CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The men in suits had requested Alex’s presence, but his summons lacked pragmatism; it simply displayed control. Thank you for your great contribution. Thank you for allowing me to help. Did everything go as you planned? Yes. Were there any problems we should know about? Umm…no.
To these bureaucratic men of prominence, Alex was a computer nerd, like thousands of others. He received a job, completed it. He held no official title, knew nothing of politics, should play no part in the negotiations. To many, his involvement equated to coddling a rich man.
The situation penned an ancient story. These men were the old hats, unable to accept how fast the world shifted. In 1966, Stephen Moore proposed Moore’s law, which stated that, in the modern era, technology doubled every eighteen months. That, too, had become outdated. Today’s technology doubled in bursts. Crackling explosions of progress detonating simultaneously from multiple launch points. Science, medicine, space, nanite, we swelled with advancements. One day, perhaps soon, that tension would burst, and we’d experience a reset.
Alex believed society must be governed with limited oversight, particularly pertaining to the Lobby. Don’t take from others. That could be the lone law. Searching for criminals in every unfortunate act, needing to terminate after lost profits; war. Ridiculous.
Any war fought over the Lobby involved its control. That understanding motivated Alex.
Ten minutes into his summons, he learned his attendance at the summit meeting had not been a request by the so called, New Age Allies—his team—but rather a demand from the other side. The Eastern world valued his input. Alex knew the monk, Sung Yi, had been expounding Alex’s greatness for weeks. Despite the absurdity of the monk’s sermons, Alex took pride in knowing his unexpected contribution offered the best chance for a peaceful resolution.
At the appropriate time, the group moved to the elevators and waited for transport to the access rooms. He stood in the back, allowed the others to board first—some of whom had probably forgotten he accompanied them.
Riding with a group of analysts, he listened to them explain how if the East and West reached a compromise, the Middle East would bow out with nothing more than threats. That, or be destroyed. Their nations maintained impressive armies—when compared to one another—but the powerhouses of the world were still Japan, Great Britain, China, Russia, and the United States. Any one of them could battle, possibly defeat, a Middle Eastern coalition. The analysts trivialized the seeming inevitability of mass casualties, turning Alex’s stomach.
Upstairs, the smile of a young woman acted as a beacon in the sea of focus and distress. Gravitating toward her, he allowed himself to be guided to an access room. Once inside, the closed door sealed off the chatter.
“What’s your take on all of this?” he asked.
“Me?” She glanced from the control panel, looked him up and down as he sat. “I think…what you have built is a wonderful escape.” She honed in on the timer and initiated its thirty second countdown with an extravagant push of the button. “But, it has become…uncontrollable. You people will figure it out, but give me all the power…and I would shut it down. Destroy it all.” She shrugged nonchalantly.
Her candor surprised him into silence. He’d been hoping for a reply that aligned with his actions.
“Sorry,” she gave a half-smile. “You asked.”
That I did, he thought as the timer hit five, four, three…that I did.
Popping into the Lobby decompressed his chest, lightened his entire aura. Had I actually harbored that much tension? The expulsion of stress was like being pulled from a tar pit he’d been wading through his entire life. He kicked a leg, rotated an arm, smirked at the notion people wanted to destroy this.
Taking a deep breath, he surveyed his white surrounding. Instead of the calming tranquility he expected, his breath hitched. The remaining CO2 leaked out of him in a slow stream. His vision blurred, returned. He remained unsure as to what he looked at.
People—strangers not invited to the summit meeting—were clustered close. They stretched for miles, talking in low tones.
A message sprung to life before him. President Tanner sought Alex’s permission to come to his location. Absentmindedly, he okayed the request.
Being above average height, Alex had a good view and wondered, am I seeing an optical illusion? Swiveling to the opposite side of the hall, he found the same sight. Innumerable people of all races, leaning slightly Asian, stretching into infinity. Have I entered the mirror room in a loony-bin funhouse?
The President appeared a few feet away. Locating Alex, he stared beyond him with wide eyes and a craning neck. Standing three inches taller, Alex imagined the President’s view encompassed more people.
The reserved voices delivered an ominous feel. With a population a ten-thousandth this size, the Lobby echoed with boisterous talks and jeers. The loudest sound today: the nervous queries coming from the New Age Allies as they appeared near him. One voice, considerably louder than the rest, attempted to gain control by starting a roll call.
Each shouted name drew more of the crowd’s attention. People soon whispered, studied the continuing appearance of politicians and officers around the President.
Alex heard his name mumbled more than once in the crowd and felt a fright so deep, pertaining to his global work, it threatened to morph into madness. He could have avoided this moment—these people’s presence—a dozen times over. Standing here, with his deed done, he worried a force had guided him to this moment.
The crowd numbered forty wide with a seemingly endless depth. They formed rows, focused on the congregation. They padded silently toward him.
“Alex Cutler.”
He turned to find the President of the United States. The man wore an impeccable suit with a red and white tie. His voice remained steady, but an undercurrent of concern layered his tone. “Do you have any idea what all these people represent?”
At the mention of his name, the crowd zeroed in on him, the chatter expanded. The mass shuffled closer, like an army of dazed zombies.
“That’s him.”
“Alex Cutler is here.”
“He’s arrived.”
“Thank you, Alex.”
“Thank you, Mr. Cutler.”
Similar sentiments created a wave in both directions.
The hairs on Alex’s neck stood on end.
As people ventured into his personal space, Alex reacted. “Employee command, Alex Cutler. Space, thirty feet, forward direction, full width.” Upon completion of his command, the wall of people slid backward as if they stood on a patch of ice, pushed by an invisible plow.
The shouts of gratitude and praise increased; all were directed at Alex. The voices reached a roar.
“Employee command, Alex Cutler. Volume decrease, fifty percent.”
The sounds dulled.
“Little help, please, Mr. Cutler.”
Turning, he found the President and his men engulfed by the mob. A few of the entourage familiar with Lobby commands had evoked their ten feet of personal space, but lacking Broumgard managerial status, that extended their capabilities.
Moving to the opposite edge, Alex stretched out his arms, repeated his space command, and granted the group thirty feet of space on that side. Once done, he overrode the commands of personal space so their party members rejoined as a group.
Having sufficient area between them and the surrounding mob allowed everyone to catch their breaths, compose themselves.
“Well done, Mr. Cutler,” the President said, speaking loud enough to be heard above the polite chaos. “Now, do you have any idea who these people are or why they are here?”
“These are the sick freaks,” a man in military accoutrements said as he strode closer. “The suicidal nutjobs from around the globe.”
“No, it can’t be,” a man with gray hair who looked somewhat familiar to Alex said. “There’s way too many for that. This is like an entire city.”
“Why are they here?” Asked another.
“It’s a sad world we inhabit. Wouldn’t you say, Mr. Cutler?” President Tanner said.
Alex surveyed the conglomeration.
Had this many people dedicated their future to the Lobby?
Since he hadn’t included the word “personal” in his command of thirty feet, the space started from where he previously stood, creating a flat wall of bodies. He crept over to an Asian woman in khaki pants and a teal blouse.
Noticing Alex, she slowly dropped to her knees, bowed her head, and stretched out her hand.
A wash of euphoria paused Alex.
“Please stand,” he reached down to assist her.
She rose bashfully, glancing to her left, her right. A man next to her sunk to his knees and placed his head on the white.
“What are you doing here?” Alex asked the woman. To the man, he said, “No, please stand.”
The man ignored him. People to either side followed suit, setting of a chain reaction—a wave of people dropping in supplication.
“What is this horse shit?” The military man blurred by and forcefully lifted the first kneeling man.
The man allowed himself to be pulled up, but hung loosely. As soon as the military man released him, he dropped back down.
“Stop this nonsense, you demented freaks.”
“It’s okay, Don,” the President said.
“No, it is not, Mr. President,” the military man said as he yanked a petite woman up. She kept her head bowed, dropped back down when released. “Make these freaks stop this nonsense,” he yelled at Alex.
“Don, leave it alone,” said the President. He scanned the miles of people falling like dominoes. “Let’s…let’s get on with this. Mr. Cutler, are you ready? Our Japanese counterparts are very excited about your participation.”
Enthralled by the woman’s fascination with him, the trust and love in her face, Alex barely heard the man. Releasing her hand, he insisted she stay standing, and bent to lift the man next to her, the one next to him, another beyond. Four uplifted people later, the process reversed. The people in the front rose on their own.
“I’m sure you’ve heard of their prophet, Sung Yi,” the President said a little louder.
Alex had, but he looked past the President, guesttimating how many miles the hall would extend if a hundred thousand people populated it.
“He will be in attendance today,” the President continued. “He’s basically the opposition leader. And despite the misconception, they view you as ours. I pray we can use that to our advantage; persuade them to agree to our fair terms.”
“Mr. President, we should get going,” a short woman with wide hips said.
“Sung Yi has been preaching all month that on this day, you will provide answers to solve our difference,” the President said. “What do you think, Mr. Cutler, are you going to push our agenda, or are you keeping an alternate answer up your sleeve?”
Alex smiled as wonder mixed with shame, as a lifetime of uncertainty and self-conscious thoughts floated from his person. He pushed aside regret with hope. “I do, Mr. President.”
“Sir, we need to go.”
The President turned to the woman, but it seemed he pondered Alex’s words.
“It should be you who opens the door, Mr. President,” the woman added.
The President nodded. “World select, Honest Meeting Room, Seventeen seventy-six.”
A door appeared twenty-five feet from where the President stood.
He looked expectantly at Alex. “Well, are you going to share this plan of yours before we head in, or just spring it on us equally?”
This was Alex’s moment, a resetting of his life. Alex affirmed his resolve and spoke, “I’m afraid I won’t be attending your meeting.”
A million fears fluttered off of him. The universe seemed to brighten. He smited his anxiety and uncertainty.
The President furrowed his brow.
“Whatever game you think you’re playing,” the military official said, “You can bet-”
“Silence aggressor,” Alex said. A green halo appeared above the military man and when Alex confirmed him as the intended target, the man’s voice cut off in mid-gripe.
The President looked to the man and then back to Alex. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m bowing out, my friend. Relinquishing your’s, and everyone else’s self-imposed authority over me.”
“That’s not possible,” the President said in his most commanding tone, but he swallowed two times before adding. “You will attend this summit as our ally or face imprisonment.”
“I’m afraid not,” Alex smirked. “I’m out of your world. The truth is, you’re standing in mine.”
The President thought a moment, then shook his head dismissively, “You couldn’t have injured yourself after entering. We’ve had eyes on you since you exited Legion, so whatever you were planning, it’s not going to happen.”
Perhaps the President believed himself to sound authoritive, but his words rang hollow to Alex. He pitied the man. In the Lobby, President Tanner was just another visitor. Alex’s life of being threatened and labeled and told what was right and what was wrong and what he should believe had ended.
“Time released cyanide,” Alex said. “It won’t kick in for another ten minutes or so, but there is no stopping it. I’m free, Mr. Tanner.”
The man in the military uniform looked ready to burst. The veins in his neck bulged as he silently screamed his poison.
Alex resisted his urge to laugh. He was finished with cruelty—receiving or giving. Parting a conciliatory smile to the President, he shrugged.
“We don’t need him, Mr. President,” the young woman said. She then eyed Alex. He detected something in her gaze. Envy? “But we must go,” she added.
He ignored the small comments of him being a traitor, or worse. This was his moment. His rise to power. The resurrection of himself. The kid in Alex wondered how these complainers would like his other surprises.
“I’m still going to have to insist that you accompany us,” the President said.
Alex nodded sympathetically. “Employee command, Alex Cutler. Corral participants of Honest Meeting Room Seventeen Seventy-six, exclude self, move to entrance.”
At once, and from all angles, the congregation slid along the white toward the awaiting portal, ending as a huddle near the world entrance.
He wouldn’t be attending their conference, living their rules, or swallowing their lies. For the first time, he considered Sung Yi a true prophet, and felt remorse that they had never met.
Someday, he thought as a smile possessed his face. After all, he had eternity.
Using one final command, he silenced the grumbling crew, knowing once they entered their world, his restrictions would fall away.
They would get over what Alex had done.
He faced the swell of people who, having risen, had watched everything in awe.
Taking the closest woman by the hand, and wanting to converse a while before deciding how to spend his first lifetime, he led her through the parting crowd.
People summoned worlds and vanished. Others followed Alex Cutler, the defacto creator of the Lobby.