Angels of Apocalypse, Part I: Alignment Read online

  “Of course, Grandma,” Den replied. “I love you too…” Then Victoria folded her hands and closed her eyes purposefully. She was still the image of perfect peace, Den thought, though thin and frail as never before.

  The little bench across the hall seemed a fine spot to wait, so Den quickly settled down, hoping to become thoroughly entranced by the programming on a shabby television set nearby. “Oil summit fails!” shouted the unnecessarily attractive reporter. Due to his occupation, Den’s attention was immediately drawn by the subject matter, and he continued listening avidly. “Competition for the purchase of oil reached new levels today, as the President himself attempted unsuccessfully to intervene in the global price war. Energy Secretary Hillkurt claims the demand for oil is unlikely ever to diminish again, making rising prices – and I quote – ‘a problem our nation will have to learn to tolerate, unless some cheaper form of energy can soon be found.’ Consumer experts estimate that the average citizen now spends fifty percent of their gross income on energy costs alone, with no end in sight…”

  Den had never felt more blessed to have a life that existed above such problems. The world had gone mad while his life with Maria had grown all the more secure. But at what cost? He refocused his attention back upon the newsreader to avoid further uncomfortable thoughts. Out of the corner of his eye, Den could see a nurse stopping by to chat quietly with Victoria.

  She really was the finest, most endearing woman he had ever had the privilege to meet. Even so, there had been times during his youth when he had wondered if she might be a bit mad. On more than one occasion he had spotted her muttering to herself, seemingly locked within some animated debate. Was she praying? Or did she simply tend to think out loud? There was always the possibility that she suffered from some sort of multiple personality disorder, but she seemed always to snap out of it so cleanly when he announced his presence. He could never quite catch anything Victoria had said either. In the end he had stopped caring, knowing that if her mindset was truly madness, that the world could certainly do with a bit more madness than it already had.

  The visiting nurse had finished speaking with Victoria, who seemed to be drifting serenely off to sleep again in Den’s peripheral vision. Then, to his surprise, closer inspection abruptly revealed that it was no nurse who had been quietly chatting with Victoria, but a bike messenger, clad all in characteristic Lycra. Who employed bicycle messengers in this day and age? The otherwise ordinary man was already walking his direction to find the way out, and Den decided quickly to question the visitor.

  “Hello there!” To Den’s surprise, both men found they had spoken to one another simultaneously.

  “I’m Joseph!” finished the messenger brightly, extending a hand before Den had a chance to feel anything other than bewilderment. “You must be Denny.”

  “Yes,” he replied reluctantly, shaking the other’s hand. “How do you know my name?”

  “Victoria is not the type of woman who forgets to mention those whom remain most important to her, my friend. She speaks of you all the time.”

  Den was beginning to think there was something rather forward, if not fishy, about the strange visitor. “Actually, I wasn’t aware that she was in contact with anyone outside this place.” He was watching Joseph’s reactions closely. “Apart from myself, of course…”

  “Wonders never cease, indeed. Do they, Denny-dear?”

  Den’s eyes widened. Had he just been “Denny-dear”-ed by a complete stranger? Intent upon what Victoria’s message might have concerned, Den firmly decided that he had better get to know the strange messenger. “I didn’t see you deliver anything.”

  “Course not. This was a pickup for delivery, though evidently you missed seeing the handoff. Just popped in to retrieve a letter Victoria needs sent, and now I’m off to my next delivery!” Yet Joseph was having a seat next to him, not seeming at all concerned with hurrying onward to accomplish anything whatever. “Gum?” asked Joseph with a smile, tossing a little stick into his own mouth. His friendly manner was so conspicuous it stood out like a nosebleed in a linen shop.

  “Uh, no. Thanks. I’m fine.” Den found himself glancing over to check that Victoria seemed all right, but his concerns were evidently misplaced, for she appeared to be resting comfortably once again. If Joseph noticed these suspicious gestures he gave no sign of it, as Den continued: “Who’s her message for?”

  Joseph slapped him on the back with apologetic warmth. “Confidential, I’m sorry to say, Denny. Job security reasons – I’m sure you understand. Wouldn’t be much of a messenger if I went around delivering private information to just anyone, now would I?”

  “I suppose not…” replied Den. “I am her grandson, though, you know.”

  “I see you’ve been watching the economic forecast, eh?” interrupted Joseph.

  “Uh…”

  “Grim news about gas prices, isn’t it? I bet you never expected you’d see a bicycle messenger doing business way out here, did you? Not in this post-modern age of email and Skype…”

  “I suppose not,” admitted Den. “Perhaps downtown, but not here in the suburbs. Yeah, I suppose it is a bit…”

  “I’ll tell ya the truth, Denny,” interrupted Joseph once more, “I haven’t seen business pop like this since the nineties! Funny how times change, ain’t it?”

  “Funny indeed,” agreed Den. Though odd, Joseph seemed friendly enough, but Den still thought it wise to get to know the strange man whom was evidently connected to Victoria, however vaguely. So Den did his best to appease Joseph’s apparent tendency toward mindless small talk, just in case he accidentally let something slip concerning his message for Victoria.

  “It has always amazed me how stubborn some of these politicians can be!” announced Joseph. “A thousand ways to produce energy, and they continue to insist we pay through the nose for the world’s dirtiest forms of it. If I didn’t know better, I might think they had something to gain from the status quo.”

  “Yes,” replied Den gratefully. “Exactly!” This was starting to become a conversation he could get behind. “For instance, I work for a company called…”

  But Joseph was already interrupting him again. “Take that little oxygen machine over there,” he said, pointing out an ergonomically molded canister and apparatus which leaned against a nearby wall. “That little machine pulls oxygen from the air for storage. We have them in every emergency room and nursing facility in the nation. Everybody knows about it, but nobody really thinks about what it must mean.”

  Den’s curiosity had officially been aroused. “What do you mean?” “Well, if it’s technologically possible to separate oxygen from the air around it, then why wouldn’t the same be true of hydrogen?”

  “I don’t know,” said Den, surprising even himself by the admission. “Probably because there’s not enough of it.”

  “Nope; wrong. Every water molecule is two parts hydrogen, and the air’s full of water vapor, isn’t it? That’s what humidity is. Even on a dry day, two-thirds of the planet is still covered in water we can’t even drink! Hydrogen is a famously flammable substance, and there are always at least trace amounts of it moving through our atmosphere in one form or another, so why aren’t we using it as a power source?”

  As the messenger seemed to pause for breath, Den seized the opportunity to respond. “Oh, that’s an easy one,” he stated confidently. “The problem is that hydrogen is excessively combustible, I think. Sending Americans out into the world in cars filled with compressed hydrogen would be a hundred times more dangerous than the gasoline they have already. Remember the Hindenburg disaster? That’s the last time anybody ever tried to put so much hydrogen in one place…”

  “No,” replied Joseph, shaking his head, “that is actually a myth which bulwarks the power of established energy producers. When you’ve done your homework, you’ll see what I mean. Hydrogen is actually far less flammable and unstable than gasoline. Seriously, look it up! And it was later determined that the hydrogen w
ithin the Hindenburg most likely only exploded because the static electricity present in the balloon itself ignited it’s exterior coating, the chemical properties of which were far too similar to that of rocket fuel. Once that happened, the hydrogen burned as well. Helium, being non-flammable, would have been a wiser choice for achieving buoyancy in a blimp, but this does not mean that hydrogen is entirely without merit today.”

  “Am I speaking to a walking encyclopedia or a bike messenger?”

  “And besides,” Joseph continued, paying him absolutely no attention, “why would the hydrogen need to be stored anyway? Since hydrogen is as readily available as it is combustible, an engine could simply pull the necessary hydrogen from the water vapor around it as needed, almost like the portable oxygen machine does.”

  “I’m not certain it works that way,” said Den. The amount of information Joseph had just tossed at him was a little mind numbing, but he still felt thoroughly engaged in the conversation. “I’m not certain the separation technique employed by the oxygen machine could be reengineered to somehow separate nothing but hydrogen. You’re sure there’s hydrogen in our atmosphere?”

  “Sure, but pure hydrogen only represents .55 parts per million of its total volume, the majority of which exists almost exclusively in the atmosphere’s outermost layer: the exosphere. It’s like I hinted: most hydrogen is stored here as water. Lightning, for instance, releases hydrogen when it strikes a body of water. Thereafter the hydrogen tends to rise until it reaches the exosphere, yet before that it could be easily captured for human use. However, I think the best way to collect hydrogen will always be to strain it from water or water vapor, as there’s so little pure hydrogen in the atmosphere.”

  “I guess it would take some checking…” At this point Den was staring at Joseph, for the man had proved unexpectedly brainy. “These are… fresh ideas. Or they feel new to me, anyway. They might be wrong,” Den felt obliged to add, “but perhaps I should plan to make absolutely sure of that – with your permission, of course.”

  “Sure you have my permission!” Joseph certainly had an irrepressible positivity about him. “But why are you so certain these ideas wouldn’t work?”

  “I mean, if it were all as simple as you seem to think, then surely somebody, somewhere would have already thought of this.”

  Joseph’s gaze somehow began to discomfort Den at this point; it was piercing. “Perhaps they have,” replied the messenger slowly, “but do nothing because their profit structures are already secure. Why would they destabilize their own prosperity?”

  “Well…” Den began.

  “Can you think of no one whom profits exclusively from the current setup?”

  “Uh…” Den was not used to playing the sluggish end of a debate, but Joseph’s ambush was highly effective. Den had immediately found himself thinking of Maria’s father, the world’s most illustrious oil tycoon, and what he might say or do if his foremost salable commodity became suddenly unnecessary. Den kept his silence as he continued to consider.

  “Can you readily think of no examples of how the present system seems inexplicably to exclude the most obvious solutions to so many of the world’s energy problems? Hydrogen is, after all, the most plentiful element in the universe. You know this, Denny. Three-quarters of the universe’s chemical elemental mass is hydrogen, so if you’re looking for an inexhaustible energy source, this is it.” Joseph could see Den thinking, but was far from finished. “Sometimes the only way a change like this can happen is for a completely new and independent party to forge ahead without the permission or knowledge of anyone.”

  “You’ve certainly got some good points there,” Den found himself admitting, as he stood up to pace. “Is this something you plan to do, Joseph? Because I think I might be able to help you out.”

  “Me?!” laughed Joseph. “Go out on a limb in a field I know nothing about, when the messenger business is finally bumpin’ again? Not a chance!”

  “But you just said…”

  “No, no,” Joseph insisted. “I’ve found my calling already, Denny. But, by all means, do feel free to take this idea and run with it. You have my blessing.”

  “This man makes no sense at all!” thought Den to himself. Joseph had just made it clear how illogical it would be for anyone to undermine their own prosperity. Yet also he had made a rather clever pitch for a possibly viable alternative energy source, while simultaneously mentioning that the high price of gas was sending his messaging profits through the roof. It just did not add up.

  There was no time to trouble about any of that, however, as Joseph was already standing to leave. “Well, I’m off!” he announced.

  “Right,” said Den, “thanks Joseph.” He found himself following the messenger toward the door. “Actually, these are some of the best ideas I’ve heard in a long time, though they’d be expensive to test. Wouldn’t happen to have any bright ideas on how to come up with a sizeable startup loan, would you?” If increased distance from Maria was what Den craved, borrowing money from her was out of the question.

  Joseph paused briefly as he turned to smile. “This is probably one of those situations where you’d do best to wait for confirmation. First research the idea to find out if it might really work. Then, if by chance you should happen to come into a large sum of money, take it as a sign that you should spend it on developing this technology. You said already that you work for some sort of green energy company, right? The initial research might not be all that difficult after all.”

  Actually Den could not remember specifically mentioning anything about the nature of his work, but they were already passing through the double doors, and Joseph was mounting his bike. “Well, yeah,” agreed Den. “I guess that makes sense. But don’t you want me to repay you in some way if this all works out? How can I contact you?”

  For someone who had not shown the slightest sign of a goal-oriented personality only two minutes ago, Joseph certainly seemed to be in a hurry all of a sudden. “Just try to remain fully open to other good suggestions in the future!” he shouted, as he raced out of site. “And you’d do best to keep it a secret! At least for a while…” He was gone.

  “What a strange, unforgettable, and possibly profitable conversation that was,” remarked Den to himself, as he turned back. If Joseph had any more ideas like that, he was welcome to call him “Denny-dear” anytime.

  As Den stepped back through the entryway, still thoroughly perplexed by the encounter, a flurry of movement just down the hall caught his attention. Why was everyone suddenly rushing into Victoria’s room? Den hurried to her doorway, but found a cluster of busy nurses already blocking his path. Sad eyes answered his glance of horror. The long, ominous beep of a monitor was being switched off.

  “I’m sorry sir,” he was being told.

  Victoria had flatlined. There she was, still laying peacefully upon the bed, her little hands clasped with her eyes relaxed closed. Most of the staff were leaving the room now, in compliance with her orders not to resuscitate, but Den remained frozen. Victoria was as gone as Joseph, and Den was suddenly alone.

  The Sleepwalker

  A cloudy nightfall had shrouded the coastal city of Tel Aviv, so that no light of star or moon disturbed the snuggling of the two lovers whom had taken refuge in a sandy hollow on Gordon Beach. Before them the Mediterranean crashed and splashed hypnotically, though they paid it little heed.

  “I love you, baby…”

  “I love you too… Take off your…”

  “Shh! Somebody’s coming!”

  Quickly the young woman directed her suitor’s gaze slightly inland, toward the dark sand just to their north. There it seemed they could see a darker shadow making its lonely way to the sea in the night, yet the figure was indistinct. They strained their eyes. Then, without warning, the clouds were drawn aside, revealing a silvery nude figure in the temporary moonlight. It was a beautiful woman of middle age, marching directly toward the churning surf with purposeful grace.

  “What
the hell?!” hissed the young woman, before stabbing her man with an accusatory finger. “Uri, if you don’t tell her this is a private party, we’re over!”

  It seemed, however, that the newcomer had no idea she was being watched, despite the fact that she drew closer by the second, quickly nearing the couple on the shore. On she walked, throwing out one foot after another ahead of herself almost blindly, with her gaze pinned upon the breaking waves.

  “Sorry, Ana,” smirked Uri, sitting up now. Quickly he whipped out his videophone, to record the oncoming peepshow, as the newcomer rapidly approached. Whoever she was, there was no doubt she could easily see that she was not alone at this short distance, which meant, of course, that she wanted to be admired.

  “Uri!” shouted Ana, now beginning to feel quite angry. She kicked him in the shoulder, seeing that he continued to record the incident, and proceeded to call out tauntingly to their visitor. “Hey you! Get lost!”

  The jaws of both young lovers fell open in the next moment, as they realized Ana’s words had gone completely ignored. Already the woman was upon them, passing them by at a distance of no more than a couple meters, making no sign of acknowledgement. Uri, who was still holding up his phone to record it all, then saw that the woman’s eyes were closed tightly shut. She was asleep! She had no idea what she was doing! Might she continue walking, zombielike, right into the ocean?!

  “Wait! Hey, lady!” shouted Uri, jumping up in alarm. Ana leaped to hold him back, but he slipped through her fingers as he hurried after the sleepwalker. “Hey! Wake up!”

  He was too late. The last minute of footage he shot of the strange, unconscious woman was chilling, for she walked right into the crashing waves. Whereas this might have knocked anyone else over, her feet remained firmly planted, as if she wore lead shoes. On she walked, deeper and deeper, seemingly unmolested by the force of the churning waters, and then she was gone.

  Instantly the moon became lost behind clouds, as Ana reached her boyfriend’s side. “Uri!” she snapped, giving him a playful shove. “Come on! What do you care if some old lady commits suicide on a whim? We could be doing it right now…”