctor Baker opened his eyes, still not looking at Nathan. He pressed some buttons on his wrist-bracelet, and like the energy field that once surrounded his bed, the constraints on his limbs dissipated.

“Try not to wander off.” Doctor Baker began walking out of the ward. Nathan flexed his hands and wiggled his toes.

“Thank you,” said Nathan. Doctor Baker stopped in place, looked slightly over his shoulder, and smiled. He continued his walk and left the ward.

            Nathan looked at his hands and feet and continued wiggling them around in strange motions. He smiled in adolescent delight as he traced and painted the air with his hands and kicked imaginary pillows floating above his feet. He suddenly looked up, half-expecting his parents or Mr. and Mrs. Gene to be watching him. His smile faded as he realized how alone he was; it was just him sitting on his bed, isolated from the world that he once knew, never to return to those for whom he cared. He had never wished so strongly to be home.

Foray to the Future: Chapter 2

Getting tired of this yet? Yeah, me too.

2

            The residents of Cochrane, Nathan’s hometown, were a very proud and exclusive group (with the exception of a few residents). Many were farmers and close friends of Henry Berringer, and at one point or another, Henry Berringer had done enough favors for just about every shop owner in Cochrane so that they all collectively owed him a small fortune; Nathan knew that Henry would call in those favors, asking them not to help Nathan in any way, so walking the forty-mile hike was Nathan’s only option.

A person’s debt from a favor in Cochrane has always been something held sacred, often repaid through labor, expensive beer, or some other agreeable term. No indebted person has ever allowed a debt to be wiped away, as it comes to imply something lacking on the part of the indebted. Regardless of how the debt is repaid, the indebted person will continually work until what is owed has been nullified by what was given, or at least if it appears to be nullified. Maintaining the Berringer farm was never an easy task, so a prime strategy within the family has always been to do favors for other families with the inherent implication being that the Berringer family eventually receives something in return, typically beneficial for the farm.

With that in mind, the departure of Henry Berringer’s son was the talk of the town within minutes, much to Nathan’s chagrin. In fact, Nathan hypothesized that his father had gone off to tell all the neighbors not to offer any help to Nathan on his departure. Not a happy thought, but knowing his father, it was very probable. The only people who might be willing to help Nathan were the Genes and the Majels, and neither of them owned cars because they were both elderly couples that never left the town. For them, bicycles always sufficed. Thus, Nathan was alone on his long trek.

           

            As Nathan walked along a perpetual stretch of highway, along endless green corn and golden wheat fields, distant cold, gray mountains, and a sea of blue-sky overhead, he could not help but feel pangs of regret about leaving the only home he knew. He had once made a promise to his father to maintain the family business after his mother’s death, and that promise still tugged at the back of his mind. He shook it off, however, because Henry had become self-obsessed about the farm after Nathan’s mother died, though he was only slightly less so when she was alive. Nathan had often heard Henry remark to himself, in what Henry believed were private moments, that “this house, and this land, and this home shall always be mine, mine no matter what, mine no matter what befalls, mine no matter what interrupts, mine no matter what dies.” To Henry Berringer, losing his possessions after so much grief, after so much anguish, was unbearable. Nathan looked at his watch; a quarter to four. He had been walking on the road for three hours now. He removed the small notebook and pen from his traveling bag, scribbled down the time, his surroundings, and proceeded to write down his thoughts:

But I wasn’t his possession, wrote Nathan. He thought I was some ball of clay or piece of wood that he could hammer and hammer until it became what he wanted, just some freakish facsimile of the family image. He just wanted another man as obdurate as he was running the farm, someone so blinded by their dedication that even love takes a backseat. What a pitiful life.

            At five-thirty, some animal in Nathan’s stomach decided to growl. The animal felt sluggish and tired, so Nathan planted himself on the side of the road and unpacked the canvas bag Mr. and Mrs. Gene had given him. He had not seen any cars go by in the time he had been walking, and found it rather curious. But, his hunger overshadowed his curiosity, and he ravenously opened up the lunchbox with the picture of the man in the suit next to the large blue box, and unwrapped the sandwich. He eyed it as a predator does his prey, examining it for its contents and looking at all its features, choosing the most vulnerable spot in which to strike. Finally, after hearing his stomach complain too much and having his mouth overflow with saliva, he struck. His teeth dug into what he chose as the best entry point, and the taste cascaded over his senses like a wave of ecstasy. Oh, the most delicious torture, thought Nathan. It just makes everything taste better. Looking at the rest of the lunchbox’s contents, Nathan noticed a small piece of paper tucked underneath the bag of grapes. Holding his sandwich in one hand, he picked out the note and read it to himself while he chewed away.

                                    Nathan,

                                                I hope you enjoy this food, as it was

                                    supposed to be my lunch today. Mrs. G said

                                    that you probably needed something to eat

                                    on your trip to wherever, and she puts too            

                                    much mustard on my sandwich anyway.

 Love her as I do, I have finally accepted that

I should make my own lunch from now on.

Enjoy that “tea,” along with my favorite lunchbox, and be sure to call when you get to wherever you’re going. For once, you’re going to regale ME with a story.

                                                                        Love Always,

                                                                        Julian Gene

                                    (and let’s not forget)   Doris Gene

            Nathan stopped chewing to smile. The note felt like a warm, comforting blanket on a cold night. Whatever worries and anxieties he had about the future were allayed for the time being as he began thinking about all the time he spent at the library with Mr. and Mrs. Gene. His mind escaped him as he now ate automatically, his eyes retracing the vast forest of memories he had about the library. He remembered his first time visiting there on a pre-school “field trip.” Everyone was not the least bit enthused about going on a field trip to the library down the road, and all the students made their protests quite audible. Upon arriving, the huge tower of books that reached to the ceiling impressed Nathan, at the time a tiny boy with overgrown blond hair and overalls. It is bigger than my dad, he remembered thinking. He grabbed the highest book he could, though that wasn’t very high. He looked at the cover, pronouncing each syllable with the utmost care.

“H. G. Wells, The Time…ma, match, matching…”

“Machine. The Time Machine.” A tall, thin man with well-parted salt-and-pepper hair knelt down to meet Nathan at eye level. He was clean-shaven, and he looked Nathan directly in the eyes with a friendly smile. Nathan, rather shy at the time, clutched the book with both arms, covering his mouth with it, eyeing this new stranger with the oddly parted hair who knew the strange words. The man wore a simple white button-up shirt and black pants with black dress shoes.

“Yeah, I love it too. I actually once read it for so long that my wife got a bit irked that I wasn’t washing the dishes. A good book will do that to you.” He waited for Nathan to respond, but Nathan continued to stand there, staring wide-eyed at the tall stranger.

“Want to know what it’s about?” the man asked. Nathan nodded slowly, not removing the book from over his mouth. The man planted himself in front of Nathan and crossed his legs.

“A brilliant English scientist builds a machine that lets him travel through time. Ten years, one million, to him, it becomes a second’s journey. He travels very far into the future, so far, in fact, that all humans have evolved into two species: the Eloi and the Morlocks. The Eloi look quite a bit like you, actually. They evolved not doing much work and not stimulating their minds that much, so they are carefree and only live for what tickles their fancy. The Morlocks, on the other hand, lived underground for millennia upon millennia, giving them pale, white skin, large glowing eyes, and thick, gray fur covering their bodies. They are actually the ones maintaining the Earth, though they only understand how to maintain, not to build. They eat the Eloi,” the man made an awkward biting motion, “like cattle. The scientist leaves that place, eventually heading forward in time to the end of Earth itself. All he finds is emptiness, an Earth desolate and devoid of human existence as we would know it. Saddened by this, he goes back to his present time, arriving only a short while after he left. He tells his friends of what happened, and then leaves again for another journey. Into when, we do not know.” The man sat with a satisfied grin. Nathan lowered the book slightly, though it still covered most of his mouth.

“You didn’t really get any of that, did you?” asked the man. Nathan was still silent.

“Oh, Julian Gene, by the way. That’s my name, though I suppose you’d call me Mr. Gene or whatever rubbish you’re respectfully supposed to call me.”

 Nathan looked at Julian’s smiling face, and uttered a single, high-pitched word.

“Nathan.” He was barely audible.

“What’s that, my hearing isn’t as good as it was fifteen years ago, though fifteen years ago I was in a band and that certainly didn’t help my hearing.”

Nathan repeated himself, louder this time.

“Nathan.” Julian reached out his hand, and Nathan trepidatiously met it with his own. Julian shook it very slowly, and then spoke in an affected British accent.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, young man. I certainly hope your literary taste outgrows your pituitary gland.” Julian chuckled a bit and Nathan looked at him curiously. Julian then sighed.

“Ah, kids these days. If you like to read, then you’ll like it here. As you can see, we’ve got plenty to read, and you honestly need to have all the time in the world to read it all, unless you break your glasses.” Julian smiled, and again, Nathan was confused.

“It’s a joke, Twilight Zone, you know, duh nuh nuh nuh duh nuh- oh never mind. Let’s find you something a little easier on which to start you off.” Standing up, Julian began walking Nathan out of the aisle. Nathan reached up and silently held Julian’s hand as they walked toward the section on the wall reserved for children’s books. There stood a tall, beautiful woman with hair the color of liquid gold. When she turned and smiled at Nathan, he felt comfort beyond anything he had ever felt before. She looked up at the strange man and back at Nathan, and then knelt down to meet Nathan’s gaze at eye-level. He didn’t cover his mouth in shyness, as he was astounded at this woman whose hair was even more sun-like than his. She spoke to him in a voice similar to a familiar song: “Hello there! What would you like to read today?”

            Nathan’s thoughts snapped back to the present as he coughed and sputtered after swallowing some of Mrs. Gene’s “tea.” The poignant taste of whiskey surprised Nathan, and he smiled at the tepid brown drink in the thermos. Mr. Gene had clearly put in a bit more whiskey than he let on. Nathan mopped his face with his shirt and took a few more sips. More than the surprisingly strong taste with the warm after-feeling, Mr. Gene’s compassion kept Nathan drinking it. From his seat on the side of the road, Nathan packed up his belongings and arose to continue walking the distance to the next town over.

            Night crept up on Nathan slowly, but certainly faster than he was able to walk. The temperature was dropping, though the whiskey lent him ephemeral warmth. He paused a second to look directly above him, the pale black sky aglow with the light of hundreds of thousands of elusive and beautiful stars. He closed his eyes, imagining himself launching off the Earth, hurtling past the moon, past countless stars, toward a planet untouched by man but suitable for life. He landed in an overgrown oasis, flowers of iridescent pink floating daintily on the air as if they were sentient. The trees around him hummed a song together at different pitches, each one combining to sound like a soft symphony. Looking up in his oasis, Nathan saw stars, but most noticeable was the very center of the Milky Way, shining brighter than Earth’s moon on any given night. The light yellow hue illuminated thousands of small specks in the sky, planets, asteroids, comets, that were all within the vicinity of his little oasis planet. There were thousands upon thousands more planets and stars and wonders to behold in this galaxy, and yet, this was Nathan’s oasis, his perfect spot in the entire universe, a place directly connected to his soul. Nathan opened his eyes, slowly inhaling, and wiped away a small speck from his eye as he walked on.

            After several hours of walking, midnight finally greeted Nathan with absolute nonchalance. Nathan was still only a few hours away from his destination, but he was tired; his feet were beginning to drag, and the whiskey was all gone. I’ll rest for a bit. Might as well, thought Nathan. He plopped himself down on the side of the road once again and removed the book Mrs. Gene had given him from the canvas bag. He took out his cell phone (noticing for the first time that his service had been cancelled) and used it as a light.

“Ian,” he read aloud. He opened the first page.

“We are the snowflakes of the world. Every single snowflake is different from the other, meaning that every single snowflake that has ever fallen throughout history has been different from the ones that fell before it. Snowflakes, unlike humans, become one complete entity with a purpose all its own, while humans remain fragmented, alone,” Nathan read aloud. “Well, that’s not depressing at all,” he remarked, laughing to himself. He continued reading.

“Snowflakes are beautiful at night, especially when reflecting light. It is as if each individual snowflake, for that brief moment they shine, contains within it a universe of billions of brightly-burning stars, with each star anchoring planets, and populating those planets, life, very much like our own. I wonder, are we not on a snowflake, slowly falling to become part of a greater, expanded universe of other snowflakes?” Nathan stopped, an impressed expression spreading across his face. “Not bad. Lovely analogy.” He flipped through the pages, occasionally stopping at a few. He caught some words, like “Beethoven” and the phrase “death is my expression of life,” and became intrigued at what the book had to offer. He turned back to the first page when a strange buzzing sound diverted his attention.

            Nathan looked up, expecting to see power cables to explain the noise, but there were none. It was a low hum, one typical of an active generator. Nathan placed the book back in the canvas bag, his phone back in his pocket, slung his bags around him, and began to investigate. To his left and his right were walls of cornfields, and in the pitch black, they were as daunting as any phobia or childhood nightmare. He walked in the direction of Helena, and the buzz became louder. His pace increased, the sound of his footsteps getting lost in the massive cornstalks. The buzz became louder and louder until Nathan could tell that it was distinctly to his left. Looking at the wall of corn, he entered the overgrown area with his travel bag in tow.

            The buzz seemed to vibrate the cornstalks around him. Each stalk he brushed against seemed to give him an electric shock, though Nathan kept telling himself that it was his fatigue that was causing the small jolts. As he walked further and further into the field, the buzzing grew louder and the vibrations grew stronger until Nathan could discern light coming through the cornstalks. He looked incredulously at the source of the light, as waves of energy seemed to wash over him. It was disturbing, but curious, as he felt drawn to the strange thing. His walk turned into an awkward jog as his bags jostled around until he reached what seemed like a small clearing; however, it was more like a large, perfect circle around what appeared to be a white, glowing crack in the middle of the circle, suspended a few feet off the ground in mid-air. Nathan looked around at the clearing: there was neither corn nor grass, only dirt, and instead of being a normal black or brown, this dirt was blue.

            Nathan approached the crack slowly. It had jagged edges, as if someone had taken an axe to the spot and broken a hole in…space. He put his bags down as he began circling around it. It didn’t seem to be three-dimensional. At the side, Nathan could still see light, but only in a straight line. When he got around to the “back,” there was no crack at all, only normal space in front of him.

“What the hell…” He reached out his hand to the spot where the crack would be. The volume of the buzz seemed to increase when his hand passed the threshold; his hand felt almost as if it were passing through warm pudding, but otherwise, nothing happened. It was as if he had touched nothing at all.

            Nathan circled back around to the “front” of the crack, looking at it in consternation. He took a deep breath and exhaled.

“For science.” He reached out his hand to touch the glowing crack. The buzzing got louder, and louder, and louder as his outstretched finger got closer and closer to the crack; then, his finger made contact. For a second, there was absolute silence; nothing could be heard but chilly crickets. With a blinding flash of light, Nathan was thrown back through the air into the cornstalks at the edge of the circle. He knocked over several, finally rolling to a stop on the several that he had flattened. His eyes were wide in shock, and he felt as if his ability to speak had been knocked out of him. Dusting himself off, he looked at the space where the crack was, except now, there was no crack; only some kind of oval-shaped, blue...thing.

            A sound of wind against a tree replaced the buzz; this object in space seemed much more serene than its noisy predecessor. In fact, what had once been a blinding white light was now a swirling, blue oval disc whose textures were reminiscent of a liquid being stirred. Various shades of blue spiraled in constant orbit around the center of the oval. Nathan approached this new shape slowly, fearing the same repercussions as touching the crack. The sound from the oval did not increase, nor did it decrease; it simply existed as-is, its contents spiraling around the center like an oceanic solar system. He reached out his left hand to the oval and touched the apparent surface; it felt slightly cool, as if someone were running a light stream of water over his hand, but otherwise, it felt like nothing at all. He withdrew his hand, examining it; nothing seemed different aside from a slight sensation of cooler air. He went to his telescope bag and removed his telescope, setting it up in front of the oval. He nudged it forward gently until the lens passed through the fluid surface. What am I doing, thought Nathan. What the hell am I doing? He bit his lip as he looked through his telescope.

            Corn. All he saw was corn. He stared dumbfounded at the oval, which was undisturbed by his telescope’s placement.

“Seriously? All that build-up and buzzing and throwing me backwards for nothing on the other side but what’s already there? Jeez.” He withdrew his telescope with an upset grunt and placed it back in its bag. Something, though, would not let Nathan leave without inspecting the oval more. He gathered up his things, breathing heavily, staring into the heart of this unknown object. What it represented to Nathan was the unknown, and that, as always, excited him. If his hand and his telescope were unharmed by passing through that oval, would he not also be fine? He closed his eyes; his courage and anxiety building themselves at the same time, fighting over whether or not to enter the oval. All at once, as if the universe paused just to hear this decision, he opened his eyes with a look of fierce determination.

“It’s just corn!” he yelled, charging as fast as he could through the oval. He was hit with a wave of cold as soon as he passed through the chilly surface, making him inhale suddenly and shiver. He exited and looked around; corn. Corn everywhere. Turning around, he saw the same blue oval, its hues rotating around the center, except the hues were spinning in the opposite direction from when he passed through. Curiously, he poked his head back through the oval. The cold hit him as his eyes only met with a disappointing amount of corn. He withdrew his head.

“God damn corn.” He walked off towards the highway.

Once he was back on the highway, he continued on the road to Helena. In the dark, walking for what seemed like an hour, little seemed to change, at least until something glowing like New York City shone in the distance. Nathan stared, perplexed. He jogged up the road a bit further, his travel bag bouncing annoyingly off of his foot. A massive skyscraper revealed itself in the distance, except this was unlike any skyscraper Nathan had ever seen, in pictures or otherwise: it was white and shimmering, a tower with a pointed top that looked almost like an elongated pyramid, except for a few rectangular portions closer to the top. The building seemed to glow from within, emanating a light so brilliant and blinding that it rivaled the view of a major city from space.

“Since when does Montana have the money for that?” remarked Nathan aloud. The sound of footsteps behind him told Nathan that he was no longer alone. He spun around, his bags flying indiscriminately; a car- no, an oval pod- hovered in the air a few inches from the ground. A quarter of the oval, the part facing Nathan, was completely black; the rest of it was white, except for a black stripe around the back that paused at a design that looked like a picture of the Earth. It was hovering. How the hell is it hovering, thought Nathan. Since when does Montana have money for THAT? Pulling his attention away from the pod, he noticed two oddly dressed men; their clothes seemed to adhere directly to their skin, unless their skin was painted. Their clothes had the opposite design of the pod; instead of a black Earth, their clothes were black with a white vertical stripe and Earth over the heart. They each wore a black helmet that covered the majority of their faces, except for their mouths. The man on Nathan’s right spoke.

“Issa ventuta bondan?” he asked with an upward inflection. Nathan stared at him for a second.

“Sorry, I don’t speak Italian,” Nathan replied. The two men looked at each other for a second. The one on the left spoke this time.

“Toh mee, yuvot ensin terra?” Nathan shook his head.

“I don’t know what you’re saying, I’m sorry. Do you speak English? And since when do people from Montana speak Italian?” Nathan asked, curious. The two men looked at each other again. They began whispering something that Nathan could neither hear nor understand.

“Sorry? Didn’t catch that,” Nathan piped up. The man on the left raised his hand quickly to Nathan, who only had time to fidget in place as an orange beam of light struck him in the chest. A hammer-like blow impacted Nathan directly in the sternum and knocked the wind out of him and he lost feeling in his legs, though he made sure to try to shift his momentum forward so as not to crush the telescope on his back. He tried to scream, but his vocal chords were frozen and his jaw seemed to have been glued together from the inside. He shook slightly, attempting to move, but slowly a dark, silent force closed his eyes and shut down his mind. Everything was a soft darkness except for a small part of his brain, where he rattled the bars of his cage, screaming for help; no one was there to listen.

Foray to the Future: Chapter 1

Greetings! I have decided that I'm going to post chapters of my shitty books on my shitty blog, since I'm sure no one else would read them otherwise. Enjoy!

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1

            A dark night never looked so calming. An old blue pickup truck drove slowly around the winding roads through the forest at a speed reserved for a mid-day venture to nowhere in particular. There was a slight breeze, but only enough to lend a cooling tone to the humid summer night. The stars above looked especially luminous at night, one of the benefits of living in the middle-of-nowhere, Montana. If Van Gogh had seen stars like these, then he would have had to repaint Starry Night.

            The pickup truck finally reached the most picturesque height of the mountain overlooking the small town, where only a few lights still shone. The engine was turned off, and a single, youthful man named Nathan sat admiring what little man-made machinations there were in his view. Only a few streetlights pointed out his town’s location from afar; otherwise, everything was as quiet and dark as a world without man. Imagine that, a world without people, thought the man from inside his truck. He ran his hands on the doorframe, feeling the soft, worn fabric under his overworked hands. No buildings, no artificial lights, no trimmed grass. Can we ever truly comprehend a world without us? It’s such a nihilistic thought, not one that many can bear. He looked up at the stars. No artificial light to block out the most beautiful sight in the universe. Neither eyes nor mind to ponder the wonder that is.

“Heh,” he chortled aloud.

            Nathan exited his car and removed the telescope from the truck’s carriage. He set it up on the edge of the ridge, clear of the tree line, and pointed it towards the center of the Milky Way. Thousands of stars greeted him like old, familiar friends. He smiled, panning around the various constellations, zooming in and out of stars and star clusters, imagining himself being so close to these alien worlds that he might set foot on them. A future too good for humans. He sighed and his look of awe faded. He planted himself next to his telescope and faced the one or two lights emanating from the few shops still open. Rather than stare at the stars as he normally did, his mind meandered and he stared into the abyss beyond his small town.

            “Nathan Berringer. Born 1990, will die sometime around 2080 or 2090, preferably 2300. Occupation, farmer by familial indentured servitude, dreamer by all other means of measurement. Life goal… don’t die a farmer.” His mantra hung in the air for a second; he imagined it making small circles around his head, until it wafted into the air, up into the sky, beyond the Earth, and spread into the vast nothingness. Nathan looked around, expecting someone to have heard him, but only the trees and the sky reacted with what seemed like a hushed approval. He sighed once more as he packed up his telescope and drove down the mountain, back home. This had become Nathan’s almost-nightly routine for several weeks on end, as his father had become more and more overbearing about maintaining the family farm.

            The Berringer family had established roots in Montana dating back to the early 1800s. They had staked claim on their land, which was, at that point, reserved for nothing. The family worked to cultivate any crops they could throughout years of depression, famine, and losing members of the family due to war and disease, so the farm was a point of pride. There had been a few who left, daring to explore the world and find professions outside of produce, but they were then excommunicated from the farm family in an acrimonious and petty display of jingoism. The disowned would beg the family to see past the ways of old, to see what there was beyond the farm, but bloodlines built in the soil always predominated. Any greeting card in the mailbox found itself a resident of the fireplace.

            So, the entirety of the land came down to Nathan. His older sister had died as a baby, so he was continually conditioned to keep the family farm functioning. It took great efforts for Nathan to persuade his parents to first buy him a telescope, and then to fund his college studies, but he was able to do it (though he had to promise to learn about agricultural engineering, and he did, which did not stop him from pursuing studies in astronomy and physics). When his mother died in his senior year of college, he felt it incumbent upon himself to maintain the farm, even if that meant he would never leave the farm to study things that he found fascinating and incredible. Nathan always held out a modicum of hope that he might have an opportunity to pursue his heart’s desire, but he rarely vocalized it. While Nathan’s father never drank himself into a stupor as others might in his position, he did become antagonistic towards anything except for farming, the women around town, and the occasional TV show. This meant a stricter leash tethering Nathan to the farm, leading to repeated, abrupt arguments about Nathan’s freedom during his leisure time. Nathan’s midnight stargazing was all that kept him sane.

            The day after Nathan’s latest nocturnal journey, he awoke to the roosters cackling their usual early alarm, jolting Nathan out of bed.

“Ugh, god damn birds.” He lifted his legs out from under the covers, let out a sonorous yawn, and headed to the shower. At his bathroom mirror, staring at his groggy reflection, he saw a face that looked as if it might prefer drowning to waking up so early. He attempted to wipe the exhausted look off his face, but to no avail.

            After his shower, he dressed himself in his usual tattered work jeans, a faded blue work t-shirt, and boots, and headed downstairs to find his father eating some toast while reading the local newspaper. Henry Berringer looked like a man built solely to lift boulders; his broad shoulders were matched only by the size of his forearms, which looked capable of knocking down trees with a single blow. While Nathan was quite imposing and large in his own right, he did not compare to his father. Henry only shaved once every few days, so his large square jaw was covered in scruff, which oddly suited his sharp nose and large brow. He, like Nathan, had varying degrees of blond in his hair, except for some patches of gray. Unlike Nathan, he had green eyes, while Nathan’s were blue. Henry’s face was also unusually creased and folded for a man of only forty-five; Nathan was sure that this was the gift of stress.

            “What took you so long?” Henry trained his eyes sternly on Nathan, who looked at the half-century-old grandfather clock on the wall.

            “It’s only five-thirty, the farmhands don’t arrive until six-thirty.” Nathan walked, rubbing his face, to the refrigerator and pulled out some milk. Henry eyed him contemptuously, but turned back to his paper. Nathan poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat across the table from his father, who did not look away from his paper.

            “I expect you to wake up earlier tomorrow. We can’t afford to fall behind, not now, not ever.” Henry continued chewing his toast. Nathan, spoon in hand, looked at his father with a purely dumbfounded expression, his mouth slightly open, his eyebrows raised. Summer, especially early August, meant that picking season was right around the corner, and not much work was necessary on Nathan’s part until then, aside from making sure the animals weren’t engaging in unnecessary copulation. It seemed that Henry’s only interest was keeping Nathan busy for the foreseeable future.

            “I’ll go to the general store today, pick up some feed, maybe look for a few good spark plugs for the truck,” Nathan said to his cereal. Still, Henry’s eyes didn’t leave his paper.

            “No, you’re needed here. No more unnecessary driving.” Henry’s eyes then darted to Nathan, who had stopped his spoon in midair and now stared at his father in slight disbelief. His father had never shown any inkling about Nathan’s midnight drives, and even if he did know, why would it be an issue? A few drops of milk fell off of the spoon and back into the bowl.

            “What do you mean, unnecessary driving?” Nathan asked. Henry placed his newspaper on the table calmly and folded his hands. He sat rigidly, looking Nathan directly in the eye. Nathan felt as if an intimidating policeman were interrogating him.

            “Your evening drive to god-knows-where last night. You do that quite often, you know; go out whenever you please at some ridiculous hour of the night. This farm requires constant supervision, not someone whose stupid sense of childish exploration makes them wander off at any random goddamn time. If you’re going to continue our family’s heritage and continually run this farm, I’m going to need someone who doesn’t feel like taking a casual hike around town at 9 in the evening.” Henry trained his eyes on Nathan. Nathan dropped his spoon back into the bowl with a loud clatter.

            “Well then. You certainly bring up some very valid points, but I’m going to have go say something along the lines of ‘no,’ and before you begin to make some ridiculous argument about how I should make my mother and my grandparents and my great-grandparents and their parents before them proud, just accept, with a modicum of grace and understanding, that my answer is a solemn ‘no.’ I, quite honestly, don’t care about what you think would have made them proud, and now that I’m saying it, I realize that I don’t care about your false sense of heritage either.” Henry opened his mouth to talk, but Nathan cut him off.

“You know, I’ve been curious about the Berringers who left to make something of their lives aside from husking corn, so I bothered to search for them using the library’s Internet which, by the way, is a great resource to have around. Do you know what I found?” Nathan spent much of his free time at the library. Henry opened his mouth yet again, but Nathan pre-empted him.

“Kathryn Hayfield, formerly Kathryn Berringer, formerly your sister, moved to New York, where she studied law and currently works as the head of a large legal firm. Kirk Berringer, formerly your uncle, flew around the world painting what he saw and taking pictures, and currently resides in London as a very successful photographer and painter.” Henry glared at Nathan- this wasn’t the first time Nathan had vocally objected to Henry’s rules, but this was certainly the first time Nathan had become more confrontational. Most other times, Nathan would simply back down and do what he was told; Henry could only wonder to himself what had prompted this change.

“And so what!” Henry interrupted. “So what if those ingrates threw away their family history, everything this family had worked tooth and nail for? This family is built on a legacy, and legacies are meant to be continued by the children birthed to them. And god damn it, centuries of work by this family will not be thrown away by some idiotic ideas about the outside world being better than any of this!” Henry swung his arm around, gesturing to the land on the other side of the house walls. “All that is out in that world that those bastards deserted this farm for is some false sense of worth. Those people have no idea what it is to create a great legacy, what it takes to maintain a family name. Those people are only concerned with what they wear, making money, and screwing each other!”

“Oh, are they?” Nathan’s voice began to rise. “And how would you know? The last time you left this town was when Jimmy Carter was president, and that was only because gas in the next town was slightly cheaper. You have no idea what’s out there, and you’re afraid of it!” Henry stood up out of his chair, towering over Nathan.

“I AM AFRAID OF NOTHING!” Henry’s fist slammed down on the table as he glared at Nathan, his true anger apparent for the first time. Henry’s face was redder than the tomatoes growing outside. A thick silence filled the air with an invisible wall between the two men, and Nathan stared in shock at his father.

“There is no good out there except a fickle world filled with a fickle people who think that their lives mean something. Countries like this one are built by people from families like ours because they kept going even when others wanted to move away from what makes countries great. If you want to be one of those idiots who thinks that something aside from the great foundation our family has built holds anything worth seeing, then go be an idiot; you just won’t have any family to return to.”

Henry’s words hung in the air like a pungent odor. Nathan searched the space in front of him for some comprehension of what his father had just said; what happened next surprised even Nathan. He stood up slowly, his courage rising as he did. He raised his eyes to face his father’s and stood up straight. Even standing that tall, Nathan was a few inches shorter than his father’s imposing six-foot-three frame.

“Benjamin Berringer, your grandfather’s brother, was the first to leave the farm to pursue an education away from agriculture. He attended Princeton during the depression, eventually attaining a PhD in Physics with a concentration in nuclear physics. He ended up becoming one of the consultants on the Manhattan Project, which created the atomic bomb, which led to one of the most pivotal events in all of human history. I’m not going to say that he was the ace-in-the-hole for the entire thing, but if the military chose him as a consultant, then he had proved his worth as a scientist, and what’s more, a reputable, trustworthy person. You’re saying that those people out there, the vast majority of the world, they’re all idiots; that’s patently false, and I’m sure you know that.

“I guess your misplaced sense of pride in some mediocre farm has led you astray from reason. Don’t force that onto me. Don’t try to make me into some complacent clone of yourself, echoing those stupid sentiments, because it won’t work. I’ve grown too much to believe that crap anymore. If you’re going to be so ridiculously stringent about me inheriting this farm that you won’t even let me go out stargazing at night, then I’ll leave and you’ll have nothing else here aside from your precious legacy. Knowing you, however, you’re not going to change your mind, so I am going to go upstairs, pack myself a bag, walk to the next town and take the first train to wherever.” Nathan lingered for a second, looking at his father, whose incredulity was plain on his face. For a moment, it seemed that Henry might reach out to strangle Nathan, but he only shook slightly. Nathan, seeing no response from his father, walked calmly out of the room. Henry only stared at Nathan’s wake, his eyes bulging; his face was now a strained puce.

            It was an unusual feeling, this sudden burst of hostility toward his father. Since his college career had ended, Nathan felt incredibly bored at home, as the only tasks on the farm were menial ones. His friends, after graduating, either headed off to their new jobs far away or to some kind of advanced degree, leaving Nathan to his chores and his wandering imagination. For months on end, he was left with a growing resentment toward the life into which he was forced, though he tried to remember why he agreed to tend the farm in the first place. It wasn’t the most energizing thought, taking care of something others believed he needed to care for, but it kept Nathan tethered to his home. After Henry’s indignant anger toward Nathan’s only means of happiness, the tether had snapped.

Heading upstairs, Nathan’s mind was whizzing at the prospect of leaving without returning. Flashes of possible futures presented themselves to Nathan’s mind, both exciting him and worrying him. He had never been so daring before, so he knew he needed some kind of plan. He knew he would travel east towards the larger cities, though he knew that was certainly not much of a plan. Another thought comforted him- he knew that, whatever he chose to do, it would be more invigorating than life on the farm. All the people he could possibly meet, all the places he could possibly go, they all overwhelmed him. He paused for a second, standing in the doorway of his room. A slight smile transformed his previously stony face; the unknown excited him.

“Where can I stay?” asked Nathan to the empty room, as if his bed would answer. His friends were all gone, enjoying their new lives away from home. He pondered the answer, his eyes blankly scanning his night table. Then, as if he already knew it, a litany of names danced across his eyes: his relatives.

That might be a good idea, Nathan thought to himself. Maybe they can give me some shelter while I find a future. I’ll e-mail them from the library before I leave.

            Nathan bounded into his room, a smile of unbridled joy spread across his face, and he started rummaging around to find his travel bag. After throwing some old clothes, uncared for picture frames, and old birthday cards out of his closet, he found his bag and tossed it onto his bed. Without taking time to fold his clothes, he flung several shirts, socks, and pairs of pants into his bag. He then turned to his small library of books in his one isolated bookshelf in the smallest space in the corner of his room; unfortunately, his bag could only carry so much. Looking through his limited collection, he picked out War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells and I, Robot by Isaac Asimov- two books of adventure and discovery, and appropriate, Nathan felt, for embarking into the unknown.

            As soon as his case was full of clothes, his money, and other items he deemed necessary, including a small notebook on which to record his journey and a small, slightly chipped glass replica of prehistoric Earth, he zipped up his bag and set the wheels on the floor. He was only missing one item, one crucial item that he felt was more valuable than his arm: his telescope. Folding it up and placing it in its protective bag, he slung it across his body so that it rested securely on his back. He was ready to go, but something was amiss; he looked at his room and listened to his house. It was quiet, and there were no sounds except for the gentle breeze caressing the crops outside. Not even his father was could be heard breathing. For a moment it felt as if he were looking at a painting rather than his room. None of it seemed to fit him anymore, as if he’d outgrown his childhood home like an old piece of clothing.

“Well then.” Nathan grabbed his bag handle and began rolling it down the dusty hallway toward the stairs. Picking up his bag so that it didn’t bang on every step, he reached the bottom, standing at the front door. Henry had left the dining room, his half-eaten piece of toast abandoned on the plate. Nathan found no one to bid him farewell, no one to wish him luck or hug him or tell him to be careful out there. All that greeted him was the tick-tock of the ancient grandfather clock, sounding more like resentful scorn than it should have. With a final, silent farewell, Nathan grabbed his bag handle, opened his front door, and took his first step toward uncertainty.

            The walk to Main Street was uneventful, as a few miles of empty fields separated his former residence from the hub of town. Calling this street a hub, however, might be a misnomer; the entirety of the “hub” consisted of a single block of stores and shops and the local church. A clothing store owned by the Kingsmiths, a produce store owned by the Newmans, a coffee shop owned by the Kellys, the small church run by Father Regan, a cinema owned by the Winchesters, a small deli owned by the Whites, a book store owned by the Majels, and a garage owned by the Smiths. The public schools, which were conveniently right next to each other and shared many of the athletic fields, were farther down, and finally the library, a half-mile away from the law and government building, seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. Nathan was never sure if anyone actually planned the poor placement of buildings in the city or if, as he commonly joked, the city planner was blind, but he never cared enough to find out. He just rolled his way past the stores, people looking at him curiously and whispering to others as he passed.

            Finally, after more than an hour-long walk, many awkward stares, and an unfortunate encounter with Teddy Holtz, the most vapid, talkative person in town, Nathan reached the library. It was never a busy place, and the two librarians, Mr. and Mrs. Gene, were always glad to see Nathan. He was one of their few regular patrons, and they always had new book recommendations for him. They even forgave him when he neglected to return books on time, though Nathan always slipped them a few dollars anyway.

            The library itself wasn’t impressive by any stretch of the imagination; in fact, the entire structure looked a bit like a slightly larger, redbrick version of a fast food restaurant. The inside, however, was meticulously organized to ensure maximum use of the minimal space they had. Solid wooden bookcases lined every available inch of wall except the space reserved for doors and windows and the single computer, which stood out conspicuously. It was always a funny sight to see the six-year old computer, oversized and clunky, among what might be called a forest of books. The bookshelves rose from floor to ceiling, allowing only room for a single person to walk between them, and the dust on the books nearer the ceiling was noticeably thicker than those on the lower shelves. Nathan always felt awed by what he jokingly referred to Mr. and Mrs. Gene as “the towers of knowledge.” They also intimidated him slightly, as he knew he could never hope to read every single book on the shelves.

            Mr. Gene, relaxing in a high chair behind the large, dark, rectangular marble desk at the front of the library, sat with his half-moon spectacles resting comfortably on the edge of his nose. As always, he spent his time while managing the library doing what he did best: reading. His hair was a fine shade of silvery-gray, combed through and parted nicely to preserve what he always called his “1950s debonair.” His beard matched his hair’s color, but not its organization; it reminded Nathan of dust bunnies. Nathan approached the desk and opened his mouth to speak, but Mr. Gene held up a single, aged finger. Nathan held his mouth open.

            After a few seconds, Mr. Gene finally grabbed a small piece of paper as a placeholder, closed his book, put down his finger, and smiled pleasantly at Nathan.

“You’re early today. No work on the farm?” His voice held a soothing quality, like jazz music on a rainy day. Nathan carefully hedged his response.

“You could say that. Where’s Mrs. Gene?” Nathan asked politely.

“She’s sorting some new arrivals today. Some interesting books about fantasy and magic and spells and whatnot. Some other stuff too. Might even be some reprints of Lovecraft, if you’re interested,” Mr. Gene said kindly. He glanced quickly at Nathan’s travel bag.

“Lovecraft was never my thing. Too many monsters, not enough science. What are you reading there?” Nathan said, motioning to Mr. Gene’s book.

“Bit of medieval poetry. Too much religion and sexual modesty for my taste, give me Oscar Wilde and his veiled allusions to sex any day. But, then again, having a little knowledge about everything is better than knowing too much about one thing. So what can I help you with, son?” Mr. Gene folded his hands and sat upright.

“Oh, I’m just going to use the computer for a bit and then head out,” Nathan said. Mr. Gene gave a reassuring nod, as if he knew more about Nathan’s situation than he let on.

“Well, it’s free for you to use, young man. Just don’t download any chitty-chatty things.” With that, Mr. Gene went back to his book. Nathan walked to the computer, his bag in tow, and, placing his telescope bag next to his travel bag, he sat down. He turned on the computer and began searching for his disowned relatives, specifically his aunt in New York.

            Mrs. Gene, done with stacking books, pushed her empty cart to where Nathan sat at the computer. Once a ballet instructor, she had long since retired because of the onset of arthritis. She still walked with a flowing grace, as if she glided through the air rather than actually taking steps. Her silver hair would have deceived anyone if they were only looking at her eyes, which were a vivid hazel. She placed a friendly hand on Nathan's shoulder, greeting him with a voice both soft and resonant. “Good morning dear, you’re never here this early. I suppose you’re as excited about the new arrivals as I am.” Nathan looked over his shoulder. She smiled down at him, her expression without judgment, or belittlement, or expectations of Nathan; rather, she was simply glad to see him.

“Oh, morning Mrs. Gene. Actually, I’m here to use the computer. I have some errands to run, you know how it is.” Nathan was all-too aware of the conspicuousness of his travel bag next to him as he caught Mrs. Gene’s eyes glance quickly at it. She gave an understanding smile and squeezed his shoulder.

“Of course dear. I’ll be at the desk if you need anything.” She removed her hand and glided away.

“Thanks,” Nathan said to her back. He turned to the computer and continued his search. Eventually, he found his aunt’s e-mail address. He was ready to send her a greeting. But what would he say? Hi, I’m another disowned Berringer, would you like to take me in for a while until I can find some source of income? Nathan sighed, unsure. He stared at the blank e-mail for a second, considering his options, and then he began to type.

                        Dear Mrs. Hayfield,

                                    I am sure that you must be surprised seeing the name

                        “Berringer” in an e-mail addressed to you (unless you keep

                        in touch with Kirk Berringer, whom I would very much like

                        to meet if you do), but at this moment in my life, I have no

                        idea what else to do. I, like you and several before us,

                        have decided to leave the family life and explore what the

                        world beyond has to offer me. My father, your (former)

                        brother, disowned me without a second thought, and did not

even attempt to stop me from leaving. I have decided to leave

                        on the first train to New York, as that is the only possible            

                        place I can think to go at the moment. I hope you will not take

                        my request of shelter as an undue burden, but if you cannot

                        afford to take me in, I wholeheartedly understand. I highly

                        doubt I will have phone service after today and I do not own

                        a personal computer, so if you do accept my request, please

                        tell me an address at which I can meet you. I will try to find a

                        public computer in the city, hopefully, so I can contact you

                        when I arrive.

                                                                                    Wish me luck.

                                                                                    Nathan Berringer

            Nathan sent the e-mail and shut off the computer. He stood up, slinging the telescope bag across his chest, and turned to walk out of the library. Mr. and Mrs. Gene stood in front of the desk holding items normally reserved for schoolchildren: a medium-sized black lunchbox with a picture of a man in a suit standing next to a large blue box, and a thermos. Nathan stared at them in disbelief for a second, unsure of what to make of their presentation.

“You might need another bag for these, hang on.” Mr. Gene shuffled behind the desk and pulled out a canvas bag the size of a car tire. He and Mrs. Gene placed the thermos and the lunchbox in the bag, and Mrs. Gene slipped the handles of the bag over Nathan’s head so that it was slung across his chest, making sure not to damage the telescope in any way. Nathan looked as surprised as if he had just seen Mr. Gene do a backflip.

“Before you say anything, you don’t have to tell us where you’re going and why, that is completely your business. We only saw your bags and figured that you might get hungry somewhere down the road,” Mr. Gene said calmly.

“There are two turkey sandwiches in the lunchbox, along with some grapes, make sure to eat them today so they don’t get hot and taste bad, and there is some tea in the thermos,” Mrs. Gene said with a smile. “Oh, and one more thing!” She bounded happily into one of the book aisles. Mr. Gene, seeing that his wife was away for the moment, sidled up next to Nathan and whispered “I put some whiskey in the tea. Not too much, but enough to keep you warm at night.” Nathan chuckled as Mr. Gene gave a reassuring wink and shuffled back to where he was standing before as his wife returned with a book. She handed it to Nathan, her smile still there, as he looked at the title. Ian, it read.

“Ian? I’ve never heard of it,” said Nathan.

“It’s about a boy who gets lost, but eventually finds himself amongst the clutter of life. The ending might be a bit surprising, but definitely a good read. Don’t worry about late fees, you may return it when you wish,” said Mrs. Gene with a warm smile.

“Oneeeeeee second,” said Mr. Gene, as he grabbed the book, took the borrower card from the back cover, and returned the book to Nathan. He scribbled down Nathan’s name and the date and placed it in the small bin on the desk.

“There, now you have to return it. Eventually, at your own leisure. Just don’t tell our other patrons about this. We charge everyone else up the ass for late books,” Mr. Gene joked. Mrs. Gene gave him a light hit on the shoulder. Nathan, beaming, placed the book in the canvas bag. His sight began to blur as his eyes watered a bit.

“Thank you for being the parents I never had,” Nathan said, trying to stifle his tears. Mrs. Gene put her hands over her mouth, visibly smiling while a tear or two fell from her eyes. Mr. Gene smiled, placed a hand on Nathan’s shoulder, and, with a wink, said “You’d better have some grandkids then.” Nathan embraced Mr. Gene and then Mrs. Gene, looking at them for one final time. He smiled and nodded, walking out the door with his luggage secured. Behind him, Mr. Gene put his arm around Mrs. Gene, smiling as he watched the most inquisitive boy go off to find his way in the world.

Personal Diplomacy

This past week, famed discoball Dennis Rodman visited North Korea on what some have called a "diplomatic mission," others a "wrong left turn at China, and oops, let's try to pass this off as actually meaning to come here." He returned, saying that Kim Jong-Un, the Stay-Puft leader of North Korea, had a message for US President Barack Obama: "Call me."

No, seriously, Kim Jong-Un said "call me," like he's a tittering schoolgirl and Obama is the captain of the high school's varsity football team. Of course, the Obama Administration released a statement along the lines of "we are working to reach a constructive dialogue with North Korea regarding their nuclear program, etc. etc. etc.," but all denigration aside, why not call Kim Jong-Un?

Let's state some obvious facts first: North Korea has been "at war" with South Korea since the armistice for the Korean War. The United States holds a sizable force along the border. South Korea falls under the United States' nuclear umbrella. North Korea has been testing nuclear arms, seriously pissing off their closest ally, China. The level of famine within North Korea (according to many sources) kills off a large percentage of the population. Recent defectors state that the level of belief in the state's propaganda is falling. The North Korean regime may be feeling stresses. If now is not the time to engage North Korea directly, it is certainly coming.

The United States and South Korea are the two main "opponents" to North Korea, though the North has always seen the US as the larger threat. At this point, there is nothing "weak" in calling Kim Jong-Un directly and asking, "Are you ready to negotiate your nuclear program?" Who knows, perhaps Kim Jong-Il's son is more reasonable than his father and is willing to let some compromise happen within that humanitarian crisis of a state. Even if he isn't, calling the current leader is certainly a better sign of respect and possible willingness to actually negotiate than implementing harsh sanctions and issuing the same bellicose rhetoric over and over again.

So, President Obama, even though you haven't met him, it's not that crazy, and I'm sure you have his number, so call him, maybe. At least do it with all the starving citizens of North Korea in mind. You did win a Nobel Prize, after all.

That's all for now,
Das Flüg