With These Eyes (31 page)

The unique craft continued its climb into
Berlin's night sky. The German air force jets had completed their
turn and were climbing with Fuji's craft like a swarm of grouper
fish surrounding a shark. Fuji stood himself up and with an
expression of great pain from his bleeding shoulder, stammered
across the cabin to the controls. He managed to pan the entire arm
around its base, thus bringing it towards the end of the hatch.
This turned the arm into the wind, creating even greater drag.
Isabelle reached for the treads at the edge of the hatch and
grabbed on. Ryan's natural reaction was to do as Isabelle did. The
sounds of metal fatigue echoed across the cargo bay. The arm had
not been designed to operate during flight in the atmosphere and
was nearing the end of its ability to resist the sort of stress it
was experiencing. The bolts and weld points holding its base
overhead in the cabin were breaking, one after another.

"Pull!" shouted Isabelle on top of her
lungs.

Ryan's hands were clutching the traction
strip at the end of the platform. Ryan proved himself to be a lot
stronger than he appeared with his nerdy approach to social issues.
He did, however, enjoy a daily regiment on computerized exercise
machines. To Isabelle's surprise, Ryan's flexing, muscular arms
were bulging through his shirt as he pulled them both onto the
surface of the ramp. Isabelle grabbed onto a handle at the side
with her right hand. Her other hand reached for the carabineer that
was connecting their harnesses to the tether. Quickly, Isabelle
disconnected the metal latch. That same second, a deafening noise
filled the air. Isabelle looked up at the cabin ceiling.

"Ryan!" she yelled as loud as she could. Busy
untangling himself from the webbing, he looked at Isabelle and
followed the direction of her eyes to the plane's ceiling. The
massive hydraulics mechanism and its base were coming directly at
him as the arm flew off the craft. Ryan rolled to the side, barely
dodging doom. He lost his grip on the platform just as Fuji raised
the gate and finally, its angle was such that both of them fell
into the cargo area. Fuji closed the hatch completely and
collapsed. Isabelle's eyes caught the icon that marked the
first-aid kit on the wall. She quickly stood herself up on the
cabin floor as the spaceplane continued its automated climb. Ryan
was struggling like a fly caught in a spider web until he had
untangled himself. Isabelle pulled the medical kit out of its place
and rushed to Fuji's aid. In just a few moments' time, she had
bandaged the deep wound left by the still embedded shrapnel.

"Sorry, I have to leave the shard in your
shoulder till we can properly take care of you."

Fuji looked at her in pain. He understood
that removing the sharp, triangular piece of chrome and steal would
likely cause him to bleed to death.

"You're so amazing for coming here to rescue
us, I can't thank you enough."

Isabelle and Fuji had great appreciation for
each other, and they both knew Isabelle would have done no less for
him. A happy growl from Tonati interrupted their exchange.
Isabelle's puma had waited patiently to be reunited with his
counterpart. She jumped up from Fuji and went to give her fuzzy
companion a hug. His restraints made it difficult for the two to
embrace, but Isabelle could feel a rush of happiness flood her body
as cat and woman shared their energy.

"We're not out of here yet," said Fuji.

His words pulled Isabelle's attention back
into the moment and to the threat of the fighters swarming around
them.

"See you in a bit," were her only words
before Isabelle made her way to the cockpit with an injured
Fuji.

Another unlikely threat rang out over the
radio. "You are violating European Union airspace. Reduce your
speed and altitude immediately or be shot down."

Isabelle’s faithful friend had difficulty
taking his seat next to her at the yoke. Fuji's face mirrored the
pain of his deep injury. He gave the ship's voice-interface the
command to climb to 75,000 feet and pushed the throttle forward.
The radar screen showed the Luftwaffe jets follow suit.

Fuji looked at Isabelle. "Don't worry,
they'll break off in a moment.

The altimeter showed them passing 45,000
feet. The fighters had reached their effective service ceiling and
fell behind. The sound of rushing air was fading away as the craft
entered near space in the world's ionosphere.

The fighter jets' blips on the radar screen
were turning back to a safe altitude.

36 GENE, MICHAEL AND THE TRACKING CHIP

At the Apophis media center in Los Angeles,
Michael Leese was minutes before the taping of his flagship show
Pin the Ponytail.
A line with members of the general public
snaked around two blocks, all fans in the hopes to be selected for
the audience. Most took little interest in the activities of their
government because of the seriousness of the subject matter.
Instead, the people standing on the sidewalk, like much of the
country, chose to focus their attention on Michael's colorful and
entertaining show. The general sentiment was to leave politics to
those in office. After all,
Pin the Ponytail
provided
opinions that didn't require well-developed cognitive skills or
critical thinking. Those who considered themselves fortunate
because Katie the Ponytail-Page had selected them, were assembled
in the studio's
holding area
. Michael did not care to
associate with the public off camera. All were eagerly awaiting
being herded into the studio and hoped their friends in the
mid-west would see them sitting on Michael's bleachers in
tinsel-town. To even be in the same room as their darling host
would give many enough to talk about in the 50 weeks that would
follow spent in cubicles and at assembly lines.

A redheaded prop-comedian was winding up his
slapstick performance that had warmed up the audience. Katie was
walking them to their seats. Among Michael's guests for the show
was an elderly lady known by the audience for her cat-hair
sweaters. She proudly spoke of being able to track all her furry
friends on her Internet phone after she had each of them implanted
with a chip. Another guest had outfitted her children with the
device and could barely wait to share her excitement. She had
programmed her phone to sound alarms whenever one of her offsprings
would approach a youth she had deemed bad influence.

Always clambering for high ratings, Michael
was concerned about the popularity of his attempt to convince the
audience to all be implanted with chips. He felt the need to
discuss the matter with his employer, who had little interest in
the opinion of a puppet. The popular television host was standing
backstage, talking to Gene on a video phone.

"I have my doubts about the ratings on this
campaign. Implanted tracking chips instead of driver's licenses?
The public will never agree."

Gene didn't care much for having to explain
himself. His patience was getting stretched thin by Michael's call,
but he needed his marionette to do his bidding. The man with the
long hair was the perfect candidate for telling the cattle to wear
a bell. "Given the status quo, that might be right, but I wouldn't
get my ponytail in a ruffle. People will beg to be implanted in a
few days' time."

The video link disconnected. The floor
manager approached Michael. "Thirty seconds, Mr. Leese."

The opening music echoed through the studio's
speakers. The star of
Pin the Ponytail
reluctantly took his
mark in front of the cameras to do as he was told.

A
R
adio
F
requency
I
dentification
C
hip
(RFID) implanted into every person’s
right elbow would make the population trackable. The proliferation
of wireless devices and shoplifting sensors provided the needed
infrastructure. Michael’s ponytail was what drew Gene to him.
“Genius,” thought Gene. Aside from the trendy, Michael appealed to
those who found little trust in the political and economic systems.
To many, short hair represented the norm brought upon them by
the establishment
. In their need to rebel, many failed to
consider that they actually felt more attractive with short hair.
This initial act of reducing one’s highest potential would often
lead to a marathon of baby-steps into the easy-chair lifestyle.
From the perceived comfort of their lazy-guy appliance, the fallen
angels would find it difficult to rise while Michael was
distracting them. They found an ally in Michael because he kept his
long hair.

Ponytail - He’s Stickin’ it to the Man!

That was the name of an ad campaign that
launched Michael into the cheese-pumping hearts of those who looked
at themselves as rebels. Gene knew from history, a rebel was cut
from different wood. The rebels of the world who had brought great
change shared a common trait of which Michael’s audience was
devoid. From Martin Luther to Martin Luther-King, there was a
shared sense of pride and selflessness that characterized them as
rebels. Each of these individuals had discovered the power and
beauty that laid beyond anger and selfishness in a world of love
and compassion. These divine individuals have laid aside their
personal desires and devoted their essence in body and spirit to
raising the fallen angels by their side. Like the goose, who stays
with her fallen, they have dedicated their lives to rescue humanity
from its state of fear. The goose is a bird as mighty as the eagle.
She will stay by her fallen until they are ready to continue their
great journey, whether in this lifetime or the next. It was only
appropriate Gene named his plane
the Goose.

The self-proclaimed leader saw the pain in
his children’s eyes, and he could only think of one way to stop the
crying.

37 BIRDS OF PREY, BIRDS OF PEACE

Frustration and anger defined Tasha's
emotions as she watched her prey fly away, once again. What had
started out as a routine pursuit had turned into a threat to Gene's
plans and with that to Tasha's existence. Her Troopers had returned
to their vehicles and joined the command post in a convoy on the
streets of Berlin. Tasha was in her seat in the rescue truck's
covert surveillance room. On the main viewer was satellite-based
intelligence on Isabelle's suborbital route. A smaller screen
plotted Tasha's cross-town course to an abandoned cold-war airstrip
in the outskirts of what was once East-Berlin. To her right, the
platoon's pilot was maneuvering the troop carrier towards their
destination. The digital cockpit before him displayed a point of
view from the plane's nose camera and radar as the supersonic jet
raced across the night sky, devoid of crew and cargo. Tasha turned
her head towards the pilot. As if he had heard her pose a question,
he reported, "E.T.A. touchdown is 23 minutes."

Traffic was thickening and Tasha did not have
a single moment to spare. It was time to speed up her travel to
meet the jet.

"Gimme a clear shot."

A brief "copy, ma'am," acknowledged his
compliance. The Trooper accessed the Berlin police department's
computer, an
Apophis Information Systems
network. He brought
up a list of emergency calls and complaints varying from car
accidents to unruly conduct across the Germanic nation's capital.
After a few keystrokes by the Trooper, a new high-priority call
appeared on top of the list. The message announced a violent bank
heist involving hostages in Wannsee, the city's most affluent
neighborhood. A few traffic lights ahead of Tasha's convoy, a
patrol war was tucked out sight, waiting for offenders of the speed
limit when the false request to respond to the robbery appeared on
their computer.

The patrolman in the passenger seat was the
first to read the order and shouted, "Heinz, let's go."

The other policeman turned on blue turret
lights and the two-tone emergency horn. The engine of the green and
white micro-bus whined as its revolutions entered the red. Heinz
and his colleague sped off to the far end of town along with the
rest of Berlin's police not already on calls. This action cleared
any patrols that may have posed an obstacle to Tasha's journey. A
few more keystrokes and the Trooper had accessed the city's traffic
management system. The platoon's proprietary software had been
developed to Tasha's specifications when she designed Apophis'
global standard for surveillance vehicles. The Trooper manipulated
the touch-sensitive display with his right hand. He dragged the map
with the convoy's course over the traffic system map. Without
further ado, the command post's computer-system set traffic lights
green in a rolling pattern six intersections ahead. Traffic on
nearby streets was kept off Tasha's trail by red signals. Tasha had
developed this method to allow her to speed through any world-city
undetected. To make this possible, Apophis had sold their digital
traffic management centers to city planners around the globe by
grossly underbidding their competitors. This gave carte-blanche for
their operations and Gene was able to bankrupt his competition, who
was left without a market.

Tasha heard the Trooper report, "Fuel and
vehicle transport en route."

Moments later, a tractor-trailer fuel tanker
turned onto the convoy's path from a cross street. Lead by Tasha's
blue fire engine, the intimidating cluster of vehicles forged
across Berlin on empty roads towards a forest on the outskirts of
town. During the decades of the cold war, Soviet and East German
forces used the hidden airstrip to launch spy planes undetected by
the west. The area's topography and luscious tree-growth provided
such an ideal cover that even the citizens of socialist East Berlin
had little knowledge of its existence. A few of the town’s
residents had noticed the occasional low-flying plane. Most,
however, where so busy standing in line with strangers for
necessities like bread or clothing, there was little time to safely
gather with friends to discuss secret government operations. After
the wall fell, there had been little interest in demolishing an
airfield of whose existence few had an awareness. The facility
provided a perfect opportunity for Tasha and her dark army to slip
out undetected. Her convoy was joined by two car carriers just
before entering the forest.