Planet Fever (31 page)

Phase two, the nano-robots created a holographic “map” of the mind, assessed it, then fed the data into a computer.

During phase three, the computer relayed new information to the nano-robots, which in turn created new electro-chemical “sparks” which would—in essence—create a matrix of new perceived thoughts and surrounding realities for the subject. While this was occurring, the subject was to keep a journal of his perceptions, thoughts, emotional and physical states, as well as anything else that came to mind. The researchers compared the technical data with the subject’s “creative” data to see what did what when where and how in the subject’s brain.

This was the big and highly secretive “mapping of the mind” project.

And certain bigwig business interests—working with certain advanced research military interests—had a lot at stake. And a lot was riding on Subject Zero: one Edward Thomas Bikaver and his journals, aka his “Little Book of Life,” and its compendium:
Planet Fever
.

Technically, Eddie “owned” it (because of a clerical error, they had forgotten to give him the paperwork where any writing he did while part of the trial was their property), so—ahem—they would really appreciate it if he would hand over the stuff and sign the paperwork, please.

What about Froward Moroni?

He was a former researcher, venture businessman and entrepreneur who helped jumpstart the program, but then had ideas of his own to make the drug “open source”—that is—allow anyone and everyone to have access to it. He felt there should be no monopoly on the mind, or the manipulation thereupon—and that anyone and everyone should be able to do whatever they wanted with what was their own property—their mind. The bigwigs (as well as the top brass) disagreed—they thought such unbridled, unmonitored access to such a powerful drug would cause chaos: everybody would literally be living in their own world, or worlds. Not a good business plan, nor a viable military strategy.

Since Moroni already had flown the coup with a large supply of early incarnations of the drug, they reckoned they would use Subject Zero—Edward Bikaver (so far the only “official” subject) as a lure, to see if Moroni would approach him, and they could monitor and/or subdue the man before he spread too much chaos.

Phase four integrated with the plan anyway, since it entailed field research, meaning the subject (Eddie) was to “live” outside the confines of the facility and in his natural habitat—the “real world.” That’s how they tracked back to the Moroni “art camp,” where they found that Fillono, Chuck “the Born Again” Poet, Lustra Love-Joy, and Marcel “the Champ” had been given a steady regimen of the drug by Moroni (and so were currently under varying degrees of observation and treatment, by the way; Chuck and Lustra at the facility in Vegas, Fillono at the facility in the Colorado Rockies, and Marcel “the Champ” at a top secret joint in the Antarctic).

Mona Malena was an aspiring actress originally from Akron who worked part-time as a nurse/assistant at the clinical trials lab. She took the job to help pay for her student loans and to pay the bills, and the hours were flexible so she could go out on acting auditions. By signing on as an employee to the lab, she tacitly signed herself on to the “project” and became a de facto “military/intelligence” asset. Because she was an actress and had rudimentary nursing skills, they figured she would be a perfect handler and monitor of Eddie while he was “out in the field.” She was bound to secrecy by virtue of her de facto military/intelligence status (and this project was and is Top Secret, mind you), and had to fulfill her role as “girlfriend” of Eddie or risk severe penalties of money and prison. Upon fulfilling her role, she has been promised a lucrative career in the movie business.

Oh, Eddie, but she really does care about you. Believe it or not.

The powers that be needed Eddie to sign the paperwork now, please, and hand over the documents, so they could wrap up this project and send him on his merry way.

EDDIE HEARD
a loud “click” and snapped back into the motel room. EZ unplugged the “Strobe Enlightener” and wrapped up the cord. He put the contraption back into its box, set the box under the table, grabbed the Cheetos bag, looked inside and was happy to see one left, which he promptly ate.

“You have got some intriguing stuff cogitating up in that dome of yours, that is factual.”

Was that real? Or had Eddie just invented it as another fabricated piece of fiction?

EZ perceived his concern and said, “We should get back to Whynot and nab some more intel on West and pick Fillono’s brain. I smell BS somewhere and can feel the breeze of a fan getting close to the pile.”

EZ wadded up the Cheetos bag and tossed it into the little motel wastebasket.

“All right. Let’s stare at our eyelids for the night. Bright and early tomorrow we grub at the diner I spotted across the way, then hit the road. We’re only about four hours away.”

EZ grabbed the bed closest to the door and Eddie took the other one. Eddie turned off his light, wished his companion a “good night” and fell asleep, to dream about driving a car into the ocean and rolling along the ocean floor. The car filled up with water but it didn’t matter, because Eddie realized he could still breathe. He wasn’t worried. That’s about all he can remember before being awakened by the sound of an annoying and rough buzzing: the motel alarm clock.

In the morning, they got up, flossed, brushed their teeth, slapped on deodorant, dressed and packed their few belongings, then headed for Candi’s Diner across the road.

The sun was just poking over the Rocky Mountains to the east, and it was cool but not cold. Not a cloud in the sky.

Inside the diner, a few truckers sat at the counter sipping coffee and BS-ing with the waitress or the hash slinger in the back. As EZ and Eddie entered, the other patrons checked the duo out with relative indifference then resumed their banter. EZ and Eddie took a few seats at the end of the counter and checked the laminated menu.

Eddie was reading about the various ingredients (up to three, $.50 for each additional one) included in Candi’s Famous Omelets when he caught it out of the corner of his eye: a boot wrapped with duct tape walking in his general vicinity and then its owner taking the stool to Ed’s left at the counter.

It was none other than the movie-going trucker he had met back at the Free Diner outside Los Angeles: Woods.

He had on his trademark flannel, ball cap, shades, and Cheshire Cat grin. He stared down at the menu, aware of Eddie and perhaps waiting for him to say something.

Ed obliged. “Holy shit!”

Woods nodded his head, but kept staring at the menu.

Ed turned to EZ, who was perplexed by his outburst, and asked if there was a guy with ball cap, shades, flannel and duct-taped footwear seated to his left.

EZ looked around to Eddie’s left, checked off each article he had mentioned to himself, then said, “Uh-huh.”

Ed looked back at Woods and said, “Woods.”

Woods said, “Yup.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Made a run to Grand Junction from L.A., going to head back today,” he said, then looked up at the waitress. “Coffee. Black.”

Coincidence? Eddie didn’t think so.

“Pretty wild, meeting you out here, at this time. What are the odds?” he said.

“You summoned me,” he said, then slid the menu back into the holder. “Bacon and eggs, over easy.” He unfolded the movie section of the
Rocky Mountain News
.

Ed turned to EZ, who seemed to be either thinking hard or was perplexed by the scenario transpiring.

“Do you have any clue about what the hell’s going on?” Eddie asked, a tad bewildered.

EZ shrugged his shoulders then ordered French toast and sausages.

Eddie took a break from the scene of perplexity to order an omelet with Swiss cheese, mushrooms, bacon and spinach.

Woods was circling movies with his highlighter.

What the hell was going on here? Eddie had no recollection of summoning the mysterious truck driver Woods. As a matter of fact, he had no recollection of ever having in his possession the means by which to summon him. He had never gotten his number or address.

Woods sensed Eddie’s fluster, and what came next blew the minds of both Eddie Bikaver and Ezekiel Buckminster.

“LET ME
put it another way. You
will have
summoned me here, from outside time. By including me in your story, you have brought me here without even realizing it, and so far I’m still in the story because you still have control of it. So right at this moment it might make no sense to you as a character why I am here at this time, but it is happening.” Woods sipped some of his coffee.

The tone and pitch of Woods’ voice triggered another memory. Eddie flashbacked to the cassette tape interviews in his truck’s glove box. There was only one explanation for this bizarre “coincidence”—Woods was Agent W, the former “hyper-dimensional” being who went AWOL from the bad-guys squad. Trying to do his bit to help out the moronic humans. Eddie was that moronic human that Woods was helping out. It had to be.

EZ remained cool and steady. “Man, we’re gonna need some empirical evidence to back what you’re saying.”

Woods sipped more of his coffee. “You got a red notebook in your little backpack there.” He pointed to the backpack Eddie had brought in with him and had set down by his stool. “May I?”

Eddie did, in fact have a little red notebook in his backpack. His journal was filled with scribbled out half-baked ideas for
Planet Fever
and some dossiers folded up and tucked between the pages.

“Uh, you want to see it?” Eddie asked.

“I want you to let me write something in it. Only with your permission, though.”

Eddie unzipped the backpack and brandished the notebook, handing it over to Woods.

“Have at it,” Eddie said.

Woods took out an expensive silver pen from his flannel pocket,opened the notebook to an empty page, and began writing.

The walls of Candi’s Diner began to shape-shift and reverberate. All the other people in the place (besides EZ, Eddie and Woods) faded away.

EZ and Eddie found themselves sitting on stools inside the cabin of what looked to be the inside of a spaceship with low soft lighting (for mood) and Jazzy whale songs permeating from all around. EZ attempted to perceive the sound system, but couldn’t seem to locate any speakers.

The air was neither hot nor too cold. They couldn’t tell whether or not they were moving. The walls pulsed and lit up and were adorned with fine, intricate patterns, like a neural-network.

Woods continued to write. As he did, his voice manifested inside the heads of both EZ and Eddie….

We are inside my rig—which is actually an outward manifestation of my mind, which I have invited the both of you to inhabit. As you’ve guessed, I’m not completely human. I’m part human and part Tritosofthalmian, which is a breed of being about 10 billion years your senior, with the ability to outwardly manifest little pockets of reality at the drop of a hat. That’s why we are used as assets by galactic military intelligence interests, hired by multiverse media operations, and brought on as PR specialists for interstellar politicians. We invent reality.

Without going into great detail, the last 10,000 years has seen the consolidation of companies who make and own property of realities and it has gone from many private enterprises to one monolithic conglomerate corporate/financial/political/militaristic entity. You know it as the New (and Improved) Interstellar Syndicate. You see, the OAR (Originator of All Realities), Atoz Al Ways, wanted to populate his multiverse with billions of little “reality inventors” so they could go off and make their own creations. That’s how it went for billions of years until his main partner thought he had better plans and defected from the company, stealing many trade secrets from Atoz. Since then, Phos Atomos Paradosi, Atoz’ former buddy and business partner but now the head of the N(aI)IS, has been “acquiring” all the reality-rights around time and space, and is on the verge of locking out the original CEO, Atoz, from His own creation.

As a countermeasure, Atoz spread his shares around the Universes to various “entities” called RAs and REs (Reality Authors and Reality Engineers) so those entities would continue to expand Atoz’s vision and stave off the takeover. So long as Atoz’s interests were creating and expanding and not giving up their own “rights” to the Syndicate, the Syndicate couldn’t take complete control. The Syndicate employed me as an RA/RE tracker to help locate Atoz’s creative agents.